Anyway, hopefully this won't fuck up like last time = \
Patrick had got up that morning, got into his suit, checked his briefcase and set out for work as normal. He'd pulled up to his destination, took the briefcase out of the car, entered the post office bought some stamps and walked out; without the briefcase.
He left the post office walked into the bakery across the street and bought a bagel. He went back to his car, got in and started to eat. Fed up with only silence for company he turned on the radio. He finished the bagel and put the keys in the ignition and started to drive off.
The bomb exploded.
In the chaos that followed no one paid much attention to the ford fiesta that drove off away from the explosion. No one paid any attention to the six foot four bald man behind the wheel. They were all too busy gaping at the destruction that the bomb had caused.
Within minutes the police, paramedics and the fire service had arrived at the scene to deal with the situation. Patrick of course didn't know this, as by the time they'd arrived he was on his way to work: singing along to radio as he went.
Things had been going so well when Patrick had left the briefcase in the post office. There were rumours that the British Government were going to give in. They were finally going to give Ireland its independence. The bomb was supposed to be the final nail in the coffin to secure the deal. Things very rarely work out as planned though. In fact in this case it made things a hell of a lot worse.
The bomb would cause the British Government to stiffen its resolve. They would decide that no matter what, they wouldn't give in to the demands of terrorists. What was worse was that they would eventually trace the bomb back to Patrick.
When the bomb went off, Patrick wasn't worried about this at all. He could only think of getting into the office in time to see if his numbers had come up in the company lotto. It wasn't much of a prize but every little helps.
He pulled up to the office and walked in through the swing doors. The receptionist was watching TV. He could hear the news report as he walked in.
"...fighters are struggling to contain the fire. The cause is yet to be determined though eye witnesses report hearing an explosion before the fire started. Estimates say that there could be up to 50 people inside the post office..."
Patrick tried not to smile as he walked up to the reception desk.
"Hey Debs. What's this I hear about an explosion at the central post office? It was all over the radio when I was on the way here." his voice was heavily accented with that of a Dubliner. It was a slight disadvantage to be from Dublin when you were living in Belfast, but he managed. It's easy to kill a unionist with a bomb, but it's not so easy to get rid of Unionist prejudices. To them, every southerner was a republican and a member of the IRA. To Patrick, every Northerner that proudly bore the term unionist was a traitor to Ireland.
Debby looked up at Patrick somewhat surprised to see him.
"Don't be asking me Pat. I've no clue m'self," she replied, "I was just watching the TV and then they said that there was a news bulletin an' they said that the post office has gone up in smoke. Bloody IRA! If they aren't behind this then I dunno who is."
"I'd be surprised if they weren't behind this" Pat continued, knowing only too well that they were.
"So will most of the world I'd imagine. Anyway, what you doing here? I thought you were off to London for the weekend for some conference or other?"
"I was. Got a phone call last night telling me that it was cancelled due to "security risks", whatever that means. I doubt they'll be another conference for about year after this little fiasco."
"Wouldn't blame anyone if they did decide to pull the plug on 'em really. What you gonna do now then Pat? You going to stick around and catch up with some work or go home?" she turned the volume on the T.V down as the BBC news reporter stood outside the post office, microphone in hand, interviewing a member of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.
"I'll catch up with some work and then head home early if the boss don't mind."
"Well I'd go and see him if I were you. He's probably up in his office. You want me to call through and say you're coming up?"
"Probably a good idea. I'll see ya later Debs."
Pat walked headed up the stairs to the boss's office. Four flights of stairs later he was outside the office. He knocked twice on the door.
"Come in!" came a gruff voice from behind the door.
Pat opened the door to a luxurious office, laden with trappings and furnishings that clearly marked out the owner as a man proud of his heritage. Shamrocks could be found all over the place in all kinds of forms. Paperweights, pencil holders, pen tops. You name it and there was probably a shamrock shaped version of it somewhere within Mike Murdoch's office.
"Damnation on you Pat Mculloch!" he snapped as Pat walked into the office, "May the devil take your soul you sonnuva bitch! Do not tell me that you're responsible for this bloody mess at the post office."
He pointed at the television in the corner. The news reporter was still there interviewing the RUC man who was now begging for help from anyone who was in the area when the bomb went off.
"I was following orders Mike. You know damn well that this thing was in the pipeline for weeks. Dermot told me when to drop off the case and I did as was told. It isn't my fault you were left out of the chain of command. Serves you right for running ya mouth off like that last month."
"Condemn you to hell Mculloch! I ran my mouth off last week as warning against this god damn foolery!'
Patrick smiled. Mike was the perfect Irishmen. Patriotic to the core, a temper that matched even Dermot's, and believe me, that's a hard thing to do, and an intelligence and wit that few could match. He was wasted as an office manager really, but it gave him a position where he could keep his ear to the ground and find out what was going on in hard streets of Belfast. Mikes only problem was that he was overly cautious. He'd warned against bombing the post office, thought that it was too soon after the last attack, might lead the RUC to them. If only they'd listened to him...
'Don't worry your pretty red head over it Mike, no ones going to find out it was us specifically who did it. They haven't found out in the past, and they won't find out now.'
Mikes face was starting to match his hair. His knuckles were turning white as he squeezed his hand into a tight fist. It was time for Patrick to make a swift exit.
'I'll see you later Mike. I'm gonna get some work done then go home,' he said, the quickly leaving and shutting the door behind him without giving him a chance to reply.
Patrick started to whistle as he walked down the hall way to his cubicle where he sat down, messed around with his papers to make it look like he was doing some work, then sat back and turned on the T.V in the corner. The news was on. Not wanting to watch his handiwork, he flicked through the channels and settled on watching a Jerry Springer re-run.
Continued in next post
