NationStates Jolt Archive

Belfast...25 Years Ago

It was another day in Belfast. The walls were spray painted with anti-British slogans and other things. People went about their day, despite these eye sores. Many were growing tired of the internal strife which had been plaguing the region for years. Catholics were fighting Protestants and the IRA was a bloody shadow which loomed over the cities, towns, and countryside. Their campaign of ''liberation'' was never ending but always deadly. The leaves had fallen from a local play area in a poor neighborhood of Belfast. The leaves spun from the limbs, dancing gently to the ground. Children scampered up and down the play equipment, slides, and sea saws. Two children, Ulysses and Lizzie finally made it.
"Okay Lizzie, don't wander off" a ten year old Ulysses cautioned his younger sister who quickly nodded and ran off to the slide. The boy was soon to follow as they laughed, ignorant to the troubles that surrounded them. After a half hour a group of protesters marched down the empty street, familiar banners in their hands and familiar chants from their mouths with fists in the air in defiance. A line of British troops formed in riot gear, prepared to meet the mob head on. But, the crowd stopped and shouted at the scared men in camoflauge. It was an all too common occurance and the children watched in awe as so many people stood their ground. All of a sudden, a shot rang out and a roar of screams rose through the crowd. Reacting off instinct, the soldiers began to open fire as the mob quickly turned to flee in horror as bullets flew past them. The children hit the ground and cowered in fear at what they saw. Ulysses looked up to find his sister who was laying on the ground, motionless and bleeding. Tears welled up under his eyes as he ran towards her and threw his body onto her and moved her over onto her back. sadly, Elizabeth O'Connoer, age 5 was dead. Her blonde curls stained with blood. The blood crept onto his hands and Ulysses couldn't get it off, no matter how hard he wiped his hands off of his jeans. A torrent of emotions thundered through his turbulent mind. This was only the beginning...

Belfast...The Present Day

The streets were quiet now. The rumbles of strife replaced by the rumbles of construction and progress both social and economic. For the most part, the old days and The Troubles were over. The IRA was outlawed and no longer recieved wide spread support from the populace who have grown tired of their brutal tactics. People walked down the streets, markets were full and traffic filled the roads. Times were looking better. Some people still clamored for independence, but now it was done more peaceful. The Bank of England located in the business district has stood there for over a hundred years and was a major bank from Britain. many rich people used it to house their money, vast amounts which rarely ever reached the poor. Ulysses O'Connor, now 35 stood across the street, ball cap tipped down and hands in his pockets. Life wasn't so bright for him, a troubled man with a vendetta and the means to accomplish that vendetta. he produced a cigarette and lighter and lite it and blew a puff of smoke into the air. Suddenly, the Bank of England exploded in furious fire, the shockwave shattering windows and deafening ears. Within seconds, the old building was ruined, in flames and heavily damaged. As he walked away, Poetic Justice was scrawled on a wall in charcoal. He fought to hold back a smile as he thought off all the rich people, now poor and without anything. He casually walked away as people screamed and horns from ambulances, police, a fire trucks blarred. It was off to Battle Roads Pub, located in Dunmurry, a safe place for people like Ulysses.

Daniel set in the pub drinking a pint. he played with his zippo lighter flipping the lid open and shut. finally he lite the lighter and used it to light a cig. he took a long drag blowing the smoke out slowly his eye glued to flame from the lighter. daniel had always been amazed by fire. the way it practically lived and breathed. it was truly the most destructive thing in nature. the sounds of police cars and fire trucks brought daniel back to his senses he looked up and took another long drag as the a breaking news report flashed onto the t.v. it was a beautiful display of chaos as people fled the area around the bank of england now nothing more then a burning pile of concrete.

Battle Roads Pub, Dunmurry

Ulysses hailed a cab which sped off in the opposite direction, a cloud of thick black smoke billowed into the air behind him, the Irishman didn't look back. After a short drive to the outskirts of the city to the pub. Citizens raced into their rooms and locked the doors. Terrorists have struck Belfast! It drudged up old memories but people speculated on who conducted such a brazen attack on a symbol of British wealth. The TV's blared with live footage of the destruction. Despite the extensive damage, no one was killed, only a dozen or so minor injuries and an old man who suffered a heart attack from the shockwave. He walked through a side entrance into the near empty pub. Roger Dunmore, the owner and bartender of the oub stood behind the bar, polishing a glass mug.
"How goes it today, Ulysses?" he asked, Roger was in his early fifties and a tough old man and a sympathizer.
"Somber but uplifting at the same time" Ulysses replied and took a seat at the bar near Daniel. "So it begins, lad" Ulysses said as he stared off at his own reflection in the large mirror. He saw a cynical man with a vendetta.

Daniel lit another cig and took a swig from his pint. "it sure is nice to something good on t.v. for once." he laughed and sat the pint down taking a drag from his cigarette. " so you think they will give the credit to the good old IRA?" he turned on the stool slightly facing Ulysses.

Ulysses thought for a moment. It was something he thought about before.
"They certainly will. No one knows we exist. Either the blame will shift onto the IRA or some nut job terrorist group" he chuckled slightly but quickly returned to his stoic face and emotionless tone. "This is the point of no return. If you still want to be a part of this, then there's no going back, no matter what happens, Daniel. Are you still in?" he asked. Loyalty was an important factor for Ulysses, he didn't trust many people for obvious reason.

A dark robed in a large cloak walked down the streets of the town. It was getting muggy out here, but he wasn't suprised or caring. He was worried with only himself and his ambitions. Whatever those were. Walking slowly, he had time to glance around at the carnage which surrounded the small town. Fire still blazed in the bank, as the locals called for help to put it out.

He had known the attack would come, and smiled as he walked by. But no one could see his smile beneath his cloak. Indeed, no one even knew his name. His identity was hidden carefully within the confines of the Poetic order... He never spoke and never revealed himself. He just wrote notes on paper and handed them around... and listened. Listening was a powerful ally if utilized correctly, and listening may very well help the Poets survive.

He was the eyes and the ears of the group, and keeping his identity in the dark made this task a lot easier. Uncloaked, he blended into society like butter spreads on bread. No one in the entire organization knew him... or who he was. They just knew he helped their cause. They also knew he was a killer.

As the figure strode to the isolated bar, and stopped at the entrance, he had time to reflect on what had happened in the last few weeks. Few except those in the Poets knew what had transpired. Several higher officials within the local government had been found dead, usually in their beds at night, and unclothed. No one could explain the terrible phenomena. Everyone just knew there was a killer. Most believed that this mysteriously cloaked Poet was the killer... but few would acknowledge their belief.

He walked slowly into the bar and sat on the edge of the gathering group. He said nothing, just waited.

" im in this till i breath my last breath Ulysses ive told you that." daniel finished his cigarette and put it out in the ash tray. " we will make them regret every stepping foot on our Irish soil Ulysses those British scum bags will pay for their injustices"

There was a still moment. Ulysses rapped his fingers off of the bar and took off his hat. His hair was beginning to gray slightly but not too noticeable, it was thick. He rubbed his stubbles "It's been a long time" he commented. The British will pay indeed, but they aren't the only ones who will. "We have much work and planning to do and plenty of time to do so. The Royals haven't a clue" Ulysses had grand schemes for what lay ahead.

