‘Yes right,’ said Scott obediently, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘I thought we could go to Pimms Avenue, it’s just around the corner from my place. There are numerous flats and bed-sits there. I’m sure you’ll find something that meets your requirements.’
‘Excellent Maurice,’ said Black. ‘I think my fortunes have taken a turn for the better. Do you know something Maurice, I do believe you are going to be my lucky talisman, I am truly glad to have met you.’
‘I hope so Nick,’ said Scott, warming to his newly acquired compatriot. They strolled along the Upper Newtownards Road finally arriving at Pimms Avenue. Nathan noticed how a few people nodded acknowledgement toward Scott but none spoke. It was patently obvious that Mr. Scott was very much a loner. Things were getting better and better. Bearing in mind his latest discovery, he concluded that he could take as much time as he wanted to cultivate the relationship. He decided to play his hand at a much more sedate pace. Scott’s friendship must be nurtured, it required time to develop and blossom. The man was, after all, a member of the police force, it would take a while to gain Maurice’s trust but he had all the time in the world. Perhaps at a later date he could ascertain Scott’s sexual leanings but for the time being he would remain a polite stranger.
‘Here we are, Pimms Avenue,’ he was advised, with an expansive sweep of the policeman’s colossal hand.
‘Ah,’ enthused Nathan, ‘just perfect. It really is aptly named. There is no doubting the fact that this is an avenue in every sense of the word,’ observed Black gleefully. ‘Some of these trees must be thirty foot tall.’
‘I suppose they are,’ agreed the other. ‘You know I must have walked down this street, sorry avenue, a thousand times and never gave it a second thought. Amazing that it should take a stranger to point out how pretty it is. Perhaps you have taught me a valuable lesson Nick. We tend to take things too much for granted as we scurry around in the daily grind.’
‘Very profound Maurice but I know exactly what you mean.’ Just as the sergeant had predicted, there was a large amount of accommodation available, mostly Victorian Style houses converted into flats. The two men sauntered down the avenue, stopping occasionally in order for Black to record phone numbers of estate agencies advertised on the, to let, notices outside a few of the vacant dwellings. They reached the end of the avenue where Scott pointed to his right at the intersection.
‘I live just around the corner, you’re welcome to come in for a cuppa if you wish,’ offered Scott.
‘No, no I couldn’t possibly impose Maurice, perhaps another time. We can discuss it over a drink tomorrow evening if you like.’
‘Yes I’d like that very much. Well see you tomorrow then Nick.’
‘Looking forward to it my friend. I’ll be in around six forty five, traffic permitting of course.’
Scott was ecstatic. Looking forward to it my friend. He smiled warmly as he recounted the Englishman’s parting words. My friend, now there was a turn up for the books. Scott wrecked his brain trying to recall the last person who had uttered anything remotely civil in his direction. The big man had never met anyone quite like Nathan Black in his entire miserable existence. Here he was arranging to have a drink with this man, a stranger really, and it felt marvellous. A niggling doubt crept in to cast a shadow on his revelry. My friend was just a figure of speech. What if Nick had simply meant, see you later pal or even worse, mate? People said friend all the time but they did not really mean, friend, not in the real sense. The big policeman shrugged, ‘What the hell,’ but he was inwardly praying that Nick had been genuine with his offer of friendship. The man had impressed him and he fervently hoped that Nick had meant what he said. No matter what the outcome, this had been a new and pleasant experience and one he intended to relish. For the first time in years, Maurice Scott looked forward to the dawning of a new day.
