N.B. This short story uses Irish slang, please find a glossary of terms at the end
See me here, sat in a ten by four cell wit nothin to do but watch Jeremy Kyle and play wit my soldier to pass the time. It's a fuckin disgrace! The once great weed baron of Dublin city reduced to trading cigarettes wit the prison gardaí for wank rags.
There is a story behind my incarceration! This is a tale of betrayal, cryptocurrency, Crumlin and the best damn skunk weed ever to be cultivated this side of the Irish sea.
It all started in a shitty little suburb of Dublin, Ireland called Crumlin.
"Give up the bags Colm."
The big man eyed him with those peepers like two coals sinking into the depths of the Liffee. His forehead slopped from a receding hairline to a boxers nose and a small puckered mouth like a dogs arse. He was at least fifty percent chin though this fucker, and it was quivering in anger like a tack block bobbing in the sea.
He vomited a low guttural growl as the blade waved back and forth "Are you gonna give up tha fcukin bags Colm, or do I have to stick ya?"
Colm flipped him one finger, nearly losing his grip on one of the bulging bin bags he had slung over his shoulders.
"Away with ya. Ask me bollocks."
"I grew this weed wit my own two hands griff, and you think you can just waltz in and take wha took 6 months to cultivat! Sure an stick me wit that blade if you must, you'll be right back to borstal and good riddance. That's if I don't catch you sleeping first!"
"Shut up Colm! I'll be taking your money while I'm here too. Where is it stashed?"
"There's about ten grand in the kitchen taped under the sink... pocket money is all. You take that with my blessing big man, and I'll take it out of your hide later."
Griff cut him off.
"SHUT UP!"
"YOU'VE GOT MILLIONS STASHED SOMEWHERE."
"WHERE IS THE REAL MONEY?"
"Sure in ya don't need to shout. You'll never find my money shit for brains. Unless you know what a private key is? Ever heard of Bitcoin dickhead?
Nah... I thought not."
Griff looked at him in confusion like a dog after chasing its own tail.
"Bitcoin?"
Colm ignored him "So, do ya want this weed gift wrapped ya fcukin degenerate?" he said, cracking a smile like a salesman.
He dropped the bags to floor and stepped back arms open in invitation.
One of the bags split and a torrent of green blocks cascaded onto the carpet, the smell of bud penetrating the plastic wrap.
The big man stared down at the kilo bricks, chin wobbling.
"Aye Griff, it smells better than tha best ride in the whole the city."
Griff reached down to grab the second bag. Colm rushed him grabbing his arm just above the wrist, and pinning him in a bear hug as he smashed his forehead into the big man's nose.
"There ya go, another break for ya fuckin nose ya... cheeky... fuckin... snake." He accented each word with another headbutt, splaying Griff's nose out in a bloody welt of meat.
Griff let go of the bag and swung his left arm in a weak fist as Colm danced backwards, wrenching Griff's left arm violently backwards.
The big man yelped in pain and dropped the knife.
Colm darted in and lamped the dazed man square in his jaw.
"Connar McGreggor was my fifth cousin, ya soft pile of shite." He laughed as he dodged Griff's wild counter swing then jabbed a punch, splitting his right eye in a cascade of crimson tears. He sidestepped onto Griff's blindside and hit him with a haymaker to the temple, dropping the big man like a sack of shit.
Colm looked down at the twitching man he'd known since school, and ground his heel into his knuckles, shuddering at the seaweed crackle of breaking bones.
"Ya fuckin gobshite Griffith Walsh."
Mist crept across the murk of the canal. Colm stared at reflections waving on the surface. Squat tower blocks swam across that dull mirror, while streaks of seagull white split the grey pallor of the reflected sky.
This was the illusion of life, a reflection half glimpsed of something deeper. Something just beyond the edge of perception. Pointless to let anything worry you when you realize this underlying fallacy of the ghost in the machine. He laughed and flicked the stub of the spliff he'd been smoking to sizzle in the water, checking his line before propping the fishing rod in it's pod.
Dublin's sky was a pattern of nested clouds heavy with the threat of rain. Those cheeky buggers were always threatening, but no matter. He'd soon have something to warm the cockles.
