Free The Ballad of Mo and G by Billy Keane

there’s lies in it and Big Matt don’t tell no lies nor write them either.’
    â€˜How can I be brought up?’ asked Mo, who was overwhelmed by the fact she couldn’t even trust the police.‘For threatening his life, my dear girl. A serious offence indeedy my deary and punishable by a long term of incarceration in the ’otel with no carpets.’
    Maureen had been nibbling away at her red-tipped, bitten-down finger nails, as she always did when she was nervous. Playing for both sides was placing a terrible strain on her nerves
    â€˜Listen to Sergeant Matt. You will be safe now,’ comforted Maureen.
    â€˜Mikey is very fond of you,’ she continued, ‘and sure he’s well able for Dermo. If Dermo ever touches you, he’ll never darken my door again. I told him as much. On my life. Mikey isn’t that right? Mikey.’
    Mikey looked at his mammy and nodded earnestly, several times.
    Mo could barely talk with the shock of being accountable for wishing death on a wife beater and a child killer.
    â€˜I didn’t threaten to kill him. I just wished he was dead. And that was after he killed my little baby. He’s the one who should be up for murder.’
    Big Matt took off his Garda hat and rubbed his shaven head with both hands in a downward motion as if he was parting what was once growing there. Then he moved his left hand down to his left ear, part of which had been removed either by a bite or a passing bullet.
    Having massaged his ugly bits, the great man of the law went back to conducting police business.
    â€˜That’s another day’s work, my dear and I can assure you no stone will be left unturned if indeed there are stones to be turned,’ pontificated Sergeant Matt, loudly mounting every word to stand on its own.
    â€˜I will send one of my cars for you at about ten, exactly. You have nothing to fear, my dear. You are now under Sergeant Matt’s protection. Safe as houses you are,’ according to Matt, very much unaware houses were halving in price by the day and falling down from pyrite, and bad boom-time workmanship.
    â€˜Now my dear the first hearing will only take five minutes. It is a formality. And all in private. I had a word. In the right ears. Dermo does not even have to be present before his worship.’
    The word present must have reminded Maureen.
    â€˜For your wife,’ as she handed the sergeant a large bottle of vintage French brandy.
    â€˜Ah there, there, there. Now stop. There’s no need of that, Maureen. I couldn’t possibly.’ Big Matt had his pneumatic eyes fixed on the gold label on the bottle and his hands extended to accept the gift.
    The notes in his notebook read well. Job done. Source protected. Wife shut up. Missus gets a bottle of brandy round as a potbellied buddha. Matt was in line to be Superintendent Matt and Dermo was his point of personal distinction. His very own exclusive source.
    The ould fella always told me you’ll never beat the Sergeant Matts of Ireland.
    â€˜It’s like this, my old friend. After their big win at the Battle of the Little Big Run, old Sitting Bull told the celebrating braves to take it handy. Keep the head like. Not to be jumping about sporting the scalps on their chests like some young one who won thirty-four medals at the Irish dancing.
    â€˜You might lick a couple of hundred troops, advisedwise old Sitting Bull, and use Custer’s blond hair to stuff a cushion, or line a hot water bottle, but there will be more to take their place and then more again if you beat them until eventually they will get you. They will never run out, but we will. There will always be someone to take their place but not ours.’

    Mo got her Protection Order. The lady judge was very nice to Mo and pronounced she had only to call the police and Dermo would be arrested.
    Maureen forced Matt to take a voucher for his wife’s birthday.
    â€˜Ah sure weren’t ye great