Bold Fenian Men

Padraig opened the front door and let himself in, dropping his coat on top of Cillian's, which was sitting on the chair in the hall. That chair basically had everything thrown on it. Coats, shoes, scarves, guns … whatever they threw down when they got in through the door.

"I'm back." he called. The house was silent, but then there were running footsteps on the stairs and Cillian appeared, looking so relived he looked as though he was about to faint.

"PADRAIG! Jesus Christ, where've you been?"

"Just at my parent's house."

"Crossmaglen? I rang them … Breige said you weren't there,"

"She fibbed for me. I didn’t really want to speak. Sorry if I scared ye."

"You bloody did," Cillian said, but he couldn't stay mad once he saw the state of his best friend. Padraig looked tired; there were bags under his eyes and he was shockingly pale. His hair was scruffy and in need of a wash, and he still looked weak and shaken.

"I'm all right," Padraig said, as though reading his best friend's mind.

"No you're not."

"I am." Padraig insisted.

"My arse." Cillian managed a soft laugh. "You look like you need a good rest, Padraig." Padraig suddenly looked up, and Cillian took a step back in shock. Padraig's eyes were no longer tired, but cold once more. They were hard and they flashed maliciously in the light. Cillian felt his heartbeat quicken.

"I'm fucking fine, or I will be once I get this sorted."

"W – what do you mean, Padraig?" Cillian stuttered, absolutely terrified at the evil in Padraig's eyes. He'd never seen his friend like this before. Never had he seen him look so angry, or speak with so much hate.

"What do I mean? I mean I fucking want the people who killed Gearoid, and Sean, and Tómás, and Proinsias … I want them all dead. And I want to be the once who kills them, that's what I mean."

"Padraig, you couldn't … the war it would spark off –"

"Are we not already in a war? I've lost four of my best men to those hun bastards, and I'm not loosing anymore."

"Sure you killed those three UVF men, did you not?"

"Well it obviously didn’t bring home the message, did it?"

"Padraig, they've assassination squads on you. If you make yourself known then they'll have you killed. You don’t know who could be watching you."

"I think I can handle them at the moment." Padraig hissed, and the look in his eyes told Cillian he meant what he was saying.

"Padraig, I don't know … you don't want to encourage a sectarian war, do you?"

"Are you fucking sticking up for them, Donnelly?" Padraig had suddenly grabbed Cillian, putting him up against the wall and glaring at him. Cillian felt his heartbeat quicken as he eyed the gun in Padraig's waistband. He never knew was Padraig Caraher was capable of in these moods, and he didn't want to find out. He knew full well that Padraig's reputation was built on fact, and the hard, cold look on Padraig's face scared him.

"I'm – I'm not sticking u – up for them, P – Padraig," Cillian stammered, his heart thumping madly. Padraig let him go.

"Good. Because I've a job for you. You. Cearnaigh. Get as many guys from the pub as you can and I want you to grab and one of McAllister's men you see out and about. I don’t care which one. Any of them."

"What are you going to do?"

"Me?" Padraig laughed, a short, cold laugh that sent a chill up Cillian's spine. "I'm going to fucking kill him, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make McAllister feel the same pain I feel. Go. Now. No messing."

Cillian watched his friend for a second more, and then he hurried out of the door. He had a job to do.