- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Sat Apr 23, 2005 8:04 pm
"Well after our little visitor last night," Arthur said glancing at the others, "the entire fekkin' operation's got to go someplace else. The yanks are onto us and after we talk to the Dean he'll likely want to put thousands of miles in between us an' St. Patricks.
"Truth is mate, we've not yet decided where to go yet. Won't know really until we hear from the Vatican about our little run-in. We have time to get you caught up on all the ... eh.... particulars of this outfit.
"We'll take a holiday."
The others hooted and toasted.
Arthur smiled, "Someplace warm, eh?"
"Your sister's box?" Frankie smirked, running a smug hand through his blonde hair.
"Shutyergob, you wouldn't know what to do even if the fekkin' Almighty gave you chance to see her fekkin' box and what business of yours is it anyway, you fekkin' smeg-eaten poofter?" Arthur calmly retorted.
He paused and added, "Don't know where to go yet."
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Wed May 04, 2005 10:20 pm
Patrick considered the words that were spoken, and nodded quickly, sipping his weak drink. He wondered at the operator of this place, and what the man would say, but remained silent for a moment, before speaking of other things.
"Well then, I'm good to go wherever we're needed. Consider me along for the full ride, I'm already committed. Let's get that done as promptly as possible, though, eh? Seems like the time for action to me."
Pat sat back in his seat, waiting for what they would do. Arthur was in the know, so the Irishman left it up to him. Patrick Owen would just go with the flow.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Thu May 05, 2005 1:41 pm
Arthur took a finalizing swig and slammed down the pint glass. Shaking off the effects he said, "Well, to get this fekker initiated we have to go to Rome. I say we go turn in our keys at St Patty's."
The twins toasted the decision and drank, but Frankie wasn't so enthusiastic. Pointing to two short-haired men in nice suits at the bar. They must have slipped in over the last couple minutes. They were young and built, and had the posture of soldiers.
"I'll bet you my next pint those blokes are yanks."
Arthur was equally suspicious, "What in the bloody hell is going on here?" he said under his breath.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Tue May 10, 2005 11:59 pm
It was like everyone had been hit by a truck when the suits were noticed. Moods dropped, and Arthur was quickly angered. Luckily, Patrick hadn't drank too much, just enough to get courageous. It was time to ride, the new Patrick Owen was cold to the core, he wouldn't hold back sticking the barrel of his forty-five in someone's mouth, or taking someone's face off. Pat had killed someone, someone important, apparently, and while he didn't particularly like the feeling of a dead man on his conscience, self preservation governed all. Patrick glanced up to Arthur, finishing the last of his weak ale, and spoke.
"I got this boss. Keep an eye out for more, we'll see if these are Yanks. Excuse me."
With that, the Irishman slammed the mug onto the table, leaving it and wiping his face. American steel stirred under his left shoulder, locked and loaded. Patrick didn't really want to use it, but he wouldn't hesitate, he finally had a chance to make his own reputation. These men hadn't seen the mousy Pat, the nervous Pat. He was dead anyway, it was only Patrick the gangster. As of the new year, he was an international outlaw, in a posse like the tales of Jesse James, Doc Holiday, or later Criminals like Al Capone, or Bonnie and Clyde. Smirking a bit, he walked confidently over to the men, checking them out. He spoke as he neared them, hoping to gague a reaction in their eyes. No doubt if they were americans, they would have descriptions that they were trying to match, perhaps a flare of recognition? The eyes were windows to the soul, some said.
"Oy, lads! Could ye boys be Americans, eh? I got te say I appreciate wot you boyos did fer Europe and all that, but ye should help we Irish with the Empire, ye know?"
