Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Forty-Two
Everything was silent on the Shankill Road. The road was deserted, and not a single person walked the street. It was as it everyone knew what was about to happen. As if everyone knew that there was about to be a battle that would decide everything.
A movement on the street broke the false pretence of peace. A young man broke cover from an alleyway, and he moved over into the road and stood looking at the pub in front of him for a long time. Padraig Caraher was scared. He knew that tonight would end it all. One of them would die. One of them had to die. And Padraig was half-convinced it would be him.
All around him, but unseen, were the rest of Padraig's immediate unit, as instructed. Padraig wanted them to think he was alone. He wanted to lure McAllister into a false sense of security. And then he wouldn't be expecting anything. But Padraig didn’t exactly know what McAllister would expect, as Padraig himself didn’t know what was going to happen.
The young IRA Commander drew his gun and took a deep breath, cocking it. The sound of the gun being cocked broke the silence in the street, and it made Padraig move. He made his feet carry him to the door of the pub, and he slowly opened the door so as not to let the people inside know he was there. Padraig knew the pub well. He had been taken here and nearly murdered a little while back. Padraig still hadn't forgotten what they had put him through, and he felt rage bubble through him.
Padraig went through the porch area of the pub, and he let his hand rest on the door handle for a second or two, realising that he may not be going back out through this door alive. Sure, he might be going back through it, but would it be in a body bag? Would the headlines tomorrow tell of Padraig Caraher's murder? Would he be gone, vanished from the earth, in less than twenty-four hours?
And what would happen to Roisin and his unborn child?
Padraig knew that there was no turning back now, and he decided to go in the Padraig Caraher way. He cracked open the door and slipped into the pub, which was packed full of UVF men. No one noticed him straight away. In the split second that it took for them to realise that the IRA man was in the room, Padraig had located McAllister and aimed the gun.
McAllister realised just as Padraig pulled the trigger and ducked out of the way. The bullet skimmed McAllister's head, cutting his cheek and sending blood running down his face. Several people went to Padraig, but McAllister held up a hand.
"Leave him!" he said, and the UVF men moved away from Padraig slightly, leaving him in the middle of a group of people. McAllister walked up to him and stood, smiling at Padraig. "I want all of you out of the pub apart from my immediate unit. Go."
"Still need your little mates, do you?" Padraig hissed as the pub emptied out, leaving the three surviving members of McAllister's unit and McAllister himself.
"I'll not use them unless you fight dirty. You can't expect me to believe you came here without backup." Padraig didn't say anything and McAllister grinned. "I knew it. You coward."
"You shut the fuck up and tell me where Roisin is." Padraig spat.
"Your wish is my command." McAllister took a mock bow and then clicked his fingers at one of his men. "Go. Bring her down."
"Don't fucking hurt her," Padraig said menacingly at them.
"I have to agree." McAllister was clearly enjoying the moment. "Don’t hurt her. We'll see how things go with Mr. Caraher first."
A couple of minutes later, Roisin was brought into the pub from an upstairs room. She looked ruffled, but otherwise in good health.
"Padraig!" she gasped when she saw him. "Padraig, for the love of God, why did you come?"
"Because you're not dying because of me." Padraig said strongly. "I'm not having another person die. No more people are dying because of me, and no more people are going to be injured, bereaved or scarred for life because of me. No more people I care about, anyway." Padraig glared at McAllister, who just laughed.
Padraig only noticed him aiming the gun from his hip at the last minute. There was a gunshot, and something hard slammed into Padraig's stomach. Padraig gasped and slumped to the floor, and McAllister calmly walked over and kicked Padraig's gun from out of his hand, ignoring Roisin's screaming and Padraig groaning in pain.
"You're going to die tonight, Caraher." McAllister crouched down next to Padraig and spoke softly and menacingly. "You are going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. And it's your own request that we are going to kill you in front of Roisin here." Padraig gasped and pulled himself back up to his feet.
"I'll not be doing the dying tonight, McAllister," his voice was strong even though it was evident that he was in pain.
