“The March air still bore the vestiges of winter. Carroll was a non-smoker, but he was obliged to pretend to be one in order to stand watch in the alcove at the front of the pub. The light was fading rapidly when he saw O’Reilly’s black Volkswagen Golf turning into Francis Street on its way to the multi-storey car park. He took out his mobile phone and sent a text message to Sammy Rice. His phone buzzed one minute later and then stopped. It was the signal that the Boss was on his way. Carroll to...ssed away his half-smoked cigarette and re-entered the pub. He enjoyed the rush of warm air that surrounded him before stationing himself in plain view of the door, and waited. Twenty minutes later, Sammy Rice pushed in the door of Cosgrove’s. He was wearing a black beanie down to the edge of his eyes. He nodded at Carroll and left. He was waiting on the footpath at King’s Street when Carroll exited the pub. The junction wasn’t busy. The evening rush hour had ended an hour ago.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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