Patrick pretended to be more drunk than he was, but kept a close eye. He would be ready to draw, cock and fire his Colt, probably firing at someone's head, if the need arose. Hopefully, they would just be some normal yanks, or some soldiers who decided to stay around on the other side of the ocean after the war. He waited for a reply.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Wed May 11, 2005 9:01 am
Arthur grinned at his proposal and dramatically presented the two men with open hands before continuing with his pint. As Patrick approached, the men did little to acknowledge him. Only when he spoke did they finally look up with casual disinterest.
"You've better be on your way, son," one said plainly with a distinctive American accent.
They both had untouched beers before them and Patrick could plainly see the bulges of guns in their jackets.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Thu May 12, 2005 12:02 am
The two were all too obvious, but Patrick had been forming a plan in his brain, not a good plan, but half decent. As they shrugged him off, he ordered another pint and leaned up against the counter. As he paid for his drink and thanked the keep, he whispered to the two, trying to sound scared. A shadow of his old self crept in, though, making him angry enough to do what he needed to do.
"Yer looking for yer dead boy with the tommy, eh? Listen up, one of ye follow me into the bathroom after about a minute, right?"
Patrick could only hope his bait would take. The mention of the tommygun should have been enough, since it would pin the killer. The killer they were searching for was of course Pat himself, but they didn't know that. They would have sensed something amiss if one of the lads from his table had confronted them, he imagined, but Patrick was new enough to swing this one. His heart began to thump in his chest, faster and faster until he turned from them and walked back to the table. He placed his mug down and spoke.
"Well, I'm gonna hit the bucket really quick before I tackle something te chase down with this ale, eh? We should pub jump a bit after a while, ye lads think?"
His words were slightly strained, but he winked at Arthur, and in front of his body, where the americans couldn't see, like his wink, he formed the number one, his index finger pointing up alone before drawing back, as he cocked his thumb out and mimicked slitting a throat, though low enough not to be seen. He gestured while he was speaking, to make standing in place less conspicuous, continuing by pointing at himself and placing his index finger up to his lips, the sign for "shush". He then finished by pointing at the table, moving his hand in a circular motion to denote everyone, and again formed the number one. He hoped they would grasp his meaning, which was: I'll kill one quietly, and you all can take care of the other. Patrick didn't bother to add another "shush", hoping it was implied. Who knew how many there actually were, if there were two in plain sight.
With that, Patrick headed calmly into the lavatory, and planded his back against the wall beside the door he had just entered, on the side of the hinges, if he could fit. As soon as his back hit, he drew and cocked the Colt forty-five, holding it in his right hand, beside his head. At the first sign of the door opening again, Patrick planned to level the powerful pistol out to face level. If he saw a gun, it was goodnight for them, this was point blank range. Hopefully, the public setting would prevent the american from unleashing his own steel. If that was the case, he would simply hold him up, and tell him to keep quiet. At that point, it would be time to disarm, but it wasn't good to plan too far ahead, the new Patrick wouldn't do that. His hands starting to sweat, he reinforced his grip, cupping the bottom of the pistol's clip with his palm, his fingers laying across those of his right hand. Patrick waited.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Fri May 13, 2005 7:58 am
Their disposition changed dramatically with Patrick's comment, looking at each other and then at Patrick. Saying nothing more they both finally took sips of their beers.
Arthur nodded to Patrick's plan and then leaned forward to whisper a strategy to his crew. They quietly discussed their moves as the Irishman entered the lavatory.
The moments passed like lead. Staring at the door yielding nothing but silence and anticipation. At last the door opened and one of the Americans stepped in. Taking one look at the gun, he sighed and froze.
"Your way in over your head, kid."
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Fri May 13, 2005 7:58 pm
Patrick had been working on a plan, and though nervous about saying what he had to say, it was the only way for things to be layed out on the table. The Irishman kept the pistol pointed at the man's head while he searched him, until it was time to frisk the legs, that was when the Colt forty-five aimed at the american's smaller head. Any funny business, and one or the other was gone, maybe both, who knew what the future held? After aquiring and pocketing anything useful on the man, especially including wallet, valueables, weapons, badges or important looking trinkets, keys were also potentially confiscated, though even a youngster like Pat would know better than to take off in a possibly dead foreign federal agent's wheels. He was especiallly looking for a pair of handcuffs, or other means of restraint, he really didn't want to kill, though if he was dead, there might be something to steal in said vehicle, it depended on the answer to the forthcoming question from Patrick, in a quiet whisper.