"We'll see about that." McAllister said, and then Padraig knew that it was now or never. He lunged at McAllister, knocking him to the floor and going straight for the gun. The only thing that mattered was hat he didn’t get killed, that he lived to care for Roisin and their baby …
Padraig managed to grab McAllister's arm and pull it upwards, gripping the gun with one hand and McAllister's wrist with the other, digging his fingers in.
"It's no fucking use!" he yelled at McAllister. "Just let it go and get it over with!"
"Not a fucking chance!" McAllister yelled back, punching Padraig hard in the stomach, where the bullet had hit him. Roisin screamed again and Padraig yelled in agony, but he didn’t let go of the gun or McAllister's wrist. Instead, he took his pain out on McAllister, twisting his arm up, bending it the wrong way to which the elbow usually bent. It was McAllister's turn to yell in pain, and Padraig continued to bend his arm.
There was a horrible cracking sound and McAllister screamed and his arm went limp, dropping the gun. Padraig grabbed it up and in a split second; the three members of McAllister's unit were all on the floor, unmoving after three gunshots.
McAllister looked up from where he'd been cradling his broken arm and managed to stagger to his feet.
"Fucking shoot them with my own gun, would you?" he spat. "God, you're a bastard. I hate you, Caraher, I hate you so God damn much."
"Just stop talking about it and get ready to die." Padraig hissed. "For the last four fucking years you've terrorised my family, and me. You've murdered my friends and you've tried to murder me. You stand in the way of my country's freedom and you do it with such ease. Well I'm fed up. I'll not die, McAllister, you will, and I don't care how I do it." Padraig knew what he was going to do. He somehow knew what was going to happen.
"Go ahead," McAllister sneered. "You'll get what's coming, Caraher. You'll get what you deserve."
"Get behind the bar, Roisin."
"Why?"
"Just do it." Roisin did so, looking back at Padraig, wondering what he was planning. Padraig knew what was about to happen, and he knew what he was going to have to do. Chances of him surviving were slim, but he was certainly going to try. Any minute now … this was it. Any minute now and everything would be decided.
A movement on the street broke the false pretence of peace. A young man broke cover from an alleyway, and he moved over into the road and stood looking at the pub in front of him for a long time. Padraig Caraher was scared. He knew that tonight would end it all. One of them would die. One of them had to die. And Padraig was half-convinced it would be him.
All around him, but unseen, were the rest of Padraig's immediate unit, as instructed. Padraig wanted them to think he was alone. He wanted to lure McAllister into a false sense of security. And then he wouldn't be expecting anything. But Padraig didn’t exactly know what McAllister would expect, as Padraig himself didn’t know what was going to happen.
The young IRA Commander drew his gun and took a deep breath, cocking it. The sound of the gun being cocked broke the silence in the street, and it made Padraig move. He made his feet carry him to the door of the pub, and he slowly opened the door so as not to let the people inside know he was there. Padraig knew the pub well. He had been taken here and nearly murdered a little while back. Padraig still hadn't forgotten what they had put him through, and he felt rage bubble through him.
Padraig went through the porch area of the pub, and he let his hand rest on the door handle for a second or two, realising that he may not be going back out through this door alive. Sure, he might be going back through it, but would it be in a body bag? Would the headlines tomorrow tell of Padraig Caraher's murder? Would he be gone, vanished from the earth, in less than twenty-four hours?
And what would happen to Roisin and his unborn child?
Padraig knew that there was no turning back now, and he decided to go in the Padraig Caraher way. He cracked open the door and slipped into the pub, which was packed full of UVF men. No one noticed him straight away. In the split second that it took for them to realise that the IRA man was in the room, Padraig had located McAllister and aimed the gun.
McAllister realised just as Padraig pulled the trigger and ducked out of the way. The bullet skimmed McAllister's head, cutting his cheek and sending blood running down his face. Several people went to Padraig, but McAllister held up a hand.
