Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Five
"Look, Padraig, you're not going to like hearing this –"
"Don’t tell me then." Padraig said simply.
"I have to. The UVF are pissed off at the moment, especially after what you planned last night went ahead. They want you dead more than ever now, and I think it would be best if you didn’t come with us." Padraig didn’t flinch, just snorted.
"Think I shouldn't come, eh? So what the Hell will happen to youse? You'll all be dead in five minutes without me, I swear to God you would."
"Padraig, we're replaceable." Cillian jumped in firmly. "You're not. If you're killed where will that leave us? You're the best commander we've ever had, and if you're killed then we'll never find someone like you again." Cearnaigh nodded his agreement.
"The Belfast Brigade hasn't been this efficient since … well … since ever, really." Cearnaigh said. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to us, Padraig, and we can't have you in the firing line. You know they'll have a field day if they get their hands on you."
"Shut the fuck up, the pair of ye." Padraig said firmly, his accent swapping back to South Armagh as it always did when he got angry. "Ah'm coming, all right?"
"Padraig, seriously –"
"I didn't fucking join the IRA just to sit about while youse did all the fighting! I joined so I could get out there and fight for my country and defend my people, and just because I'm the Belfast Commander doesn't mean I'm going to sit on my ass all day doing nothing just so I don’t maybe possibly get shot or something, all right? I've not been shot before and I'm not about to start now!"
"Ah, but they wouldn't just shoot you, would they, Padraig?" Cillian's eyes were worried. "They'd have a great time beating you around, wouldn't they?"
"And you think I'd tell them everything?" Padraig spat. "You think just because they gave me a few smacks I'd be on my knees begging for mercy and telling them everything? I don’t fucking think so!"
"Padraig, calm down and think about it," Cillian begged his best friend. "It's not forever, just until the heat dies down!"
"But the heat won't die down on me, will it? If it were up to youse I'd still be sitting in my bedroom waiting for the heat to die down from that bomb I organised three years ago! You can’t just wait for the heat to die down, you know! Because it won’t! Not with me, anyway!"
"Please, Padraig!" Padraig glared at both men, breathing heavily.
"All right. Fine. Fucking fine." he spat at them both. "I'll not come and the pair of ye can get your heads shot off." Padraig's accent had reverted so strongly now that Cillian and Cearnaigh, both native of Belfast, had to listen intently to what he was saying. Padraig was famed for his strong Crossmaglen accent.
"Padraig, it's nothing personal, seriously –"
"Shut your face, Donnelly!" Padraig yelled at him. "Do ye think it fuckin' matters? Do ye think I care if it's personal or nat?"
"Would you calm down, son, I can barely understand what you're saying," Cearnaigh spoke softly, not meeting Padraig's eye. But Padraig was done speaking. He was already halfway to his car, and before Cillian or Cearnaigh could say another word, he'd got in, slammed the door, and roared off.
"Don’t tell me then." Padraig said simply.
"I have to. The UVF are pissed off at the moment, especially after what you planned last night went ahead. They want you dead more than ever now, and I think it would be best if you didn’t come with us." Padraig didn’t flinch, just snorted.
"Think I shouldn't come, eh? So what the Hell will happen to youse? You'll all be dead in five minutes without me, I swear to God you would."
"Padraig, we're replaceable." Cillian jumped in firmly. "You're not. If you're killed where will that leave us? You're the best commander we've ever had, and if you're killed then we'll never find someone like you again." Cearnaigh nodded his agreement.
"The Belfast Brigade hasn't been this efficient since … well … since ever, really." Cearnaigh said. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to us, Padraig, and we can't have you in the firing line. You know they'll have a field day if they get their hands on you."
"Shut the fuck up, the pair of ye." Padraig said firmly, his accent swapping back to South Armagh as it always did when he got angry. "Ah'm coming, all right?"
"Padraig, seriously –"
"I didn't fucking join the IRA just to sit about while youse did all the fighting! I joined so I could get out there and fight for my country and defend my people, and just because I'm the Belfast Commander doesn't mean I'm going to sit on my ass all day doing nothing just so I don’t maybe possibly get shot or something, all right? I've not been shot before and I'm not about to start now!"
"Ah, but they wouldn't just shoot you, would they, Padraig?" Cillian's eyes were worried. "They'd have a great time beating you around, wouldn't they?"
"And you think I'd tell them everything?" Padraig spat. "You think just because they gave me a few smacks I'd be on my knees begging for mercy and telling them everything? I don’t fucking think so!"
"Padraig, calm down and think about it," Cillian begged his best friend. "It's not forever, just until the heat dies down!"
"But the heat won't die down on me, will it? If it were up to youse I'd still be sitting in my bedroom waiting for the heat to die down from that bomb I organised three years ago! You can’t just wait for the heat to die down, you know! Because it won’t! Not with me, anyway!"
"Please, Padraig!" Padraig glared at both men, breathing heavily.
"All right. Fine. Fucking fine." he spat at them both. "I'll not come and the pair of ye can get your heads shot off." Padraig's accent had reverted so strongly now that Cillian and Cearnaigh, both native of Belfast, had to listen intently to what he was saying. Padraig was famed for his strong Crossmaglen accent.
"Padraig, it's nothing personal, seriously –"
"Shut your face, Donnelly!" Padraig yelled at him. "Do ye think it fuckin' matters? Do ye think I care if it's personal or nat?"
"Would you calm down, son, I can barely understand what you're saying," Cearnaigh spoke softly, not meeting Padraig's eye. But Padraig was done speaking. He was already halfway to his car, and before Cillian or Cearnaigh could say another word, he'd got in, slammed the door, and roared off.