CHAPTER 9
The unwelcome clamour belonged to Billy Clements’ alarm clock. It boomeranged around the four walls of his small bedroom like the ball in a doubles tennis match. He had packed in readiness for the sojourn to Spain just as Tullen had done a few days prior but there the similarity ended. Unlike Tullen, Billy was haphazard in his style of packing. The previous evening he had visited the club as usual, supping four pints before returning home to throw a few items of underwear and socks into an Adidas kit bag. His dress sense was less than flamboyant, generally settling for jeans and a tee shirt but for his trip to Madrid Billy had purchased four polo shirts of contrasting shades. He had toyed with the idea of purchasing a Northern Ireland soccer strip but discarded the idea believing that it would make him, ‘Too fenian lukin,’ Being a true bigot, Billy would rather go buck naked than be seen in public wearing a garment of a green hue. Clements was oblivious to the feelings or political leanings of the female shop assistant. Which was just as well considering the fact that his utterance was greeted with an unprofessional glare. Neither did he notice her two-fingered gesture aimed at his retreating back. Billy stretched, yawned and eased himself from the bed. He padded across the floor making for the toilet and stubbing his little toe in the process. He gave a yelp, uttered an obscenity and aggravated the injury by kicking out at the offending object, which had caused it. ‘Fuck,’ he screamed, before limping toward the bathroom. After relieving himself, he studied his face in the mirror and scratched his lower abdomen before locating a rather threadbare toothbrush. Pre- breakfast routine was finalised with the stimulation of an ice cold shower. The first meal consisted of milk and corn flakes. A five-mile run generally followed then back to the flat for another shower before setting off for work. Today was different. Billy did not catch the Silverstream bus that would take him to the Belfast city centre. Instead he crossed to the other side of the road, whence he caught a black taxi which would take him to the Ballygomartin Road and Stan Curtis’ fruit and vegetable shop. After alighting from the cab, Billy glanced to his left then casually crossed the road to the greengrocer’s. ‘Shite,’ he mumbled, as he deliberated on the wording of the code. ‘What a load of bollocks. Why not, the winds blow from the south after the consumption of beans?’ he chuckled. Billy was still smiling wryly as he entered the greengrocer’s store. The expression remained as he sauntered to the counter to ask for four Spanish oranges. Curtis glanced up from his magazine. Business must be slack, Billy presumed.
‘Sorry no Spaniards to-day but we do have some nice Jaffas.’
‘Givus four then,’ replied Billy thinking, I wonder what this ass-hole would say if I told him to stuff them.’
‘There you are then. One pound twenty please.’
‘Jees,’ exclaimed Billy, ‘They must have flown them buggers in on the Concorde.’
‘Nothing cheap nowadays son,’ parried Curtis
‘That wud depend on what yer referrin too,’ countered Billy, slapping the money on the counter whilst snatching the bag from the shop keepers grasp.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ muttered the greengrocer visibly annoyed at the younger man’s attitude.’
‘Nothin squire, just gimme the fuckin oranges, all right.’
‘Okay, keep yer shirt on’ replied Curtis.’
‘Asti Spumanti baby,’ chuckled Billy, over his shoulder. He did not catch the shopkeeper’s reply, which cast serious doubts upon his antecedents. A few hundred yards along the road he stopped to examine the bag’s contents. Clements remembered that he did not see the man put anything but oranges in it.After taking a glance around he studied the bag’s contents and sure enough, there was a letter inside. ‘Didn’t see that bugger put the letter in. ‘Yer man’s a regular Paul
Daniels.’ He made a mental note never to play cards with the shopkeeper. ‘The bastard must have won the business playing poker,’ quipped Billy. A picture of Curtis sitting at a card table in a wild west saloon flashed into his mind. Laughing at the ridiculous notion he set off down the road whistling Viva Espania.
CHAPTER 10
The operation referred to by John Starrett, commander of the Belfast branch of the UDA., at his meeting with Clements, was an assassination. The intended victim was to be a post-master whose business was situated in a small village a few miles south of Belfast. News had filtered through to Starrett that the man was a republican sympathiser and that was enough to seal his fate. The job itself would be relatively simple. The hit was being planned to take place on a Thursday, the exact date was unimportant. Thursday on the other hand was vital. Citizens collected their government handouts on Thursdays, otherwise known as Giro day. Two birds could be killed with one stone. Indeed, the would-be assassins should show a reasonable profit if all went well. Terrorism is a costly business and anything, which helped to swell the coffers, was very welcome, therefor it was decided that the squad should rob the post office at the same time. If bystanders were to get killed during the op it would be unfortunate but they would almost certainly be Roman Catholic. In Starrett’s opinion that would be no great loss. One less lazy, bloodsucking bastard for the taxpayer to subsidise. ‘Jesus it makes my blood boil,’ he informed Cairns, his second in command. ‘Would you look
at the fuckers,’ he growled, peering through the windscreen of a seven series BMW. The commander was referring to the large queue, which had formed outside the Post Office. ‘Aye yer right John,’ agreed his partner. ‘They’re not saying, fuck the queen when they’re holdin their hand out for the Giro.’