"We don't have much time, Smithy was your informant, he's dead. I met them that night, where they thought I was the american. They held a gun to me first, then Smithy, and demanded we tell what we knew, luckily your lad came blasting at us with a fekkin' tommy, so I split his wig, mate. You might've noticed it was an M-nineteen-eleven, forty-five A-C-P, like you folks use. Like this one. I did what I had to do for my life, but we've already decided I'm in, not like I had a choice about it. I'm going to be frank, you need a new informant, and I need to look out for me, right? I need to know what I'm in, and I haven't really chosen sides yet, aside from Ireland herself. Make me and offer I can't refuse, mate, and quick."
Patrick kept the pistol at the agent and put his back to the door, waiting for enough information to keep a man alive. The american was right, he was in over his head. Hopefully the man would give him what he needed to tread water. Patrick wasn't entirely sure if he would agree to being an informant, or simply blast the man away, but it would depend on his response.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Tue May 17, 2005 5:02 am
His frisk turned up several treasures. Cuffs and keys, a wallet with a badge and two-hundred American dollars, a revolver, and two sets of keys, one belonging to a hotel from the look of it. The badge declared him an agent for the United States Department of War.
"We know everything. We saw you do it and frankly I'm glad you brought the whole thing up, it'll make this much easier. The Ministry of Defence has been tipped about your father's involvement in certain rebellious activities. He is being detained.
"You come to work for us and your father gets his freedom. You don't . . . well, you know how those Brits get about the spitting Irish. Chances are, they got him on enough drugs that he's made an enemy out of every revolutionary there ever was. That could all change in this next moment.
"It's up to you."
The American was rather calm given the circumstances and did not even flinch as Patrick took his things.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Thu May 19, 2005 1:19 am
Patrick was glad that the man didn't try anything funny. He pocketed everything, though he intended on keeping only a few things. It made sense that the man was not worried, since any of these things would prove him guilty of the deed, especially should he really kill this american. What followed was a compelling arguement, compelling enough for now. Patrick wanted to lay down some basic rules first though, he did have the gun, after all.
"I need full immunity for myself and my family, and I will not end up like that patsy you were whipping before me. I'm going to have to do dirty deeds to get what you want, and I can't be held accountable. I will not die for you, but I will provide you with information. We are relocating tonight, right away. If you want to know where we're going contact Shamus O'Grady. I'll trust that a big important agent like yourself can do that all on your own?"
Pat wasn't quite finished yet, as he tucked the stolen revolver into his left front pocket. He had one more thing to say before he left.
"If we work together, I can help you get what you want, but if you try to fek me...you're done. What's your boy going to do when I come out of this bathroom without you?"
After waiting for a response, he backed out of the room, holstering his Colt, and looking out into the pub to see what Arthur and the boys had done to the other american. Maybe there was a way out of this without another murder...maybe not.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Thu May 19, 2005 8:42 am
The agent listened placidly to Patrick's demands and a dart to the ceiling indicated he committed O'Grady's name to memory.
"We counted on immunity," he said, "and I'm not in America, so I couldn't give a shit on what laws you break here. You are leverage for a much bigger problem and we can provide immunity from the Brits if we have to."
At the threat the solid man cracked a smile, "Believe me, you're not that important to us. We're not after you, Owen, there's no point in double-crossing you."
Peering slightly over Patrick's shoulder, he said, "I dunno. Depends on what your boys are going to do to him."
