"It was an accident," he starts, moving to light a cigarette. "They were meant to steal a few motorcycles, to smuggle. Only when we opened that crate, we found rifles, pistols, rounds. Bound for Libya. And now it was sitting in one of our warehouses."
Lark snickers. "What gods have you pissed off, Tommy?"
He sips his drink. Then really gulps it down because Tommy's is significantly better than what he'd had an hour ago, and he's a wolf and he's done with self-moderation right now.
"But actually, I guess the god you managed to cozy up to is even better. I have no idea how you escape Libyans and their friends; were they as brutal then as they are now?"
"I'm fairly sure I've pissed off all of them at this point," he points out, faintly amused.
"It never got to that point. You see, I was going to sell these guns to the highest bidder, get a good profit, invest in the business. Only then both the IRA and the British police got involved."
He groans, nods. "So you potentially had two customers plus the cops, only the Libyans were likely out of reach, and the IRA were probably eager to take the guns off of you for free? And the cops, of course, will give you nothing for them except possibly a free visit to a prison."
"Ah, and the IRA would leave me with a lovely parting shot," he continues, shrugging.
"No-- I was going to find other parties. No one could prove that we had them, there was nothing saying it. But then this copper came 'round: Inspector Campbell of Belfast. And he-- he hated me, and he hated my family, and he hated communists. And as luck would have it, or Campbell's luck anyway, my sister was in love with a communist.
She wanted to be with him. She ran when I told him she couldn't," because he's a fool, and he knows that now. "And Campbell told me that if I gave him those guns, he would no longer go hunting for my sister and her lover."
He sits back again, exhales, and knocks back his drink. "So I promised him. I promised him those guns, so that my sister might elope with the commie fuck I used to call a friend."
Of course, nothing worked out like that. But that was the plan.
Lark offers his glass for a refill. "...Somehow I can't see a cop of any persuasion giving up on a grudge just because you promised him what he wanted."
The only member of Tommy's family who Lark has a clear picture of is Arthur, and for various reasons Lark avoids ever asking about him. The sister, he can't picture at all. Is her hair like Tommy's? Her eyes?
"We're spending far too much time together if you can read me that well," Lark grins, which is how he admits that Tommy's right. "I was just wondering about your sister. I know about Polly, your brothers, Grace...but you don't mention your sister as often."
Lark is always hyper-focused on the world around him, and it's the slight absence that had tipped him off-- but he hadn't realized how well he can read him now, and he laughs with him.
"Sorry. I don't-- because I haven't seen much of her in the past year, and didn't see her for the four years we were in France. She's strong-headed. Very stubborn."
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He can't quite remember- it's not a story he tells often, and he's told Lark quite a lot, but he's not sure.
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And Lark hadn't asked because, at the time, they'd been quietly sharing details about Lisbeth and Grace.
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He sips his drink. Then really gulps it down because Tommy's is significantly better than what he'd had an hour ago, and he's a wolf and he's done with self-moderation right now.
"But actually, I guess the god you managed to cozy up to is even better. I have no idea how you escape Libyans and their friends; were they as brutal then as they are now?"
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"It never got to that point. You see, I was going to sell these guns to the highest bidder, get a good profit, invest in the business. Only then both the IRA and the British police got involved."
You can surely see his dilemma.
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"No-- I was going to find other parties. No one could prove that we had them, there was nothing saying it. But then this copper came 'round: Inspector Campbell of Belfast. And he-- he hated me, and he hated my family, and he hated communists. And as luck would have it, or Campbell's luck anyway, my sister was in love with a communist.
She wanted to be with him. She ran when I told him she couldn't," because he's a fool, and he knows that now. "And Campbell told me that if I gave him those guns, he would no longer go hunting for my sister and her lover."
He sits back again, exhales, and knocks back his drink. "So I promised him. I promised him those guns, so that my sister might elope with the commie fuck I used to call a friend."
Of course, nothing worked out like that. But that was the plan.
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The only member of Tommy's family who Lark has a clear picture of is Arthur, and for various reasons Lark avoids ever asking about him. The sister, he can't picture at all. Is her hair like Tommy's? Her eyes?
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"You look like you want to ask something else."
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"Sorry. I don't-- because I haven't seen much of her in the past year, and didn't see her for the four years we were in France. She's strong-headed. Very stubborn."