- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Sun Jun 26, 2005 5:56 pm
"Hardly! Are ya kiddin' me? The Scots are still as pansy a drinkers as ever." He grinned good-naturedly as he sat down across from Mick, listening to his words with an ever growing knit in his brow.
Great. Just great. This just got worse and worse, and ran deeper and deeper.
Shamus was lost deep in his own thoughts by the time Trick entered. Ironically, he was too busy thinking of how to find Trick to know he was standing right there...at least at first. One's body can change as much as it likes--and time had indeed worked it's magic on both of them, boys no longer--but one's voice, one's demeanor...these are things that time cannot change save to deepen or lighten both. The voice and the demeanor that he heard almost forced a grin onto his face as he immediately heard a bit of banter from his old time friend. He had come here for information, and had been one-upped by fate. That he found him so easily could only mean one thing:
They were royally screwed.
That's right. When God was kind enough to provide, it was usually because he'd need it more then ever. Forcing away the curse that threatened to dance on his lips immediately after the smile, he moved to reamin indifferent, and spoke softly, but loud enough for Trick to hear.
"Well, well. Long time no see. Doesn't a girl warrent a hug from her old friend?" He smirked as he glanced over ever so slightly, then forced his eyes back down. He was still somewhat new at this, but he wasn't new to the concept of subterfuge. Staring at his drink he began to talk.
"People 're talking, Trick...and I'm not sure I like what I hear. Yanks have me Da, an' I hear it was just t' get t' yers...an' word on th' street is ya downed a Yank, real permanent-like--all part of the deal when yer working with a group of international assassins, I s'ppose." He didn't care if anyone heard him, he figured he'd been slammed into one thing after the other. He was owed an explaination, and he wanted one now.
"At least, that's what's goin' on accordin' ta the Minestry of Defence."
Screw subterfuge. He wanted Trick looking in his eyes when he explained himself. He turned to face Trick head on, figuring he was owed at least that much.
"Bloody hell, Trick. What's goin' on? Why do the Yanks want ya so much? What's really goin' on here?"
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 2:55 am
Patrick paused and blinked at the blatancy of his old friend Shamus. Clearly it wasn't the time or place for this talk, but the Irishman had to say something while he awaited the whiskeys and attention from Mick.
"Look, Shamus. The yanks and I have an understanding. I am not wanted for any international assassination jobs, or anything like that, I've been in Dublin my whole life. I don't know why they took our das, but I am making arrangements to meet them and work things out. You can tag along if you behave."
With that, Patrick raised an eyebrow at his good friend, and leaned his sheet-wrapped arsenal against the side of the bar, addressing Mick, while lifting the golden crucifix up off of his chest.
"Mick, I know you know what this is. I am a postulant awaiting my Rites, and I am in urgent need of a vehicle. Can you help me?"
Patrick wasn't exactly ignoring Shamus, but he was eager to get the car, find the yanks and try getting their fathers out. Absently, he pulled out the Ministry of Defense badge and slid it across the counter to Shammy and flipped it open. There were many conclusions that could be drawn from the item, that he had indeed killed the yank, or that he was in league or even employed by them. It gave Shamus something to think about in the mean time, as well as punctuating his authoritative interest in a vehicle, should the barkeep notice it.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Thu Jun 30, 2005 8:06 am
If Mick didn't already look dead before, the sheer draining of color in his face enforced the appearance when Patrick spoke. Dropping his rag, the pubkeep leaned in closely between the two, keeping a steady, unblinking eye on Patrick. Glancing only for a moment at the crucifix he spat, "Put't away, you fekking git, 'fore you get us killed."
Resuming only after Patrick hid the crucifix, he said in a less aggressive tone.
"Patty, do you have any idea what ye got yerself into? Mother fekkin' weeps. And now Shammy, too. I may know who these people are, but don't mean I like it. Can't refuse the demands of a Postulant, so here's yer fekking car."
Mick tossed a pair of keys on the bar.
"Whatever happens, Trick, don't forget that servin' the Almighty may not be the same as serving the Almighty. If you catch my meaning."
- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Sat Jul 02, 2005 9:31 pm
Shamus stared unabashedly as he heard Trick's reply, to which he just gazed down at the Yank Fed ID.
