Crossfire

'Let's get a cab to the centre and lose our big green Seat. Then I'll explain while we wait for a call.'

We found our way to a taxi rank.

'By the way,' I said, 'I'm assuming you did national service?'

100

We paid off the cab in O'Connell Street; it was the main drag and there were plenty of shops to get lost in. The Seat was still behind us. It had followed us all the way in. At least the boys in the bomber jackets had learnt not to pass us when we stopped, so we didn't get any more eye-to-eye.

We walked down a little lane and straight into a coffee shop. I checked left as Mr Green jumped out and Mr Black drove off to try to find a parking space. Sundance and Trainers had been brain surgeons compared to these two.

I sent Dom to buy some more cappuccinos and went straight upstairs to grab some seats with a view of the street. It wasn't long before the two of them connected on the pavement below me. Mr Green got on his mobile, eyes darting left, right and centre. He wasn't wearing his happy face; he must have been trying to explain how they'd lost us yet again. Then there was lots of nodding; I guessed they were being told to go back to the house. Dom and I had gone in with bags and come out without. Chances were, we'd go back at some point.

They disappeared as Dom arrived with a tray.

I told him about Connor's pinkie, and about the Yes Man and why I knew him. I told him I'd worked for the Firm and been fucked over so many times by the man that I felt like a relation, which was why I knew what he was planning. I wasn't too certain whether it reassured him or not. But, fuck it, he'd wanted to know.

It only took another forty or so minutes before my mobile kicked off. The voice was from the Falls Road again, but this time without the evening classes. 'I hear you want to pick something up…'

'Yeah.'

There was a slight hesitation: he'd pinged — and didn't like — the accent. 'Sheriff Street Estate. Wait outside the Mace mini-market. Someone will pick you up.'

'There's two of us.'

Dom hated being out of the loop. He was straining to listen in, but music was playing, people were gobbing off.

'No fucking way, son. You come alone.' The voice was clipped and abrasive.

'It's two of us or nothing. You know what I'm doing for you cunts. We're both in black jackets and jeans. How far is that from O'Connell?'

'Twenty minutes.'

There was no way we were going to split up now. We had to keep together, and in the open. It was the only way to stay safe.

'Sheriff Street Estate — you know it?'

Dom nodded unenthusiastically. 'Everybody knows it. It's north. I can already smell the burning tyres.'

'Time for another cab, then.'

Five minutes later we were following the route out of town. It was rather nice and clean to start with, but slowly and surely we were getting to the parts the EU subsidies hadn't reached.

The taxi dropped us off at the mini-market and the driver took off like a shot the moment he had his money.

The area was a morass of grimy brown blocks of flats, probably thrown up immediately after the war. They must have seemed like paradise when they were built, but now it was like the Tabard in Bermondsey, a drug-ridden dumping ground.

The Mace store had filthy windows and peeling paint. It was protected by mesh panels and secured with rusty padlocks. According to the poster behind one of the panels, there'd been a drug-related shooting of a schoolgirl there last week and the police were desperate for information.

The burnt-out remains of a Ford Escort stood at the kerb.

Scabby dogs ran along the pavement with scabby kids. Some of them kicked a ball, some just screamed at each other.

Teenagers hung around in threes and fours. They were probably dealing. They looked us up and down like they wanted to know what the fuck we were doing on their turf.

Dom leant against the mesh and tried to make light of it. 'I don't think this'll get much of a look-in on Dublin Let's Go, do you?'

'Dublin Let's Get Fucked, maybe.'

Two women came out of the shop, gobbing away at a million miles an hour. They stopped and stared. Either they didn't know our faces or they didn't like what they saw. They stood there for several seconds, then walked on without a word, their paper bags full of frozen shit in a tray for their tea.

I felt quite at home there. Maybe that was why I'd always got picked to fuck about in places like the Bogside, running round trying to find ASUs and their weapons.

It wasn't long before two older men rounded a corner and came up the road towards us. They wore black leather coats, gold chains round their necks and cupped cigarettes in their hands. They brought them up in unison to take a drag. If synchronized smoking were on the Olympic roster, those boys would have been going for gold.

The closer they got, the harder they looked. They'd lived fucking grim lives and their expressions said they'd be more than happy to share.

The shorter of the two went straight up to Dom. 'You the one looking for something?' It was the voice on the mobile. He sucked at his cigarette, displaying grimy nails and fingers stained yellow.

'No, it's me.' I took a step forward.

'What the fock do you want them for?'

'What do you think?'

The taller one moved in closer, smoke leaking from his nostrils. His hair was greased back and thinning. 'Don't push your luck, son. You focking Brits don't run this place any more, or hadn't you heard?'

I said nothing. I just wanted the weapons.

Little took another drag and looked up at Dom. Then he turned and we followed.

We went past the burnt-out Escort and down an alleyway between two blocks of flats. It was littered with rubbish and graffiti and it looked like we were hemmed in. There were three other guys waiting, younger guys in hoodies and jeans.

Little turned sharply and shoved me against the wall. Dom got the same treatment from Large. The other three waded in and manhandled us through a search.

An old woman snapped her kitchen curtains. She'd have seen this stuff too many times before. I could hear kids screaming and shouting, and the rhythmic kicking of a ball against a wall.

They carried on pushing us along the walkway. Little still led the way; Dom was a step or two behind me, and everybody else followed him.

He was getting a bit chattier. 'I hear this Brit's with British Intelligence and he's got the UDA working for him…'

I nodded. 'You got what I asked for?'

Dom appeared at my side, catapulted forward by one of the hoodies. Little stopped, turned, and jabbed me in the chest. He pushed me up against the wall, eyes burning. 'I'll tell you what else I hear… I hear you're focking SAS.' That was good for another hard poke. 'Friends of mine were murdered by the SAS. Maybe you pulled the trigger…'

It was pointless denying anything. Either way, the guy would do precisely what he wanted.

'Maybe.' I shrugged. 'But right now I'm going to solve a problem for you. It's not like the old days, is it? Gerry says we're one big happy family, these days, and he should know.'

He stopped poking. His skin creased and a smile played across his cheeks. 'You go down to the end of the alley here, and you'll come to some bins. One of them contains what you want. They're wrapped up in black plastic.'

I turned, making sure Dom was with me. Little pulled me back. 'Those weapons have killed twelve focking Brit soldiers between them. Young lads, they were, in their prime. Well, the four I killed were, anyway.'

He kept hold of me a little bit longer, to let me share his enjoyment of the memory.

When we got to the bins, Dom looked back over my shoulder. 'You never said you were SAS.'