There were two short rings at the doorbell, followed by a long ring. Barry Riordan said, ‘That’ll be Nocky. Go let him in, will you, Gavin?’

Gavin went out into the hallway and returned with Nocky following close behind him. Nocky was short, with a bulbous forehead and one of those thin moustaches that Norries called a ‘thirsty eyebrow’. He was wearing a brownish tweed jacket with sagging pockets and baggy corduroy trousers.

‘That’s the third motor for you,’ he told Barry, dropping a set of car keys on to the kitchen table. ‘It’s a white VW Passat Estate, semi-automatic. It’s parked along with the other two in that unused unit at the Árd Álainn Business Park. I’ve switched the number plates already.’

Barry said, ‘That’s grand, boy, thanks.’ He lifted himself up from his chair and tugged a thick bundle of euros out of his back jeans pocket. ‘Are you sure I can’t twist your arm to join us on this one? I’ll pay you double what I’m paying you already.’

Nocky shook his head. ‘I’m still under licence, Bazza, with three and a half years to go. If they snare me again, God knows how long I’ll be banged up.’

‘I’m only needing you to drive. Nothing else.’

‘I’m not even going to ask you what you’re planning. Look, I’ve hobbled your motors for you, haven’t I, and that’s only because I owe you a favour.’

Nocky spoke cautiously, because he knew how unpredictable Barry’s temper could be. But Barry shrugged and licked his thumb and counted out three hundred euros in fifties. Before he pushed them across the table, though, he said, ‘You’re sure, like? I could double it and pay you another ton on top. All you have to do is drive a couple of the fellers up to The Weavers on Saturday afternoon and wait outside for a couple of minutes. Then – when they come out – you’ll drive them up to O’Brien’s builder’s yard at Boreen Dearg.’

‘And then what?’

‘They’ll be torching all three motors but you’ll be picked up from there and taken home. The problem is that I have only the five drivers so far and I need six.’

‘I don’t know, like. What will you be doing at The Weavers? Don’t tell me you need three cars just to rob the place. Besides, that’s where the O’Flynns usually hang out now, isn’t it – The Weavers?’

‘Well, I’ll be straight with you. The O’Flynns are holding a twenty-first birthday bash there, and all we’re going to do is mess it up for them good and proper. Kick the tables over, spill all the drinks, smash the band’s bodhrán and drop the birthday cake down the jacks. They’ll be too scunderated to report it to the cops.’