The clip of high heels echoed from under the bridge and Colm grinned.
Jet black hair and a smile like an adder - Jenny McCarthy was the best ride in Dublin town for sure. She looked savage in her power suit jacket with the mini skirt, wearing it a like weapon. Every man jack turned heads when she walked by, even the shades copped an eyeful.
"How are ya then Colm?" She eyed him eyeing her as she walked up. "Got enough of an eyeful to last ya then?"
"Not enough eyes in the world Jen."
"Ahhh ya soppy old romantic, so you are."
Colm shrugged as he unfolded a beach chair, the technicolor striped pattern stained with a gravy streak and years of fart stains.
"It's me da's" he said in way of an apology.
"You're throne madame." He presented the seat with a flourish.
"Ya expect me to sit on that pile of shite?"
He grinned at her "You can sit on my knee instead if ya like."
She raised those meticulously plucked eyebrows, then fell on his lap slapping him playfully. "Cheeky beggar that you are Colm Kelly. You think you're a charmer right?"
Her tongue snaked into his mouth as he waved his arms wide out to the side in a parody of helplessness. He melted into her, drinking her and inhaling the smell of her shampoo. She smelled like roses on the breeze.
She broke the kiss.
"I'm helpless to your charms darlin."
"Away with ya now." She chided him as she pulled away from the kiss and studied his face in worry.
"I heard Griffith Walsh tried to rob you and you put a baytin on him. Are you hurt?"
"Aye, I'm grand. That gammy Welsh moron knocked on acting the maggot with a blade but I set him straight."
"Ya didn't hurt him too bad Colm?" She held his head, staring into his eyes.
"Why would I do that, and have the Gardaí knocking on my door. You're too soft Jen."
"It's why you love me." She kissed him again taking his hand and guiding it between her legs.
Colm laughed "true enough."
"I didn't hurt Griff, I've known him since school" Colm muttered as he started exploring her wetness.
"What's that Colm Kelly... is there a heart beatin beneath that gangster exterior?"
Colm glowered "I just told him to cop on and lamped him a few times, then dumped him at his missus door. Roisin will take care of him."
"So he got nothin off ya then?" Jen let out a soft moan, and her back arced ever so slightly.
"Fuck no! My money is hidden on paper and I can always grow more weed. That muppet can never take anything from me, no matter how hard he tries."
"That Bitcoin is it? I don't understand how it could work for a million euro to be stored on a scrap of paper."
"It was a million euro when I first bought the bitcoin, it's worth 55 million now."
Jenny rolled her eyes and shuddered, grasping hold of Colm's arm to stop its motion before exhaling a sigh.
"55 million... ya say! I never know when to take you serious Colm. What is the point of having all that if ya can't do anything with it?"
"I've got plans. It's my retirement fund macushla... and maybe our retirement."
"Ah, ya speaking Gaelic to me now. I'm swooning like the tender Dublin flower that I am Colm. But why not retire now? With that type of money we could go anywhere."
"Bordom macushla! I'd be bored as hell sat on a beach somewhere drinkin and fuckin without anyone trying to kill me."
Jenny laughed and sighed "But what if the bitcoin paper wallet gets lost or destroyed?"
Colm stared at the twitching fishing line, drawing his hand from beneath her skirt.
"Looks like I've got a bite."
He grinned at her as she raised her eyebrows and folded her arms.
"Your retirement. Don't you think you should let someone you trust know where you've stashed it?"
Colm pulled up the rod and let out a little line as the fish pulled back.
"Don't worry macushla, it's stashed somewhere close I can always get at it."
Thunder struck echoing across the empty city, bouncing off buildings and intensifying in a Doppler wave. He looked down from the sky. Lightening flashed across the surface of the canal. Reflected in the water, two pale hands peeled back the gun metal clouds and a giant face stared down at him, chin wobbling, swollen eyes dripping thick claret ooze onto his chest.
He tried to get up but something invisible pinned him down, something soft and warm which smelled vaguely of roses. The blood rain sluiced tears from those eyes, cloying tendrils stuck to his shirt and started to slink upwards toward his face like snakes. These ribbons of blood glimmered a glaucous sheen as they slid down his throat choking him and squeezed into his eye sockets popping his eyeballs like grapes.
