Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Fifteen
Padraig was still raging as he burst into the pub a few minutes after Cillian left. Roisin looked up, alarmed.
"Padraig! Where've you been?" Padraig walked over to her, and Roisin knew that something was up b the look on his face.
"Roisin, you might want to go home." he said to her, his voice soft though his face was hard.
"Why? What's happened?" Roisin asked, worried.
"Nothing's happened, yet." Padraig said. "There's just something going on and I don’t want you around when it kicks off. It's not going to be pretty. A young lady like you shouldn’t worry her head about it." Roisin's soft brown eyes suddenly filled with understanding.
"Oh, Padraig, you're not, are you?"
"I have to. It's time we evened the scoreboard."
"You really shouldn't, Padraig. They'll only do it again to someone else."
"They fucking won’t," Padraig muttered angrily. "I don’t really care at the moment, Roisin. I just want to get that hun bastard back for what he did to my boys. I'm fed up of him getting away with it. It's about time I taught him another lesson, I feel. Now, if I were you, I'd take yourself and your friends and I'd go home and I wouldn’t look back."
Roisin watched Padraig for a little while, but she'd known him long enough to know that there was a right time and a wrong time to ask questions, and now was the wrong time.
She turned around and went into the room behind the bar. A couple of minutes later she emerged with the other two bargirls and, taking their coats, they left the pub. A few people left with them, but the rest of the customers all had IRA connections. It was up to them if they stayed or not.
Padraig grabbed himself a drink and downed it in one. Anything to try and dull that sharp pain in his heart, the pain that ripped through him whenever he remembered young Gearoid's terrified face. It was time to even things out … time for a little revenge …
Padraig looked up as he heard the pub door open. A few seconds later, the door leading out to the porch opened and Cillian and Cearnaigh appeared through. Padraig recognised the man they held in between them instantly.
He was William McAllister's second-in-command, and he was the very one who'd killed Gearoid. Padraig knew this. It didn’t take a lot of working out.
"Stop your fucking struggling," Cillian yelled at him, and he and Cearnaigh threw him to the floor and they both pinned him down with their feet, much in the same manner as McAllister had pinned Padraig to the floor. Padraig smiled, and then he walked over, standing over the man, who was a few years Padraig's senior, and smiled again at him. He recognised Padraig instantly.
"YOU! I should have fucking known it would have been you, Caraher!"
"You should have been more careful then, shouldn’t you?"
"I didn’t think you'd stoop to our level, eh?"
"Perhaps it's about time?" Padraig asked. He crouched beside him and watched him closely. "I am fucking fed up or you and your bunch of bastards going around the place, killing my men, threatening my people and ruining my country's chances or ever being a nation ever again. It's gone far enough, son. And you know what was the final straw, eh?"
"Probably the wee fellow we did the other day, I'm guessing." There was no remorse in the man's voice. He was almost gloating. Padraig managed a thin smile.
"Indeed. And now, I'm afraid you'll have to pay the price. No one, and I mean fucking NO ONE, had the right to mess with any of my boys. And you're no exception."
"You'd never go through with it, Caraher. You're not like us." He laughed. "You'd never want to attack an unarmed men, would you?" Padraig laughed. Playing with his conscience wasn't going to work today.
"I took a little break to find myself, let's say. And I've decided that killing you would be just the thing that would make me feel better right now."
"Padraig! Where've you been?" Padraig walked over to her, and Roisin knew that something was up b the look on his face.
"Roisin, you might want to go home." he said to her, his voice soft though his face was hard.
"Why? What's happened?" Roisin asked, worried.
"Nothing's happened, yet." Padraig said. "There's just something going on and I don’t want you around when it kicks off. It's not going to be pretty. A young lady like you shouldn’t worry her head about it." Roisin's soft brown eyes suddenly filled with understanding.
"Oh, Padraig, you're not, are you?"
"I have to. It's time we evened the scoreboard."
"You really shouldn't, Padraig. They'll only do it again to someone else."
"They fucking won’t," Padraig muttered angrily. "I don’t really care at the moment, Roisin. I just want to get that hun bastard back for what he did to my boys. I'm fed up of him getting away with it. It's about time I taught him another lesson, I feel. Now, if I were you, I'd take yourself and your friends and I'd go home and I wouldn’t look back."
Roisin watched Padraig for a little while, but she'd known him long enough to know that there was a right time and a wrong time to ask questions, and now was the wrong time.
She turned around and went into the room behind the bar. A couple of minutes later she emerged with the other two bargirls and, taking their coats, they left the pub. A few people left with them, but the rest of the customers all had IRA connections. It was up to them if they stayed or not.
Padraig grabbed himself a drink and downed it in one. Anything to try and dull that sharp pain in his heart, the pain that ripped through him whenever he remembered young Gearoid's terrified face. It was time to even things out … time for a little revenge …
Padraig looked up as he heard the pub door open. A few seconds later, the door leading out to the porch opened and Cillian and Cearnaigh appeared through. Padraig recognised the man they held in between them instantly.
He was William McAllister's second-in-command, and he was the very one who'd killed Gearoid. Padraig knew this. It didn’t take a lot of working out.
"Stop your fucking struggling," Cillian yelled at him, and he and Cearnaigh threw him to the floor and they both pinned him down with their feet, much in the same manner as McAllister had pinned Padraig to the floor. Padraig smiled, and then he walked over, standing over the man, who was a few years Padraig's senior, and smiled again at him. He recognised Padraig instantly.
"YOU! I should have fucking known it would have been you, Caraher!"
"You should have been more careful then, shouldn’t you?"
"I didn’t think you'd stoop to our level, eh?"
"Perhaps it's about time?" Padraig asked. He crouched beside him and watched him closely. "I am fucking fed up or you and your bunch of bastards going around the place, killing my men, threatening my people and ruining my country's chances or ever being a nation ever again. It's gone far enough, son. And you know what was the final straw, eh?"
"Probably the wee fellow we did the other day, I'm guessing." There was no remorse in the man's voice. He was almost gloating. Padraig managed a thin smile.
"Indeed. And now, I'm afraid you'll have to pay the price. No one, and I mean fucking NO ONE, had the right to mess with any of my boys. And you're no exception."
"You'd never go through with it, Caraher. You're not like us." He laughed. "You'd never want to attack an unarmed men, would you?" Padraig laughed. Playing with his conscience wasn't going to work today.
"I took a little break to find myself, let's say. And I've decided that killing you would be just the thing that would make me feel better right now."