Big
Malky went down hard. He took a hell of a beating before he cracked, but crack
he did. After a couple of hours of relentless punishment, he was sobbing like a
baby and pleading for his life.
“Please
Mo – there’s no need for this. You dinnae huv tae dae this. I’ll go away –
you’ll never see me again. I’ll gie you money – anything you want – just dinnae
dae this.”
His
words burbled in his bloody mouth and I was both disgusted by the display and
elated by the sense of power it produced. The once mighty Malcolm McTear, the
last man on my list, begging for mercy – crying like a schoolgirl. I let him go
on for a while, but the final word went to my 1911 Colt 45. I whipped the big
pistol out and without a second glance tapped him on the forehead – right
between the eyes. There was blood and brain everywhere. I was pleased by the
action – solid and professional like.
“Did ye
see that boys? One slick movement – like a fuckin’ samurai.”
I was
determined that everyone on the list would be dispatched before the old man’s
funeral and I had achieved my goal. The old man would be pleased and I imagined
him watching from on high with a big smile on his face. He was a wise one my
father – not only was I visiting vengeance on his enemies – I was clearing the
ground for increased business. He knew that these scumbags would try it on with
me after he was dead and that the wisest thing for me to do would be to
liquidate them before they became a nuisance.
The
whole operation had proven to be much easier than I had anticipated. We caught
them napping – they thought their troubles were over when they heard that the
old man had snuffed it. They were soon to be proven wrong. Most of these so
called hard men had pleaded for mercy and I had shown it through the barrel of
my gun. All except Jimmy the Flea, he had stood his ground right up to the end.
“You
cunts had better kill me – cause I’ll be coming back for ye. You Mo – you’re
scum just like yer dad. We had a party to celebrate when that dirty old fucker
died – and mark my words – you’ll be following him soon enough...”
I
silenced him mid tirade – he was boring me, but he went down fighting and I
respected that. I made a mental note to take care of Flea’s two boys – if they
had half the bottle their old man had they could become a problem. For the time
being though my work was done and I could focus on dad’s funeral – it would be
the biggest the city had ever seen with faces from all over the country coming
to pay their respects.
The day
the old man died the whole family were gathered around and mum was insisting
that they send for a priest. The old man was against the idea until mum said to
him that she’d miss him should he end up in purgatory. He eventually relented
and Father Mulligan was sent for, but the old man was as awkward and stubborn
as ever.
“Do you
renounce the devil and all his works?”
“I do
Father.”
“Do you
forgive your enemies?”
The old
man did not answer but lay there staring into space.
“Do you
forgive your enemies?”
Again
the old man did not respond.
“For
the sake of your immortal soul Jock – do you forgive your enemies?”
“Aye,
alright – I forgive my fuckin’ enemies!” rasped the old man.
He then
turned to me and fixed me with his steely gaze.
“But
there’s no need for you to be forgiving anybody Maurice.”
