*

Patrick was the first of The Boys I ever knew. He had been involved for a while, but mainly community stuff, as far as I was aware. Area patrols, punishment beatings, shite like that. One time this kid steals a car that belonged to one of The Boys that was high up in command. They tell Patrick to bring him in. I had been angling for a go myself and finally Patrick, who made it seem like you were joining the fucking Mensa, says he would give me a trial run. I mean, the Ra were begging for recruits, but that was your man Pat’s style. He had to pretend it was a big deal and of course it was, really. We all looked up to The Boys and we all dreamt of being one ourselves, one day. Look neat, he says to me. Don’t go letting the side down. What a joke. You should’ve seen the state of some of these clowns. But I took it as gospel back then, so as I turn up in a slate-grey suit with cufflinks and with white side-lacing shoes. You’ve got dandruff on your shoulders, that’s all Patrick says to me. Wipe it off, he says. Can’t have fucking common car thieves thinking I’ve got a dry fucking scalp, I says to him, but he just looks at me and at this point he’s the boss, so as I shrug and brush my shoulders off. Patrick is wearing an electric-blue suit with snakeskin shoes and a tie with the ace of spades on it. He looks good, I can’t lie. He gives me the briefing. Okay, he says, his ma is going to scream and shout, they always do. Ignore her. I’ll deal with the parents, he says. You drag the wee bastard outside and we’ll kick the shite out him. Sounds like a plan.

We turn up at his door in the evening and his ma answers. We’re here to see Roddie, Patrick says. What has he done now? she says. He stole a car and I think he may be using the drugs, Patrick says. He makes up that last bit but it was a piece of genius and I would use it myself for years after, especially when dealing with people’s mas. Any suggestion that their kids might be using drugs would be enough to damn them even in their own mothers’ eyes. That was traditional Irish Catholics for you.

Drugs, is it, she says, and she goes storming to the bottom of the stair and starts yelling for Roddie. Get your fucking arse down here, she screams. You’ve brought shame on our house. Me and Pat are just looking at each other. She goes bounding up the stair and we hear a crash and she shouts down to us, he’s out the window! He’s on the run! We go bollocking round the back and we catch a glimpse of Roddie leaping the fence and heading off down the lane.