The thunder rolled again as everything went red and he screamed.
"Open the door, Gardaí!"
A thundering shudder rattled through the bed's frame as Colm leaped up and fumbled for his handgun in the bedside cabinet. He ran naked down the hallway as the rhythm of the battering ram built and he scooped up his jeans with his feet, yanking them on.
Only one chance. Make it out of the back window, and jump the ten feet to the yard.
Shoes... he would need his shoes.
A loud crack sounded from downstairs and he heard the voices louder.
"Colm Kelly, you are under arrest!"
He slipped his shoes on, then sprinted to the bathroom.
Everything slowed, like the blood from his dream tangling his limbs with cloying tendrils. He bolted the bathroom door as the thump of footsteps clomped up the stairs.
The window slid open, glass cutting the reflection of his face in half against the night.
Torchlight blazed up at him, filling up his vision and blinding him.
"Stop, you're under arrest."
The door crashed behind him. Wood splinters tumbled across the floor as he turned to stare down the barrels of four MP5s.
"Drop the gun. This is your only warning."
Thunk.
His pistol hit the bathroom floor, echoing like the thunder in his dreams.
And that's how it ended. The Gardaí said they were responding to an unknown tip off... bollocks! They caught me on the one day when I had a 2000 Euro delivery of Northern Lights neatly packed up in the stash space under the back seat of my car. Only three people knew about that delivery as I can figure it - me, the customer and that fuckin snake Griffith Walsh.
More fool me, after I gave him a baytin I dumped him in the back of my car, drove him over to Roisin's house and left him on the step. The gammy fuck must have woken up and smelled the skunk weed through the seat cushions.
That's just the way it goes sometimes. But there's always a silver lining! The Gardaí never found me Bitcoin keys. They got the mnemonic phrases, but couldn't access the funds without the keys! Fuckin gammy shades are stupider than that bunch of donut eaters ya see in the Simpsons.
A sorry end to the promising career of a young entrepreneur. Anyway... away wit ya... that is it... the end.
The sun twinkled crystal motes from the white sand as a beautiful young woman with jet black hair and a smile like an adder leaned forward to sip a Piña colada. She reached out to grasp a hand with a welt of cockle shell bruises lining the knuckles. The two hands clasped.
The calm turquoises sea washed the edges of the sun loungers as the afternoon wore on. The woman stirred and let go of the hand to grasp something that lay in the sand beneath.
"Hey Griffie wake up... d'ya wanna go fishin now macushla?"
The end.
A Glossery of Irish slang terms used in this short story:
C’mere til I tell ya - means come here, I will tell you the following story.
Acting The Maggot - Acting in a particularly foolish manner.
Sham - is a tern used to mean friend.
Ask me bollocks - is an insulting come back to a question.
Ride - A term for a good looking woman.
Snake - Sneaky person.
Lamp - Means to punch.
Shades - Means the Garda Siochana (term comes from the 2 shades of blue on the police uniform).
Baytin - Regional pronunciation for the word beating.
Grand - Means, fine, ok, alright.
Craic - Fun, banter.
Gammy - Means useless.
Cop On - An order to grab hold of yourself and not be so stupid.
Macushla - means 'me darling' in Gaelic.
Research:
This short fiction was based on a story I read in the guardian news paper this morning when I woke up. The report tells of an Irish cannabis farmer and drug dealer who bought bitcoin when it was only $5 to see his fortune grow to be worth over 55 million euros. When he was busted by the Irtish police (Gardaí), the bitcoin paper wallets which he had stashed in the body of his favorite fishing rod were lost. It is believed that they have been incinerated... but as with all tales I read like this... non one can be 100% sure what has happened to that bitcoin. To read more please check out the link below.
Other sources of research for this short fiction:
https://www.thejournal.ie/crumlin-neighbourhood-guide-4033550-May2018/
https://www.irelandbeforeyoudie.com/10-baffling-dublin-slang-phrases-explained-to-english-speakers/
https://i95rock.com/the-95-most-common-slang-words/
https://www.theirishstore.com/blog/popular-irish-surnames-meanings/
https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/irish-words-sweetheart
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