"Unnerstandin' my red arse! D'ya know what kinda trouble yer settin' us up for? Yeah, they have our Das, an' from what I unnerstand, it's because of you. I'll come along, but not as a 'tag-a-long', and none of this play nice crap. I'll come along as someone who'll have no problem kickin' yer arse from here to the Cliffs of Moore and back if ye don't get this taken care of...and I ain't leavin' yer side until I see it happen."
He looked sidelong at Mick, eyeing him at his response to Trick. He caught the hidden meaning in what Trick was saying, and stared at him long and hard.
"This talk isn't over, Trick...we'll discuss what's really goin' on later." He turned to look to Mick.
"Thanks fer the car, Mick. We'll try ta get it back to ya in as good a condition as we can." He snatched up the keys before Trick could, and looked long and hard at him.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Sun Jul 03, 2005 2:33 am
Patrick only smiled as Shamus spoke, eyeing him with a tinge of disdain. Speaking softly, he replied first to Mick.
"Thank you, Mick. We'll see if the Holy Father has anything to say before I make up my mind."
When Shamus continued his feminine rant, and snatched the keys from the bar, Patrick had had enough. Apparently the lad thought he was dealing with the Irishman he used to be. Things had changed a bit, and now was the time for information. He whispered to his friend, though his voice was edged with menace.
"Look, Shamus, I think you've spent too much time in Scotland. If you don't trust me, get the feck out of my sight. You know the least about what is going on right now, so it would serve your best interest to keep your mouth shut until you've got your shyte straight."
Patrick snatched the badge from the bar and opened his jacket, sliding it into the inside pocket. There was another purpose to the movement, too, though, only available to Mick and Shamus. Depending on how attentive the men were, they might catch a glimpse of a black Colt .45. Patrick continued his whisper, hoping the lad was paying attention.
"They have your da, they have my da, and they have us, whether you know it or not. Now, as bad as that is, it's going to get a lot worse if we don't leave now. Be a good little boy or I'll blow your god-damned brains all over the place. I don't want to do that, but if you were in my situation, you wouldn't trust this chance encounter much either."
The smile had faded from Pat's slim face, and he spoke up, at a more audible volume.
"I was going to suggest that you drive anyway, I have some things to manage. Let's beat feet."
With that, Patrick was through lecturing, though he was thoroughly dissappointed in his old friend's behavior. Trick had every intention of informing Shamus on the situation, but later in a more private setting. The car would be the perfect place, but it was not going to happen now that Pat knew he couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut. Nothing could slip to the yanks, they had to believe he was helping them. He glanced back to thank Mick, and headed for the door, hoping Shamus would follow him. Patrick gripped his bundle and searched around for the appropriate vehicle. Once located and unlocked, he would take the back seat, and allow Shamus to hop in front.
As Trick unwrapped the arsenal, he began to inspect each weapon before loading them and slipping them beneath the seat. He would keep his pistols on him, but the big guns had to stay in the car for later, if plan A didn't work out. Pat spoke to Shamus, not looking up from his task.
"Driver, take me to my house. You remember where that is, eh Shammy? Oh, and when we see the yanks, let me do the talking."
Patrick intended to remain silent for the whole trip, regardless of what his old friend might say. Shamus's information privelages were revoked until further notice, at least after they found the americans and tried to work through things in a civilized manner. Once at his house, Patrick would expect it to be under surveilance. It would be a simple matter to attract attention, just by entering. Silently, he was glad that he had not shown Arthur and the boys where he lived.
- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Sun Jul 03, 2005 9:50 pm
Figures. He sat there and listened to what Patty had to say, the entire time wanting to do nothing more then give him a hard snapkick to the gut and tackle him the rest of the way to the floor. Maybe that would help beat some sense into the boy. If not, his fists could surely help that task.
Since showing up he had done nothing but condescend and act like he was his better. Shamus was relatively sure he was the better shot--given how much time he had devoted to his practicing--but he couldn't be sure, and didn't want to push the point. He was the observant kind, though, and didn't fail to notice the Colt .45 in his pocket, and felt all along the way that the friend he knew had died long ago.
