"You could have started this out with a few boxes, maybe a pizza. What's this? Some sort of mince pie?"

James grumbled from his seat opposite Gall. 

"Sorry, mate. Something about LA has me nostalgic about all of this, you know, lad?" 

James just lit up a smoke as he blew out rings with ease. "Right, Fallon. Could you just tell me why I'm here? I've got work to do, and unlike you, I don't exactly work for...professionals."

James rolled his eyes as he thought about the countless run-ins he'd had the past week. There was something about greedy pickpockets that he didn't have the heart to stop, but who gave a rat's ass? What was $15,000 when he'd be able to rob a drug mule here and there? 

"Yeah, how is Intoxication, by the by? Thought it was some sort of bar when I first heard it, you know?" James shrugged as Fallon poured them both a glass of the amber as he looked up at the ceiling. 

"It's alright, good gig, security or some shit. Doesn't matter in the long run, does it? I've got other gigs for Charles. Which is why we're here, isn't it?" 

James wasn't stupid, and he knew when people were unhappy, pretty much why Charles sent him out here. A deterrent of sorts. 

Fallon was always the go-to guy, and he was pretty much the point of contact for business with the Irish and their AKs this side of the fucking coast; it'd made for alright business, not the best, not the worst. 

"Galen is a bit worried that your presence will stir up old habits. A lot of people remember the 40s, James." Yeah, so did he. 

He was younger then, wiser now, and still an ass, but tomatoes and all that. 

"A lot of people remember when the mafia had a bigger stranglehold over the feds, but if that were the case, you wouldn't be here. So let's talk real business and not the past, aight?" James grunted as he realised that he didn't exactly have time for this shit. 

He wanted business, and nothing else. 

"Xavier's doing too much, James. This isn't what we expected, and we're hearing about a group of kids influencing his every action. Now we find that you're out here trying to facilitate the better of the two options. So, uh, you know, it leaves us a bit curious, lad. What are we doing here? How are we going to move these guns? The cause requires a bit more than one man." 

That was funny. 

From where he was sitting, James saw one man answering for the Kings back in Belfast, but again, that was a different style of hierarchy compared to the ones that they'd seen in the states. 

They lived differently, and James knew it'd take a phone call for Xavier to stare down the barrel with two buttonmen ready to do him in. 

He didn't like it, but what else was he going to fucking do? 

"Options?" He grunted, his thoughts a mess as he continued to stare at the point of contact that they'd made money for not two weeks ago, but shit, a lot changed in two weeks, much less two hours, in this life. 

"The kings would like it if you stepped it up, with the full support of the cause. We'd give you access to our military stock and high-powered materials. You'd be the main distribution for our American interests. Be it for a little job as well, assassination."

Of fucking 'course. 

Because why the fuck was it never not easy?

"Whoop-de-doo, bub. Tell me who it is, and I'll need to consider it besides the overall promotion you're using to butter this up, Fallon." James was annoyed, but that's when he realised why they were here. 

In his territory. 

Clear and devoid of any federal agents or even the lack of Drug Front properties. It was practically a legitimate business besides the fact that there wasn't a cook in the back and there was a distinct darkness that reeked of mould. Perhaps the Galley had seen better days in its heyday, but this? Fucking Christ. 

It was worse than the crown and cork he'd gotten back in Vegas. 

"Chief of LAPD, William Calhoun." 

James just stared at Fallon like he had the same lack of wits that Summers had in that entire car journey that passed like a blur now that he thought about it, but this was different, annoyingly so. 

"Why?" He grunted, and he knew a lot of people didn't ask questions when it came to their bosses, but this wasn't his boss; it was a 'freedom fighter.' 

"He's got a grudge against us true Irishmen. Can you believe it? Something about a true Irish supporter knocking up his wife. He's set dogs and guards on our shipments. Our true Canadian and South American brothers can't get their shit. It'd be appreciated by the cause if you could make it clear that it was us; we'll take the heat whilst you continue with our weapons."

Cutting Xavier out but getting James, one of the biggest supporters of the true Irish supporters. Perhaps it'd help with the family, and maybe he could have made it simpler, but a chief of a state's police force was and would never be small-time. 

James knew that. 

"I want everything." He cleared his throat and leaned forward; he stamped out the smoke without another thought as he tilted his head to the side and considered his options as Fallon scratched the side of his head. 

"Sorry? Don't think I heard you quite clear there, mate." Fallon did, but his shock was clear, and James' confidence was as obvious as the knives he kept on him at all times. 

"In the future, when I become a made guy in this thing of theirs." He whispered about the general behaviour that the cities/states had about one another and their causes for promotions. "I want everything. Canada, South America, and where we are right now, the contacts and supply all belong to me." 

James sipped the amber, and wooh, it was definitely some good stuff, allowing him to relax more than usual and maybe understand when this job might have taken place. 

"That's a big ask for a small man." Fallon tried to play it off, but they both knew it was the only play they had. 

True Irish supporters were flagged and were watched. James was newer, smarter, and older than he looked, but fuck, was it fun to know that he could actually have some fun if he was allowed that at the very fucking least. 

"A small man can cast a big fucking 'shadow. A police chief holds influence, but a head of a state like Calhoun? It calls for fucking 'riots, and I want bites of it. A bit of respect, my friend, and that means everything flows through me. I can get you trains, warehouses, docks, port officials, and more. You know it too; Canada's losing ground, and so is South America. If you want true business, give me the guns, and I'll deliver you what you need exactly. A single man holds a lot of sway."

James knew what he could have done, and he knew he'd be ready to pull off the job necessary, especially 

"I can see your head spinning. Galen won't be proud of this, and it'd be fucking stupid to involve him after what he's pulled here, brother. You have to consider other things besides your friendship with an ageing old man." 

Xavier had connections he needed, and it'd keep Erik busy in the meanwhile, as sooner or later that little problem would need to be dealt with, bloody. 

"Galen needs to understand that his cause comes before his fucking 'quirks of personality.' Isn't that right? It's not about colour, my friend. It's about the cause, right?" James mocked it slightly, and yet even Fallon seemed to understand it. 

The cause was all, absolutely, and if this was pulled off correctly, Fallon would be considered for bigger and bigger until he was an Irish king himself, feasting on a proverbial throne in Belfast with everything that James has done for this cause. Yup, it was a thought, and one that needed to be considered for the greater good or something like that. 

"When can you get it done?" Fallon wasn't simple by any means, but he needed to know when he'd have to call in a shipment as he slid over a card to James. 

"What's this shit?" He gritted his teeth at the thought that he'd need a babysitter. 

"A friend of a friend, I don't know, something about her perhaps. She's said to have been good in high-pressure situations; plus, maybe it'll be good for you to have a date." Fallon winked as James glanced down at the card. 

"Fuck. Whatever, I'll send her a letter or two and see if she can't understand the business end of a real meeting." James rolled his eyes before he stood up and leaned over Fallon with a whisper. 

"I want fifty AKs, by the way. Ten pistols and an RPG, my friend. I'll have some buyers ready for you in two months. Keep an eye on the news for the next six months, maybe less. I'll contact this....Marika. Fuck whoever she is and see if she can't do some other work. Ciao, bub."

James stomped out, immediately lighting a smoke as he wondered what he was going to do about Chief of LAPD, William Calhoun. 

All for a bit of gun green, but hey, it was a better job than Xavier in New York. 

Maybe the perks would be alright.