Pawser picked up his chips which he'd dropped behind the railings in the fracas with Nobby and his unruly steed and meandered his way through the darkness down the unlit lane that led back to the cottage. He'd just tucked into his fried sausage when a black jag screeched up alongside of him, the door swung open and a large tattooed arm dragged him into the car. They careered off down the road, swung down an unmade track just past the cottage and stopped.

The driver was wearing an undersized pork pie hat and a pair of dark sunglasses which seemed a bit out of place to Pawser given that it was late evening on a winter's day.

'You'll be hav'n something we want,' said the tattooed one, pushing Pawser in the ribs.

'If it's a bite of my battered sausage you're too late, I've just eaten it.' Pawser replied, 'May I interest you in a chip?'

'We'll not be caring wot you got down the chipper, Boyo,' the driver turned around grabbed the bundle of chips, wound down his window and chucked them out.

'That'll be a no then? Pawser pulled a face.

'What we'll be wanting, what we'll really be wanting, u'll be five hundred and fifty thousand pounds worth of our dosh, Boyo,' said Mr Tattoo pushing his face close to Pawser's. His breath smelt strongly of Guinness and onions. 'You'll be tell'n us what we want or you'll be in for a good reef 'in.' '

'Well if you're after the hooky gear, you're not the only ones. Oh, and it's down to one hundred thousand in cash now and who only knows how many vouchers.' Pawser broke the bad news.

'Aw g'wan you're coddin me! One hundred?' Pork pie hat man turned around in his seat. He looked seriously hacked off.

'Yep,' said Pawser resolutely,' someone's already half hitched one hundred of it.'

'Jayzuz, those feckers,' said tattoo arm to pork pie hat. 'I told you they would go like hot colcannon once that lot got hold of them.' He prodded Pawser again. 'You'll better not be mess'n with us me old sweat, cos we need it all back. Now!'

'Do I take it from your lovely Irish lilt that you herald from the Emerald Isles -might you be the O'Reilly brothers?'

'Aye. I'm Derry and this is Patrick, and if you don't get us what we want you'll be seeing allot more of us. Patrick here don't toller any fostering. He's a bit of a hardchaw and he'll have you longers off and shove a gullier up yer arse quicker than you can say, 'that'll be grand.''

'In English please,' implored Pawser.

Pork pie hat looked surprised, 'We've got a right quare one here Derry.'

'Aye a right quare one probably a bit of a culchie out here. Most likely spends all summer box'n the fox,' agreed Derry. 'He,' he said pointing at pork pie hat,' is pretty handy with a screwdriver and pair of pliers. Geddit?'

'Thanks, I get the drift.' Typical Irish, Pawser thought. Bodgers all. Never use the right tools. But he was not looking forward to seeing their handiwork applied to his nether regions. 'You do know I'm on suspension? I have no job, no money, my wife's having an affair with the local pie shop man and I have two mouths to feed.'

'Chisellers?'

'What?' asked an exasperated Pawser.

'Kids.' translated Derry.

'No, horses actually. So I haven't even got the slightest hope that one day they'll leave home to go to University.'

'Ha be Jayzuz, the old gee gees. Well you be do'n sumick for Derry and me and we'll be do'n somick for you. And you'll be gett'n our gear back. Howzat?'

'You can cancel that Michael Flatley's Riverdance tour for a start.'

'I'll be tell'n you'll not be taking this seriously,' frowned Derry.

'I am. I can't stand that Michael Flatley. Anyway can't you just print some more money off.'

'Cop on and stop pull'n me langer. You'll be know'in Freddy's being held without bail. Our print'in supplies have been cut off and all the printing equipment b'in sized by your feck'n friends. By our way ah think'n, that's down to you!' just for good measure he poked Pawser again with a large ring studded finger.

'What t'bout the pie geezer who's porking your wife, we could take care of him for you -a quid pro quo shall we say?' interjected Patrick.

'Ha -quid pro quo .You boyo!' wheezed Derry. Pawser watched bemused as they slapped the palms of each other's hands.

'A sort of you scratch my pie man and I'll snatch your vouchers back sort of arrangement,' observed Pawser dryly.

'You'll be gett'n it now, yer will. It'll all be making sense then, we'll not be discussing this ad infinitum then.'

'Ha -ad infintium.' cried Derry .'Yer bollocks yer!'

They slapped the palms of each other's hands again.

