Scissors, Paper, Stone! (5/5) By Bob Spence

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5).

'You bastard. What's this?' Crockford shouted 'Who are you?' A tall, very tall swarthy man moved from the shadows almost without his legs moving, as he appeared to glide to the side of the brazier to where Tommy Mulgrew lay whimpering.

His stance was confident and he had a compact automatic in his hand, held intelligently clear of his torso. He drew back the butt of the gun and cuffed Mulgrew on the temple. Sardonically. 'He'll survive.' The voice was resonant and precise with a dash of humour. The newcomer continued with authority.

'So Seamus, your latest visit has upset many people. You can't go round shooting people and the Glasgow Tartan were most upset to find their gang leader and two bodyguards strangled.' This had been a crack team from the Dublin inspired hierarchy. O'Riordan shrugged, and in one move pulled the gun up with his good hand, and little Wally Fear the ex-Jockey with the knife was standing with a bloody hand around his throat and a Luger at his temple.

'You see, I don't think you will want me to be killing this little man now, will you?' 'You won't be killing me I am sure. Of course I will be sent back to stand trial in Dublin and I imagine another trade-off.' With pursed lips. 'Is that what you imagine?'

Without a word the stranger took aim and as the Irish man looked incredulous, pulled the trigger. Mick had never seen a gun aimed so carelessly with such panache and as O'Riordan pitched back dead Wally Fear was covered in blood and fainted. 'Okay. Show over and I do suggest you leave the IRA to the big boys. That is after your prison sentences, Mr Crockford.'

The sound of running feet echoed in the jetty outside and the arrival of two breathless police officers ended the atmosphere. 'Police. You are all under arrest.' 'My name is Inspector Harley and you are all arrested under the Crown regulations of conspiracy and will be charged by Detective Sergeant Herman.'

Crockford looked at big Tommy Mulgrew. A large bruise began to appear on his forehead. The lone gunman placed his weapon into a leather holster under his armpit. 'At least he survived. You were up against killers and you have lived.' The swarthy gunman looked intelligently at Crockford as he spoke, and at the lads he looked kindly.

'Go home.'

The plain-clothes policeman who seemed to take charge spoke sharply. 'You. You have seen nothing here tonight and you can go after signing this document.' The stranger shook hands with this new authority and walked into the darkness.

Mickey McGreevey heard the two police officers speak. 'And that is apparently a Commander Bond from the Ministry of Defence.'

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