“Ah lads you wouldn't mug an old man would ye??”
One of them took a swing at him and he went down, selling it as best he could.
“OK maybe you would. Fine lads you can have my wallet just help me up.”
When the guy put his hand out to help him up he dislocated his shoulder and pulled him in close enough to sink his teeth into his neck. The other one took off running. Cu Chulainn, Tommy’s loyal hound stood there drooling waiting for the command.
“Who's my good boy? Go get him!”
Just as I got the van around I saw the hound take off running. I had to ask, although I knew the answer.
“What happened to you?”
Tommy smiled and looked off down the street.
“Some people need to learn respect for their elders. Let’s go, the hound will find his own way home.”
“Path of least resistance remember? Call the dog back.”
I was genuinely surprised he even acknowledged me speaking to him.
“You're just letting them go?”
“Just call the dog back.”
So Tommy whistled to Cu Chulainn and he came running back. Given that Tommy listened to me I decided to do him a compromise, so I went after the guy myself and dragged him back.
“Now, normally I’d have let him kill you but our two tribes are in somewhat of a transitional period lately, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. So behave. And show some respect for your elders in future. Wallet, please. “
He did his best not to look phased, but he gave the wallet back. So we let him go and away we went. Tommy said something that made me laugh, for a change.
“You can feed the dog tonight that was meant to be his dinner.”
“Fine Tommy, fine.”
When we got home there was some group of protestors outside, students of course. Shane didn’t like them, of course.
“Get out of the fuckin way. I hated the 60s and I hate you too, move!!”
I was curious, so I asked one of them what it was about. She spoke in that young, posh English tone of voice that says “I’ve never worked a day in my life but every word I utter into the world is a laboured favour I’m doing for you. “
“We think it’s totally unfair the way you're being treated. Just because you’re different doesn't mean you deserve to be treated differently.”
I tried to hide my derision as best I could. She was kind of cute to be fair.
“That's very kind of you, thank you very much.”
“I fuckin hate hippies.”
Shane had that wonderful way of bringing things back down to earth. Not that I was a big fan of hippies myself, but they bought us another 24 hours.
So opening night comes around, admittedly under duress. The hippies bought us just enough time. The place was packed to capacity; The bartenders were working well, up on the balcony King and Queen sat on through being poured drinks by a personal assistant. My darling sister was doing shots off some girl and Tommy and Shane were on the door. I was with Dorian close by in case, and even that miserable little prick was smiling. Of course that was largely due to the group of English girls we had. I saw Dad stand up and head for the stage. He did this cool move where he banged his cane on the stage and the whole place immediately went silent.
“Ladies and gentleman, creatures of the night etc. etc. Good evening and welcome to our little party. I wish you all a pleasant evening, may you find what you’re looking for. Drink up; smoke up, out the back though cos apparently that's illegal now. “
He tip toed across the crowd until he was standing on the bar.
“Not that I encourage such behaviour at all, but for those of you who have struck up a particularly exceptional rapport we do have rooms downstairs. Like I said I don't condone such behaviour but ladies, nobody likes a prude. But should you not find what you’re looking for, I'm afraid it will fall to my son Damien and my friends Tommy and Shane to escort you from the premises if your behaviour should offend me or my queen in any way. So please, drink responsibly. As we say in the old country, Slainte!!!”
I’m still convinced he’d watched Cocktail the night before because he threw back a shot of Whiskey after that as well. But he passed it off and the band started playing right on cud, the Dancers appeared and the party was in full swing. No sooner than Dad had sat down 4 skinheads came in the door. One of them grabbed a pint off a kid at the door. Shane and I cut them off at the door.
“Out.”
“We’re here for the party lads. “
“Nope. Out.”
He smiled at me and pulled a cross out. I recoiled for a second but then I grabbed it off him and gritted my teeth.
“Like I said, out.”
Little did I know while we were talking one of the other ones is wrapping Rosary Beads around his knuckles. He cracked me in the temple and Shane and Tommy instinctively jumped to my aid. I was stunned for a minute but I got behind the other two and we threw them out. At that exact moment, King Marcus and his pals showed up. Before I got the chance to exercise any diplomacy Tommy blocked the door. Racist old man doesn’t know who he is or care, he’s just as unwelcome as the guys they just threw out.
“Dance hall is down the road boys.”
“Funny man.”
“We're all full up tonight.”
Dad nodded down at them and the lads reluctantly let them in, not without making chimpanzee noises at them a few times for good measure. I could see Dorian up on the balcony, as perplexed as the old guys. Dad fobbed him off without even looking at him. Shane made his way up the balcony for a word. I couldn’t hear it but from what I saw it wasn’t exactly a pleasant one.
Let’s take a break here for a minute so we can explain Shane. Because I’m guessing dear reader you’re probably wondering why we put up with the miserable old prick. Picture this:
Years and years ago, back in Ireland Shane had a family. 2 beautiful daughters and the whole thing. He hired out a pub and invited everybody he’d ever met to celebrate the girls First Communion. He stepped outside for a minute for a cigarette, all smiles. He fiddled with his lighter for a minute and then it happened.
