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“Course not,” I argue, shaking my head. “I did this ’cause no one in this fuckin’ family has told me the truth! I was sick of being lied to. Can’t ye even try to understand that?”
“Yer a buck eejit, so ya are,” he says, finally addressing the issue at hand. “Do ye have any idea what y’ve done? Is this why ya knew the peelers were raidin’ us?”
“No, that was someone else.” And that someone, I will never rat on.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Puck!” he exclaims. “What a dog’s dinner this is. Ya should have come to me. Y’ve got blood on yer hands now, Doyle blood, and they will not stop until he is avenged.”
“Aye, sure, this is it.”
“I’m just needin’ a minute.” He shakes his head at my dismissive response.
I give him some time because I know this is a lot to take in, but he needs to know it all.
“Ronan was workin’ for the Doyles. He double crossed us.”
Uncle Sean’s eyes narrow. “And how would ya know that?”
“’Cause I was sent by the Doyles to take care of him. He was stealin’ from us. Giving our gear to the Doyles. I think they want Northern Ireland as their own. They’re recruitin’ our men who are disloyal because we’ve allowed it.
“For them to do this, they don’t fear or respect us, and it’ll only be a matter of time before the Doyles get their wish. I think they have someone here in Belfast workin’ for them. They’re sellin’ our stolen gear, testing the waters to see how easy it’ll be.”
I didn’t understand why they wanted our drugs when they had their own, but this must be why.
To have control of all ports—here and in Dublin—gives them total power. They can import gear into Belfast and sell here without risking driving across the border and being caught by the peelers. The less movement, the better.
We all know that. Every time a lorry goes out, we’re at risk of being caught. Or one of the drivers betraying us. But if the Doyles had connections inside Northern Ireland, this would eliminate the risk.
“Why do ya think that?” Uncle Sean asks, and I’m thankful he’s listening and not giving me a lecture.
“Why else are they interested in our gear? They’ve got their own contacts, their own drugs in Dublin. But takin’ our men, our drugs, that gives them knowledge into how we run our business. They want to set up base here. And they need an inside man to do that.”
I cannot believe I didn’t see this sooner.
“What of Ronan?”
“I let him go as I needed a scapegoat for Aidan’s murder.” I decide to leave out Cian’s and Rory’s involvement in this.
“Yer some pup, Punky,” Uncle Sean says in a tone which sounds like praise. “What ya did was stupid and very dangerous, but ye did good.”
The relief I feel is overwhelming. I should have known that no matter what, Uncle Sean would stick by me.
“So what’s the plan then?”
Uncle Sean appears deep in thought, staring straight through me. “We do what those fuckers want. We go, and then we ambush them. They think yer someone else. We have the advantage here.”
“Brody, he says to me that he…that he took ma.”
Uncle Sean squeezes his eyes shut. I know this is a lot to take in.
“Aidan was the other man who was there. That’s why I killed him. He deserved to die, and I’d do it again given half the chance.”
“Ya told me there were three men. Who else was there?” he asks, reopening his eyes. He looks knackered.
“I don’t know. But I’ll find that out. This tattoo”—I hold up my wrist—“Aidan told me every Doyle gets one when they kill a Protestant. Have ya heard that?”
“I have not,” he replies angrily. “I cannot believe this. This is my fault. And yer fa—”
He stops himself before correcting, “Connor’s. It never should have gotten this far. Those fuckers have been under our noses this entire time, and we didn’t even know. It sickens ya.”
