Mc Murder

“Matt Mc Murder?” repeated Markie with disdain. “Big is he, this Mc Murder?”

“Yeah, kind of...” the older Mc Murdo smiled.

“Is he around here tonight?” asked Markie.

“No he spends most of his time over in Spain and Portugal now.”

“Good, ‘cos you’re still getting’ it!” threatened Markie, bunching his fists.

“You know, I learned a few things myself from the likes of Matt and the other guys I’ve old you about. Hmmmn, Mc Murder always told me to know my enemy, understand his strengths and then take those strengths away.”
He eyed the younger man’s very large arms, obviously steroid enhanced and raised his eyebrows in mock awe.

Markie faltered for a moment, a primal warning flashing across his psyche.
The old guy’s eyes had just changed somehow.
They had been calm and placid when he’d first been challenged, now they reminded him of a caged lion – cold, calculating – dangerous!

Another quick glance to Steve: he was still there.

“An’ how you gonna take my strengths away, you old goat?” asked Markie, his head bobbing as his aggression flared up again.

“Well for starters…have you heard of a little place called Aden?...Look it up! Well there’s a little plant out there and the seeds are one of nature’s strongest laxatives.
One seed will set you shitting for two days solid.
You’ve just drank six of them!”

“What?”

“Your bottle, you dipshit. You’ve just drank six of the little beauties!”

Markie stared at the bottle of brown ale as if he’d never seen it before; then lurched to his feet. A strange expression enveloped his face.

“Leaving so soon laddie?” Mc Murdo grinned.

A gurgling sound like a sink emptying erupted from Markie’s midsection. “Arghhh!” was all he managed in way of response.

The old green jacket stood up as well, two quick steps and he was in Markie’s face.
A snappy shot with an elbow sent the younger man’s head bouncing on his huge shoulders.
Mc Murdo followed up with a move that Markie had never seen before and thus took him completely by surprise.
Mc Murdo pushed two fingers deep into the soft spot just under the adam’s apple and at the same time swept both of Markie’s feet away with a fluid motion.
To the on lookers in The Golden Stag Bar, it appeared if the old guy had just kicked Markie’s ankle lightly but the burly boys’ feet were swept nearly ten inches off the ground.

A silent howl was all Markie could manage as he was upended. Steve looked on in disbelief as his friend landed with an ungodly slap onto the floor.

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