His heart sank as he felt a wave of dispair seep over him. If this was what Trick had been reduced to, then their fathers were in sorry shape indeed, and the one person he could have trusted was being swayed away not by someone else, but by Trick's own damnedable tendancies.
Shamus didn't say anything after Trick finished his verbal finger waggling, and it was at this point that Shamus knew words would get him nowhere. They progressed to the car, where Shamus took the front seat, and still words were hardly spoken. At the only spoken phrase said by his former (and who he still--perhaps veinly--hoped was current) friend, Shamus didn't even feel the need to snap off the usual witty reply. Instead, as they sat in stoney silence for the first few minutes, Shamus thought of how to word what he was going to say. Trick wasn't going to reply, but he didn't need to.
"I don' care who ya think ya are. Ya can work fer th' government 'r th' Yanks 'r th' Pope. Hell, ya could be the bloody Pope fer all I care. Th' only thing that's important to me is finding out what th' feck's going on and helpin' me Da, an' I ain't goin' nowhere away from ya until it's done." He glanced back in the mirror at his 'old friend', and wondered what happened to him that made him such a bitter, self-important creature. Less then a man, really.
"I used ta want ta know about ya, Trick, but now that I see ya..." He almost didn't finish it, but then, luckily, he remembered he didn't care anymore.
"...but now...I'm not sure I wanna know what happened to me old friend an' what ya did with 'im. I miss 'im, ya know? Th' one who I grew up with. After all, all we have is family and friends...an' right now, both 're lost ta me." He noticed the continued silence, and glanced back at Trick.
"I know yer not the kid ya used ta be...but neither am I, so lets do eachother a favor, stop treatin' eachother like it, and start bein' honest with eachother...it's the only way we can get our Das free." With that, he turned back and drove the rest of the way.
Once they arrived, Shamus would park it, exit with Trick, and follow with him. He kept his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoats--specifically so he could finger the revolver his father's old friend had given him--and kept a stoney look of disdain on his face, determined to remain that way no matter what he saw.
Trick might not be forthcoming, but whatever else was going on, He was going to learn more, whether Trick liked it or not.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Sat Jul 23, 2005 9:53 am
Patrick sucked at his teeth, making a popping sound. He couldn't speak freely in such a situation, and he wanted Shamus to know that. The yanks could have him bugged, it seemed within their power. There was definately more to that than met the eye, and the promise of a glimpse at God's purpose. Their das were the primary objective, and then it was time to vacate the country. Patrick didn't know if his childhood friend was fully understanding the situation, and the less he knew the safer he would be. Shamus had to stand up to the scrutiny of the americans, and it would be easier if he didn't know everything Pat had been up to. After they spoke with those yanks, there was a decision to be made, and a course of action to commit to. Damned if Trick knew which one was "right", but they all had their own sins, and would alienate him from half involved.
Patrick noted Shamus's lack of comment about him locking and loading a slough of rifles, and approved for once. The good decision made him more willing to give up a snippet of information as they walked up to his parents' home. He hoped his mother would have left when the heat came down. He risked speaking before they made it to the door, hands in pockets where a pair of revolvers gripped his hands. He was torn, and on guard. What was to stop the yanks from taking him any time they wanted. He had to provide them with information, where Shamus would learn plenty. He wanted his friend to know that Patrick was working for them, but couldn't tell Shammy that he was having thoughts about turning coat on them, if Arthur had been telling the truth.
"Shamus, it's a strenuous time for us both, mate, but we gotta keep it together. You're right about us bickering, but I'll tell you what we're going to do now. The fekkin' empire's got our das, but I'm working something out with the Yanks. I want to include you on that deal if possible, but I don't know if they're going to budge. My da had his own reason go get arrested and yours did too. They were IRA, that's enough around here, that's why you went to Scotland in the first place, I take it, and it's no different. People are starving, Shamus, it's bad. This is the worst winter I've seen in a while, and the bloody brits don't give a feck! There won't be any change until people start dyin', and it's only until the crown cares enough. My agenda is for our island, our people, and all people, but there's a line in the sand now. Either the yanks will release our das to us after what I tell them, or they'll decide what they have is enough, keep them and arrest us as well. I don't think I'll be going to jail while there's a breath in my body, not for defending myself, how about you?"