The crew had the agent seated in between them at the table. Drinks were poured all around and they were forcing him, cheerfully, to drink up. It was an old trick. They were gaining the man's confidence and then after he was properly staggering, they'd pull him away somewhere dark. No one would be the wiser.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Sun May 22, 2005 8:27 pm
Patick nodded once at the man's entire speech before he headed out. It appeared they were trying to kill the man with booze, something he had attempted on occasion, though the victims usually ended up wishing they were in the morning. Patrick knew first hand that an Irish woman did not like waking up in a strange man's bed after a night of whiskey suicide. Of course, there was very little real risk, at least the kind of risk that the other american ran. Whiskey alone very seldom put a bullet in one's cranium, in fact, it probably never had. Pat sighed silently, making his choice. The other agent should have been able to realize the trick, and if they hadn't, Pat's intrusion coupled with the rest of the lads' effort would have given a clear indicator, though it wouldn't have mattered if Patrick had done his job instead of cut a deal with the enemy. It was too late to turn back now, somehow he doubted he could explain the very intact agent that still lingered in the restroom. Before continuing with his plan of action, he muttered a prayer to the patron saint of lost causes.
Suddenly, he burst into laughter, and stumbled toward the group, crying out. The only way to save him would be somewhat suspicious, but maybe Patrick could play it off as a hungry new member of their gang.
"Boyo! Yer fekkin' lad in there spilled his stomache all over the place, mate! Ye better watch these gents, too, the sick fekkers love te see you overseas types wretch!"
Getting closer, he made eye contact first with Arthur, then with the other american if he could, and continued.
"Really, yank, ye should help 'im clean up...it ain't my job, eh? Funny...I didn't see 'im take a sip, this must not be yer first stop o' the night, judging by 'ow much used ale came out o' him. Ye do the wipin' down and I'll 'elp ya drag 'im to a seat. After that yer on yer own...yer green men 'elped save europe, but after this shyte, we're even."
Patrick laughed again, hoping to punctuate his lie. He wasn't sure if the death of this man would violate his immunity, but he didn't want to take any chances. Would Arthur let the man go, trusting the one who had betrayed him? Pat had to make sure. In a last-ditch effort to add realism to his betrayal, he quickly withdrew the badge from his pocket and threw it to one of the boys, anyone out of the view of the american, and spoke.
"Go ahead and get us all started on another round on me...I gotta watch the show."
Patrick could only hope that the badge would serve as proof enough of the man's death, but didn't worry for his loss, he would soon have another.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Mon May 23, 2005 9:37 am
Fortunately for the clever young Irishman, his plan greatly appealed to Arthur and friends. It would be much easier to lure the American into the lou than to take him out back and bludgeon him as was originally planned. Upon his glance to Arthur, the leader of the gang winked only barely. The redheaded brothers got out to allow the American to get up and it was the blonde who caught the wallet. Immediately opening the wallet revealed a smug grin and he tossed it to Arthur.
The American, tipsy but not completely pissed, followed Patrick's lead to the restroom.
"There must be a mistake," he explained, "we are here on business."
After they went into the restroom confusion washed on his face as he saw his partner patiently standing there.
"What's going on here?" He said.
The other American shrugged, "Meet the assassin," he said gesturing to Patrick.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Mon May 23, 2005 3:06 pm
Patrick's stomache quivered as nerves finally settled in, and the espionage began. Luckily, Arthur recognized Pat's fake plan as a good one, though he wouldn't have been as happy with the Irishman's true plan. In any case, the drunken agent was allowed to follow him back to the toilet. Once inside, things needed to be cleared up. While starting to speak, Patrick likewise searched and seized the other american, as he had the first.
"Look, nothing personal, I just need proof that you're dead. Congrats, lads, you just became ghosts. Not a bad position for what you need, just keep out of sight, or we're all dead. I gave you the name, that should put enough time between our meetings to keep me alive. We don't have long, so if you need anything...?"
