32: They call me Red…

 

At the breakfast table, Paddy announced, “We’ve survived a lot. Now, I hope we can get back to our initial mission of building an emergency shelter for our brothers in arms and for people forced onto the streets because of homelessness.” Everybody gave a rousing cheer.

A globe of the earth was on the table. There had been some disputes about geography. I looked at the globe and asked, “Shakes, are you planning to do some world traveling?” He laughed.

“How about Australia?” I asked. “Would you like to go there?”

Fred said, “I have a friend who came from New Zealand.”

I said, “I’ve seen pictures of New Zealand. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, he said, “They also have seventeen women to every man. I asked my friend if it was true and why he left. He said, ‘They have lots of women alright, but they’re all ugly.’ I don’t think any women are ugly. Every one of them has something beautiful about her.”

I pointed to Iceland, to show where my grandparents came from.

Little Chester pointed at Newfoundland, “This is where I came from. They’re the same color.”

I said, “I’ve always wanted to go to Newfoundland. It’s really beautiful.”

“No, it’s not. I lived there for twenty-four years. I couldn’t wait to get away.”

“I hear the economy has really picked up since the oil discovery.”

“I’ve been hearing about that for forty years. I don’t think anything has happened yet.”

I asked, “Were you a fisherman?”

“My mother said I had lazy bones. I’ve always had lazy bones. I shared rabbits. Once, some friends and I were out in the bush. We had a cable and made a lasso out of it. We hung it between two trees.  A moose came running along, right into the snare. My friends hauled it up in a tree.  We had meat to last us all winter. Lots of people have heard of snaring rabbits, not too many have heard of snaring moose.”

“I’ve eaten Moose,” I said, “It’s really good.

“Sit down, Chester. Oh, I forgot, we had this conversation yesterday, you prefer standing.”

“Yeah, I like to stand. I’m short enough anyway. The only way I get to look down on people is if they’re sitting and I’m standing.”

I asked, “So, how’s it going, Chester?”

“About five feet, one and a half inches. Standing on a rock makes me a bit taller.”

Patrick asked, “Paddy where did you get permits for all the guns?”

“The same place I got your false passports. I got them at the same time, expecting that we’d have problems with the bikers. I hope we’ve seen the last of them. I expect that they’re looking at lengthy prison sentences. Gun violations alone would put them in jail.

“On to other business. We’ve reached a milestone in the construction process. The frame is up, the floors have been laid. It’s now time for the plumbers to install the rough plumbing and the electricians to wire the building for heating, ventilation and air conditioning. Next, we’ll insulate the exterior, erect the interior walls and drywall. It will start to take on the appearance of the structure we intended as your new home.” Everybody gave another rousing cheer.

“Once we clear the sawdust and scrap lumber you can move your cots inside. The rest of the construction can go on around you. If anybody has any suggestions we’d like to hear them. After the interior walls go up there is nothing we can change.

“Something else I wanted to mention. I know that some of you have criminal records. That’s not a reason why you would be disqualified from staying here. Please explain your situation to us. We may be able to help with resumes, job searches, retraining opportunities and job offers. We have a list of employers who hire ex-felons, mainly because they’re ex-felons themselves. They know how hard it is to get back into the working world if you have one strike against you.

“I know that some of you are alcoholics. Soon we will have medical assistance if you have a strong desire to quit drinking. We allow alcohol on the premises, just don’t make life difficult for your fellow residents. They will be the ones to tell us about problems and they will suggest the solutions.

“Drug use; some of the same rules apply to drug addiction as alcoholism. The difference is that some drugs are illegal. If you are using something that your physician has prescribed, we have no problem with that. We don’t allow any non-prescription or illegally supplied drugs on the property. We could be shut down by the police if drugs were found. If you use drugs in town or someplace away from the farm you’re on your own.”

Wolf said, “I know I shouldn’t smoke or drink beer. I shouldn’t use pot or the other stuff —  that we don’t talk about — but I’m healthy. I don’t have stomach problems. I enjoy a drink and a smoke with my friends every once in a while. It’s a treat for me.”