‘I’ve seen enough Tommy,’ grunted Starrett. ‘Let’s get to hell out of here before these parasites steal our hub caps.’ Without another word he slowly manoeuvred the vehicle away from the kerb, heading back out of the village.
‘It’s a pity wee Billy is out of town on Thursday. I’d have liked him to head up this op. We’ll have to give it to George Blackmore. Make the arrangements. See that he gets here next Thursday to run his eyes over the place. We can bring in a couple of lads from the East for this one. I’d like Blackmore at my place next Monday OK? Cairns nodded in agreement. ‘We can run over the plan with him then, let him know he’ll be heading up the operation. I’ve already worked out most of the details. Like I said before, it should be a piece of cake. Blackmore with an automatic handgun, backed up by one man with a shotgun. The driver will also have a nine millimetre. He can act as a second back up. We don’t want any unwelcome visitor’s, while George and his partner are inside doing the business,’ sneered Starrett. ‘No on second thoughts,’ he added, reconsidering, bring in a fourth man. Let me have a list of names. I’ll make the final selection on the Tuesday a week before the hit. I’ll give it a bit more thought, do a few checks and finalise the business by this weekend. Yer man has lived too long anyway. I think he has three weeks. Yes let’s make it three weeks today.’ he ordered callously, as if a man’s life was worth less than the price of a ticket to the theatre.
Oblivious to his intended fate, James Riley was sharing a joke with a pensioner and sympathising with the old lady’s complaints. The weather was playing havoc with her arthritis and she did not receive enough pension to cover her heating costs.
‘Yes indeed Mrs. Gibbon that’s the way it is these days, never enough money to go around. What you need is a rich man to come and snuggle up to you eh.’
‘Aye chance would be a fine thing. Anyway, even if I did get a rich man, sure he’d skin his knees on these auld bones of mine,’ chuckled the little woman.
‘She’s a right card,’ observed the next customer.
‘Aye she is that.’ agreed Riley. ‘You know she’s nearly eighty and still bright as a button.’ James Riley was not a republican sympathiser. A few careless words uttered in the wrong place was enough for someone to presume his guilt. Misconceptions are often all it takes to sign an innocent person’s death warrant in Ulster. Ri-ley was a fifty-two year-old married man with two grown daughters, a teenage son and a little mistake called Jane, his three year-old pride and joy.
Blackmore received his orders and waited on the corner just as Clements and many others had done previously. Eagerly he placed the blindfold over his eyes and lay quietly in the back. Unlike Clements he had no misgivings about being blindfolded. Whatever John decided must be for the best. His Christian name was the only personal detail Starrett would allow his subordinates to know. Blackmore was the epitome of blind faith. He was a married man with an adoring wife and two adolescent children. One, a boy of twelve years, named Jason. Blackmore’s wife Clara had watched the film Jason and the Argonauts on television during her confinement. In a fit of melancholy she had fantasised about the young actor whom had taken the lead role vowing that if she had a son his name would be Jason. Jason Blackmore, the name had a ring to it. The thought cheered her as she pictured her boy fully matured and debonair dressed in a doctor’s white coat. The girl had been given the same name as her mother. She was fourteen years, fully matured and quite beautiful with attributes in all in the correct places and her mother adored her. Her daughter carried herself with a poise which, was the envy of her peers. Domesticity was a minor concern to George. He was being ferried to meet his boss. His mind was on, what he deemed to be,more important matters. His imagination was racing as he mused on the purpose of the summons. Perhaps the time had finally arrived for him to obtain the credit he deserved.
