Free Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick by James Kilcullen

accommodation. They are being put up in the army barracks in Galway.’
    When Paulo served their drinks, Ulick leaned towards him and lowered his voice.
    ‘I hear we have a monster in the lake.’
    ‘Shush,’ Paulo cautioned, ’not yet.’
    ‘Is there any chance we’ll have him before the annual march?’
    Paulo temporised. ’I hope so. Is it true you are hiring the Gulliver model for the day?’
    ‘Yes. Martin Sandys is arranging transport for us. We’ll need eight strong men to move him along: he’s nearly sixty feet tall.’
    ‘Will you follow the usual route?’
    ‘We will that; assemble at the Maam Cross end and march through the town to the carnival field beside Ned’s line. O’Duffy’s carnival is coming again this year.’
    Martin Sandys joined them.
    ‘Thanks for all your help with the funeral.’
    ‘It was a well deserved tribute to a great lady,’ Paulo replied.
    ‘That’s what friends are for.’ Ulick remarked. ‘What are you drinking?’
    ‘The drinks are on me, Paulo,’ he announced turning to Ulick.
    ‘How are we going to get that little hoor out of our town?’
    ‘It’s not going to be easy; he has the might of Brussels behind him.’
    ‘There has to be a way, Ulick.’
    ‘I agree, but we haven’t found it yet.’
    ‘I do hear,’ Martin grinned wickedly, ‘That you’re a regular visitor at the Haven.’
    Ulick was unfazed, but not prepared to give any information. He merely smiled. ‘I have to look after my clients.’
    ‘Some fucking clients,’ Martin remarked.
    ‘I do hear they’re nuns,’ Paulo remarked.
    ‘Some fucking nuns,’ Martin grinned.
    With that, Madame entered, stood at the far end of the bar and addressed Paulo.
    ‘Barman, be good enough to serve me a large whiskey with water.’
    Paulo did as ordered.
    She cast her eyes towards Ulick and Martin but they rested on Ozzy who was petrified. She marched towards him, her usual iron expression softening into a smile.
    ‘Ozzy, you haven’t come for your stipend?’
    Not knowing what to do, he smiled innocently.
    They were interrupted by the noisy entrance of Crat, waving a poster in his right hand.
    ‘Is Joyc here?’ he demanded angrily.
    Madame turned back to Ozzy; he was gone.
    ‘Where is Ozzy?’ she demanded while Crat approached Ulick.
    ‘Ozzy, who’s he?’ Ulick asked.
    ‘You saw him—he was standing right beside you.’ she accused.
    Ulick shook his head. ‘You must be seeing things.’
    ‘No, I am not seeing things.’ She screamed.
    Crat stood before Ulick and waved the poster in his face.
    ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.
    Ulick took the poster; it was one of many, advertising the annual celebration march.
    ‘What’s your problem? We hold this march every year.’
    ‘You have not applied for my permission,’ he roared at him.
    ‘So, we have to have your permission?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Ulick shrugged. ’Is that all? I’ll apply tomorrow.’
    ‘Too late. Under Directive 64859 your application should have been submitted to me in triplicate a month ago.’ He paused. ‘This march will not take place.’
    Martin Sandys saw red.
    ‘Now you listen here to me Mr. Crap, Crat or whatever you call yourself. This march will take place as scheduled and you would be very unwise to try to prevent it.’
    ‘I will deploy my troops if I have to,’ he screamed.
    ‘You do that.’
    He marched out of the bar followed by a very puzzled Madame.
    *
    M aggot Murphy was extremely distressed when he arrived at Ulick’s office; so much so that, first of all, he was put sitting down and handed a whiskey. The heavily built youngish town butcher was normally well known for his wit and affability: not today.
    ‘Ulick,’ he began when his speech returned, ‘That bloody bitch—Madame Ass or whatever they call her—has closed me down. Says the premises are in breach of some bloody Directive or other. What am I going to do?’
    ‘Let me look into it, Maggot.’
    He rang through to his