“There’s a lot to do today so let’s get to it.” An eager crowd marched to the building site to lend a hand where needed.

“This afternoon the medical staff will be touring the facilities to advise as to the placement of electrical fittings, plumbing and anything else we may not have included in the plans. This really gives me a sense of satisfaction to see my dream coming to fruition. Thanks, Dane, Red and our military brothers for helping to make this happen.”

Patrick said, “Thank you, Paddy, for your insight and generosity in getting this project started. Red agreed with “Hear, hear.”

The rest of the day was filled with examining blueprints, pointing out the different areas, the kitchen, the medical facilities and the community rooms. 

…

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a different kind of love

A beautiful poem about the magic of childhood, ‘wild, ruthless, and unafraid.’

House of Heart

Sometimes I see myself through

your eyes,   my pale  face so in  love,

aching  for  the caress of that

flaxen haired boy racing

through rolling wheat fields.

Suddenly serious your adventurous

eyes sent shivers through  me.

I longed for your touch anytime and

we kissed open mouthed without

permission.

I adored your mock anger when

chasing after me and  the awkward

way you looked down at your hands.

Soon Autumn threw its shadow on

sprouting wheat,  smooth and wet.

From the half closed door I hear the

whisper of your breathing and know

there are different kinds of love,

wild ,    ruthless,  and  unafraid.

art by Rob Hefferan

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31: They call me Red…

 

There was an air of quiet around the breakfast table. We all knew that we had been through hell and had come out the other side. Apart from a few wounds our lives were safe for now. How long this peace would last nobody knew. The first order of business was to hide all of the assault and military type weapons. The only firearms left in the open were hunting rifles that had permits. Irish gun laws are very strict.

We began the cleanup and repairs, taking measurements of the glass and the door that needed to be replaced. The front yard was scoured for bullet casings, especially those that could be traced to the paramilitary.

The police arrived, no sirens this time. An Inspector asked, “Is Padraig Murphy on the premises?” Paddy arose from the table and talked with the officer, “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

“You can help me by explaining the meaning of this. We found three large craters caused by military-grade rockets. You were attacked by a gang of 1%er motorcyclists, many of whom are now dead. For a farm and a homeless shelter, you have a very sophisticated defense system. Why is that and why should I not arrest you and everybody else here for murder and attempted murder?”

‘I know it looks bad officer, but I can explain. We didn’t bring any of this on, it was forced on us. Self-defense was our only concern. Three times we have been attacked and we responded with what I consider reasonable force. There are a lot of ex-servicemen here, many of whom are working as private military contractors. PTSD is what brings them here. They have a wide variety of weapons and licenses to use them. What would you do if someone was shooting at your house? I suggest that you speak to the MC club and find out why they  wanted to kill farmers and homeless people.”

“We’ve interviewed them without success. They have a rule about not speaking to the police and they’re sticking to it. We have a warrant to search your property. I hope we can bring some light on this bizarre situation. So, with your leave, my men and I will have a look around.”

“Certainly, officer, we’ll do whatever we can to assist in your investigation.”

We began the cleanup and repairs, taking measurements of the glass and the door that needed to be replaced. Some people stayed seated to finish their coffee. Others returned to their regular construction jobs. Just a normal day in the neighborhood.

The police returned to say, “Everything looks in order. I’d like to see the licenses for these weapons. You have enough to start a war. I hope that wasn’t your intention.”

“No sir, it wasn’t our intention to start anything. We were only defending our lives.”

…

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30: They call me Red…

 

 

After the excitement of yesterday, Rhondda and I were reluctant to get out of bed. We hugged and were thankful that we still had each other. It made all the difference.

After breakfast, Paddy and I checked on the construction of the shelter. Everyone was working. Many had skills in the building trades, others helped with carrying lumber, boxes of nails or mixing concrete for the foundation slab. There was a good feeling of camaraderie since what they were building was where they would live. Paddy and I were impressed with the progress.

