Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Three
"What the Hell do you mean you don’t know where you put it?" Cillian jumped at the outbreak of yelling from his friend, who was standing in the corner of the pub on the phone.
"What’s going on?" Cillian asked. Padraig held up a hand to silence him, and Cillian obediently fell silent, still watching his best friend curiously.
"Look, Cearnaigh, this isn't good enough. How the Hell are you supposed to pull off a successful IRA operation involving guns if you don't know where you put the guns?" Padraig frowned as Cearnaigh said something. Then he groaned, swore, and hung up.
"What's happened?" Cillian asked.
"He's leant the guns to another unit and they haven’t got it back. I fucking told him to make sure he got them back, didn’t I? What was he last thing I told him?"
"To get the gun back," Cillian answered as he trotted after Padraig.
"And what didn’t he do?"
"Get the gun back."
"Exactly. I'm going to go over to Gearoid's place, get the blasted gun, and then I'm going to bloody try it out on Cearnaigh."
"Ah, Padraig, ye don’t mean that."
"I might not do it but I'd certainly bloody like to!" Padraig groaned dramatically. "Get in." he commanded, and Cillian got into the passenger side of the car.
"You'd better not have been drinking." Cillian warned as Padraig slipped in behind the wheel.
"Of course I haven’t." Padraig looked at his friend and laughed. "Jesus Christ, Cillian Donnelly, I'm the world's most-wanted IRA man and you're worried if I'm drinking? That's the least of my worries if the police pull me over." Padraig turned and looked behind him, reversing the car out of the car park and onto the main road.
They drove up past the house he and Cillian shared and soon pulled up outside the house belong to Gearoid, another IRA man who, although talented, wasn't as efficient as Padraig and his immediate unit.
"GEAROID McMAHON!" Padraig yelled, banging on the door as loud as he could. "Open up!"
A tired looking Gearoid staggered to the door and pulled it open.
"Whaddaaya want, Caraher?" he asked, voice thick with sleep.
"Straighten up, man, and show your commanding officer some respect." Padraig flicked Gearoid's chin and Gearoid reluctantly straightened up, grumbling but not wishing to try his luck with the feared temper of Padraig Caraher. "Let’s try that again, shall we?"
Gearoid glared.
"Oh, how very pleasant to see you, Mr Caraher." he said, with a voice dripping with sarcasm. "What can I help you with this fine day?"
"Much better." Padraig said, letting the sarcasm go over his head. Cillian chuckled, shaking his head admiringly at his friend. Padraig moved Gearoid out of the way and made his way into the kitchen.
"Do ye mind?" Gearoid asked moodily.
"No I don’t mind, actually." Padraig said. Cillian appeared in the doorway and watched on curiously.
"Youse could have at least picked more sociable hours." Gearoid groaned.
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon, McMahon." Padraig growled, suddenly angry. Gearoid immediately backed down.
"Sorry, Padraig –"
"You were supposed to be at the pub at half two, weren't you? Now we’ve nearly the whole Ulster Volunteer Force out there and we're stuck with me without a gun. I'm not a very happy chap right now, so if I were you I'd get off my lazy ass and fetch me my fucking gun." Gearoid scrambled back upstairs and the two young IRA Volunteers downstairs heard him rummaging around in his bedroom.
"What’s going on?" Cillian asked. Padraig held up a hand to silence him, and Cillian obediently fell silent, still watching his best friend curiously.
"Look, Cearnaigh, this isn't good enough. How the Hell are you supposed to pull off a successful IRA operation involving guns if you don't know where you put the guns?" Padraig frowned as Cearnaigh said something. Then he groaned, swore, and hung up.
"What's happened?" Cillian asked.
"He's leant the guns to another unit and they haven’t got it back. I fucking told him to make sure he got them back, didn’t I? What was he last thing I told him?"
"To get the gun back," Cillian answered as he trotted after Padraig.
"And what didn’t he do?"
"Get the gun back."
"Exactly. I'm going to go over to Gearoid's place, get the blasted gun, and then I'm going to bloody try it out on Cearnaigh."
"Ah, Padraig, ye don’t mean that."
"I might not do it but I'd certainly bloody like to!" Padraig groaned dramatically. "Get in." he commanded, and Cillian got into the passenger side of the car.
"You'd better not have been drinking." Cillian warned as Padraig slipped in behind the wheel.
"Of course I haven’t." Padraig looked at his friend and laughed. "Jesus Christ, Cillian Donnelly, I'm the world's most-wanted IRA man and you're worried if I'm drinking? That's the least of my worries if the police pull me over." Padraig turned and looked behind him, reversing the car out of the car park and onto the main road.
They drove up past the house he and Cillian shared and soon pulled up outside the house belong to Gearoid, another IRA man who, although talented, wasn't as efficient as Padraig and his immediate unit.
"GEAROID McMAHON!" Padraig yelled, banging on the door as loud as he could. "Open up!"
A tired looking Gearoid staggered to the door and pulled it open.
"Whaddaaya want, Caraher?" he asked, voice thick with sleep.
"Straighten up, man, and show your commanding officer some respect." Padraig flicked Gearoid's chin and Gearoid reluctantly straightened up, grumbling but not wishing to try his luck with the feared temper of Padraig Caraher. "Let’s try that again, shall we?"
Gearoid glared.
"Oh, how very pleasant to see you, Mr Caraher." he said, with a voice dripping with sarcasm. "What can I help you with this fine day?"
"Much better." Padraig said, letting the sarcasm go over his head. Cillian chuckled, shaking his head admiringly at his friend. Padraig moved Gearoid out of the way and made his way into the kitchen.
"Do ye mind?" Gearoid asked moodily.
"No I don’t mind, actually." Padraig said. Cillian appeared in the doorway and watched on curiously.
"Youse could have at least picked more sociable hours." Gearoid groaned.
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon, McMahon." Padraig growled, suddenly angry. Gearoid immediately backed down.
"Sorry, Padraig –"
"You were supposed to be at the pub at half two, weren't you? Now we’ve nearly the whole Ulster Volunteer Force out there and we're stuck with me without a gun. I'm not a very happy chap right now, so if I were you I'd get off my lazy ass and fetch me my fucking gun." Gearoid scrambled back upstairs and the two young IRA Volunteers downstairs heard him rummaging around in his bedroom.