'Be Jayzuz man, if he's porking your wife, why not. You'll be well rid of, to be sure,' added Patrick.' Only an eejit would turn down the chance.'

'Thanks for conjuring up such an edifying image me for me Patrick, it must be the romantic Irish poet in you coming out. But much as I despise Nobby, the thought him ending up in his own pies following a visit from you two is just a little unsettling.'

'He'll be call'n himself Nobby will he? Be Jayzuz, you've the luck of the divil about yer,' admonished Patrick removing his hat and running a weathered hand through his matted hair.

'What I need is a bit of the old Irish good fortune, but instead I've ended up with you two and that nerk, Nobby.'

'We'll be need'n our stuff. D'hear now? You'll be tell'n your man Springer there, that we ain't been lay'in it on for him all these years for him to grab the scraps of off our table.' Derry leaned forward and squeezed Pawser's knee hard.

'Can't you wait until Freddy gets out?' Pawser yelped, afraid that his kneecap was about to pop off in Derry's hand.

'Now you'll be tell'n us our business, will yer? They'll be no Hooleys in our gaff this Christmas till we get our stuff back, you big bollocks you. Anna we've got our aul ma and pa to support and the babby's too. Christmas is here, tink about all the little snappers that are going to miss out because of you feckers.'

'You're giving some to help the kids?' said Pawser somewhat amazed at the O'Reilly's apparent benevolence.

'Be Jayzuz, no. I was talking about our kids. We've gotta lotta hungry mouths to feed eh? Ain't we Patrick?'

Patrick nodded sternly in agreement.

'You should take precautions,' recommended Pawser.

'It'll be you need'n to take precautions unless we get our stuff back, yer bollocks.'

'Well you still might make the January sales?' said Pawser optimistically.

'Mary and Jayzuz, you're begin'n to see our point of view. Howzat Patrick? I'll told you he'd come good. No more shenanagans eh?' he said grabbing Pawser's cheek and pulling it hard. 'Ipso facto, you'll no be need'n your tools tonight Patrick.'

Patrick looked dismayed enough to take off his sunglasses and polish them using Pawser's tie. 'Ahhhh, yer dogs- Ipso facto!' They slapped hands again.

Pawser realised that he'd offered up the spectre of hope of the recovery of the goods that at present lay well beyond his reach in MI5's bonded store. 'I think getting it back might be more difficult than you anticipate.'

'Oh, you'll be changing your mind already, you little fecker, will you? Patrick you'll be need'n the blow torch for this one, for sure. Well tis is such a shame, it's always nice to take the business approach. We prefer that, don't we Patrick? You do something for us, and we do something for you. But in this case it looks like it'll be, you do something for us and then we don't do something to you. How does that sound, yer big bollocks?'

'I'd have preferred the former to tell you the truth. Can I have my kneecap back?' Pawser tried to squirm away from Derry, but he was held fast.

'You have one week. You'll be tell'in Springer what we want, that's what you'll be doing. You understand. Oh and don't go blathering to your mates, we know where you buy your one and ones.' Derry knowingly tapped his nose.

They both roared with laughter.

Pawser failed to see the funny side. Aside from the fact he was not sure what one and ones were, it appeared that the Irish contingent believed he was one of Jack Springer's men and there seemed to be some financial arrangement that the Irish were relying upon to secure the prompt return of their illicit goods. Given that Spring Heeled Jack was the Head of Special Branch, such an arrangement might be considered to be slightly irregular. Pawser decided that it was probably best just to go with the flow; he had no desire to check out Patrick's tool kit however inadequate it may be.

'Let's get back down the boreen now eh, Patrick? We'll drop this gobshite off as we go eh?'

Patrick started the car and slowly pulled back along the track. 'B'Jayzuz. What's that back there now, d'yer think, Derry?'

'What's up Boyo?' Derry turned to look through the back window.

Pawser swung around. Through the darkness he could not make out much. Then he saw it. Out of the velvety darkness it came, an incredibly sized, black as coal, monster. A snorting, rippling beast, with flailing hoofs and wild flashing eyes, charging them down on them at alarming speed, throwing up great clods of earth into the darkness behind it.

'Feck!' yelled Derry,' Patrick you'll be putt'n you foot down. Now!'

Patrick floored it, the car engine roared and the car slewed dangerously across the slippery road. Within a moment it was upon them. Through the window Pawser could see a rippling wall of sweat covered hair as the beast slammed into the side of the car knocking it violently across the lane. For a moment he caught a glimpse of Penny's holly wreath bouncing up and down next to the window and then, a single huge yellow eye glaring at him through the glass. He quickly covered his face, looked away and prayed horses didn't have long memories.