We heard rumors of bikers coming from other parts of Ireland, Wales and the Scandinavian countries. This brought to mind the Great Nordic Biker War of 1983 that brought murder of nine club members (including three presidents) and two innocent people. In 1994 a similar war erupted in Helsingborg, Sweden. It started with a shoot-out between two gangs, followed by several bombings and an anti-tank rocket fired at one of the clubhouses.  There were attacks at airports in Denmark and Norway. By the end of the conflict 11 murders and 74 attempted murders had been committed and 96 people were wounded.

We were surrounded by fields on three sides, a road passed in front of the house. We placed land mines inside the fences and had snipers on the roofs of barns, outbuildings and the house.

Three nights later we were awoken by the sound of a land mine being detonated followed by rifle shots. We examined the footage of the surveillance cameras and saw that three bikers had been killed. Our defenses had so far proven effective.

Later, the distant roar of motorcycles awakened us. This time the military was prepared with highway spikes that caused a pileup of bikes. Some took to the ditch and continued toward the house. From a side road, a bulldozer emerged causing another pileup. Still, they advanced toward the house. Rhondda and Brianna were at the second-floor windows where they poured boiling water on anyone that came too close. They also threw furniture out of the window. Snipers on the roof took out many of the approaching bikers. Still, some got through and began chopping with an axe at the front door. Paddy and I blasted the door with shotguns killing several bikers. We saw a hand reaching for the deadbolt through the ragged hole in the door. I smashed it over and over again with my shotgun butt. There was a horrendous scream on the other side of the door but the hand remained. While trying to reload my shotgun some bikers ripped the door open and rushed into the house. Paddy and I pulled our semi-automatic pistols and managed to kill some the invaders. Rhondda, hearing the commotion at the front door ran down the steps two at a time. I felt a burning sensation in my right arm. My gun dropped and a biker came at me. Rhondda kicked the biker squarely in the face. He dropped and added to the pile of bodies in the hall.

It wasn’t over, the bikers regrouped and attacked the house from all sides. We heard other shots from outside. We learned later that Shakes, Ted, Bernard and other guests armed with rifles, handguns, axes and pitchforks had come to our defense, killing many of the bikers. The sound of sirens brought an end to the shooting. The bikers, seeing that they were caught in the crossfire lay down their weapons and surrendered to the police.

…

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29: They call me Red…

 

 

Rhondda and I were awakened by the sound of assault rifle fire and breaking glass. Shards were sprayed across the floor. We turned on the bedside light and put slippers on to maneuver a path to the door. Glass crunched beneath our feet. All the lights in the house had been turned on. Paddy was in the kitchen with his cell phone to his ear, “Thanks Sergeant, now go back to your post.

“Dane, I just spoke to one of the soldiers guarding the perimeter. He stopped a small van and questioned the driver. It was a local farmer. He allowed the van to pass and when it neared the house a side door opened and someone opened fire with an assault rifle. The soldier fired at the van. He’s sure he hit it but it didn’t stop.

“Let’s look at the footage of the surveillance camera overlooking the clubhouse. There it is a white van entering the front gate. Upon stopping the driver is pushed out of the front door. He’s being beaten by someone who was inside the van. Now he’s being dragged into the clubhouse. Someone else has taken the van and they’re leaving the compound. I assume they want to get rid of it since it has bullet holes in the back. That would arouse suspicion when the police return. “

Rhondda and Brianna came down the stairs and entered the kitchen. “What’s going on. Does anybody know?”

“I think we can assume this attack was a warning. The shooter in the van was too far away to have a clear target. The best he could do was to spray a hailstorm of bullets at the house. I’ve made a quick check, nobody seems to have been hit. Highway spikes are what we need to prevent this from happening again.

“We need to decide what our next move will be. I think we should remain in a position of self-defense. We could retaliate, kill some bikers. What will that accomplish? The police will be back and people staying here will be charged with murder.”

