Getaway - Part 11

“We’ve looked at your idea, and although I was convinced you were taking the piss when you told me, it seems you’re right, you can use heavy gear over there. Some of our young lads haven’t had the chance to fire a weapon even though they’ve been with us for months because the cops found our last camp. You wouldn’t believe it, but it costs us a fortune to organise a few lads in a field with a rifle and even when we do get them there they can’t stay long.” Fíonn paused as the car passed a teenage uniformed garda standing, replete with fluorescent jacket, talking to a group of frightened-looking kids.

I couldn’t believe it. The fucking idiots bought it. Their desperation really had made them gullible. I had their pants around their ankles and I was going to ride them for all they were worth.

I could barely keep the smirk off my face as he continued, “A place where they can learn their trade in safety and in their own time is a useful resource. We’re thinking a wee trip might be in order. As I’d imagine you know, a lot of us have records so there’s zero chance of us gettin’ on a plane. That said, we’ve got a couple of fresh faces that haven’t gone on any operations yet. They’re young guys – only 17 and 18 – so we’ll be looking to you to take the lead on this one.”

“That’s no problem. Sure I’ve already been there and all, so it makes sense.”

“Good man Michael,” Fionn muttered, his head again turned to scan something beyond his window.

Things had taken such a sudden turn from terrible to fucking excellent that I decided to push my luck.

“So what’s the story then, do you want me to see if I can arrange to get some of their stuff over?” I said, trying to control my eagerness.

“Well that’s the fucking thing Michael, isn’t it. I mean, there’s a big difference between someone letting you use a RPG and someone selling it to you. And then there’s the small matter of getting it from poxy Cambodia to Ireland.”

“That’s true, but like I told you I made an enquiry – and now I wasn’t obvious about it or anything, I was careful – but the fella I asked said it wasn’t a problem. That was the words he used, he said it would be ‘no problem’.”

I scanned Fionn’s face to see if it was time to hit him square on with another pile of bullshit. He looked a bit irritated, but interested. Like the first time I approached him in the pub. He fell for it that time and I was already in the door. Fuck it, I thought. Might as well throw it in to the hilt.

“And?”

“Well, two lads took me out to fire the heavy gear. It was a fair from trip to where I was collected to where we were shooting, so I was basically hanging around with these lads for the day, getting to know them and that. They were nice lads, and on the way back, after shooting, I just started dropping hints. They’d heard of Ireland and of the IRA and after discussing that, just generally, I started saying how I wished I had some of that sort of gear at home. One of the two lads, the older of the two, told me he had got weapons into Europe before. He was bold as brass. He didn’t give a shit.”

“Fuck off.”

“Seriously! He said it was no problem. He said a group of Spanish lads came over and they were seriously eager to get their hands on some of their lighter stuff, the handguns and that.”

“Spanish?”

“Yeah. I reckon it must have been Eta, the Basque separatists.”

“Jesus. I hope he didn’t call them Spanish to their faces! Especially not while they were holding a fucking revolver!”

As soon as he started joking, I knew I had him.

“So did he tell you how he got it in?”

“He did. Apparently he’s involved with a lumberyard that ships to Europe. His brother owns it or something. All you have to do is get friendly with someone in a construction, or carpentry suppliers. Get them to place an order for a few pallets of sheet timber, they hollow them out and fill them with gear and next thing you know the stuff is arriving on your doorstep.”

“And what about the money? Do we just hand it over and assume they’re going to bother their arses? They’re not exactly goin to be shitting themselves at the thought of us coming after them over there. They’re armed to the fucking teeth son.”

It was going to be hard to remember this many blatant lies. “Half before half after with the promise of more business if it works out. If it’s that easy for them they’re goin to want to keep paying customers. There’s a shit load of guns and fuck all money over there.”

“Right, right, right. Listen, we’ll drop ya home son because there’s no point in talkin’ about it anymore until I’ve had a chance to fill the Tenentes in on the whole buyin off these head-the-balls thing. But you can take it as a given that you’ll be headin’ back that way with the two boys for a bit of training. And now no fuckin messin over there. See if I hear back one of you takes as much as a beer, never mind a hooker, yis need not bother comin home because the only thing waitin here for ya will be a bullet.”

And I was starting to get all Donny Brasco, feeling sorry for the fact that he was going to have to deal with the shit storm I was going to kick up. Fuck him. Fucking Schizophrenic wanker.

To be continued

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(And sorry to anyone who has been following the story. I was away in Cuba (land of beautiful girls and horrific Internet connections) for a few weeks and so couldn’t post until now.)