'Jayzuz Christ,' yelled Patrick wrestling wildly with the wheel. The beast momentarily broke away and then smashed back into the side of the car. They swerved again, the tyres spinning uselessly as Patrick struggled with the wheel. The car fishtailed into the mud on the verge and then slid into a bank on the side of the road with a bang and juddered to a halt on the grass verge as Patrick struggled with the gearstick to find reverse.

Forced off the road, Pawser just had time to turn and see it. Caught at the edge of the cars headlights, the huge monster stopped and reared up, hoofs frantically pawing the air. On its back its grotesque rider's face was stained a ghastly blood red, his horns twisted grotesquely about its head. He frenetically grappled with the reins' before the creature turned and charged away into the darkness.'

'Holy mother of Jayzuz,' cried Patrick crossing himself. He put his hands shaking hands back on the wheel, 'Holy crap.'

'What the feck was that?' yelled Derry.

'If you lived in this village, you would know what that was,' Pawser leaned forward, his face a ghostly white in the dashboard lights.' Old and young, wise and Irish, they all know what that is. That my little Romany friends- that was the Devil.'

'You're shitting me. The Divil?' said Patrick turning around in the front seat and staring hard at Pawser.

'I'm not shitting you,' said Pawser indignantly, ' anyway you've already done that for yourself by the looks of it. Those in the know around here don't venture out after dark because they're afraid they'll come across THAT in the darkness. The beast some call it, others call it Mephistopheles but everyone round here knows that after the village shops close in the evening you don't venture out. For come dusk round here, people usher their kids home, pull their curtains and lock their doors. For they all know after dark -the devil rides out!'

'You're having a laugh,' said Patrick straining his eyes into the darkness.

'Up the yard,' said Derry.

'You both saw it,' pressed Pawser.

'I'll be see'n sommick for sure. Its teeth, horrible yellow fangs. D'hear it snorting, that wild ghastly noise. And the breath streaming from it's nose. D'yer see it, Jayzuz!'

'Yer just missen some'att, Patrick,' interrupted Derry breathlessly, 'I saw some'att, through the window. It was huge and black, thrusting. I can't bring myself to say what it could have been. And dat ting. Did yer see it? Da ting that rode it?'

'Some say it's the Devil himself, on the devils mount. A theory I myself subscribe to.' Pawser capitalised on the moment. 'They say it roams the countryside at night, preying on the unwary. A diabolical horned devil riding his accursed steed. Welcome to the village gentlemen -the Village of the Dammed. For while that thing's out there -no one's safe.'

'Jayzuz, you'll be talking about a Dullahand. A headless horseman that comes out only when some bastards died. I thought you'd only be getting them in Ireland. To be sure. Let's be gett'in out of here Derry, back to the smoke.This place -it's unnatural.' Patrick savagely ground the gears, reversed the car off the bank and pulled off down the road.

'You can let me out here. I'll walk back,' offered Pawser hurredly.

'Shit, you think we'll be stopping, you eejit. With that thing out there?' Patrick laughed hysterically, 'No chance. Help him out Derry.'

Patricks concern over the likely proximity of the Horseman seemed to override his need to keep Pawser alive for the agreed discussion with Springer, so did not seem to extending to slowing the car down to facilitate Pawser's exit. Pawser, despite clinging on to the top of the open back door in the vain hope that his legs could somehow attain thirty miles an hour before push off , found Derry's foot in his back made his exit somewhat certain.

As he sat up in the hedge Pawser could hear them all laughing wildly as they roared off into the winter's darkness. The laugh of men scared witless he thought. He got up, brushed himself down and limped home, trying to work out what felt worse, the bruising on his chest or the terrible pain in his knee.

'Christ,' said Penny when he walked into the lounge,' what happened to you?'

'That chip shop owner doesn't take kindly to criticism of his coley does he?' Pawser remarked as casually as he could muster and poured himself a large whisky.

'Did you see Nobby, he's gone missing? I haven't seen him after we met on the green,' asked Penny.

'I saw him not so long ago, but he didn't stop. He looked in a bit of a rush. By the way he's got your wreath, I'm sure he'll bring it around tomorrow.' Pawser closed the door and went up for a long hot bath and to treat his cuts and bruises.