Patrick said, “Rhondda and I are already flying under the radar for two other murders. We don’t want police attention. I suggest that we double the military presence defending the perimeter. I agree that highway spikes should be available to stop fleeing vehicles. The gang has its pride, but they won’t continue an assault that they can’t win. Even if they get reinforcements from other chapters or other gangs they can’t do anything that they haven’t tried already. Let’s look at all possibilities for defense. We know what this gang is capable of; we see it in the newspapers: car bombings, one clubhouse was destroyed by an anti-tank missile, machete attacks in airports, assassinations. Most of their activity is close hand to hand or armed conflict. I think we have a good defense. I suggest that we wait and see what their next move will be and go from there.”

Rhondda said, “That doesn’t give me a feeling of security. I feel that we’re like sitting ducks.”

Paddy asked, “Do you have any suggestions? What would you like to see us do?”

“I guess you’re right. I just hope that we’re not attacked again.”

 

…

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28: They call me Red…

 

 

The police raided the MC clubhouse and seized a quantity of suspected cocaine valued at approximately €20,000. Also seized were a sawn-off shotgun, bulletproof vest three stolen cars, a stolen Harley Davidson motorcycle along with mobile phones, knives computers and documentation. They also found a drug-dealing tick list and weighing scales. Police have linked the gang to 40 robberies from shops and other establishments and almost 30 robberies on persons where iPhones, wallets and jewelry were stolen. Nine members were arrested other charges are pending.

Police returned to the farm to advise Paddy of findings from the raid of the clubhouse. Inspector MacNamara said, “We found three mysterious craters on the club property. Judging by their depth, these craters were caused by a military rocket launcher with a range of 32 kilometers. Do you know anything about this?”

“No sir, there’s nothing like that around here. The only gun I keep is a shotgun to chase the foxes from the henhouse. Have you checked with the army?”

“I’ll do that.” said the Inspector.

After the police left Paddy conversed with his Irish military friends. “It’s time to return the rocket launcher to the army before they realize it’s missing. We have a flatbed truck available. Make sure the launcher is covered and disguised as much as possible.”

With the excitement over for a while, we continued construction of the homeless shelter.

A man with a white beard walked into the farmyard. I greeted him and said, “I’m Patrick, how can I help you?”

“My name is Bernard. I heard something about a homeless shelter around here. I’ve applied to the Carlow County Council, but I can’t receive anything until I have an address, so for now, I’m sleeping under a bridge. They gave me some forms to fill out. I don’t fill out my own applications because I’m illiterate.”

“How did that come about?”

“I just didn’t like school and I missed as much as possible until I was eighteen, then I was allowed to quit. They passed me from grade to grade even though I couldn’t read or write. If I try to complete an application I can read some of the questions and the words are flying around in my head, but I can’t put them on paper. Now both my long and my short term memory are gone. I don’t remember what happened last week. When I left this mornin’ I knew I had forgotten something, but couldn’t figure out what it was. Then it came to me — rolling papers. Sometimes I’ll go into a room and forget what it was I went in for.”

“We’re still under construction, but we have a cot and blankets for you. We serve meals at regular times, but if you’re hungry right now, knock on the kitchen door Brianna will be happy to fix you something. Before that, I’ll show you to your cot and introduce you to the other staff and guests. If you have valuables I have a secure safe. I’ll give you a receipt for anything that you want to store. I’m the only one who has access, so I take full responsibility for your things. If you’re inclined to help with the construction it will be appreciated, but it’s not necessary. We’re not looking for slave labor. Our rules are simple:  don’t lie, don’t steal, treat everybody with respect. If there is a dispute it will be discussed at a general meeting, everyone has a say. If disciplinary action is required it must be agreed on by the majority.”

“That sounds fair”

I led Bernard to a communal table where a number of guests were enjoying coffee. “Bernard, this is Rhondda, Paddy, Sean, Ted and I’ll let the rest introduce themselves.”

