O’Kane let it come at him, offering his callused hand. Just as it tried to clamp its teeth on his right fist, O’Kane forced his fingers to the back of its mouth and wrapped his left arm around its powerful neck. The Brindle opened and closed its jaws, struggling to gain purchase, but O’Kane pushed harder and seized its tongue with his thick fingers. He took his arm from around its neck as he twisted the slick pink flesh and pulled up until the dog’s front paws scrabbled on the dirt floor. It coughed and gagged and whimpered as its eyes bulged.
O’Kane gave it a hard kick to the ribs as it hung there before lowering his arm, keeping the dog’s head twisted to the side.
He turned his eyes to the handler. “If you can’t control your animal, don’t fucking bring him to my fights.”
“Yes, Mr. O’Kane.” The handler looked at the ground. “Sorry, Mr. O’Kane.”
“Get this thing out of here.” He released the whining dog’s tongue as the handler slipped a chain around its neck.
O’Kane looked up to Sean the bookie and smiled, wiping his hand on his coat. Sean winked back and straightened his cap. Most of the crowd had put their money on the Red. It had been a good night so far.
A voice came from the barn’s open doorway. “Da!”
O’Kane turned to see his son Padraig, as tall as his father and twice as wide. “What?”
“Yer man’s here.”
O’Kane nodded and stepped up and out of the pit, past his son - who turned and followed him - and out to the farmyard. Dogs penned in the old stables barked and snarled as they passed, and he hissed at them to shut up. Wire cages on the opposite side housed the visiting animals. A diesel generator rattled by the side of the derelict house, giving it and the barn power. The place still had the acrid chemical smell from the fuel-laundering plant he’d housed here before Customs had raided it. The dogs didn’t bring in as much money, but they brought him greater pleasure. As an old man, he took his pleasures where he could find them. Besides, he had plenty of other plants churning out stripped diesel along the border.
Languid rain drops slithered down the farmhouse windows. A soft light burned inside. O’Kane pushed open a door into what had once been a kitchen.
“Wait out here,” he said to his son, and stepped inside, ducking his head beneath the top of the door frame.
There were three other men in the room. Tommy Downey from Crossmaglen, thin and wiry with slicked-back hair, leaned against one wall. Kevin Malloy from Monaghan, thickset like O’Kane but a full twelve inches shorter, leaned against the other.
Downey pointed to the third man, who was seated in the middle of the room. “Here he is, boss.”
“Aye, so he is.”
O’Kane walked over to the man. The pillowcase over his head puffed out and in again as he breathed. His well-cut suit had red blotches on it.
“What’s this? Did he not come quietly?”
“Not really,” Malloy said.
O’Kane tutted. “That’s a shame.”
He reached out and plucked the pillowcase from the man’s head. The young man stared up at him. Blood congealed around his nose and mouth.
“Jesus, Martin, you’re sweating like a pig.”
Martin blinked.
“It’s an awful pity you wouldn’t listen to me, Martin. Now it’s come to this, and there was no call for it.”
Martin’s eyes brimmed. “What do you want?”
“I want to give you money. But you won’t take it from me. It’s mad, isn’t it? I want to give you two hundred grand and you’re slapping my hand away.”
“I told you to talk to my solicitor.”
O’Kane waved the idea away. “Jesus, solicitors? Fucking crooks, the lot of them. Why pay one of them fuckers when you can just deal with me?”
Martin’s voice shook with foolish defiance. “That land’s worth half a million and you know it.”
O’Kane leaned down, his hands on his knees. “Is it, now?”
“The estate agent told me.”
O’Kane snorted and stood upright. “Estate agent? Sure, they’re even bigger crooks than solicitors. You don’t need an estate agent to deal with the Bull. No, no, no. Spit and a handshake, that’s how I do it.”
The young man held O’Kane’s eyes steady. “All right, I’ll sell you the land, but I need a fair price.”
O’Kane smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’re a brave lad, son. Not many men will stand up to me. But listen to me, now. You’re pushing your luck. The only reason I haven’t fed you to the dogs is ’cause your auld fella was a good friend of mine. That’s why I let him keep that farm for so long. You pissed off to England to get your nice degree and your fancy job. Now he’s gone and you come running back looking to cash in.”
“He left the farm to me; I can do what I want with it. I can sell it to—”
“You can sell it to me, and that’s all. No one buys or sells land in South Armagh without my say-so. The sooner you get that into your head the sooner we can get this done.”
Martin stared straight ahead. “You can talk to my solicitor.”
