It was a place littered with shadows, it was empty except for an old Ford van and a few wooden crates. There was an office at the far end with glass walls, a couple of the panes were missing, and a bare light bulb swung from a wire. Quinn removed his rain hat and ran a hand nervously through his hair, which he had dyed black. The dark bushy moustache that he had pasted into place on his top lip completed his transformation.
He waited. They had to be in the van, so he wasn’t surprised when the double rear doors burst open and a giant of a man emerged with an automatic Colt.
“Slow and easy, my little man”, he said with a heavy Belfast accent.
“Hey calm down”, Quinn showed every sign of alarm and raised both hands. ”No problems, I hope? I’m here in good faith”.
The big man frisked him and a voice called ”Is he clean Jack?”
The big man felt between Quinn’s legs. “All clear Curtis” he called.
“Hey, easy big boy before one of us gets turned on!” cried out Quinn in a joke like voice.
“Bring him to my office with you and tell Cameron to watch the front”.
When Quinn entered the office, Curtis Daley was slouched in a chair behind the desk. He was a young man of about twenty-five or so with a heavily freckled face.
“Mr. Quinn, I am Curtis Daley. We have to be careful here, you understand”.
“Oh, perfectly well”, Quinn rolled up his rain hat and slipped it into his raincoat pocket. ”May I smoke?”
Daley tossed a pack of cigars across the table ”Try an Irish cigar. I’m surprised that an English Oxford Boy like you is working for a Russian arms dealer. So why do you come to Ireland?”
Quinn lit a cigar and took a deep puff. ”Well the arms business, especially the level we want to buy at isn’t exactly flowing in London nowadays”.
“So, how can I help you?” said Curtis as he sat up in his chair.
“Well I was told that I was meeting your boss, Mr. Murphy”.
“John. I can call you John can’t I? Why should you expect that? Any real reason?”
“Not really” Quinn said hurriedly. “I did a tour with the Royal Artillery in London, it was in 1987 if I remember correctly. At that time Mr. Murphy was quite famous”.
“Infamous, you mean”, Cirtus said, ”Every one was after him. The police, the army and every one else at Scotland Yard”.
“Not forgetting the IRA” pointed out Quinn.
“Enough of that. So. John. What can I get you?”
“For the kind of money that we are paying, I’m talking about two hundred AK47’s in mint condition, fifty AKM’s and about a dozen general-purpose machine guns. Preferably Browning’s. Not new but in good order”.
“Anything else?”
“Ammunition, lots of it”, said John Quinn as he lent onto the table and looked into Curtis’s eyes.
“It will be no problem except for the Browning’s, their ammunition will cost you extra. I will call you at your hotel and tell you where the pick up point is when we get your merchandise. It should be some time this week”.
“It’s been nice doing business with you” said Quinn as he stood up and shook Curtis’s hand.
“Jack show ‘im the way out,” said Curtis as he beckoned Jack to come over.
“One last thing Curtis, will I meet Mr. Murphy?”
“I can’t say. But if you can, I’ll phone you”. He turned to Jack ”Send him on his way”.
Jack took Quinn back to the entrance and opened the heavy door with amazing ease. As John Quinn stepped outside there was a bright flash and an echoing booming sound came to life in the distance.
“What was that?” cried out John.
“Only a bomb, nothing to get worried about, my little friend. Did you wet your pants?”
He laughed at Quinn and was still laughing as he closed the door. Quinn paused at the corner. The first thing he did was peel of his moustache from above his top lip, then he removed the rain hat from his pocket, unrolled it and removed a short barrelled Smith & Wesson from the small of his back. He put on his hat as the rain turned to hail as they now felt like stones when they hit.
“Amateurs” he said to himself ”What can you do with them?” and then he vanished into the gloomy shadows of Belfast.
By Rikki Patel