Ted offered a handshake as did Sean, Red, Shakes and Paddy. “How are you, Bernard?” asked Ted. You missed some excitement yesterday. One of our neighbors sent some mortars in our direction. You can see the damage to the house and barn. Nobody was hurt. I walked in the direction of the mortar fire and found an MC clubhouse. By the time I got there one of our soldiers had returned fire with rockets. They didn’t see that coming. We also had a platoon of fully armed mercenaries check things out. When the bikers saw them they ran back to the clubhouse and locked themselves in. Nobody was hurt on either side. I hope they won’t bother us again, but if they do we’re ready.”

Bernard said, “I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I thought this would be a safe place to stay. I’d be safer on the streets.”

Ted asked, “What is the worst thing that’s happened to you on the streets?”

“I’ve had my tent set on fire while I was in it.”

Ted replied, “One of my friends was doused with gasoline and set on fire. Another had his teeth kicked out while sleeping on a park bench. It’s a tough life.”

Bernard said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lay down. I walked a lot of miles today. I look forward to seeing you all in the morning.”

In unison, everyone at the table said, “Good night, Bernard. It’s good to meet you.”

Rhondda and I also said goodnight to the group before heading to the farmhouse and bed.

…

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27: They call me Red…

 

 

Hearing the police (Gardai) sirens I directed my army mates to hide the M270 in one of the empty outbuildings along with the men in combat gear. Rhondda and I followed.  We camouflaged the launcher with tarps, bales of straw, tires and anything else we could find. Then we climbed the ladder to the hayloft. This would pass a quick inspection but not a thorough search.

The people remaining outside appeared as ordinary farm folk. Four blue and green police vehicles with flashing blue and red lights came down the driveway. Seeing no violence, one of the officers stepped out of his car; remaining behind the door of his squad car he shouted, “Who is the owner of this property?”

Paddy waved his hand, stepped forward and said, “I’m Paddy Murphy, officer. I’m glad to see you. Is the army doing testing nearby?  Look at the mess they’ve made of my house and barn. We were minding our own business when we saw the smoke trails then mortar shells smashed into the yard then into the house and barn.”

“Are you familiar with mortar shells then?”

“I did two tours with the Royal Irish in Afghanistan. I saw plenty of mortars there. I’ll show you the spent casings.”

The officer said, “We haven’t been informed of any army weapons testing activities in the area. I can assure you that the army doesn’t conduct this type of test close to populated neighborhoods.”

The officer examined what remained of the mortar shells. “These appear to be from 80-millimeter shells, the range is about 6 kilometers. That’s the radius of the area these shells were fired from. Have you had any problems with your neighbors? Is there any reason they should want to kill you or anybody on your property?

“No, I know most of the neighbors. We’re a contented lot on the whole. We see each other at market, that sort of thing.”

“We’ve been having trouble with a motorcycle gang nearby. We’ll get a search warrant and inspect their clubhouse. Do you mind if we take a look around here?”

“Be my guest,” said Paddy.

“There seem to be a lot of people here, more than a regular farm crew. Can you explain that?”

“Yes, officer we’re constructing a homeless shelter for vets returning home with PTSD and anyone else who requires emergency housing. We’re doing this in cooperation with the local social service facilities. When we’re finished we’ll have doctors, social workers, addiction therapists and anything else required. Do you suppose that any of our neighbors carries a grudge against the homeless?”

“I’m not doing any speculating, but if you’d show me through your house we’ll see if there is any evidence. Was anybody killed or injured? This place looks like a war zone?”

“No, officer, there were no killings.”

After having a good look around the police concluded their search and advised us they would keep us informed.

Paddy called everyone together, “We’re safe for now but we need an underground bunker for the rocket launcher and any weapons not being used. It will also be a place to hide if the situation gets worse.” With the construction machinery on site, the bunker was quickly dug, covered and camouflaged so it looked like the ground had never been disturbed.

Paddy continued, “I’ll phone the army commander to let him know what has happened. I’m sure he won’t take kindly to his troops being mortar bombed.”

The rest of the night passed peacefully.