" so what happens next Ulysses?" daniel glanced at the end of the bar "seems our mystery is back". daniel always got an uneasy feeling when that guy was around something about staying hidden all the time just gave daniel the creeps. daniel order another pint. " anything you need me to do just name it"

Ulysses said nothing as the other man walked in. he never felt uneasy, in fact he never felt anything. A gaping hole filled his heart and only vengence sustained him each day.
"There is a man named Gregory Carlow" his voice stern and building "This man...is an informant, petty thief. He knows me and I know him. Nearly a dozen of our comrades are languishing in hopeless prison cells because of his forked tounge and wicked soul. He knows the man whom I procurred the explosives from. I trust the supplier fully for he is a close childhood friend. Carlow is a threat and must be eliminated; however, the police stake his hideout. This is touchy but this one must be done." he finished, letting the words sink in.

daniel flipped out his zippo again lighting it staring into the flame again. " you know those old buildings are catching fire all the time these days". daniel looked from the lighter to Ulysses " just say the word and our little friend will burn for his traitorous ways".

The cloaked figure said nothing. The silence would remain until the time to reveal had come... but right now was not that time. Instead, he drew a paper from his cloak and wrote slowly, "Carlow is on the move... south. The Berrybran Inn. Tonight."

He slid the paper down to Ulysses and then turned back to the bar. Writing another note, he ordered a beer and then slowly sipped it beneath the cloak. The face hidden, the identity persevered.

Quiet filled the room.

Smoke filled the bar as one or two people off in the corner left. New faces were a rare sight and Ulysses made sure of that. He thought for a moment, which he did often, choosing his words carefully.
"He'll burn all right" Ulysses replied "You and the others will take out the security which is never more than two guards. I have more details in the back room. But Carlow is mine, we have a past...a past which I'm gonna lay to rest soon"

OOC: Gotta go, great start!

Conor received the phone call about an hour before the attack on the Bank. he knew exactly where to meet, just not what to do.

He drove down the road towards the Battle Roads pub, and parked his car. He sat in the car for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He struggled with the thought of whether or not he had made the right choice. While he wanted justice for the murder of his father, he wasn't sure if it was the worth all the innocent lives it would cost. Then, he remembered that all those innocents complied with British authorities. He angrily got out of the car and entered the pub.

As he entered, he spotted Ulysses in the corner. He walked up to the bar ordered a pint and lit a cigarette. As the fire entered his lungs, a calm came over him. He was fighting for the right cause.

Now he waited, waited for his orders...

Emily drove down the streets of Dublin, she and her cameraman drove down one of the streets when she heard some bullet shots.She and her cameraman jumped out and started filming,"Hello,this is Emily Edwards from BBC, as you an see behind me they is a gun fight between these people,She then saw them shooting at each other, one of men died, "Tom lets go now turn off the camera". Emily and Tom started running back to the car, she could hear them yelling and shooting. "lets go Tom, lets go." The car drove down the road away from the violence.

OOC: I don't remember there being any gunfire. That is, unless you're somewhere else.

"The plan was simple: The Berrybran Inn is a usual spot where he goes for some relaxation. There are women of less than ladylike demeanor that he spends some intimate company with. They usually have one or two guards with him. Their names are Charlie Potwaith and Fred Yates, both constables." They were the the back room and Ulysses slid their photos across a table. He was meticulous with everything. No detail escaped his eye. "These two are half-assed constables at that. Carlow is important to their snitch game and is a priority for protection. One guard will wait outside in a black sedan parked across the street. The other usually lingers in the Inn somewhere. They switch our randomly so I can't say which one will be where but both will be in and around the inn. You'uns will take care of the guards. I'll slip in through the back and up the stairs to deal with him myself" Ulysses went into further details about the plan. They would execute it that night.

daniel nods and listens as Ulysses laid out the plan. he took the two picture and looked them over. " sounds like a plan ill take care of which every guy you want. you want there deaths quiet or you want them made examples of?" he asked looking at Ulysses as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it taking a drag.

there a sign up thread for this?

Conor stood at the bar, drinking his pint and smoking his cigarette. The bartender asked him if he was looking for something. He turned, with a stone cold look on his face, and said "Ulysses." The bartender said he was in the back. He'd unlock the door.

Conor walked into the back and saw Ulysses and another man, who he was unfamiliar with, talking with pictures on the table in front of them. Conor sat down with his pint and cigarette and shook Ulysses' hand.

"Conor, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is Conor." Ulysses said.

"How you doin?"Said Daniel.

"Not bad, not bad. So what's all this?"said Conor

"No, dispatch with them quickly and quietly" Ulysses snapped back. "They are not important...Carlow is" he trailed off, eyes concentrated on a time past. When Ulysses was older he finally succumbed to IRA recruitment. Despite his parents doing everything they could to keep their only surviving son from traveling down a dark path, Ulysses followed it anyways, vengence as his guide and companion through the years. Roger Carlow back then was a charasmatic man with a fiery tounge which could whip a crowd into a fervor. The young Ulysses looked up to Carlow who was like an uncle to him. He took this young, angry, and willing boy under his wing and taught him...and taught him well. Now, Carlow was in his mid-fifties, thick white hair and a white beard. A mere shell of what he once was. The man was an alcoholic and now a snitch for the authorities. Ulysses now viewed him as a traitor. In Ukysses mind, betrayal was the ultimate sin...

daniel stood drew a knife from his belt he walked around the room with his cigarette. he took out a stone and began sharpening it " well when do we leave?"

Conor sat watching the two men discuss a plan so far unfamiliar to him.

"Wait, what's going on?"Conor said.

"This man, Carlow, snitches on us to the authorities and he put a lot of our people in prison. We going to silence him."Ulysses said.

"Ok, so what do you want me to do?" Killeran asked.

"Well, at first this seemed only like a two man operation, but now that you're here, we could sure use you. Question is, what to do with you?"O'Connor asked himself.

Suddenly, a knock came from the door, the bartender peeked in and told them to look at the TV.

Belfast Police were holding a conference on the day's events.

“…and so therefore, it is imperative that we preserve the youth of the world, regardless of their country of birth or their standing in society. It is not only our duty to God and mankind, but it is essential to the preservation of a just society and the only possible hope for a future not simply prosperous, but peaceful as well.”

Jonathan O’Callaghan beamed as the room erupted into a standing ovation. He bowed his head humbly and stepped away from the podium. Overhead, beside the logo of the corporation he had built himself from the ground up hung a banner with the name of its newest philanthropic branch, “Tomorrow, Today.” Amid the congratulations from humanitarian leaders, fellow businessmen, politicians, and everyone in between, O’Callaghan’s head spun. The opening of the foundation had gone off without a hitch, and his speech had been perfect, but still he felt himself getting dizzy, and his stomach beginning to churn.

