Dublin

 

       Billy Finnen lifted the glass of dark liquid from the wooden bar and studied it for a moment. The white froth on the top of his Guinness had the pattern of a shamrock poured into it.

       “What’s the news on your brother Patrick, Billy? Are the police still holding him at Holyhead?” Shamus asked the question. He was trying to expand on what he already knew to be true. Billy Finnen wasn’t a man that you wanted to irritate, and he didn’t appear to be in the mood to talk. He was once the main enforcer for the Republican IRA.

       The IRA did not only fight a war for independence against the British Army, they also took it upon themselves to police the Catholic communities. They took a very dim view of anti-social behaviour of any kind especially drug dealing, burglary and car theft. It seems ironic that these brutal killers deemed such ordinary crimes as unacceptable. If there was a thief identified within the community that needed to be punished, Billy would arrange for it to happen.

       The Provo`s favourite punishment was to kneecap their victim. A pistol would be placed against the back of the victim`s knee joint, and then fired. The bullet would exit the front of the joint taking most of the shattered bone and cartilage with it. The result was to permanently cripple the criminal leaving them with a limp. The resulting crippled limb would then be a stigma that the criminal had to carry around his community for the rest of his life. A visible warning to anyone that contemplated going down that path.

              Though he had pulled the trigger many times himself, the catholic community knew Billy as a fixer nowadays. His henchmen however were as brutal as he had ever been. Since the troubles with the British Army in Ireland had subsided, the IRA`s gangster networks had turned their hands to other business. Drugs were the number one profit maker closely followed by the booming trade of importing young girls for the sex trade. Eastern European girls were given promises of great jobs in the UK, prospective nannies and nurses flocked over Europe`s borders in their hundreds, only to end up being sold into prostitution. The arms trade was also lucrative. The Provo`s had smuggled guns in and out of the country for years during the troubles, why waste an opportunity now?

             “It`s all about supply and demand, Shamus boy! We supply and then we demand the money!” was one of Billy’s favourite sayings. It was usually followed by a hearty slap on the back from a big hand that resembled a spade.

             “He’s been moved to Liverpool we think, to the new Terrorist Task Force lock-up on the River Mersey.” Billy leaned forward toward Shamus and lowered his voice. He didn’t want anyone to overhear his conversation. The Republicans had fallen foul of informers for years. There were many people in Ireland who did not condone the Provo`s methods and were only too keen to sell vital information to the British Intelligence agencies.

            “I`m not a happy man, Shamus, my friend, I think that the Arabs have tried to fuck me over. They had the nerve to ask me if one of our men had tipped the fucking customs with information about the explosives that my own brother was smuggling. The nerve of them, I ask you...? I have a van full of guns and grenades that belongs to them mind you, but I’m not so sure they`ll ever see them now. I`m sure that you get my drift, Shamus, I don’t think that the Arabs understand exactly who they are fucking with, Shamus.” The Irishman took a long drink of his beloved Guinness before continuing.

            “They think that we`re a bunch of stupid Mick’s. They think that we`re just thick Irishmen. Well now we`ll just have to show them the error of their ways now won’t we my friend?” Billy had a very strict code of justice. If you crossed him then it would generally cost you your life.

           “What have you got in mind, Billy?” Shamus felt the rush of adrenalin in his veins. It sounded like Billy meant business. That would mean that someone would get hurt; and that would also mean a big cash bonus for Shamus.

           “The Arab from Kilkenny that arranged the deal is on his way to the farm now. I want you to go and meet him there, Shamus. My brother is sitting sweating his balls off in a Liverpool prison because these fuckers have pulled a fast one. I want him hurt, Shamus, but I need him alive. He will need to be able to pass the message back to these bastards that we need some kind of compensation.” The IRA had experienced the power and wealth that governments and affiliated organisations from the Middle East possessed. The Republicans had received over two-million pounds sterling in aid during their struggle against the British Army from Arab nations. Billy`s greed was taking control of his best interest.

            “Financial compensation for the imprisonment of my brother is what we need. I am thinking that the name of the bastard who grassed them up and about a million pounds should cover the damage, lovely.” Billy took a gulp from his Guinness. Shamus swallowed his whiskey and nodded in agreement.

           “Is there anything that you need to know from the Arab apart from the informer`s name?” he asked as the burning Irish whiskey warmed his stomach.

           “I need an address in Warrington. That’s where the money for the guns came from. I am planning to send a little parcel through the post just as an incentive, you understand. I`ll need an address, Shamus, my friend. Bloody hell this is just like the old days!” Billy finished his pint and headed to the bar for another.

 

 

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