Page 51 of Forbidden Girl

Merrick gasps. “Are those fucking hand grenades?”

“Holy Mother of God, that’s what they are?”

“Yes, that’s what they are. He’s got a warehouse full of them, maybe thirty crates, and large caliber guns, too. The kind soldiers use in combat.” She pans the camera around the building. There are stacks and stacks of wooden crates with bits of straw packing filler sticking out through the slats. When she turns the camera back on herself, her eyes are welling with tears. “Where the hell did he get grenades, Rowan?”

From what I saw, they seemed old—leftovers from a skirmish that time forgot. There were white letters etched into the sides of them, but not letters I could read. They looked alien. Cyrillic? The Cold War. Fuck.

“Russia.” The Russian mob has no presence in Boston. If they did, I’d know about it. They operate out of New York—Brighton Beach in Brooklyn. They’re the craziest motherfuckers in the game, no morals, no ethics, shoot first ask questions never. Elisa’s cousins in Manhattan had a problem with them not too long ago. Money couldn’t satiate them; they wanted the debt paid in blood and they got it.

“If your father is in bed with the Russians, he’s got a much broader reach than I realized.” And he puts my dad’s ventures to shame. My dad peddles drugs and guns to street thugs, and ships stolen Cadillacs to the Sultan of Wherever. Calloway is pushing weapons of mass murder in the Middle East or to warlords in Africa or some Godforsaken place.

I don’t have to voice the concept to Jules; she’s the smartest person I know and has already twigged it. “My dad’s not a gangster, he’s a terrorist. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people are going to die because of him. I had no idea how dangerous he was. He can’t be allowed to continue… this.”

She’s correct. This changes everything. It’s not about us anymore. Whether or not we can be together feels like a trivial concern when faced with the fact that Patrick is a fucking arms dealer a la the Merchant of Death. It doesn’t make a difference whether his arsenal is utilized to kill Americans or Iraqis or Sudanese; we’re all human beings. This is bigger than the Boston PD or State Troopers. It’s FBI-level stuff, or Homeland Security, or some other national agency. If he gets caught with weapons of war, he’s looking at forever behind bars.

Oh, shit, that’s it! The one stone to kill two birds with. My father would die to get his mitts on Calloway’s stash. And Calloway would die to protect it. “I have an idea. You’re not gonna like it. I don’t like it myself, but at this point it’s not just for us, it’s a public service. Neither of our fathers can be allowed to continue doing what they’ve been doing.”

Jules looks at her mom, who’s just off screen. I hear Maria say, “She’s right. They’ve both become unmanageable. Enough is enough.”

Jules swallows a lump in her throat. It goes down hard. “Are they going to survive this plan of yours?”

That is the goal, yes. But I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. If they choose to live that moment the way they’ve always chosen to live, they won’t make it out alive. At least they’ll have a choice. The consequences will fit their actions.

“I hope so,” I answer. “That’s really gonna depend on them.”

“Not likely, then.” She sighs. “How can I help?”

I didn’t want her entangled in this, but it’s unavoidable. I do need her help. We have to coordinate, or it won’t work. “Merrick, take a walk.”

“What? I want to?—”

Maria pops on screen and uses her best Mom Voice. “You heard her, Merrick. Go on.”

“Sorry, no boys allowed,” Jules adds.

“Fine.” He pouts, kicking up the rotting remnants of last autumn’s fallen leaves as he trudges toward the tree line.

When I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I start. “Alright. First step, I’m coming home.”

An hour into the drive back to the city, Merrick breaks the uncomfortable quietness that has settled between us. “I could’ve lived without seeing your strap-on. How am I ever going to look at Jules the same way again? That thing is huge and she’s so small. Where do you put it?”

“I guess I shouldn’t tell you it vibrates then?”

Merrick goes bug-eyed. His cheeks are so red they’re almost purple. “Good God, woman!”

“Hey, you insisted on helping me pack my bag. I told you to stay out of the zipped pocket, but you didn’t listen.”

“Maybe you should’ve told me why I needed to stay out of it.”

“Right. Because ‘Dude, my dick is in that pocket,’ would have been less weird for you.”

He shifts behind the steering wheel. “No. No it would not have.”

“Exactly. Learn to listen to me when I say shit.”

“Can we talk about something else? Like what your plan is.”

“No. Don’t ask me again.” He doesn’t listen to my words, but he understands tone very well. He knows better than to push me when I get stern. He clears his throat as he straightens his backward baseball cap. His face tells me I’ve hurt his feelings. That isn’t the desired effect.

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