A Unionist attack. They wanted to send a message so they used enough explosives to take out a building twice its size. So the emergency services appeared and Shane was decking firemen. Thankfully somebody got hold of him before the roof caved in. I hate to use the cliché but he was never the same after that day. Understandably so really.
About ten years later he was running from a group of British soldiers, he ran into a Stable in an attempt to evade them. He’s looking through a gap in the door, doesn’t even see the kid right away. Out from one of the horse enclosures peaks this little boy. He gestured to him to come out and to be quiet. One of the soldiers must have smelled him because they decided to check the stables. He hid in a bale of hay, watching this kid turn in an Oscar winning performance trying to get rid of them. Unfortunately they found him anyway and were about to lay into the poor kid. Naturally Shane couldn’t have that and in what I’m fairly certain was one of his last acts of common decency he decked enough of them to get the pair of them thrown in Kilmainham. And that was how Shane met Cillian.
While they were locked up they became friends. Cillian started to train the rats, and I think it stirred up a bit of Shane’s love for his own kids so he taught him how to fight. Shane’s version of affection.
Back at the mansion, it’s meeting time. Tommy and I tagged along for protection purposes. Dorian was in the room at the time reading. Dad ushered him out like he was about 8. Naturally he didn’t like that, and naturally he expressed that like he was about 6.
“Out you go, lad.”
“Why?”
“Business.”
“I'm gonna be king one day. I want to stay and learn something.”
“Not right now.”
Shane, growing tired of all the sensitivity and understanding decides to chip in.
“Out ye go lad, grown up business
to take care of.”
“Fine...”
Supposed to be king someday and he’s throwing a tantrum like a child who just dropped his fucking sweets.
“Come here boy. Come here. First lesson, chin up and take it like a man.”
I promised him we’d go for a drink a bit later and he left just as Marcus and his friends enter. When I saw Marcus’s friends making fun of Dorian I could have torn the heads off them that moment but my Dad looked at me to say “let it go.” My Dad turned to the only other full chair left, where the Queen was sitting. Her eyes begged the question “Who do you think you are?”
“My Queen if you wouldn’t mind, could we have the room.”
“Well Luke my darling when you put it like that, of course.”
She stood up, and eyeballed the two idiots who were making fun of Dorian until they stand aside.
Marcus sits on the couch and the two idiots stand in back. We do the same while Dad gets the TV set up.
“OK lads. Without further ado.”
On the TV a man in a suit with a shaven head is standing at a podium in front of a church, he’s flanked by two big EDL looking types holding a St Georges flag with “ Martin Jones: Lord Mayor” on it. Behind him a conservatively dressed pretty blonde girl, his daughter I believe. It’s the footage of his now famous state of the union address where he claims he’s not racists but us and the Jamaicans are ruining the country and blah, blah, blah. Whenever you have to say “I’m not racist but...” you’re racist. Just to give you some context, here it is. You decide if he’s racist.
“To say that we are racist in this great nation is insanity. To say that we are not open to other cultures is just a lie. Britain has conquered and educated half of the known world. Why half of the planet owes its civilization to us. But as a nation we face infestation, and our downfall at the hands of foreign nationals. Again that isn't to say that all foreign nationals are evil and wrong I would never say such a thing. But these Irish and these Jamaicans seek to drain the very life force of the country. They wish to take our land, our money, our jobs, and our women. And what do they give us in return? Drugs! Alcoholism and depravity. I solemnly swear to you, the return of good British values. The kind that once made this nation the greatest and most powerful in the world.”
Meanwhile, my idiot brother has gone out for a drink. He’s never done this before. He doesn’t even like going out with me let alone on his own. He strolls in to this place and orders a Manhattan, thinking that Sinatra drinks them so it must be a good idea. Then the thing arrives in that stupid little glass and he feels like a bit of a fanny. He looks over at the bar and wouldn’t you know it, because my life isn’t complicated enough he sees Jones’s daughter. Girls have always liked Dorian, he’s got that harmless pretty boy puppy dog eyes thing. Jones’s daughter was no exception; his unfortunate drink choice gave her an opening.
“Nice effort.”
Girls always think when Dorian doesn’t look at them he’s trying to be coy. He’s just really awkward and if he looked at her directly he’d probably pass out.
“Yeah it seems the universe intervened. Apparently I'm not meant to look cool drinking alone.”
“I'm drinking alone, drink with me?”
When he told me that part I got annoyed. Wanna know how many times in the last 100 hundred years a pretty girl has asked me to drink with her? Never. The ones that make the first move always have a face like an elephant’s ball sack.
“I don't know if I have any other choice to be honest.”
“I'm Charlie.”
“Dorian.”
I’m gonna go back to the meeting in the mansion. This story is getting on my nerves. But don’t worry, we’ll get back to it shortly. Back in the mansion, the video is finished and none of them really know what to say. My dad spoke first.
“Marcus, whether we like it or not we're up against it here.”
“Since when? You're white too.”
I could see it in his eyes he almost lost it there, but he managed to get it back.
“He doesn't see it that way.”
