Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Eighteen
Padraig had already decided that he hadn’t even been at the pub at the time when they reached the police station. Because of the terrorist laws that had come in (Padraig hated them being called that) he was liable for seven day's questioning. Padraig wasn't looking forward to it. Last time they'd taken to giving him a good smacking when they'd got frustrated with him.
Ordinary IRA men weren't allowed to say a word when under interrogation, but Padraig always enjoyed winding the police up when there. He was nearly his own boss, anyway. There was only one guy higher up than him and that was the IRA's Chief of Staff. Padraig was too clever to blurt anything out anyway.
There was the usual routine when they arrived at the police station. Padraig knew it off by heart. He was sat in a room by himself while they filled in all the relevant paperwork (they knew his details better than he knew them, due to the amount of times he'd been in this position), and then he was checked over by a doctor, to make sure he didn’t have any bumps or bruises that he could later blame on the police.
"All right, stopped feeling me up, lads?" Padraig asked cheekily as two policemen took an arm each and led him out of the room. "Ye don’t need to hold me. I know where I'm going by now." One of the policemen chuckled.
"Not quite done with you yet." Padraig was led into an empty room. "Get changed into that and give us your clothes."
"Framing them and putting them on the wall?"
"Of course." Padraig's face lit up.
"Really?"
"Of course not, you eejit. We need them to check them, don’t we?" Padraig chuckled.
"I can tell you know there'll not be anything on them. I wasn't even there, sure I told you that."
"I'm sure you weren't." the other policeman said sarcastically. "And empty your pockets." Padraig was still in a rather good mood so he obliged, throwing out his car keys, house keys, wallet and empty packet of crisps.
"God, those crisps were nice," he muttered to himself for randomness. "I'd better get everything back. Including the crisp packet."
"You're a moron, Caraher, you know that?"
"I wasn't aware of it, no."
"Give us your clothes."
"I'm not stripping off in front of you gay men."
"Stop your messing, Caraher, and get changed." Padraig sat on the floor.
"I can wait as long as you can, chaps."
"Jesus, you son of a –"
"No need to get nasty." Padraig said sweetly. "Just go outside."
"And you of all people should know why we can't do that."
"Because you like to see people half-naked?"
"You could be hiding something on you."
"I've just emptied my pockets. And even if I did have something on me," Padraig gestured around him. "Where would I hide it?"
The two policemen looked at Padraig for a long time, who stared right back at them. Then they sighed and disappeared out of the door.
When they came back in Padraig was walking around the room juggling his keys.
"Caraher, how old are you?" one of them asked, handcuffing him again and leading him out of the room, while he other one collected his clothes.
"I'm twenty-one, ten by heart."
"Get in there and shut up." Padraig was thrown into a cell and the door was slammed shut.
"CAN I HAVE SOME ALCOHOL?" he yelled after the policeman, as he disappeared down the hallway. There was no reply. "Fine. Be that way." Padraig huffed, sitting down on the end of his bed and glaring at the wall. It was going to be a long night.
Ordinary IRA men weren't allowed to say a word when under interrogation, but Padraig always enjoyed winding the police up when there. He was nearly his own boss, anyway. There was only one guy higher up than him and that was the IRA's Chief of Staff. Padraig was too clever to blurt anything out anyway.
There was the usual routine when they arrived at the police station. Padraig knew it off by heart. He was sat in a room by himself while they filled in all the relevant paperwork (they knew his details better than he knew them, due to the amount of times he'd been in this position), and then he was checked over by a doctor, to make sure he didn’t have any bumps or bruises that he could later blame on the police.
"All right, stopped feeling me up, lads?" Padraig asked cheekily as two policemen took an arm each and led him out of the room. "Ye don’t need to hold me. I know where I'm going by now." One of the policemen chuckled.
"Not quite done with you yet." Padraig was led into an empty room. "Get changed into that and give us your clothes."
"Framing them and putting them on the wall?"
"Of course." Padraig's face lit up.
"Really?"
"Of course not, you eejit. We need them to check them, don’t we?" Padraig chuckled.
"I can tell you know there'll not be anything on them. I wasn't even there, sure I told you that."
"I'm sure you weren't." the other policeman said sarcastically. "And empty your pockets." Padraig was still in a rather good mood so he obliged, throwing out his car keys, house keys, wallet and empty packet of crisps.
"God, those crisps were nice," he muttered to himself for randomness. "I'd better get everything back. Including the crisp packet."
"You're a moron, Caraher, you know that?"
"I wasn't aware of it, no."
"Give us your clothes."
"I'm not stripping off in front of you gay men."
"Stop your messing, Caraher, and get changed." Padraig sat on the floor.
"I can wait as long as you can, chaps."
"Jesus, you son of a –"
"No need to get nasty." Padraig said sweetly. "Just go outside."
"And you of all people should know why we can't do that."
"Because you like to see people half-naked?"
"You could be hiding something on you."
"I've just emptied my pockets. And even if I did have something on me," Padraig gestured around him. "Where would I hide it?"
The two policemen looked at Padraig for a long time, who stared right back at them. Then they sighed and disappeared out of the door.
When they came back in Padraig was walking around the room juggling his keys.
"Caraher, how old are you?" one of them asked, handcuffing him again and leading him out of the room, while he other one collected his clothes.
"I'm twenty-one, ten by heart."
"Get in there and shut up." Padraig was thrown into a cell and the door was slammed shut.
"CAN I HAVE SOME ALCOHOL?" he yelled after the policeman, as he disappeared down the hallway. There was no reply. "Fine. Be that way." Padraig huffed, sitting down on the end of his bed and glaring at the wall. It was going to be a long night.