While the guests dispersed to enjoy refreshments and converse with one another, he quietly slipped out of the room, and made his way through the dark deserted corridors of the office building that housed his company headquarters.

Breathing heavily, he stepped into the warm, dim comfort of his own office, and took a seat in the leather armchair behind his desk. He tilted his head back and ran his fingers through the lengthy mop of graying brown hair. Sighing, he opened a drawer and withdrew a bottle of aspirin. He popped one of the pills into his mouth before withdrawing from the same drawer a cigarette case and an old lighter. Placing one between his lips, he touched the lighter to the tip, and sat back, loosening his tie and feeling the combination of aspirin and nicotine begin to chisel away at his headache.

He wasn’t hungry, though he hadn’t eaten much all day, and as he sat, he gently freed himself of the burdens of the day.

Without warning a knock came at the door.

“Yes?” he said in a raspier version of his typical booming brogue. The door opened and a younger man stepped in.

“Yes, Murphy?” said O’Callaghan, a genuine look of good nature on his face.

“Mr. O’Callaghan, you may want to turn on the news.”

O’Callaghan was perplexed, but reaching for the remote, he turned on the television in the far corner of the office, and was greeted by the sound and image of a blazing building. Across the bottom, beside the BBC news logo were the words “Irish nationalists strike again in Belfast.”

Leaning forward, O’Callaghan furrowed his brow.

“Thank you Murphy.”

The sound of the door closing behind him barely registered, as the cogs in O’Callaghan’s brain had already begun to turn.

Emily and Tom drove down a street and saw a fw kids walking home from school,Emily and tom jumped out the car and walked over to them, "tom turn on the camera". "hello children,do you think that british soldiers and policemen should be in Dublin", "No, Dublin should belong to Ireland, Not to the United Kingdom. If We had a chance we would kill Queen Elizabeth". Emily couldn't believe what she just heard. "This is Emily Edwards Reporting From Dublin, Northern Ireland and we just heard from some children talking about there opinion on this national crisis,We are going to be showing some grapic video right now,Please take your children out of the room", "As you can see this was filmed today at a local Pub, As you can see the two males in the pub are stabing two other males, We do think two men who are attacking are catholics and the another to men are protestants", As you can see one of the two men have died". "We will be reporting everything in Northern Ireland, I'm Emily Edwards Signing off from BBC, Thank you everyone for joining us".

daniel ran his thumb over the blade a small trickle of blood running from it showing it was sharp enough. he put the knife back in the sheath and sat back down at the table. " these men are going to breath their last breaths tonight".

Daniel sat back in his chair, his fingers pattering the table, anxiously awaiting the moment when they would leave.

"I think I may have just thought of something for you Conor."Ulysses said with a smile.

"Yea?"Conor said, eagerly.

"Well, since I was planning this to be a two man job, I see you serving little purpose in the execution of the plan. Rather, we will need a lookout, just in case something should happen to go wrong. You will sit in the car and alert us should, a damned constable, or anything suspicious happen."Ulysses said.

"I see.."Killeran responded, sounding unenthusiastic.

"I understand, your lack of drive for the mission, but trust me, your strike will come. Daniel and I had been planning this since before you arrived."Ulysses said in a voice, trying to make Killeran understand.

"I understand sir. I understand."Conor responded.

"Ok then, now let me when this damned policeman is saying."Ulysses said.

Conor sat back in his chair, lit another cigarette, and thought of his father. A fire grew in his stomach. He knew every act he would commit from now on, would be the right one. He looked up at the screen.

Detective Robert Warren, a veteran of the Belfast Police Department for over 15 years stood near the charred remains of the Bank of England as fire crews finished up. Smoke still rose through small parts of the building. Tow trucks took away sevearl damaged cars that were parked next to the building. Crime Scene Investigators were scowering through the rubble, searching for evidence. The Fire Chief approached him.
"There were several C4 charges set throughout the basement complex of the building. A simple time charge was set on each of them, nothing special. Most of the building was destroyed, as you can tell." said the Chief as he continued to brief the detective. Warren ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair as he observed the once great building. Warren was an Irishman and lived through the Troubles himself. His parents were devout Catholics and always taught him to stear clear of the IRA recruiters and sympathizers. His father believed that positive change could never be brought about by the barrel of a gun. His father was a preacher at a local church and his mother worked in a bakery. Now, he was forty five years old, married with children. He retained his parents beliefs and despised the IRA and anyone like them. He joined the police department as a lowly constable who strode down the streets. Now, he was a detective and a good one at that. He took down statements, interviewed witnesses to the explosion, and went through the normal motions of police work. He took note of the words scrawled on the wall and deamed it important. Back at the precinct he reviwed security tapes from the surrounding buildings and ones from the bank. Luckily, the feed from the camers went to data bases elsewhere and they got the cooperation of the bank, full cooperation. A tech guy played the tapes, particularily in the basement storage rooms which had not too great of a feed.
"fastforward a bit, will ya?" Warren asked and the techie followed suit. Inside the building workers walked through doing their jobs. The grainy image of a man in an old baseball cap came into view, nothing suspicious. The, ten minutes later he came into view again from a different camera. Then, a back shot of him walking around a corner. All the ares he was seen in were where the blasts originated.
"Can you clean up the image?" Warren asked, leaning forward towards the screen. The techie tried to filter the picture but there was no good enough face shot. "Whoever this guy is, he knew exactly where the cameras were"
"Can't get a clearer picture, sorry Detective" the techie said in a disappointed tone.
"That's alright, put in the tapes from the surrounding buildings, looks like a painters coverall" Warren said and they continued to review more footage. Warren believed that this man was the one who planted the bombs.

Ulysses stood up and cracked his knuckles. It's been years since he'd seen Carlow, now, the two of them would meet for one last time. He'd been planning this for months. Everything was going according to plan. The Irishman began to walk out of the room.
"Well boys, let's get to it" he said as they all began to walk outside.

Meanwhile...

Carlow carefull slipped into the Inn and quickly made his way to the bar to belt back a few drinks. The two constables took up their positions. Potwaith waited in the car and Yates was in the bar, keeping one eye on Carlow and another eye on a rather cury waitress. It was dark out now but the city was still alive with talk of the attack on the Bank of England.

daniel stood up grabbing his cigarettes and followed Ulysses out of the back room. thoughts of his little sister filled his head as they left the pub . these thoughts were what kept daniel fighting. not only fighting the British scum but also IRA trash that may have very well taken his sister. his hate made it so easy for him to justify the terrible things he had already done and the things that he would surely do in the future.

OOC: We'll hold off executing the plan until more people come back.

Ulysses said nothing as he entered his car and started the engine, waiting for the others to get inside. It was a brisk night and the streets were empty. He looked outside the windows and surveyed the street ahead. These people have no idea. Somewhere, Carlow sat at a bar, aware that the time was ticking away for him but had no clue that his clock would runout tonight.
"We will do this quick. Execute the guards quietly, don't linger and don't let yourselves get caught" he said, eyes forward.

