A Criminal and an Irishman by Patrick Nee

Author:Patrick Nee [Nee, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-58642-183-0
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2006-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

I can’t remember how long it took for the shooting to begin, but it started one night when Billy O’ and Whitey confronted Buddy Roache in a bar on Broadway. I don’t think Billy and Whitey expected to find Buddy there; if they had anticipated that they would have ambushed him outside. Buddy and Billy O’, both with huge egos, found themselves in the middle of a heated argument. Billy O’ pulled out a .22 and shot Buddy in the left shoulder; the bullet exited near his spine. A .22 caliber is a small round but it’s really fast. The slug does crazy things inside the human body; it jumps and skips around, destroying everything in its path. The trauma caused damage to Buddy’s spine—he never walked again.

Then Donnie McGonagle, Paulie’s brother, was gunned down dead. The word on the street was that it was Billy O’ and Whitey, which made sense. Donnie was not involved with the Mullen gang, but he was Paulie’s double—Billy O’ thought he was killing Paulie but instead he got Donnie, a noncombatant. I’m sure Billy didn’t shed a goddamn tear over his mistake.

The Mullens arranged a meeting at the Hotel Essex. We had to attack. Paulie stepped up and volunteered to take charge. He had to stop Billy O’, but Paulie wanted more—he wanted to avenge his brother. If he could take out Billy O’ he’d deal a severe blow to the Killeens. The Mullens would be taking out the Killeen’s deadliest guy, and the psychological impact of that would severely shake their confidence.

Paulie had to find out where Billy O’ lived, hung out, and so on. Which he did. The rest of this story is only what I’ve been told. Paulie gave me all these details. I have no idea if it’s bullshit, but the end result wasn’t.

He said it was a Sunday, about midnight. Billy O’ had just gotten out of his car up on Savin Hill near his house. He’d been at Kelly’s Cork & Bull for a party for his cousin. I guess he was a little drunk, staggering slightly and whistling.

The act was simple, but the planning behind it had taken time and patience. Paulie had been there for hours. He sat at the crest of the hill behind some shrubs. He was dressed entirely in black and his face was covered by a deep-blue ski mask. There were no lights at the crest, just a patch of dark gray. It was a perfect shield.

Billy walked by the shrubs. Paulie jumped up and aimed his .45 at the middle of Billy’s back. Paulie told me he wasn’t the slightest bit frightened. Billy heard the sound of the .45 cocking in the night air. He spun around and his eyes registered what the arrogant prick never could have conceived: someone had the drop on him.

“Shit! I’m dead,” Billy gasped.

“You’re right,” Paulie growled.

Paulie didn’t hesitate. Pulling the trigger on Billy O’ was easy. After all—Billy had killed Donnie, Paulie’s brother. I guess Billy crumpled pretty hard on the pavement but never for an instant showed any fear.

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