…

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26: They call me Red…

 

 

I called a meeting of everyone at the farm. “I said yesterday that anyone who wanted to leave would be provided transportation. That offer still stands. That being said I assume that everyone in attendance is here for the long haul.

“I’ll tell you what we know: The biker I killed near Carlow was very respected by the gang. According to the newspaper, close to 300 members from all around the world attended his funeral. It said that he ‘used to have Bible talks at work in the mornings and prayer meetings in the afternoon.’ Police described him as ‘hard-working, friendly, but private.’ He had no criminal record. His girlfriend read a tearful statement and won the heart of a nation. So, that really makes me feel like shit.

“Had I not killed him he, or another gang member, would have killed me and Rhondda. In addition to that, I killed another gang member in the United States and many of his brothers came here for the funeral. Because Rhondda was with me on both occasions she will be considered an accessory after the fact. Paddy, by harboring a fugitive, is also implicated. Not a very positive situation all around.

“We can expect an attack at any time. It’s doubtful that gang members will be riding motorcycles or wearing club patches, that would make them obvious targets. We know that they have access to every kind of weapon from handguns to rocket launchers. Luckily, thanks to Paddy and our military comrades we have an even greater arsenal of weapons. It is expected that the gang will make the first strike. That is likely to bring in the police which further complicates matters. They won’t yet be aware of my involvement in the murders, gangs have a ‘no comment’ policy concerning the police.

“Soldiers have installed surveillance cameras covering every angle of the clubhouse. If anything out of the ordinary appears we will be informed. At present, all we can do is wait and be ready to act immediately to anything they throw at us.  I asked yesterday if any of you had contact with any members of a biker gang. Any information they could pass on would be of help. If they have grudges against this gang they may even offer assistance.”

A mortar shell hit close to the house and another hit near the barn. In quick succession, two more followed striking both the barn and the house. War was on. Luckily, neither of those buildings were occupied. We had seen the trajectory of the two rounds, so we knew where to direct our offense. A platoon of mercenaries in full battle gear and camouflage headed toward the area. The range of a mortar shell is approximately 6 km. Our troops immediately brought out an M270 multiple rocket launcher and fired 3 rockets toward the disappearing trail of smoke. It then moved to another position. Our ground forces would advise if we had made an effective strike. If nothing else we shook up our adversaries and showed them our superior firing power.

All was quiet for a while. then we heard the sound of assault rifles. One of our troops identified the distinctive sound as being that of an M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle used extensively by US Marines in Afghanistan. There were brief bursts of fire then silence.

A tall, bearded, scraggly looking man wearing a red and black plaid flannel shirt approached me. “Patrick,” he said, “I’m Ted. I think I can be of help.”

“How so?”  

“I was a hunter and trapper in northern Canada for 29 years. If I can get within shooting distance of bears without being seen, I can certainly do the same with a bunch of clumsy bikers. I can handle any kind of gun but prefer a bow and arrows. I prefer quiet and it seems more sportsmanlike.”

“I’ll take you to our Sergeant-at-Arms and see how we can equip you. Bows and arrows may be in short supply.” We managed to find him a sniper’s rifle that he was familiar with then he headed in the direction of the mortar trail.

Another man, tall, gangly with long greasy hair asked, “Can I get a gun, perhaps a nine millimeter and a shotgun.”

I said, “I notice that you walk with a slight limp. Are you a war veteran?”

“No, a friend shot me. The bullet went in here,” pointing to his thigh, “it broke my femur and came out the back of my leg. They had to cut me open to put the rod in.

“I got it at a house party, there was lots of booze, drugs, but I decided to leave. My bro asked for my gun. I took it out of my pocket, took the clip out, but forgot there was still a shell in the chamber. It had a hair-trigger, much too sensitive. When my bro took my gun, he accidentally shot me in the leg.

I asked, “Why did your friend want your gun?”

“‘Cause he wanted to shoot the guy.”

“I assume you’ve done time in prison. We won’t hold it against you.”

“The last time I was in prison was in 1995. I was in Collins Bay for nearly five years.”

I asked, “What were you in for?”

