Home > Ruthless People (Ruthless People #1)(4)

Ruthless People (Ruthless People #1)(4)
Author: J.J. McAvoy

Fedel did so before nodding. “But of course, nothing less than perfection for the Irish mutt. That doesn’t only apply to the schools, but also their fancy half-a-million-dollar suits, luxury cars, vacations houses, parties, and whores.”

That got my attention.

“He uses high-end hookers?” It shouldn’t surprise me much, all men had their toys. I would have to put an end to it when we were married, but I understood. The marriage contract our fathers signed fifteen years ago stated neither side would tolerate infidelity. It had less to do with romance and more to do with strategic reasoning. Hookers and lovers almost always led to the fall of an empire. The moment you became comfortable with one another, secrets were spilled, and information was stolen in the dead of night. It was just easier to do without it.

“None that we could find. Instead, he just buys them pretty, shiny things like diamond bracelets, expensive purses, or thousand dollar shoes. They all like their shoes,” he said mockingly, sliding over photos of all the women Liam had been with. It was quite a list. At least he would be an experienced lover, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was good in bed.

“Is he clean?” If he wasn’t, we could buy whatever drug was needed. Ninety percent of everything out there had a cure . . . with the right credit card.

“As a damn whistle,” Fedel said, almost disappointed. “From his current health records, he is healthier than a racehorse, which is surprising with amount of brandy he drinks. His beverage of choice—Camus Cuvee. He has a damn glass, or even the bottle, to his lips in every photo. He isn’t depressed or an alcoholic, he’s—”

“Just Irish.” I added. They could drink every day, from dusk until dawn, and still walk a straight line.

“Exactly. From what I’ve gathered, he’s the brains and is also highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, boxing being a pastime of his. It looks like daddy dearest has spent most of his time forging him to take his place.”

“Doesn’t he have an elder brother?”

“Yes, he does. Meet Neal Aiden Callahan, age thirty-one. Married to Malibu Barbie, aka Olivia Ann Colemen, age twenty-nine, three years ago.” He lifted up a photo of the happy couple. Neal was all muscle with brown hair and hazel eyes, while his wife looked like a life-sized Barbie doll. On her wrist was a small tattoo of a Celtic Knot in the shape of an oak tree.

“A Dara knot.” I told him looking over the lines.

Fedel’s eyebrow rose. “A what?’

I did not repeat myself but explained, “It means internal fortitude; to remain strong regardless of the circumstances around you. It seems Barbie is not very fond of the world she lives in.”

“Well she sure likes the money it brings her. She can’t bite the hands that give her those nice Jimmy Choo’s.”

Dropping the photo, I waited for him to go on.

“As for her husband, Neal is also a proud graduate of Dartmouth, by the skin of teeth as it happens,” Fedel added. “And is also a world-class sniper. When he isn’t killing people from hundreds of yards away, he is playing baseball . . . a lot.”

“So the brother is an idiot. Olivia’s maiden name is Colemen?” I repeated, focusing back on his wife as I took another sip. “As in Senator Daniel Colemen?”

Fedel nodded, lifting up a photo of the man in question. “Yes, Senator Daniel Colemen, a right-wing conservative pushing for a smaller government, and I wonder why? Her mother is an active left-wing liberal blogger, which is why they are divorced and the former Mrs. Colemen is now helping the needy children of Africa as the head of the Callahan’s Global Youth Charity. Both know about their daughter’s new family and approve.”

I grinned at that. “Is it real a charity?”

“Sadly, yes. When they aren’t stealing cars for the black-market, organizing several murders-for-hire, or selling heroin, crack, and meth to Suzy down the block, they’re attending ballets and charity balls to better their community.” He shook his head.

“What about this one?” I asked, pointing to the man beside Liam. He had the same green eyes as Liam, however the man’s hair was longer and a lighter shade of brown. I figured the African American woman next to him had to be his wife.

“Ah, Declan Alvin Callahan—”

“Why the fuck do all their middle names start with an A?” I asked.

Fedel looked around to see if he had the answer somewhere in his papers. I didn’t need to know, but watching him squirm was amusing. First generation Italian, like myself, we looked a lot alike—the same olive skin tone, pitch black hair, and brown eyes. He was my right hand, and in some ways, that made him closer to me than a sibling. Nonetheless, I never wanted him to get too comfortable. No matter how ridiculous my question was, or how pointless it may seem, his job was to get my answer or die trying.

“It seems to be a tradition started in the eighteen-forties after the first Callahans came over from Ireland,” he said at last. Nodding, I waited for him to continue.

“Declan Alvin Callahan, age twenty-nine, married to Coraline Wilson, age twenty-five. He is the son of Sedric’s older brother, who was set up by the Valero twenty years ago, and killed by Chicago PD in the crossfire. Since then, Sedric has raised Declan almost as his own. Coraline, the wife, is the daughter of Adam Wilson, big shot bank owner. From what we can tell, Declan was the one who hacked the system this morning and stole that twenty-seven million from the Russians a few years back. Most of them still don’t know he did it. Those who did were killed off, most likely by Neal.”

What a lovely family.

“Coraline. I’ve seen her face before,” I stated, staring at the photo of Declan Callahan’s wife.

“Maybe that’s because if Robin Hood and Mother Teresa had a daughter it would be her.”

I tried not to smile. “Explain.”

He left a spread of photos across the table. In each one Coraline was either feeding the homeless, giving blood, rebuilding homes, and so on.

“She spends more time giving away all her shit than anyone in the family. Last year alone she spent almost nine million on charities and performed over two thousand hours of community service. It’s like she’s—”

“Guilty,” I stated. Giving was normal. Giving to make yourself look like a better person was normal, but this went way beyond that.

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