The revolvers were warm from being close to his body for so long, but he hoped they would stay in there long enough to get clammy. He'd rather not draw and fire on the yanks, but if they wanted to take him, he wasn't going down without a fight. If Shamus didn't feel the same way, he would be caught in a position where he had to choose between his freedom, his life, and the life of his friend.
- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Sun Jul 24, 2005 8:14 am
Shamus had noticed the guns, and had almost freaked out while he watched Patrick ready them, but having extensive guns training himself and knowing what Patrick was into, he wasn't surprised. After all, wasn't he himself packing heat? Instead he wisely stayed silent, listening to Tricks reply, his expression turning from frustrated to thoughtful. Eventually, he just wound up grinning.
"Well," he started a mischevious note in his voice, "Why didn't ya just say so?" He felt a fire and determination that he hadn't since he'd arrived. Now he finally had solid information and a goal. "Let's go in there an' have a chat with the Yanks, eh? If they try anythin'..." Shamus removed the revolver he had recieved from Uncle Matty and flicked it open with practiced ease to double check that everything was ready as he pulled into the place. Satisfied, he snapped it shut and slipped it back in his pocket. He made no secret of the move, allowing Trick to see that he too was carrying. "There's always 'Plan B'...the one where people start dyin'. An' I don't intend fer it to be us. I ain't goin' anywhere in cuffs, or ta any jail. It's like ya said."
It was at this point he got out of the car and looked to Patrick.
"Shall we? And don't worry, I'll just keep my mouth shut an' let you do most the talkin'." At this point he turned and took a deep breath, prepared to leave with Trick to face the Yanks and get this first confrontation overwith.
Either way, it was gonna be a helluva day by the time this was done.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Mon Jul 25, 2005 8:28 am
The house was dark and quiet. Still snow settled uneasily on the porch's awning, but the concrete and stone porch was heavily treaded upon with no attempt to disguise it. Inside a hurricane of struggle had hit. Tables overturned, chairs askew, and lamps broken on the floor. There was most certainly a struggle and it became immediately clear what the results of the struggle were.
In the kitchen, Patrick's father was enjoying a glass of port while smoking a cigarette over the bloodied corpses of two men in nice suits. Unshaven and wearing nothing but an undershirt and boxer shorts he grinned at the two as the entered while twirling a .357 on the table.
"There you are," he said, "are these shite-eaters friends o'yers?"
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Wed Jul 27, 2005 1:09 am
Patrick left the conversation where it was when they approached the door. His hands shot from his pockets as he noticed his father, and the two well dressed bodies below him. A revolver in each hand, he kicked the bodies over in turn, checking to see if it was the two americans from before. Pat was silent a while before he spoke.
"Da, I suppose you were never detained by the empire? Those fekkin' yanks must have bluffed. Do you have any idea where Shammy's da is?"
Once he finished, Trick pocketed his revolvers and bent down to check the bodies for identification and valuables. If these were the americans, and they had been bluffing, that made things much simpler, so long as they could find Shamus's father as well. Surely one of them had a way out of the country. He voiced his concern.
"Look, Da, I need help getting some people off the island. I'll pay your costs, but we'll need to give Shamus and his pop the option of coming with. You as well, though I doubt you'll want to leave."
Upon mentioning his friend, he looked over and contemplated whether the man would come along. Patty would try his best to get them to Rome, but there was always the chance that they would just shoot him for his treachery, and Sham as well. He would have to arrange a private meeting with Arthur to see what the score was...at least they didn't have any big guns, Pat had grabbed them all. He wanted his father to reply, but knew that Stephan would most likely take his sweet time. That was one thing they didn't have to spare.
- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Thu Jul 28, 2005 11:00 am
Shamus just nodded to his friend in reply, but didn't say much. He was utterly shocked to see Trick's father there and unharmed. Seemed either he'd been lied to, or the report was false. Didn't matter either way, because if Trick's Da was alright, then maybe...
Just maybe his own Da was fine and unimprisoned. Only problem was regardless, he had little idea where to start looking to check. The only ones with any information on the attackers, the Yanks, and the truth behind his father were right there in front of him, and imptience would get him nowhere.