“You not the same cos you a few hundred years old and you catch fire in the sun.”
“Look the point is we need to start working together or we're all gonna die.”
“I acknowledge that. But I see a problem in our histories man. Some of your boys used to hate the black man as much as these slap headed Stella drinking white boys.”
This is where the king’s blood got up a little bit.
“Who?”
“You know who, the old man and his dog.”
“My boys will fall in line. Will yours??”
My ma had clearly been listening the entire time and decided to weigh in.
“Enough. Put your balls away. You’re big and bad, great. But if you don't learn how to pick your battles a bit better you’re gonna be dead. So will you’re families. So how about you don't do it for each other, don't even do it for yourselves don't even do it for me. Do it for your children.”
They’re both looking at her, and then they look at each other and nod in agreement. This time Marcus spoke first
“Fine. Business stays the same. If the white boys try get involved...”
“We'll back you. And you'll back us. But you tell your boys to stay out of the club. They're not welcome.”
“Alright. But you better get the old man on side if he wants my protection.”
“Fair enough.”
My darling mother broke the tension.
“Now, drink??”
“Yes ma'am.”
I walked in on the three of them, laying into 18 year old whiskey and joints the size of chair legs. I thought I was gonna be sick. Tara swore she would never drink again.
I’d like to explain Martin Jones and his whole problem with both our families. Not because it makes him seem sympathetic, because he’s a psychopath. But apparently telling the whole story will help you get emotionally invested.
About 20 years ago, when Jones’s daughter was a baby and he could still walk without the cane. Before Marcus was in charge of the Jamaicans, his younger brother Remas ran things. He was a younger and fitter man so in a sense it was an easy choice but he was a lot less diplomatic and a lot more violent. He had a particular tendency for kidnapping and devouring small children and babies. One night Remas and the wolves decide to invade Jones’s house. They’ve tied him and his wife up and Remas is getting set to take the baby.
Just in the nick of time we burst in through the window; my dad whips the sword out and goes straight for Remas like a man possessed. Or whatever the equivalent would be for a vampire anyway.
“I warned you Remas. Now enough! Let the child go!”
He smiles at Luke and tosses the baby over his shoulder, and the chaos begins. Everybody else is brawling; Cillian being the smaller and more agile of us makes a dive for a baby and manages one of those sliding American football catches. We managed to win the brawl without casualties and line the Jamaicans up against the wall, with Tommy and Cu Chulainn keeping them there.
Luke picked Cillian up off the floor and instructed him to give the baby back. He kept looking back at Cu Chulainn anxiously.
“Tommy, control the fucking dog!!”
No sooner than the baby has been handed back but Remas takes off running and Tommy loses control of the dog. The others make a break for it and a brawl breaks out again. Tommy always maintains he lost control of him but I wouldn’t be surprised if he just let him go.
This is where things get really bad. Mrs Jones attacks Cillian, and Tommy grabs a hold of her. She claws at his eye giving him the scar he has to this day. Tommy backhands her sending her flying across the room; she hit the wall and went limp immediately. Jones got up and went for Tommy, which of course did not help. Even in a good mood Tommy has a bit of a mean streak but he was pissed off at this point. He started laughing when Jones charged at him.
“The fuck are you gonna do eh?”
He throws Jones i
n a similar fashion but he just lands badly on his hip, developing the injury he now walks with a cane for. Luke turns to Tommy.
“Get the dog! Now!”
When Tommy whistled, the dog immediately looked up but unfortunately it was much too late for Remas. Cillian re-emerged from behind the couch still holding the baby. My dad rallied the troops in one movement and we were out. Cillian put the baby back in the cradle and joined the rest of us.
“Move out! Now!”
Dad stopped at the window, he looked at Jones and Marcus stood over their dead family and without words we left. Everything changed that night.
That was a bit heavy wasn’t it? Ok so comic relief. Back in the mansion my dad is staring out the window at the lines of bulldozers threatening to destroy everything. At which point Tara returns from a bit of mischief.
“You alright Da?”
“Not particularly love. The statute of limitations on the protesters is up, they have to move on in the morning and the construction crew will move in and destroy everything. Pack your bags, we're going home.”
“I would, but somebody is after really fucking things up out there. It seems somebody went and rigged all the dynamite that was supposed to be levelling this place and hooked it up to all the bulldozers and shit.”
Had to give Tara credit, she’s usually kind of a pain in the neck but she’d not only cheered up the old man but she’d saved our hides. She handed dad the remote and sat down on his lap for the fireworks show that followed.
The next day I decided to go for a root in the attic. I think I wanted to find pictures of my real mother, but I also didn’t want to. If that makes any sense. It doesn’t really but what the hell let’s share and have a group hug about it. Of course my mother managed to sneak up behind me and scare the hell out of me just as I’d found a picture of her.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
I jumped out of my skin and tried to hide the picture, like a 12 year old caught with a porno mag. She laughed at me.
“Love, it’s alright. When you get to my age you realize jealousy is kind of pointless. Being what we are we get to block out the human emotions we don't like that much. One of the few upsides to immortality.”
9 Tales From Elsewhere 4 Page 15
