Mc Murder

Markie looked puzzled as the two drinks appeared on the bar. He glanced back at Steve again who was ready for action as soon as Markie had dropped the old duffer as promised.

The old soldier stood up slowly and moved to the bar to collect the drinks.
Markie seized the opportunity and moved into Mc Murdo’s seat.

He was grinning triumphantly when the old guy turned around with the drinks. He thought; ‘I’ll show the old git. I’ll drink the drink and then I’ll still twat him! He must think that buying me a cold one will change my mind – what a pity!’

Unfazed by the seat switching, Mc Murdo pushed the bottle of ale towards the trouble maker and sat down opposite him.

Markie took a long sip of the brown beer, drinking down nearly half of it in one go. “I’ve heard you’re supposed to be a tough guy…a hard-case…that true?”

“No I’m not a tough guy – but I’ve known some genuine ‘tough guys’ as you put it.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Oh, no one you’d have heard of.” replied Mc Murdo.

“What’d they do?”

“Do?”

“Who did they fuck up? What firm did they run with?” asked Markie as if Mc Murdo was a retarded child.

“No laddie, these old boys were soldiers. Real fighting men.” smiled the old Green Jacket. He smoothed out the lapel of his coat as he mentioned his friends.

“What…like the SAS or sumthin’ like that?” asked Markie, again injecting as much sarcasm into his words as possible to indicate he wasn’t impressed.

“No most were just ‘regs’…squaddies, plain old soldiers. But the best men I’ve ever known.”

“So what was so impressive then, eh?”

“Well I saw one lad, Geordie Kelly, a colour Sergeant with the Black Watch; carry a wounded man on his back for nearly twelve miles and they were tough miles." Mc Murdo smiled in recollection.
“Another fella, Barry Kenmare, an ugly bugger - but hell he could fight. I once watched him go ten rounds bare knuckle with a boxer out in Thailand. A head like a pig wagon bumper that one!”

“I’m not impressed with any of your shit!” hissed Markie, getting ready to move. “What’s to stop me kicking you around this bar like a football, right now?”

“Well you see young laddie, I haven’t told you about the best and smartest fighter I’ve ever known. My brother Matt; now he’s the tough guy you’ve probably heard about. In the army they called him ‘Mc Murder’ on account of if you got on the wrong side of him, you were liable to wake up dead one morning and no one would even know how he’d put the kibosh on you!”

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