Progeny of a Killer by J M Shorney

Progeny of a Killer by J M Shorney

Author:J M Shorney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, suspense, terrorist, ira, irish terrorist, j m shorney, progeny of a killer
Publisher: J M Shorney


Chapter Fifteen

A Startling Revelation

The wee ferret that negotiates my guts has invited his pals to a disco, with strobe lights and everything.

“You didn’t know my parents. My father was never in the ’Rah. What, Dermot? That’s almost laughable. He is an Irish Catholic, but that’s about it.”

“Aye, sure I know that. To my knowledge, no, your Da was never in the ’Rah. From what I heard he was but a humble painter and decorator.”

“He had his own business. So what you driving at, Corrigan?”

“Please, Aidan, don’t let’s be at loggerheads. I’m merely stating a fact here. I heard your Da worked with a man named Padraig Keenan on a house at Tallaght, right?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” I growl uneasily. “Sure. I remember Padraig when I was a kid.”

Pop used to take me with him in the school holidays. Paddy often gave me a sandwich from his lunchbox, admonished me about not eating the crusts . He’d joke that I probably had enough curls already. My attempt at a smile fades at the recollection. A little over twenty years ago. But it could have been an entire lifetime since I left Dublin. “I still don’t understand what you’re getting at. And I don’t think Paddy Keenan was in the ’Rah either.”

“I’m not talking about Paddy Keenan. I’m talking about the wee man who came to your house.”

He can’t be referring to Michael Docherty, can he? The man my father killed when he discovered that my mother had an affair with him. When a body was discovered in a shallow grave outside Dublin, the Gardai had come to Dad to hopefully eliminate him from their enquiries, satisfied that this old man had nothing remotely to do with Docherty’s death.

“Like I said, you don’t know anything about my parents. How could you? Unless you’ve obviously been checking up on me.If you’ve got a point to make, then fuckin’ make it. Because I get the feeling that all this pally-pally shit doesn’t hide your real reason for bringing me here, making me as welcome as you have.”

“You were the one who came looking for me. That must mean something.”

“Oh sure it does. It means that I’ve been hired to kill you, pal.” Naturally I refrain from vocalising my thoughts. Instead I say, “Because I was told you hired people to work for you, particularly if they’re Irish.”

“As an assassin. That’s what you’re asking isn’t it?”

“It’s what I do cos maybe I can find no other employment. My life is already fucked up. So why do I get the feeling you’re going to fuck it up even further?”

“I’m not a fool. I know why you’re here. I think it’s time you and I laid our cards on the table.”

I observe him on the conclusion of his meal. The action is almost delicately perfected before he tosses the napkin down, that’s tucked bib-like over his shirt.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” God, that Colcannon now even more resembles an unholy mess that someone’s regurgitated. While I attempt not to grimace at the sight of it.



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