Now was the time, if they had anything to tell him. Patrick secretly hoped that they would give him a clue of what they really wanted, so he could better look for it, but he would not dare jeopardize his immunity by becoming useless. Pat's future hung in a strange balance of selfish ego, patriotism, and downright evildoing. Patrick absently wondered where they would go, and how he himself would get ahold of Shamus. He hadn't seen him since they were much younger, but he did know that his father knew Shamus's, and he assumed the agents would find out in time. It was just another reason they would need to actually commit to saving his father, he could just as easily send a letter from the location to his house, but how much conspiracy and intrigue did that create? Patrick was off his rocker this year, but he wondered if perhaps there was room for him on the 'good' side of this, after it was all over. He had taken a class or two on law enforcement, but how could he have worked for the bloody empire? The americans were different, he wouldn't mind a little work with them, so long as they didn't fuck with Ireland.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Wed May 25, 2005 9:05 am
The first American gave his partner an accepting look and then brought severe eyes to Patrick.
"You're playing with international goddamned fire here, son, you've better be sure you play the right cards are things could get very hot very fast. We'll take your tip and keep low. You have twenty-four hours before we catch up with you and you've better have more than a name.
"These men you are dealing with can't be let free to return to Rome. Corrupt Cardinals will give them even more assassination missions if they aren't stopped.
"Now get them out of here so we can mobilize."
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Thu May 26, 2005 6:33 pm
Patrick smiled as the american made harshe remarks, but he was not happy. In fact, the words sounded too much like his father's, setting his temper ablaze.
"Look, yanky-boy, the next time you want to give a speech to scare a lad into stepping in line, trying to warn him of the dangers of burning the candle at both ends..."
The Irishman trailed off. When his temper went, he tended to speak, though he knew he did not have the time. Pat addressed the first agent to follow him in, and gestured to the second, otherwise ignoring him for a minute.
"Look, your dog slipped and told me that you were here on business, and actually followed me to the toilet, when for all he knew you were dead. It was the right thing to do this time, but he was letting those lads pound drinks into him...the oldest bloody trick in the book."
Patrick let the statement sink in before patting himself down to make sure he had all the necessary evidence, and hoping the american would come off his horse. The Irishman layed his cards on the table, finishing his pre-rant statement.
"...don't pick an Irishman. We've been fighting the empire since you blokes were part of it, if anyone knows how to give with one hand and take with another, to kill or be killed, it's an Irishman. You'll find that we take everything to a dangerous state of gluttony. I have only two loyalties; the first is to God, and the second is to my people. Right now, I don't have many people, but the next on the list will be you or them, depending on who looks after me, you get it? As long as you do what you can to keep me alive, I'll do the same for you, but if the boys do a better job keeping me out of harm's way, then we'll have to call off this arrangement. I've already taken the first step...don't forget that you both could be face down in a large pool of blood, right here, before I even knew you had leverage on me. God bless, you sons of bitches."
With that, Patrick ruffled his hair, and tugged at his clothing before exiting the restroom. Once out, he was not in any mood to play games. Patrick had dug himself deep, perhaps too deep to get out, and he had dragged a childhood friend into it, though he expected sooner or later they would meet again. Shamus's father had stayed in Ireland after he sent his family on to Scotland. If he was lucky, his friend's father wasn't in the same trouble as his own, but how often had Pat really saw any of that four leaf clover shit? Not often, that was for sure. If his friend's dad wasn't in trouble before, he would be now. Once spotting the lads, he simply nodded and ignored any drinks or celebration. He spoke five words, the first four together, and the third after a pause.