The car neared the prearranged destination, drawing silently to a halt but unlike his treatment of Clements, Ray was the essence of courtesy. Blackmore was helped from the car and politely asked to wait. As before the driver retraced his steps, timidly driving off up the lane to a safe distance. Under no circumstances was he about to test his superior’s resolve.
‘There you are George lad. I hope you had pleasant trip?’ The commander’s voice was the same but the intonation was different, more pleasant, as if he was greeting an old friend. Blackmore’s heart pounded in anticipation. This was the night, he just knew it. ‘Great John, how’s about yourself,’ he beamed beneath the mask.
‘Oh can’t complain. This weather gets to my old bones but what can one do?’ replied Starrett congenially. They exchanged small talk as George was spirited to the meeting place. John’s buoyant mood filled George with renewed hope that, this indeed, was the night when he would gain promotion and with it, elevation away from the rank and file.
‘I won’t beat about the bush son. You have been the soul of discretion and we are very pleased with your dedication to duty. So much so that we think the time is right for you to assume the mantle of command.’ Blackmore could have punched the air but he was a professional, opting instead for a slight smirk. ‘I won’t let you down John, anything at all. Just name it.’
‘Admirable sentiments lad and I am pleased that you accept the responsibility so readily. Obviously you feel the time is right to progress.’
‘I do sir and I am ready and willing,’ assented the subordinate eagerly.
‘Good, well now George, we want you to control an operation which will result in the termination of an individual named Riley. He and his ilk are the source of a great nuisance to us all. As you are aware the RA needs funds to subsidise their mischief.’ The RA is a common Belfast term for the Irish Republican Army. Starrett went to great pains to defame the post-master. Describing Riley and others like him as cowardly parasites and a threat to the security of every loyalist in the province. They are standing back and watching as innocent people are maimed and killed and then basking in the glory of the atrocities. His rhetoric lasted fully twenty minutes, the intention being, to bring about a hatred so intense that only the death of James Riley would slate it. On the return journey Blackmore could think of nothing but the look of astonishment, then fear on the face of Riley. He had seen it before, revelling in his victim’s surprise, then sheer terror as the realisation of their peril sunk in. Death was almost an anticlimax. Instilling terror was the ultimate buzz. James Riley a man whom Blackmore would encounter for a fleeting instant was
about to become another statistic in Ulster’s shameful, blood-stained history.
Studying the list of names forwarded to him by Cairns, the recently promoted Blackmore, gave a satisfied nod. ‘Three weeks was a short time to organise such an operation but it should be simple enough,’ he concluded. The cell leader could not have asked for a better driver. Bruce Neil was as good as you get. George smiled as the name conjured pleasant memories of their mutual yesteryears. Neil and he were school friends, joining the organisation had been a natural progression for boys nurtured on a diet of hatred and bigotry. Fondly he ran his index finger across the name. Again his face creased into a smile as he remembered them proudly marching with the flute band on the glorious twelfth. It was going to be great working with his old pal again. ‘Aye and Harris has worked with me before he’s a good man,’ he offered, aloud. No problems there, the wee man has nerves of steel. The third one, now he’s a different kettle of fish. I shall have to assess him quickly. ‘Fuck it,’ he whispered. ‘I hate the idea of going into a job with a complete stranger, still John knows best.’ To George Blackmore, Starrett was omnipotent and gods do not make mistakes. Recalling his tryst with the commander banished any lingering doubts. He was ecstatic as their conversation flooded back. ‘Jesus if only I could get to that man’s position,’ but he knew that it was only a pipe dream. ‘I shall do my duty for God and Ulster,’ he whispered, staring solemnly into the mirror. Such fanaticism is commonplace in the six counties.
CHAPTER 11
Nathan Black pondered on his approach to Scott. The man was an enigma. Should he invite him for a meal thereby cementing the friendship? Or did prudence dictate that he wait for an invitation to Scott’s home? Perhaps the man was not the idiot that most people took him for. Bearing these misgivings in mind he decided to adapt a cautious approach. Having made sure to be at the bar first, Black had time to work out an acceptable plan of attack..
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