“Bank robbery. I was just seventeen, selling drugs, robbing banks, boxing. That’s when I was sparring with George Chuvallo and Shawn O’Sullivan. I still got it.”

I said, “I’m sure you can be of great help to us. Talk to Paddy, our Sergeant-at-Arms.”

I got a call from one of our mercenaries at the front. He said, “We sure surprised them, they scattered like rabbits. They’ve locked themselves in their clubhouse. We’ll wait for them to come out. I’m sure that one of our rockets could annihilate them if that’s what you want.”

I said, “Hold your position. We’ll hold a brief meeting to decide on our next step.”

I called another meeting. I said, “I think we have them on the run. We have the choice of sending rockets at their clubhouse. That would probably kill everyone inside. Is that what we want, or should we wait to see what happens next?”

General agreement was to wait. In the distance, we heard the sound of police sirens.

…

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Beach Girl

Beach girl
silhouetted
against the horizon.
Wild hair fluttering
flag of the evening breeze.

I sit
admiring
this distant beauty.
Heartfelt rhapsody
engulfed by remorseless night.

I see
small footprints
in the moist sand.
I know them as yours.
Would that I could take them home.

…

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25: They call me Red…

 

I called together a group of farm guests. I said to them, “I have some important news that I must pass on. An international biker gang is trying to kill Rhondda and me. It’s my fault. I take the blame and full responsibility. It’s your choice whether you want to face that danger or not. I know it’s not what you signed up for. As you can see we have a lot of military presence. There can’t be better protection than that. If any of you have any combat experience please let me know. If you have medical skills that may be of help, please let me know. If you personally know any member of a biker gang, please let me know. If you feel you must leave transportation is available.

“I spoke to Sean yesterday about a book I’m planning to write concerning people that have been forced onto the streets. What would you guys like the public to know about your situation?”

“I’ll talk to you,” said Darren (a college graduate and Gulf War veteran). “Do you have your pen and paper? First of all, we aren’t you guys, we’re not a group, we’re individuals. We come from different places, different backgrounds, different religions. Some of us don’t even like each other, but we congregate to have a beer, smoke a joint, to be with others who don’t judge or abuse us Physically or verbally. We accept everyone here as they are.”

“I can appreciate that. I didn’t mean to lump you all together. I stand corrected.  I’d like to tell your individual stories the way you wish to express them. I think that if the general public was introduced to you and the situations that you’ve endured they would be more sympathetic. Perhaps, we could help end the abuse.”

…

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24: They call me Red…

 

We ordered a full English breakfast to be brought to our room. The dress code for the restaurant is smart casual, whatever that means. In any case, we weren’t in the mood to make small talk with other diners. I phoned Paddy at the farm to hear if there were any new developments. He informed me that our pictures had been linked to the farm, they had probably been circulated to airports, seaports and major cities in Brittain. There was no purpose in another change of identity. The farm was in danger and we were the cause. Paddy had contacted his friends with the Irish Army and military contacts worldwide. We decided to head back.

We drove to the Chaplin’s Fancy dress where I purchased a Boris Johnson wig, Red went with a Theresa May. We have no love for British politicians, these wigs were simply inconspicuous. An Elvis and Marilyn Monroe wig would cause a lot of attention, even though they’re both dead. We next went to a thrift store where we purchased fairly conservative pants, shirt and jacket for me and a shapeless casual dress and coat for Red. We weren’t trying to make a fashion statement, just the opposite. We also purchased hats to complete the disguise and as something to hide behind.

We drove back to Holyhead and tried to stay out of sight until it was time to board the Ulysses. On board, we stayed in our room on Deck 10. We sampled the bottles in the mini bar and fell asleep shortly after. Our arrival back in Dublin was uneventful. there was little likelihood that anyone knew what kind of car we were driving. We avoided the busiest traffic routes and reached the farm just before nightfall. Paddy greeted us with a big hug and we sat at the kitchen table and drank Jameson.