Detective Warren leaned back into his chair after hours of sifting through video footage and doing paperwork. His partned, Detective Pollock, another veteran of the force and a descent detective.
"Take a break Robby" he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets to retrieve a cigarette. "Want one?" he asked.
"You know I don't smoke" Warren snapped back, eyes concentrated on the screen.
"Screams IRA. It seems they're trying to make a come back. Prime Minister Terrington's speech about administrative control of this place pissed off alot of people. Plenty of fuel for those bastards if you ask me" Pollock said as he took a seat next to Warren who put another tape in the TV.
"I'm still not sure. The writing on that wall wasn't a call sign of the IRA or any organization I know of."
"Foreign Terrorists perhaps? Our leads are going nowhere and our man hasn't heard any major IRA talk lately."
"Another reason to believe it's something new. This guy was a pro and won't be easy to find" Warren focused on the grainy image of a van parked a block away three days before the explosion. He decided to call the execs and see if any major paint jobs were being done in the basement areas.

daniel glanced around down the street and walked over getting in the car. his heart was pumping fast now as it always did just before he was to kill someone. daniel had learned at a young age that killing for the cause was a simple fact of life. the thing that bothered daniel the most was that it had become more then that to him he almost enjoyed it now and with the events that had happened to him over the last few years he seemed to enjoy i even more these days.

The executive manager of that particular branch of the Bank of England was very forthcoming with information dealing with all matters concerning it. He had files pulled from digital logs by his secretary of all major works being done to the bank. Seeing how it was an old building, extensive restoration was underway to keep the building from falling apart. Little good it did the bank now. Restoration and repair projects had been off and on for the past decade and the painting of the basement rooms and storage areas was the last part of the project. Blighe's Paint was contracted to do the work for the entire building. After recieving more information Pollock called Blighe's Paint. Warren had hardly set the phone down on the exec when Pollock began his calls. He was given a list of employees who were the actual workers. Armed with this information they would resume the race for their suspect in the morning. After a long and painstaking day, the two weary detectives called it a night. Warren drove home to his house a few miles away and opened the door to a place which brought him comfort and a place to decompress and forget about the troubls of his world. The mantle piece was filled with photos. One of him and his wife Laura when they first married. A photo of them and their two young daughters, one with their grown-up daughters who are now about to go to colleges, as well as various other ones. His wife was a local lawyer and a successful one. She was 43 and still attractive. Her green eyes always captivated Warren. Laura came out of the kitchen and gave him a kiss as he set his briefcase down.
"I heard about the bombing at the bank of England" she said with a concerned tone as Warren or ''Robby" took off his blazer and loosened his tie.
"Yep, I'm heading the investigation" he replied with a sigh.
"They're saying it's possibly the IRA's work"
"We don't know for sure, Laura" Warren walked over to their dog, an old but still spry Australian sheperd named Pim who's tail wagged with joy as Warren came over to pat it on the head.
"You be carefull, Robby. Those bastards are dangerous" she crossed her arms and walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry about me. Probably just some nutjob who's check bounced and he blames the establishment" he smirked and kissed her again. His lie didn't fool the wife of a detective who over the years picked up on some of his tactics. "We'll catch the bad guy and I'll be a hero" he joked.

Conor put out his cigarette and got into the back of the car where Ulysses and Daniel were already waiting. He knew what his job was, although a little dissapointed with it, he knew what he had to do was important.

"Here take these."Ulysses gave Conor a sharp knife and a silenced pistol. Conor took the pistol in his hands and became excited. He was ready. Ready to fight.Ready to kill.Ready to die.

In the back of a car was a small plastic tank of fuel with Carlow's name on it. Ulysses shifted gears and the car drove off slowly at first then went at a normal speed down the streets towards the Inn. It was late now and a slight chill rose in the air. Carlow ain't going to be cold where he's going. It was a descent drive to the Inn, on the other side of Belfast infact. The police were on high alert today and saturation patrols were in the area. But, Ulysses kept his cool. After they reached a specific block away from the Inn he turned off the ignition. Down the street was the car with Potwaith asleep at the wheel.
"Alright, boys. Let's get to work" Ulysses said as he looked at the others and then stepped out of the car and gently shut the door. He went around to the trunk and flipped it open and took out the gas tank and hauled it with him to an alley. "Be careful" he warned and then disappeared. Carlow was upstairs in a private room with a lady, a curvy woman who had to be paid alot of money to give him a ''private'' dance.

Potwaith slumped over to one side of his seat. It was boring and tedious protecting some Irish snitch as he feels up some hooker in a hotel room. Pots sat at the bar pounding away shot after shot, he normally didn't drink on duty but he was suffering from a bitter divorce with his wife and the chips were down and the bottle full.

daniel got out of the car and walked slowly down the sidewalk noticing the car out by the curb. he walked up slowly looking around. the street was pretty much empty. daniel bent down as he stepped next to the drivers door and tapped on the glass. Potwaith slowly rolled down the window " can i help you?" Potwaith asked. daniel leaned in closer pulling out a cigarette " ya sorry to bother ya lad but could i trouble you for a light?" daniel asked. Potwaith nodded and went to reach for the glove compartment where he had put his lighter. as he did daniel pulled the knife from the back of his belt and leaned quickly through the window grabbing Potwaith by the hair and quickly opening his throat with the knife causing the blood to pour from his neck. daniel pushed Potwaith into the floor of the front seat so not to be seen by passers and wiped the blade clean on the seat putting it back into his belt. stepping away from the car he glanced down the road and then headed for the hotel. he walked slowly into the bar of the hotel and notice the other officer. he glanced around the room and notice what he knew to be a working girl who was in her own right quite attractive. daniel walked over to the girl and slipped her a hundred bucks whispering in her ear to bring the man at the bar out back. he walked down the hall and slid out the back door hiding by a nearby dumpster. it only took a few minute before the door opened again and out walked the girl and Pots the girl began using her ways to distract Pots and daniel slowly crept up behind him pulling out a silenced .22 pistol and pressed it to the back of his skull firing two rounds into the back of him head knowing the round would ricochet inside his skull causing almost instant death he looked at the working girl and walked over running a hand through her hair " thank you for your help" he said and leaned in kissing her forehead before he stepped back and fired a round into the same spot he had just kissed. he wish he could have let her live but she had seen his face and had to be gotten rid of. he picked up pots body and dumped it in the dumpster and went back taking the girls body and disposing of it the same way. he looked around and walked around the building towards the car leaning against a build outside of the car and lit a cigarette watching the hotel knowing soon another would lose his lift within those walls.