Regardless, dead bodies of federal agents were likely not going to get cold without someone wondering where they were, so it'd be best to get out as soon as possible...assuming the location wasn't already under survailance.
He was still somewhat new to all this though, so he just did what he felt was wisest. Remained silent, gleaned what he could, and waited to see how the conversation went.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Fri Jul 29, 2005 1:53 pm
Tipping over the corpses did, in fact, confirm they were the same agents that Patrick approached in the pub. His father did a number on them, blasting holes in their chest and heads. At short range, a .357 isn't a tidy weapon.
"'ello, Shamus? I heard you ran off, fell into a ditch and became Scottish."
Smirking at his joke he offered the two port.
"It's a 60. I don't fool 'round on me port."
Taking a sip he continued, "They got your da, Shamus. He's at the Yankee Embassy. These two blokes coughed up a lot to save their skins. They say you got yourself wrapped up with some runts, Patty. Y'get one of those fleas on ye, they never come off. If y'needed a job, why didn't y'say so? Those bastards are bleedin' killers, Patty.
"Goin' against the empire that's one thing. Smacking yer willie for the fun of it's quite another."
"Now you got to leave Ireland."
He shook his head shamefully.
"An' you Shammy! What in the bleedin' juices of th' Mother are you here for? These are g-men, lads, they ain't alley-wash. Now I want to help y'lads, but it may be out of me sights. What exactly is going on here?"
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Fri Jul 29, 2005 9:58 pm
Patrick blinked and rolled his eyes through his father's blabbering on. It was no longer his position to determine what was best for him, that had gotten him nothing. Pat wanted something, to be something and a part of something bigger. There was something behind Arthur and his gang, something honorable. Pat had to find out, and he had to find out how Shamus felt about it, but talking to Stephen Owen was pointless, everyone on the island knew that. Despite his disregard, Trick waited for the man to finish before speaking.
"Look da, tell me if you can get him out legally or at least quietly, and if you can get me and a few others out. Shamus came here for answers, I assume, and we need 'em. Please help, I won't be gone forever...anyway...I need to talk to Shammy alone for a moment."
Patrick waited for anything said by either party and waited until it was settled before he took his childhood friend aside for a little talk. There was much to say, and the Irishman began in a low voice.
"Shammy, I got caught up with a few cats over at the park. We were just drinking and carrying on, but they took me for an informant of a traitor in their midst. They put a gun to my head and asked me things I didn't know about. Luckily, at that moment the real informant opened fire on all of us with a thompson. I put a slug through his skull in defense of my life, mate, the bloke was a yankee boy. Since then they've been threatening me and saying they got my da, but I didn't kill them when I had the chance. I chose not to, and still they played me for a criminal. I don't know if they got your da because of me, but I'm guessing that there would have either been arrests or dead bodies in this house before your father was captured in search of me. Look, you know it's the same with your da as it was with both, I'm still willing to help if my da doesn't have an easy way...Anyway, this guy I'm running with takes me in a gives me a bed and hides me for a bit, but I told him straight that I made a deal with the yanks and decided not to kill them. He put a gun to my head a second time, and he fired, but he missed on purpose, and told me what to do. He said he works for the church, that he's met the Holy Father, and serves a higher purpose. I want to see if he's right, and I'll risk getting out of the country a while. You have to make a decision, though, after your da is free. You can come with me and try to get in with this group I've come across, or you can go your own way."
Trick had said all there was to say, perhaps not all the details, but the gist of the situation. Time was a factor, most likely. Would his father be able to both get Shammy's da out and get Arthur and his boys to Rome, or wherever? Either one was a hope at best, but they had to try.
- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Fri Jul 29, 2005 10:16 pm
Shamus, as he was wont to do, remained silent as he listened to them talk. He heard Stephen Owen make a comment, and he couldn't help but respond.
"No, but thank you fer the offer, Mister Owen. I need me head clear right now.
"Aye, sir, but i' t'wasn't my choice to be over there. My Ma and Da made that choice. I jumped the puddle to come back partly because I needed some good lager, and partly because I wanted word o' my Da and Patty here, an' help where I can. God love the both 'f ya, but if we can't get me Da out of the Yank Embassy quietly...I'm goin' in guns blazin', help or no. As fer what else trouble it seems I've stumbled onto, yer son seems to be the cause of it all." He grinned slightly and went silent again, until Trick pulled him aside.