Although the Irish Army couldn’t help us officially there were 1,600 active Reservists and plenty of soldiers on leave who had offered their personal assistance. We even had representatives of the Army Ranger Wing the special operations force of the Irish Defense Forces. Paddy had installed closed-circuit cameras covering the entire farm, these were monitored 24 hours a day. We had guards hidden around the perimeter fence. They would keep us advised of any intruders. We didn’t know how many gangs had been recruited. Intergang warfare kept many of them separated. Around 200 bikers gathered in Limerick for the initiation ceremony of a ‘full patch chapter’.

The last biker battle had been simmering for several years. Issues over patches and respect had resulted in numerous violent incidents. This led to the clubs attempting to broker a peace agreement over beer and wings – and it ended with countless bullets fired, nine bikers dead, 480 weapons recovered (151 guns, plus assorted knives, brass knuckles, batons, hammers, just everything), 20 injured, and over 177 arrested.

The pay for a security contractor is off the charts. Some mercenaries make from $500 to $1500 per day. Money to militarize the farm was not an issue. We would need our mercenaries to go undercover and report on the activities of the nearby gangs. This wouldn’t be an easy proposition. It had been reported that the clubhouse “had dozens of security cameras pointed in all directions making it impossible for anyone to approach the site without being seen. Also, it was bullet and blast proof. With plenty of food and water as well as a generator, the club would be able to sustain itself in a locked-down state for several days.” 

Paddy said, “The law is on our side. We’ll fight a defensive battle. Those motherfuckers have no idea of our potential strength.”

With the construction equipment already at the farm, we could dig trenches for troops and pits to hide tanks and other military vehicles. There was a steady stream of military vehicles entering and leaving the farm. Hopefully, this would deter any direct attack. Primarily, the vehicles were providing food and construction materials for the homeless shelter, they were also transporting troops and state of the art weapons to be used when needed. 

With our briefing over, Rhondda and I took a leisurely walk to view the progress on the building of the shelter, the establishment of on-site medical personnel and kitchen facilities. The construction, with military assistance, was progressing fantastically. 

I saw Sean, who we’d brought to the farm, sitting on a stump, appearing to be enjoying the rare appearance of the sun. Ireland is green because of the rain. “Hello, my name is Dean. How are you enjoying the accommodations?”

“It beats living on the street. Accommodations, as you call them, are still temporary but I’ve been able to keep dry and have had a full belly every day. While I was begging on the street I had problems with accepting food from strangers. One guy gave me a homemade muffin. After I ate it, I felt a buzz like I’d had four hits of LSD. I was able to make it to the Cymru Shelter. That was the only place I could think of to go. I was able to lie down and it eventually wore off.”

I said, “I’ve heard similar stories from other street people. Vulnerability is a life-threatening danger. I’m planning to write a book about it. Perhaps you could mention that to your friends. I’d like to get to know as many homeless people as I can. Everyone will remain anonymous. I won’t be wearing a wire. I don’t judge anybody. Do you think that it will help to tell your story from another viewpoint, a more accepting viewpoint?”

“Yeah, I’ll mention it, but I can’t promise anything. Many people have told us things that never happened, so expect them to be skeptical.

“I see the way that shoppers on the sidewalks look at me like I’m some kind of scum. The guards (police) have started issuing fines to anybody caught begging or rough sleeping. At least 51 people have reportedly been convicted of breaching a public space protection orders (PSPO) for begging or loitering and failing to pay fines up to £1,100 since 2014, while hundreds of fixed-penalty notices of £100 have been issued. Cases are said to include a man jailed for four months for breaching a criminal behavior order (CBO) in Gloucester for begging – about which the judge admitted: ‘I will be sending a man to prison for asking for food when he was hungry’. In another case, a man was fined £105 after a child dropped £2 in his sleeping bag. The world is going crazy. If people can’t afford a place to stay or food to eat they certainly can’t afford to pay a fine.

“I don’t know what people are upset about. I have a real job. I sit on the sidewalk and greet people. I’m a greeter. I could work at Walmart.” 

…

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