The bar was crowded but Ulysses knew the layout of the Inn and easily alipped through a back entrance which led directly up the stairs and to the second floor. He crept slowly up each step, inching ever closer to an encounter he'd waited for some many years. He knew exactly where Carlow was and who he was with. He slip up to the door and grasped the handle and turned it, the door creeked open. Inside, Carlow was belting back a drink while his female companion was taking a shower. He set the glass down and looked up at Ulysses who produced a MAB PA-15 from his jacket and thumbed back the hammer.
"It's been a long time, Carlow" Ulysses said as he stepped forward, setting the gas can down and closing the door.
"W-Why are you doing this?" Carlow asked with a shaky voice.
"You know damn well"
"Because I-I talk to the police?"
"No!" Ulysses shot back angrily. "I have one question, which you will answer or I'll give you a taste of what Hell'll feel like."
"W-What do you want to know?" Carlow stood up and backed two steps.
Ulysses asked him exactly what he wanted to know.
"I don't-"
"Don't lie!!" Ulysses stepped foward and raised the gun towards Carlow's head.
"M-Micky Norris!" Carlow cried. Ulysses smiled, stepped forward and pistol whipped him across the face, knocking the man to the ground as a bloody tooth shot outward.
"Roger? What's going on?" a female voice asked through the door. Ulysses stepped over Carlow and up against the bathroom door.
"Listen ma'am. Carlow's got some explaining to do and you're gonna stay in the bathroom" he said in a stern voice.
"Uh...okay" she said in a weary and uncertain tone. Ulysses then walked back to Carlow and began to empty the gasoline onto him.
"Please!!" Carlow pleaded but his crys fell on deaf ears. The gas soaked into his clothes and the smell was nausiating.
"You won't be alone where you're going" Ulysses stepped away and produced his lighter, flipping it open the flame danced before him. He couldn't hear Carlow screaming, just the flames rising to the ceiling as they engulfed his body. All he could hear was the sound of his sister's sweet laughter...

He calmly departed the burning room and down towards the stairs. People began to gather at the bottm and looked at him. Instead of seeing his face they only saw and old baseball cap tucked down and a pistol aimed at them. A round fired off over their heads and into a clock. They screamed and began to scrambled out of the inn. behind Ulysses came the woman with nothing more than a towel on. He continued out of the building with the rest of the crowd who hardly noticed him, but rather the raging inferno on the second floor. The police were called by a local resident. Ulysses shoved his hands in his pockets and walked briskly back to the car and whistled for the guys to get back in. He swiftly opened the door and reved the engine.

Meanwhile, Detective Warren lay in bed, restless. Laura cuddled up against him and asked what's wrong.
"Nevermind about it" he said in a weary tone. The two of them had endured rough seas, she was always worried about her husband being hurt on the job. It was dangerous business, being a cop. He tried to assure her that he was alright and to go back to sleep. All of a sudden the phone rang, cracking the silence. Warren reached across Laura and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. Laura shifted away from him.
"Sorry to wake you but something's happened" Pollock's voice was somber.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting up. Pollock filled him in on what happened. Their informant and two policemen were dead. Warren jumped out of bed, told Laura that duty called, dressed himself and ran to his car. It wasn't going to be an easy case.

Maria was sitting over the otherside of the road, she saw the hotel burning, she slid her sunglasses up her nose and waited to escort the officer.

"What's going on?"Conor asked, just noticing the blazing fire from the upstairs of the inn.

"Get in."Ulysses demanded.

"What?"Conor asked again.

"GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!"Ulysses commanded both of his men.

Conor got in the car without asking a third time, Daniel came running around the inn and got in the front seat.

"Ok, what the hell happened in there?"Daniel asked.

"I got a name, then I sent Carlow straight to hell."Ulysses said triumphantly.

The car hummed down the road off in the distance, as police cars with sirens blaring drove straight past them.

The car drove at a casual pace away from the Inn. The thrill of what he did began to subside and the name Micky Norris resounded through his brain. It was another man who he wanted to meet. One thing bothered him and it needed to be addressed. Everything went smoothly, except for one things.
"Daniel" Ulysses said in a stern tone "We need to talk when we get back to the pub" he continued to drive towards the pub.

Emily saw the smoking rising,"tom lets go". The car followed the smoke to a Inn.Emily and Tom jumped out the car and started filming."Hello this is Emily Edwards For BBC News.As you can see behind me a person has set fire on the local Inn,We are still trying to find answers about who did this". Emily heard ablast and fell down tom was on the ground bleeding,the camera was still on showing the world what was happening.Emily could see firefighters,Policecars and Ambulance coming down the road,She crawled to Tom."Tom are you ok". She only heard him mumble something out.She saw doctors running down to them,All Emily knew was that she feel to the ground.

OOC: i wanna do somethinggggg :(

daniel looked over at Ulysses and nodded " sure thing Ulysses" he turned for a second to watch the flames disappear behind them as the car drove off into the distance.

Conor sat in the back seat staring at the night sky. He picked up the silenced pistol again, feeling the cold steel between his hands. He sat there regretting the fact that he had not gotten the chance to use it tonight. He wondered when and if he would finally get the chance to shoot at something.

"Ulysses..."Conor asked.
"Yea?"He fired back.
"Never mind."Conor retreated back into his mind, delving back into the nightmares he had after he discovered his father was dead. He kept picturing his father being punched full of holes by British bullets. He kept telling himself he would get his chance at vengeance, but not tonight. But soon.

The pub was empty, even the barkeep left for the night but Ulysses had access to the establishment 24hrs a day. It was a safehaven, one he knew no prying eyes could see into. It was his fortress of solitude. It was now late in the night and again, the city was astir with activity. Sirens blarred across the night. Ulysses and the others moved into the pub. In the backroom Ulysses stored away the gas can and other items he had on his person. He then took Daniel aside from the others and came at him from an angle, his face up close and voice warning.
"Killing that girl was a mistake. If you want to be a part of this you play by my rules. The rules are: no innocents" he paused to let it sink in. "If you break the rules again...I'll kill you myself" he lingered for a moment then moved on, Micky Norris was waiting.

The fire crews got to the Inn quickly and managed to put out the fire before any severe damage occured. The top floor was damaged, but not severly. The room; however, suffered extensive damage. The coroner examined the bodies which were laid on the sidewalk, away from the growing crowds.
"What's the butcher's bill?" Warren asked as he walked up to the coroner, Dr. Nancy Drew. She looked up at him and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"Four all together. Two constables, the man upstairs, and some poor waitress in the back alley." She replied coldly. Warren and Pollock went about the normal and standard procedures. Two cops were dead, and informant, and an innocent waitress.
"Waste of a goodf informant" Pollock commented "And a waste of a beautiful woman" he added. "This screams IRA revenge, Warren"
"Perhaps" warren responded in a disconnected tone, he walked into the building and went to the stairs where witnesses placed the suspect. They claimed he fired a shot over several of them so he examined the bullet hole, the bullet was still wedged into the charred wood. He carefully worked it out with a switchblade and put it in an evidence bag. The only distinguishing characteristic that any of the witnesses could make of the suspect was an old baseball cap.
"This is the same guy from the bank" Warren said as he stepped back outside. "They found the van used but it was clean of prints. We have nothing. It's like this guy's a ghost!"
"Cool it, Warren" Pollock said casually "We'll get to the bottom of this. This operation was sloppy."
"When ballistics is done, I want their reposrt asap. Also, the coroner's report"
"Right"
"I want to talk to the girl in the room"
"She's still around" Pollock replied. It was going to be a long investigation.