"Aye. I knew th' risks me Da was takin', an' what could happen, search fer yer Da or no. If we have ta go in there with guns a'light, I imagine I'll go on th' run with ya. If we can get 'im out quietly, though..." He trailed off, lost in thought as he considered it for a moment, then looked up at Patrick once more.
"If that, then I suppose I'll decide when th' time comes. Depends on me Da an' his state, I s'ppose."
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Mon Aug 01, 2005 9:53 am
"Legal??" Mr. Owen snorted his 60 almost completely out of his nose, but then composed himself.
"Mate, whatever these Yanks are doing sure as shite ain't legal, so anything done in return ain't legal either. Y'want to get our mate outta the cellar, we go in like the bleedin' Royal Calvary. The good news is, the Yankees are more concerned with Berlin than Dublin so their can't be an army there.
"I can't get my lads to help . . . it isn't their cause. I'm in it, because yer me son and that's it. I tell you this, though Patty, I can't leave Ireland. You do what you have to, but the only way I'll leave is if the fekking empire sends me ashes away on a ship."
He waved them away.
"Go figure out yer shite and let me know when yer ready to go. Shammy's got the right idea, mate. Listen to him."
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Mon Aug 01, 2005 5:49 pm
Patrick nodded as Shamus spoke, then snorted back as his Da spoke. Anger for the man seethed into Pat's being, what arrogance!
"Pardon me, Da, for wanting to prevent unnecessary killing. I know if you had your way you'd be the only one left alive here, I think. Shammy and I are already locked and loaded, get your shyte together."
With that, he turned, accepting no more advice from his father. The older Owen would help because he was obligated, but he couldn't be counted on for smarts. It didn't matter now, it was time for an old-fashioned jailbreak. Patrick left the house and strolled out to the car and hopped into the back seat. He sat in silence as he waited for the two, steeling himself for what they were about to do.
- Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Tue Aug 09, 2005 10:53 pm
Shamus refused to get drawn into the family arguement, and so wisely remained quiet. So instead, he simply pulled out his pistol and began to make sure it was completely in order.
"However, I think I'm probably gonna need more then six rounds to do this..." He trailed off, a small, thin smile on his face. Ah, there was something about the simple reassurance of knowing what one was going to do. He enjoyed having faith in his actions, his motivation proper.
He was going to get his father back, no matter what.
"Either I need more firepower--which would probably be a good idea, cause I think I can handle anything that fires better then most--or I at least need a few more rounds. Anywhere we can stop off for some more...unless someone has some spare .38 rounds?"
He tried to guide the conversation away from the wedge between father and son and more towards what would be needed to do this right.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Tue Aug 30, 2005 3:29 pm
Handing Shamus three boxes of shells, he clicked his tongue and gestured to the car outside with his head. Port in one hand and a .357 in the other he kicked open the screen and stormed over to the car.
Getting in the passenger side he hugged the seat behind him, glowering at his son.
"If yer going to act like a bleedin' corsette, the least y'could do is put on a fekkin' wig."
He reeled into normal sitting position, spitting out the window as he did so.
After Shamus arrived, he said "Y'know where the embassy is, lad?"
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 1:43 am
Patrick let it all go. He had to concentrate on what they were about to do, so his father's last remark went unanswered. Time was a factor, surely, but Patty felt a need to draw some lines. He scooped up his thompson and an M1 Garand, and left the rest to his father and shammy to pick up. The irishman smiled to himself as a thought flickered through his mind.
If a tommy, an M1, two revolvers and a Colt .45 aren't enough to take care of this, I guess I deserve to die.
Still, Trick didn't speak. He was steeling himself for the battle to come, and wondering if it was worth anything at all. Most likely, one of Arthur's lads would shoot him for his betrayal, which he deserved, but at least he could help Shamus and his father. Cal knew exactly how his friend felt, up until just then, he had thought his father in the same predicament. As far as Patty was concerned, the situation was no different. The least he could do was the right thing for once, and he loved it when the right thing involved pissing off the brits.