Tuesday, May 05, 2009

One Day in June

I see them across the street. My summer day's daze is shattered.

It begins.

“What the fuck are you lookin' at cunt!!”

“....I was just saying hello.....”

It's no use. He has the predator's stare. He's in terminal homing phase like a guided missile.

“Who the fuck are you to talk about my wife!!”

Say nothing. Match his stare.

“I'm gonna cut out your eyes and rip out your throat”

Show no fear.

“It's up to you”

We're nose to nose. I'm falling. He follows through and I know to kick up.

Kick up. Don't stay on the ground.

I'm on my feet. We're eye to eye. Katrina's screaming. He ignores her. Only his target exists.

“I'm gonna cut out your eyes and rip out your throat”


I head-butt him. He staggers. I try to punch him. He calmly steps aside and I go spinning. We carousel from one side of the street to the other, his feet hitting my eyes. I feel nothing; thuds, but no pain.

I'm on the ground. My head is hitting the pavement. And I feel no pain.

I'm on my back. I can't breathe. He has me in a neck-vice.

Pull his arms loose. Gulp air.

The vice closes.

No air.

Pull. Hit him with the back of your head.


Above me Tony's watching. Through his thick lenses his piggy eyes are filled with jubilation.

No air.

Pull. Gulp air.


I'm on my knees in a doorway.

“I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!!”

Pull. Gulp air.

“Everybody dies! Fuck you!!”

I know I'm dying.

No air.

Roll. Punch.

Katrina's screaming,

“Get my Daddy! Get my Daddy!”

No air.


Mark is watching. He's waiting for me to die.


Keep breaking the neck vice.


I see sky. His hands are round my throat and I'm punching impotently up at him. He's laughing.



I'm on my knees.

“I'll stop if you apologise.”

“Fuck you! I'm apologising for fuck-all!!”

It ends.

The world is spinning. I fall onto my backside.

Two girls are looking at me. They can't be more than eleven.

“Why did you not apologise when he said he would stop?”

“I don't think I have anything to apologise for.”

“I suppose you're right. It's not nice someone being a Tout”

My head's sticky. I pull my hand away and it's covered with blood. I murmur something.

“What the fuck did you say!!”

It's Bernard; her father; yesterday's Republican.

“I said my head's bleeding”

“I have no more fuckin' patience for you!!”

I stare at him.

“Stop Fuckin' Filmin' This!!”

He's storming across the street, screaming up at a window.

I see Tony. He's moved away.

“I hope you're proud of yourself Tony”

It's the least I can say.

I stagger to my feet, swaying, then collect my coat off the ground where it fell; over where it all began so long ago.

“Are you okay?”

It's a motorist. He's shocked. He's staring at me and I don't know why.

“I've had better days”

I stumble off down the entry.

Don't go to your own house. It's not safe.

Tell Suzanne.

I go to her house. Damien answers.

What does he see? He can't believe it.

“What the Fuck!! What happened??”

“Katrina's boyfriend”

“You look like someone tried to kill you”

“He did”

“You need to go to hospital”

“I need to speak to the cops”

“Get the station to call you an ambulance”


I turn to go and from across the street comes Karen. The colour has drained from her face.

We walk down Botanic Avenue and I pause at Clements. I have to go in. Everything stops and heads turn.

Where is Jane?

Open mouths and goggle eyes have no answer to my silent question.

She'll think I've stood her up.

Time to go.

The station has no cops. The girl behind the desk calls an ambulance. She gets water. My hands are staining the glass with blood. There's something on my tongue. I pull it off. It's a slice of tooth.

The ambulance comes.

“That's a nasty head wound. You need that X-Rayed and stapled. You've got concussion. You could have a closed head injury. You need to go to hospital.”

The cops arrive. There's a flood of them.

“We need to talk to him”

The paramedics leave.

We go into a small room. There are two seats. I take one while they stand.

Good Cop speaks,

“You got a couple of digs in”

“That's nice to know”

“You've been harassing Katrina O'Neill”

It's bad cop. She's short, English and very hostile.


“We want to talk to you about these incidents”


“You intimidated her at a residents' meeting and then there's this latest incident on the Ormeau Road”


“You stared at her”


“Outside the Ormeau Bakery”

“We passed in a walkway”

“You stared at her”

“What about the meeting?”

“You intimidated her”

I look at Robin, the sergeant in the corner in the boiler suit.

“You were there. Did you see any intimidation?”

“It was a hell of a row”

“But did you see any intimidation?”

“We weren't there for all of it”

“But you were in the building”


“Was it reported to you then?”


The wall's cracking. The English one counter-attacks.

“We're going to caution you. She doesn't want you writing about her on the internet”

“She's a public figure”

“It doesn't matter. Politicians have prosecuted people for writing about them. It's harassment.”

Someone's coming and going.

How many are there? Five? Six?

I'm losing count. Another one speaks,

“Will I do it?”


“Alan Murray, I'm cautioning you for the offence of harassment against Katrina O'Neill. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention .......................”

