Betrayed by Anna Smith Page B

defending Queen and country. What had happened down the years in Northern Ireland, with the IRA bombing the fuck out of Belfast and the UK, had to be defended. It had to be financed. That’s what they were doing. He didn’t question it. Never had. They were fighting the fight, armed and ready.
    Eventually, the door opened at the far side of the room and Eddie came in, followed by a couple of other UVF men who Jimmy knew to be platoon commanders.
    ‘All right, lads,’ Eddie said as he came towards them. ‘Everything go okay with the drop?’
    ‘Yeah, Eddie. Fine. No problem at all.’
    ‘Good bloke that. Knows what he’s doing.’
    Jimmy and Mitch nodded.
    ‘Listen, boys. Leave your pints there for ten minutes. Follow me upstairs. I need a wee word.’
    Jimmy’s stomach turned over. It flashed across his mind that Liz had opened her trap about Wendy’s phone call to him. He felt his palms sweat. He’d been in back rooms before when a guy had been brought in and beaten to a pulpuntil he admitted whatever he was being accused of. Now he was terrified that this was his turn. They walked along the corridor until they came to a heavy padlocked door, which Eddie opened with a key. They went upstairs to the UVF function room, past the walls adorned with pictures of Rangers heroes down the years. Each print, Eddie explained, was sponsored by individuals who paid into the UVF coffers to have their names on a plaque below the photos for a year. There were hundreds of pictures and the sponsors changed every year, raking in a fortune. At the top of the hallway, they faced a door which Jimmy had never been through, even though he’d been in the main function hall many times. Eddie turned to them.
    ‘Nobody gets to go in here, unless by invitation.’ He gave them a look. ‘So you boys are getting a wee privilege here – for doing a good job the last few days. You’re shaping up well, lads.’
    Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped inside the room. It was a shrine with rows of glass cases full of memorabilia and handmade wall carvings by Loyalist prisoners in Belfast jails.
    ‘Come. Look at this.’ Eddie showed them a piece of twisted metal in a glass case. ‘Bit of a car,’ he said. ‘It’s from the explosion when the SAS boys got eight of them scum IRA pikeys back in eighty-seven. Fuckers didn’t know what hit them.’ He grinned proudly at both of them. ‘And look. These are the war medals of men, real men who fought and diedfor the cause. They were British soldiers, the Thirty-Sixth Ulster Division, but they were UVF men first, right back to the First World War. That’s what you’re part of now, boys. A proud history.’
    ‘Amazing,’ Mitch said.
    Eddie went behind a table. He motioned them to sit.
    ‘Right. Here’s the situation. We’re going to the matches – Eindhoven then Seville in Spain. I’ve got a pickup to do. I’ll be bringing back four kilos each time. Coke.’
    Jimmy had never been on the coke run before with the Rangers buses, but he had heard about it.
    ‘Great,’ Mitch said. ‘We were just talking about going to the games, Eddie. We were looking at the Victoria Bar bus.’
    ‘No. Forget that. We’re going on the bus from here. One of the crowd. Just fans. We keep the bag with the money in with us all the time, then we come back with a holdall and the coke. There’s never a problem at the border. They don’t go on and search every bag on the bus. It’s a piece of piss. Been doing it for years. Deal with the same people.’ He sat back. ‘So that’s the job. You two will be with me at all times. My wingmen. It’s a big job for you.’ He looked at both of them. ‘You square with that, lads?’
    Jimmy and Mitch nodded. They both knew they weren’t being asked for their opinion.
    ‘Definitely, boss.’
    ‘And don’t worry, Mitch. There’ll be time for a bit ofrumpy.’ He smirked towards Jimmy. ‘You too, Jimmy. A blow job by some foreign bird is just what you