Maria walked in, she took in the atmosphere, as a psychic profiler she need every ounce of atmosphere and energy available, she saw some men who shone with red in her eyes, she studied them carefully.

Conor, Ulysses, and Daniel sat in the back room of the empty pub in silence. No one said anything, and Conor pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

"So, what's next?"Conor asked.

"Micky Norris" Ulysses uttered, lingering on the name. It was a name that he wanted to know for a long time. Carlow was in Hell now and soon he'd have more company. The plan was going perfectly, the authorities were convinced it was the IRA and already the police would be breathing down their necks. leaving the Poets free to do as they will. Now that he had a name, Ulysses need a place and a time. These things take time.
"All right boys, things have gotten pretty hot. You all earned a short break before he start up again." He looked at his watch "It's Monday morning now. Come back on Wednesday and we'll begin the next phase. remember, keep your mouths shut and stay aware of who's around you and who might be listening" he cautioned.

( OOC now how exactly would Ulysses have even known who daniel killed when he was supposed to be inside doing his deed and killing her was only to protect the identity of daniel or she could have easily snitched to the cops and screwed the whole crew. if you dont like the choice i made then that fine let me know and ill move onto another role thread thoe involved in a group such as this wouldnt care about some everyday hooker being killed during the act of death hell you blew up a bank in the middle of town which could have killed hundreds of innocents.)

OOC:I think that he meant that he didn't want the intentional act of killing innocents.

( OOC now how exactly would Ulysses have even known who daniel killed when he was supposed to be inside doing his deed and killing her was only to protect the identity of daniel or she could have easily snitched to the cops and screwed the whole crew. if you dont like the choice i made then that fine let me know and ill move onto another role thread thoe involved in a group such as this wouldnt care about some everyday hooker being killed during the act of death hell you blew up a bank in the middle of town which could have killed hundreds of innocents.)

OOC: Slow your rolls there, partner. It's part of the story what my character said. Nothing personal, it's just role playing. I don't care that you killed a hooker but my character does. Don't worry about it.

( OOC it didnt matter much to me i was just simply asking how he would have even known it happend when he was in the building when my guy did it thats all)

bump

( OOC it didnt matter much to me i was just simply asking how he would have even known it happend when he was in the building when my guy did it thats all)

When he left through the alley he saw the dead woman

Shankill road was quiet at this hour, but the atmosphere was anything but peaceful. Walsh's Pub seemed to have closed early for the night - something not uncommon in this neighborhood, but as usual in west Belfast, nothing was always as it seemed. For despite the dark and shuttered storefront, Duncan and a few of his lads were enjoying a quiet drink in the back room. It was a special arrangement, and one that Duncan enjoyed all over the area. In the good Catholic neighborhoods, you looked after you own. And Duncan looked after them all.

Truth be told, "enjoying" was not the right word, but there was drinking, sure enough. Duncan scowled over a pint, staring grimly at a spot on the far wall. Walsh and Brennan lounged in the straight-backed chairs while Doyle leaned uneasily against the wall, drawing contemplatively on a near-spent fag.

"They picked up Brody today."

It was Duncan who broke the silence. They all knew the reason for the meeting, but the greater cause was still something of a mystery. Brody had been one of their best snipers. The RUC had nothing on him - Duncan was careful to be sure of that, but the bastards would inter him anyway. With the way of things lately, there was likely to be an "accident" that the interrogators could easily explain off. Brody had been in worse scrapes than this, but what concerned Duncan more was that he was the third of their boys picked up this week.

"The bank-" explained Brennan.

"I know about the fucking bank." Duncan was in no mood for it. "What I don't know is who. Doyle."

Doyle didn't move, nor did he wrest his gaze from that offending spot on the floor, but he was listening sure enough.

"I want fucking answers. If this was one of our boys, make an example of him. No one operates without my say so. Understand?"

Doyle finished his smoke and crushed the embers underfoot. Pulling his cap low and collar high against the chill breeze, he let himself out the back where they could come and go without being seen.

"And if this wasn't one of our boys, I want fucking names."

daniel left the bar that night and went home to take care of his brother who had a lot of medical problems since his injury. he walked upstairs and checked on him and then went back down stairs and grabbed a beer out the fridge. he walked into the living room and flipped on the tv watching the scenes of their recent acts on the screen. daniel took pride in knowing that they had taken a pice of scum of this earth. he glanced over as he took a swig from his beer and saw the picture of his little sister on the wall almost bringing him to tears thinking how he might not ever know what really happened to her but he planned on tracking down the scum who took her. he finished his beer and leaned back in the chair falling asleep. after a few days of going through his routine he gathered his things and left some money for his brother to get some dinner that night and went out climbing in the flat bed work truck he had and drove to the pub walkign inside he sat down and said hi to the bar tender and order a beer and lit a cigarette.

Conor got up and walked outside the pub and got into his car. He drove back into Belfast,where for the time being, he was keeping an apartment. A rather shabby place, but it was cheap and he didn't think he would be there very long. He walked into the kitchen got a glass of water and went to bed. It had been a long night.

He woke up and turned on the tv, where the news was covering the events at the bank and the inn. They were discussing whether or not the two events were connected. Conor sat down and relaxed, smiling, knowing that he was changing history.

Doyle was chosen specifically for his incongruity. He had a rare ability to travel within any given neighborhood in Belfast, regardless of which side they supported, with no more than the usual harassment. The Catholics and the Prods.. he never officially or publically chose a side, so the locals more often than not assumed he fell along whatever the local leanings favored. And as to that, he was known in many areas, but only among the small circles that frequented each of his 'favorite' pubs. Only Duncan knew his true allegiance.

It was on this occassion that he stopped at a Provo-friendly establishment. The big bartender Sylvest grinned broadly at his enterance and without prompting, started a pint of Guinness for his lad.

"Doyle, me lad! I was beginnin' te wonder if you was still hauntin' these parts."

"Come man, you know I belong to Belfast, heart and soul." Leaning over the bar slightly to retrieve his pint, he confided lowly in Sylvest. "Times is gettin' hard. It's a bit hot out these days."

Grinning casually, he chose a seat at the bar between two sets of patrons. The men to his left were quietly discussing a fire at an inn not far from here. He recognized one of them, and glanced over harmlessly to catch the words.

"-yeah, and the sergeant he says to me it was the Boys."
"Ah come off it now, Mac, ya don't believe that."
"Sure'n I couldn't say. But after that business with the bank.."

"And what have ya heard to that end, Mac?" Doyle was a pleasant enough man when his mind was set to it.

"The same as you, I suspect. There's not much to go on just yet."

Doyle nodded, and as the Guinness finally fell he savored the stout gratefully. "Well if you hear anything.."

"Of course, mate."

