Page 111 of Hang on St. Christopher

Who else was onhiskill list?

“Forget it, Duffy. Like you said, not your case. Someone else’s problem now.”

I was thinking about making that cup of tea when a car pulled up outside the house, blaring the Sex Pistols.

It was 1992. Who played the Sex Pistols in 1992?

I looked out the window to find out.

Oh my God, do these eejits ever learn?

Now I had to make another one of those difficult decisions: gun or hurley stick?

Both, I think. I stuck the Glock down the back of my jeans and went out to the washhouse to get my old hurley stick.

I took off my jacket and shoulder holster, went back in the house, stretched, and opened the front door.

They were piling out of their car now. Nice car. Volvo 240 estate. Orange one. Wasted on them. I like the 240 because you can you look through the headrest when you’re reversing. Good Swedish touch, that.

There were four of them.

Pete Scanlon, the paramilitary thug from the other night; Jonty Reed, the Nazi-loving video-recorder thief from the other night; and two more disposable henchpeople, alas not wearing red shirts. They’d obviously come to teach me a lesson I would never forget... Or, more likely, they’d come to fuck up my house because they thought I was supposed to be back in Scotland.

I walked down the garden path.

I was so fed up with this whole scene now.

One iteration was okay.

But two?

It wouldn’t do. It’s a fine line between interesting repetition and boring tautology. Look at the career of Bach or Bob Dylan...

I saw the curtains twitch and close next door. She wasn’t going to be impressed either, was she?

I yawned.

The sun was still shining in the long Ulster summer twilight. Stray dogs were lying in the middle of the road, kids were playing soccer and kerby. It was a lovely sepia-toned Super 8 suburban dream of a night...

Nice.

“Ahoy, there!” I said jauntily with the hurley stick over my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Jonty Reed asked, surprised to see me.

Yes, their intelligence had told them I was supposed to be away, and they had come only to fuck up my house.

“I could ask you the same question,” I replied.

Jonty looked at Pete uncertainly, but Pete was made of sterner stuff. “We’re here to learn you,” he said unironically, getting out of the car with a metal baseball bat. Jonty got out of the car too and he also had a bat. As did the other two goons.

It was going to be baseball against hurley. The crossover game the world had been waiting for.

“Come on, then,” I said.

“What if he shoots us?” one of the henchpeople said.

“Don’t come on, then,” I said.

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