"We need to go...now"
Digging into the stolen wallet of the american, he layed a twenty down on the bar for the keep. Chances are, the old man had seen more incidents like this than any of the others inside, and Patrick needed to keep that mouth shut. Twenty american in Ireland in nineteen forty-seven was no small amount, during these times. They would not know it yet, but in a week's time, the first of many would be pronounced dead by starvation, the sotty Brits were killing them by inaction. Patrick knew that he would have his day with them, but first he had to learn their came, and who better than the only country to win a violent revolution against them, the good old stars and stripes. Too bad they wanted his ass as well...who cared? They could get it too, fuck 'em.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Fri May 27, 2005 8:39 am
The Americans were stunned. Speechless. Looking at each other and then back at the enraged Irishman they both radiated the same sentiment: they had no idea who they were dealing with. After a long pause the first agent nodded.
"We understand your terms and we'll be in touch."
"I knew what they were doing ... with the drinks..." the other defended but he got a look from the first that shut him up.
After Patrick left the crew stared at him expectantly. Arthur didn't hesitate after his command and immediately rallied the others up. They left the bar and said nothing until they were outside and blocks away.
"So?" Arthur asked.
- Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Sat May 28, 2005 1:21 am
Patrick was a bit flushed as he left the pub, but he doubted that would give much away, they thought he had killed two men in the restroom, though he had really only put his own ass on the line. Hopefully his resolve and instict would carry him through this, but for now he had to lie in response to Arthur's monosyllabic query. Pat's voice was low as he spoke.
"That was really sloppy of me, but I got some good news. The first guy tried to make a deal with me...I don't know about you lads, but I am guessing that means none of us are turncoats, right? I'll admit, it did cross my mind that Smithy might not have been the only one they had contacted...have they ever tried to cut a deal with any of you?"
Pat's face was still pale, though his cheeks were far too red. He had no idea what to do now, that was where Arthur would come in handy, he continued, after a short pause.
"We should probably get out of town, like you were saying, Arthur. You're the boss, mate."
Patrick didn't want to give Arthur the impression that he was trying to run things, he had just been a little out of sorts while he left, thinking about all the things that would happen to him if he was discovered. Slowly, he withdrew the second badge and flashed it to the boys, his second trophy. Finally with that action he was able to relax a bit, trying to remain cool. On this rare occasion, Patrick even laughed at his own joke, though it pained him slightly.
"A few more pubs and we can all be big wig yanks, eh? We're a 'War Department', too, eh?"
Sad but true. Patrick awaited news of his fate.
- Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Thu Jun 02, 2005 7:51 am
The crew listened to Patrick's disclosure as they walked and Arthur at last stopped.
"Boys, go for a pint, I need a word."
The brothers and blonde man, without question, disappeared into a nearby pub. They were left alone in the near abandoned street as a steady flutter of winter wind descended. Arthur lit a cigarette and looked around, perhaps to ensure no one was near.
"I know what yer thinking, lad. You thought we were a fekkin' brotherhood workin' in the name of our island and then you see American feds on our tail and find yourself making bones wherever you go. Yer not sure if you did the right thing so your going to find a way out.
"Maybe you buried those yanks and maybe you didn't. If I were you, I'd taken a deal with the blokes.
"Nevermind any of that. Listen, here. We fight for a cause far more worthy than any fekkin' government. We work directly for the Holy See, do you follow? None of this fekkin' matters. We are on Vatican soil wherever we go. The yanks, the frogs, the fekkin' reds they all think they are protecting their own bloody national security. You know what we protect? Eternity.
"I'm not some fekkin' preacher or religious nut and we ain't a cult."
He held up his left hand to reveal an enormous and elaborately carved ring with a blue cross engraved on it.
"This ring is only given to a person by the Pope himself. I met the bloke four times."
He paused to smoke, "There's a lot to tell you, but our immediate fekkin' problem is that our only link to the Vatican closed his fekkin' doors, so we have to get you to holy ground and fast. The sooner you join the sooner you have the power of the fekkin' Pope behind you and no yanks can take that away.
"Point is fekkin' this, I don't give a fek what happened in that bathroom, I just have to know right now. Are you in this because you don't know how to get out, or are you here to serve the Almighty. If you ain't, then we have to move on without ya."