"Leave him!" he said, and the UVF men moved away from Padraig slightly, leaving him in the middle of a group of people. McAllister walked up to him and stood, smiling at Padraig. "I want all of you out of the pub apart from my immediate unit. Go."
"Still need your little mates, do you?" Padraig hissed as the pub emptied out, leaving the three surviving members of McAllister's unit and McAllister himself.
"I'll not use them unless you fight dirty. You can't expect me to believe you came here without backup." Padraig didn't say anything and McAllister grinned. "I knew it. You coward."
"You shut the fuck up and tell me where Roisin is." Padraig spat.
"Your wish is my command." McAllister took a mock bow and then clicked his fingers at one of his men. "Go. Bring her down."
"Don't fucking hurt her," Padraig said menacingly at them.
"I have to agree." McAllister was clearly enjoying the moment. "Don’t hurt her. We'll see how things go with Mr. Caraher first."
A couple of minutes later, Roisin was brought into the pub from an upstairs room. She looked ruffled, but otherwise in good health.
"Padraig!" she gasped when she saw him. "Padraig, for the love of God, why did you come?"
"Because you're not dying because of me." Padraig said strongly. "I'm not having another person die. No more people are dying because of me, and no more people are going to be injured, bereaved or scarred for life because of me. No more people I care about, anyway." Padraig glared at McAllister, who just laughed.
Padraig only noticed him aiming the gun from his hip at the last minute. There was a gunshot, and something hard slammed into Padraig's stomach. Padraig gasped and slumped to the floor, and McAllister calmly walked over and kicked Padraig's gun from out of his hand, ignoring Roisin's screaming and Padraig groaning in pain.
"You're going to die tonight, Caraher." McAllister crouched down next to Padraig and spoke softly and menacingly. "You are going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. And it's your own request that we are going to kill you in front of Roisin here." Padraig gasped and pulled himself back up to his feet.
"I'll not be doing the dying tonight, McAllister," his voice was strong even though it was evident that he was in pain.
"We'll see about that." McAllister said, and then Padraig knew that it was now or never. He lunged at McAllister, knocking him to the floor and going straight for the gun. The only thing that mattered was hat he didn’t get killed, that he lived to care for Roisin and their baby …
Padraig managed to grab McAllister's arm and pull it upwards, gripping the gun with one hand and McAllister's wrist with the other, digging his fingers in.
"It's no fucking use!" he yelled at McAllister. "Just let it go and get it over with!"
"Not a fucking chance!" McAllister yelled back, punching Padraig hard in the stomach, where the bullet had hit him. Roisin screamed again and Padraig yelled in agony, but he didn’t let go of the gun or McAllister's wrist. Instead, he took his pain out on McAllister, twisting his arm up, bending it the wrong way to which the elbow usually bent. It was McAllister's turn to yell in pain, and Padraig continued to bend his arm.
There was a horrible cracking sound and McAllister screamed and his arm went limp, dropping the gun. Padraig grabbed it up and in a split second; the three members of McAllister's unit were all on the floor, unmoving after three gunshots.
McAllister looked up from where he'd been cradling his broken arm and managed to stagger to his feet.
"Fucking shoot them with my own gun, would you?" he spat. "God, you're a bastard. I hate you, Caraher, I hate you so God damn much."
"Just stop talking about it and get ready to die." Padraig hissed. "For the last four fucking years you've terrorised my family, and me. You've murdered my friends and you've tried to murder me. You stand in the way of my country's freedom and you do it with such ease. Well I'm fed up. I'll not die, McAllister, you will, and I don't care how I do it." Padraig knew what he was going to do. He somehow knew what was going to happen.
"Go ahead," McAllister sneered. "You'll get what's coming, Caraher. You'll get what you deserve."
"Get behind the bar, Roisin."
"Why?"
"Just do it." Roisin did so, looking back at Padraig, wondering what he was planning. Padraig knew what was about to happen, and he knew what he was going to have to do. Chances of him surviving were slim, but he was certainly going to try. Any minute now … this was it. Any minute now and everything would be decided.