It's not a dream.

"Do you have anything you wish to say?"

"I think this is absurd"

“You are entitled to a legal representative. Do you wish one to be present now?”

“I have concussion. I need medical attention. I came here to report an assault”

“You don't want to do that. She has six witnesses who all say you started it. You attacked her boyfriend Declan Martin. And you threatened to burn her house down with her and the kids in it. "

"Is she pressing charges?"


"Why not? if someone threatened to burn your house down with you and your kids in it would you not want to press charges?"

No answer.

"I want him prosecuted."

"You'll lose. Then she can take civil action against you. I know it's not fair, but, there you go"

“I'll take legal advice. Can I go to hospital now?”

They take me to the City.



Even a doctor's shocked at the sight of me. He takes an inventory of my injuries then goes away while a nurse bathes my wounds with saline. I like her. She admires my freshly broken nose.


He's back.

“There's no skull fracture. The X-Rays are clear, but we need to staple that head wound.”

By the end my teeth are gritting. Pain has returned to me.

He leaves me in the care of the nurse. She comes and goes as I wait out the necessary few hours of observation.


“Will you be okay to go home?”

“I don't know if the house will still be there”

I'm good to go.



Suzanne's shocked. We're on my doorstep.

“You look like a bare knuckle boxer beat you!!!”

Little did we know, he is.


Looking back it's like a dream. Time does that to you. You never forget. You constantly replay it in your head; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. To fight for your life, knowing you're going to die is, they say, the most damaging of experiences. Yet I would change nothing. It would have been a good death. There is honour in such things.

The executioner will come again. I am ready to die.


Anonymous said...

Im playing the worlds smallest violin for you [img]http://tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:ImQKS0fqXcUzAM:http://img120.imageshack.us/img120/609/smallestviolinwz4.jpg[/img]

belfast samizdat said...

Great movie. Very funny scene. I fell out of my seat when Tarantino's character explained the meaning of Madonna's "Like a Virgin".

Anonymous said...

What happened to the case anyway?

Anonymous said...

just read your harrowing tale of your recent attempted murder bid. cant help but think its bullshit. cant believe your injuries were that bad that thet shocked a doctor but yet you could make your way to botanic to go on a date. your such a brave little solider arent you. who was your date? cant wait till your next harrowing tale and then the follow up movie i would suggest kerry catona or steve belcumisci uncanny likeness.

belfast samizdat said...

"your such a brave little solider arent you. who was your date? cant wait till your next harrowing tale and then the follow up movie i would suggest kerry catona or steve belcumisci uncanny likeness."

Thank you for sharing that with me.

"What happened to the case anyway?"

Because the police (and Ombudsman) chose to pervert the course of justice the photographs were kept out. Catney, Katrina, mark and Bernard perjured themselves silly.

Their key witness was Tony McGuinness who was in a state of abject terror as he perjured himself. He knew that Katrina could blow the lid on her publishing his articles in her name and get him sacked. He knew that if convicted Gerard would pay him a visit. Tony's machinations brought all this shit about; the fake articles in the press, the fake harassment charges, even having me raided. I'd always thought Tony had sent the cops, but, being a coward, he got Katrina to do it for him. Sean O'Hare revealed that in open court while cross-examining me.

Tony's entire head turned the colour of beetroot. His speech slurred. The lies became ever more outrageous. I flew through the air like Bruce Lee. There you have it; Alan Murray the Holyland Ninja. Nobody else made reference to this. Nor did they refer to me taking off my sweater (I wasn't wearing one), and no-one else saw a white transit van. Gerard got up from his seat (there was no dock in this court) to tell the others Tony was flunking it.

There was a break while the judge reviewed the evidence. Tony sat well away from the others, ostracised, his purple head in his hands.

We come back for Harry McKibbon's judgement. The gang are sitting just down from me. Tony's not with them. I hear Katrina say,

"Gerard says McGuinness fucked up!"

Harry's summing up,

"....there is a small, but reasonable doubt because of Mr McGuinness's testimony. He was the only impartial witness who saw the whole thing. Therefore I am forced to acquit"

They're leaving. Gerard smiles as he leads his pack.

Anonymous said...

You must carry a dictation machine with you at all times Alan to remember all that. "3.52PM, note to ones self, cleaned my bum," "6.02PM, note to ones self, had a boiled spud and caviar," "6.03PM, note to ones self, I just pooped myself."

belfast samizdat said...

"You must carry a dictation machine with you at all times Alan to remember all that. "3.52PM, note to ones self, cleaned my bum," "6.02PM, note to ones self, had a boiled spud and caviar," "6.03PM, note to ones self, I just pooped myself."

6.04pm note to self; Caviar causes diahorrea. 6.05pm note to self; new cure for constipation found. 6.06pm note to self; market this to Alan Sugar.

Anonymous said...

profoundly not funny, dramatic and self indulgent

belfast samizdat said...

Thank you for sharing that with me :-)

Anonymous said...


belfast samizdat said...

Should it not be bollocks?