Doyle's gaze shifted to the set behind the bar. Kilkenny was playing Cork at hurling, and the Cats had just scored. With a slight grin, he raised his glass in toast and settled in to enjoy a drink.

Conor stood up and grabbed his jacket, he walked outside and walked to the Four Shepherds, a local pub, and ordered a Guinness. He sat at the pub and began talking with the bartender.

"So, what do you think about all this?"The bartender said. "Well, I actually think that what these guys are doing, is just what we need." Conor responded.
"What are ya kidding me?" The bartender shot back. Conor noticed a British flag up in the corner, and sat back. "What are you, one of them IRA types?" The bartender said, his voice sounding angrier. "No, not at all. I'm something different." Conor said, sounding apprehensive. "Something different? The British do nothing but help us." The bartender said. "You know what I'm just gonna leave." Conor responded. He walked out and left money on the bar.

bump

The game had gone well, with the Cats defeating the Rebels. All of Leinster would be celebrating to the chargrin of their rival, and Doyle besides. A Kilkenny man by birth, fate and fierce love of country had brought him first to South Armagh, and from there on to Belfast. But enough celebrating, there was work to be done.

Throughout the afternoon, he'd wandered the length and breadth of Shankill road, visiting various pubs to engage in conversations much like the one in Sylvest's place. Thus far, he had no leads. He was beginning to doubt it was one of the Boys. Someone would have heard something, regardless of how small-time the player might be. He decided then to wander to the bank's general neighborhood. It was a decidedly Loyalist area, but he'd never had trouble there himself. If the job were done locally, someone here would know, and Prod lies, exaggerated through they were, where often a good source for him as far as leads were concerned. He sauntered casually about the area, people-watching. There was a pub he patronized in this area from time to time called the Four Shepherds. The place practically bled Orange, and it was here he'd try his hand next.

Conor walked back across the street still pissed off about what had happened in the pub.

"Un-fucking believable." Conor muttered to himself. Just then, he saw the bartender emptying out the trash behind the pub. Conor walked back towards the pub.

"HEY!"Conor yelled as he ran forward toward the man. "Oh yeah, what are you gonna do?" He shot back. Conor laid him out with a right hand across the man's face, the bartender collapsed to the ground. Conor repeatedly kicked him while he was lying in the alleyway. Conor picked him up and threw him into the dumpster and closed the lid. He picked up a broom from the trash and used it to latch the lid shut. He walked away with the bartender bleeding and unconscious in the dumpster. The bartender would be found in about two hours when the trash was emptied again.

Doyle was growing restless. He didn't like being in this place without something to drink, and the barman was no where to be seen. The few other patrons present were looking shifty as well. Apparantly the barman had stepped out for a moment. Doyle had just laid his payment on the bar and reached over to pour himself a pint when he heard something of a commotion outside. Curious now, he closed his fist on a pistol concealed deep within a coat pocket and let himself out the back.

The barman was nowhere to be seen, but there was blood in the alley, and a broom wedged through the dumpster latch forming a crude sort of lock. A man was turning the corner ahead.

"Oy! You!"

He left the pistol in his pocket, wrested the broom from the latch, and started forward, memorizing every detail about the man he could. The distance between them was enough that he couldn't make out some of the details clearly, but a vague picture was better than none at all.

Conor stood there looking at the man. He had gotten his attention, when he noticed there was still blood on his hands.

"Oh shit." Conor said to himself. "What?" The man said back. "None of your fucking business." Conor shot back. "You know something about this?"The man asked. "What are you a cop? That prick's a loyalist."Conor said referring to the bartender."Really?"The man asked. Conor put a confused look on his face.

Balistics made an identification on the bullet in the wall. The sketch artist made a rough and hardly good enough picture of the suspect. Sadly, there was no registered gun that matched the bullet in their data base. Warren and Pollock went about proper procedures over the next week, having undercover communicate with their snitches. They tracked down leads, often leading to a dead end. All evidence pointed to the IRA. The higher ups wanted an a resolution to the investigation swiftly. Two police officers were now dead. The public were keeping null for the most part. Some believed the TRoubles were here again while some secretly cheered this phantom group on.

Ulysses did not rest during this week. In this time, he went about finding as much as he could about Micky Norris. He had many contacts around the city who were IRA and even a few police. Finally, he made a break and discovered that Micky was living out in the country, not even in a small town but an old cottage near some out of the way town. He would recall his group sdoon and begin work.

ooc: Conor, I'd hate to think you had the poor ettiquette to RP my character for me... As a courtesy, I'll work with your comments up through "he's a Loyalist," and trust that we won't have any more trouble of this sort in the future.

ic:
"That prick's a loyalist."

"And so what if he is?"

Doyle was not the most physically intimidating of men, but his thin face marked someone who compensated with cunning. His grip tightening slightly on the broom, he held his ground, careful to keep a healthy distance between the two of them.

"If'n ya haven't noticed, mate, you're in an Orange neighborhood. And if ya don't want to see the whole place fall about your ears, ya might consider a lower profile."

His eyes narrowed slightly, visually examining the man. But his stance remained carefully neutral.

"That's the barman in that dumpster isn't it. Not a wise move, mate. I'd count on half a dozen lads from inside having gotten a clear look of ya. And if you're always so amiable, I'm certain they'd have a reason or two to remember ya."

Make your move, lad. Doyle waited patiently. The man he was looking for could very well be standing just across the alley from him.

ooc:Sorry, Gaeltach, I was confused about the stance of your character. I'll do my best to make sure it don't happen again.


Conor stood across the alleyway from the man. He realized what the man had said was true. It was an Orange neighborhood, his apartment was no longer safe. He turned around and ran back to his apartment.

"Where are you going?" the man yelled. Conor paid no attention to him. He reached his apartment and gathered as much as he could as quickly as he could. He loaded it into his car and sped off out of Belfast as fast the car would take him. He did not even know where he was going.

ooc: Dude.. controlling my character includes conversation. In laymen's terms, that means my characters do not do or say anything unless I explicitly say so in a post. I'm trying to be patient, but throw me a bone here.

ic:
Abruptly the man showed his colors. Apparantly it was neither green nor orange, but yellow. As the stranger fled with tail tucked firmly between legs, Doyle shook his head and set about lending assistance to the barman. The man was still unconscious when Doyle pulled him out, but the wounds were superficial at best. Setting the broom aside, he half dragged, half carried the man back inside, and set about dressing his wounds.

The sight of him, however, sent up a stir with the pub's patrons. Doyle would have to interrogate them later. For now, he called for an ambulance.

Conor drove away from Belfast, about 25-30 miles. He pulled to the side of the road and contemplated what he was doing. He didn't like running. He felt like a coward and he was sure that the man thought so too. But, for all he knew that guy was a cop. His honor was at stake. He got out and lit a cigarette, he knew some people in Belfast and he could probably stay with them for a few days, and in that time he could look for this guy. He would start at the Four Shepherds. He got back in his car and drove back toward the city lights far in the distance.

bump

daniel walked down the road smoking a cigarette glancing across the street he saw a pub and figured what the hell. he walked a cross the street and entered the pub as the door closed behind him he looked up. inside the bar he saw a man that seemed to be tending to the bartenders wound. daniel walked over and sat down at the bar " ah mind if i grab a pint from around the bar old man he asked look towards the bartender".

reaching across the bar pouring a pint from the tap he sat bck raised his glass towards the men "May those who love us love us. And those that don't love us, May God turn their hearts, And if He doesn't turn their hearts, May he turn their ankles, So we'll know them by their limping." with that he took a long swig finishing almost half the glass.

Doyle eyed the newcomer with a hint of disdain for his complete lack of concern for the still-unconscious barman. Doyle himself continued dressing the wound and set one arm in a splint. The barman groaned softly as the sounds of sirens grew in the distance.

"I think his ribs is broken," Doyle explained to another patron who had taken it upon himself to tend to the man.

He stood and brushed off his hands, the other man remaining crouched beside the unconscious form on the worn wooden floor. With a sigh he leaned back against the bar, just waiting now for the paramedics to arrive.

"Kids these days. No sense and all rage."

It was said almost to himself, but not quite. As the newcomer to the bar toasted himself with an old proverb, Doyle looked over and lifted his own forgotten glass slightly.

"Slainte. Your delivery is good, mate, but ya may want to see to your timing."

Conor drove back into Belfast and met up with one of his friends, Kieran Quinn, a friend of his from back in Edgwardstown. They met up outside Quinn's apartment building.

"I ran into a little bit of trouble at a local pub, mind if I stay with you for a few days mate?"Killeran asked."Sure, no problem."Quinn responded.

They walked upstairs into his apartment and Conor told him what happened. "Well, it sounds to me like that Orange bastard got what was coming to him."Quinn said. "Thank you, those guys down at the pub didn't seem to understand that. And there was also some other guy down there, who I met in the alleyway. That guy must think I'm a coward."Conor admitted. "Well, let's go find out. Come on, lets go." Kieran said. "Okay."he responded.

With that, they were off again to the Four Shepherds pub.

"so what happened to the old?" daniel asked taking another swig from his glass. " looks like he took a real beating" daniel pulled out a cigarette and lit it taking a drag looking over at the injured barman.

"so what happened to the old?" daniel asked taking another swig from his glass. " looks like he took a real beating" daniel pulled out a cigarette and lit it taking a drag looking over at the injured barman.

"Some kid beat the tar outta him. I can't figure there was any confrontation.. the lad's in here said the kid came in for a drink, got defensive, and left just as quick. I ran into the lad meself in the alley, and the only explanation he gave was that your man here was a Loyalist."

Doyle smiled ironically over his pint.

"A loyalist.. in an Orange neighborhood.. figure that."

Conor and Kieran walked into the Four Shepherds and sat at the bar trying to remain inconspicuous. "Hey, I know that guy."Conor said. "Which one?"kieran responded. "That guy sitting at the bar, his name's Daniel. Do me a favor, go hand him this."Conor said. Conor wrote on a napkin a message for Daniel, which read:

"I beat up the bartender, you gotta help me, the whole neighborhood might be after me. I'm across the bar. -Conor" Kieran walked over and placed the napkin in front of Daniel without even looking at him, then feigned interest in the well being of the bartender.

"Say what happened here now?" Kieran asked.

It was all Doyle could do to maintain a straight face as the two lads entered the bar and attempted to remain inconspicuous. As the second got up and passed along a napkin rather clumsily, Doyle discreetly eyed the other. He was the same from the alley, alright, and trying to sit in room full of people who recognized him as if nothing at all was unusual about that.

You've got to be fuckin' jokin' me. He remained silent over his pint, watching as the medics finally arrived and began tending to the still-unconscious man.

One thing was certain, the assailant was an amatuer, pure and simple. He lacked, well.. pretty much everything pertaining to tact, subtlety, self-control, and a low profile. Doyle decided to keep an eye on him, discreetly, of course. There was nothing more to be done here. He finished his pint as the medics finished backboarding, collaring, and loading the barman onto a stretcher, and took it upon himself to escort the group outside. The police would be along shortly to question the patrons, and he could follow up with them later. He wasn't anticipating any surprizes with that story. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, his fingers brushed the familiar shape of his pistol as he crossed the street. Now it was just a waiting game.

Daniel glanced at the napkin and picked it up wiping his mouth with it and then used his lighter to lit the napkin and let it burn in the ash try . with out even looking towards Conor he got up from the bar took one last swig from his glass and headed out of the bar. he pulled out a cigarette and lit it watching as the medics loaded up the barman. he took a drag from the cigarette and strolled down the sidewalk and climbed into his old flat bed work truck and drove off glancing in the rear view mirror he noticed the man from the bar standing across the street from the bar. he pulled a few blocks up and parked around the corner. walking over to a pay phone he picked it up and placed a call to the Battle roads pub and left a message with the barman to have Ulysses call him bck on the pay phone when he got in that he had something he needed to talk with im about. hanging up daniel walked back to his truck and pulled out his binoculars and glanced down the road with them seeing the man still outside the pub. he put the binoculars down and sat back finishing his cigarette thinking how dumb conor must have been to attack a man in broad day light like that.

Conor remained at the bar for a moment, not completely surprised by Daniel's reaction to his note. He didn't panic, he slowly got up and left, leaving Kieran behind. He knew that the cops would be here any minute. Conor walked down the street a couple of blocks back to Kieran's apartment and got in his car. He'd done something really stupid. He's always had a temper, ever since he was young. He had beaten up more than a few kids when he was a kid for just a simple insult. But this time his temper had gotten him and the Poets into trouble. There was only one person he could call, he dialed the Battle Roads Pub, since he didn't know Ulysses' number. The bartender said he wasn't there, so he told him to call his cell phone when he got in.

Conor left a note for Kieran and drove off and out of Belfast. He drove to a roadside pub and decided to wait there until Ulysses called him.

bump

Doyle loitered in front of the old church for some time. He had seen both of his marks leave, and considered following, but with no crowd on the streets this afternoon it would have been too obvious. So he waited before the old Protestant church as the shadows gradually lengthened and the light faded. It was not without a hint of irony that from his spot before the Orange church he could hear the Angelus bells tolling in a Catholic neighborhood not far away.

Fingers deftly picked out a number that would ring Duncan and keyed them into his mobile. He spoke low and in muttered Gaelic as he headed in the general direction taken by the two lads earlier.

"No.. nothing. ...not ours, not even New from what I can tell. Still something to check out."

It was a skillful conversation they had, with neither mentioning any specific names, places, or events. New was code for the Provos between the two of them. The whole conversation was over in less than half a minute, an old habit from when the SAS would attempt to trace their calls. No doubt they were still monitored, but technology had only improved to the point where 45 seconds were required to trace a mobile call. Not good enough.

OOC: give me a role and ill do it, i really wanna get involved in this.

OOC:Anyone know what's going on with Kulikovia? Is he still posting in this thread?

so I'm guessing this thread is dead?