Ian reached down, and in one swift move pulled out a small revolver from an ankle holster and slammed it on the counter.  Sullivan’s bodyguard looked shocked. Ian picked it back up and held it out to Sullivan’s bodyguard.

“Sorry mate! Forgot I had it! Be a good man and bugger off! I need to speak with this T***.”

Sullivan jumped up and pointed menacingly at Ian. “I’ll kill you and all! Mark my words, loyalist!”

Ian smiled. “Loyalist? Me? Now how could you say that, dear Eamon? I have no politics. When I was in Ulster, I mean Eire, I was humble policeman.”

Sullivan sat back down. “My arse! Dirty RUC…giving guns to the fuckin’ Prods. Shankill road…”

“Untrue! What road? I know of no such road; or one called the Falls either. And I never gave away a gun…well, not many. It seemed better to sell them. Enterprising, you might say. That was then. Nonetheless, I was a...what I think they call in this country... a lowly beat-cop.”

“You’re a dirty traitor!”

“Really? To what? The land of my birth? Perhaps. Her Majesty’s Government appears to think so. But I think you’re forgetting Eamon…I, we, sell to both sides. So looking at it one way, I’m a hero to the Republican cause!”

Sullivan jumped up again. “You’re a slimy bastard!”

“Eamon! For a man with no interest in his homeland..you seem to have a lot of interest in your homeland. I suspect it may have something to do with Nuala’s wee lad.”

“What?”

“Oh aye. I have sources among certain law enforcement agencies on the Emerald Isle…”

“RUC bastards you mean!”

“Well its true, I may know some humble policemen; and maybe a few other types in Belfast and North Antrim who are not so humble. But I may also know a few good honest gardai.  Not to mention intelligence agency blokes who are able to get all manner of material into Ireland, the Republic of..or the North of…or maybe even the Province of…but I’m sure Nuala would prefer ‘the North of.’"

Sullivan looked at Ian and in one quick motion, pulled his semi-automatic out and slammed it on the table. Ian smiled.

“Oh well done!” Then he turned and looked at the bodyguard. “Say mate! Did you see what my Fenian friend just did?”

Sullivan picked it up and pointed it at Ian’s head.

“What do you know about Naula’s son?”

“The wee lad..not much I’m afraid.” With one sudden motion Ian pulled a knife from an ankle strap. He jabbed it into the table.

“You know, Eamon…your man here..I say we not put him on the barricades!”

“More like ‘at the check points.’”

“Well, we shan’t put him there either. A bloody cock-up and all. But can he shoot? Perhaps he’d make a 'Sniper at Work!'”

Sullivan sat back down. “That’s right! You’re not the only with sources...Bandit Country was it? How’s the old shoulder, mate?

“Still acts up when it rains. I’m sure that noble Irishman was really aiming at me head! Never got a chance to meet him I’m sure, but I’m afraid I did take out me anger on a few of his fellows.”

Sullivan laughed.

“Oh..do share the joke with us.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Of what?”

“How easy it is. You know! To get a bomb under a car. Specially while in the shop! Of course, you might end up killing a loyalist’s wife by mistake.”

Ian glared at Sullivan for a few moments. “A terrible thing it would be! Might make a man pass on all manner of information to certain others..even though he might be wrong about some of them.”

“Why are you here, Ian? Wanted to give me the pleasure of finally killing you?”

“This spot of bother with Mr. Griswold has everyone uneasy. Gearing up for a fight I’d say. As if it were coming up on marching season!”

“Orange scum!”

“Me Da may have belonged to that illustrious order. But that’s not relevant here. Mr. Sanderson is a bit on edge. That’s what’s relevant here. People need to give an accounting of where they were at certain times.”

“So he sent a loyalist…”

“Mr. Sanderson, like myself, has no interest in politics. Not like Nuala and wee Seamus. One hell of an explosives man. That attack on the fish and chips shop…you know.. the no-warning attack…but they did arrest the dear boy.”

Then Ian looked at Sullivan’s bodyguard and laughed.  “He’d make short work of you..our dear Seamus would.”  Then he turned back to face Sullivan, who was glaring at him.

 “As you and Nuala well know, all sorts of accidents happen when in the custody of RUC scum! Not that I would know…I was a humble policeman.  But I can’t say that there aren’t some, well-intentioned of course, willing to bend a regulation or two in the pursuit of peace.”

Then Ian looked at Crank. “This must be quite puzzling to you, Mr. Crank, although I can tell you are a man of intellect.  Myself and Mr. O’Sullivan work for the same employer, and my end of the business holds its own.”

Eamon pushed his plate across the table. “I don’t care about the money!” Sullivan shouted. “And god damn the loyalists..and the queen!”

Ian smiled. “Maybe He will at that. Us too I imagine. But there still remains the question of our whereabouts at the time Mr. Griswold met his fate. Mine have been established. Yours remain in doubt.”

“Well, Ian, I don’t owe you an explanation. So you can bugger off and all.”

“Perhaps I’ll do just that.” Ian stood up and looked at Sullivan’s bodyguard. “Be a good chap! Return my material.”

The bodyguard had a confused look on his face. Then he glanced at Sullivan.

“Give the asshole his weapons back.”

Ian took the gun and knife, then whirled around and stuck the knife into the table in front of Crank.

“You can keep that one, Mr. Crank.”

Ian turned to leave. When he reached the door, he suddenly turned around and pointed his gun at Sullivan. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

“Oh aye. Very soon.”

Ian and his associate left the diner. Crank looked at Sullivan. “What the fuck?”

Sullivan laughed. “Arrogant little git, isn’t he? Especially for a dead man.”

Eamon Sullivan

Eamon, the son of Declan and Fiona O’Sullivan, was born in a small village in County Cork. His father was a volunteer in the IRA during the Irish War of Independence and was killed during the civil war that followed the Anglo-Irish Agreement. His grandfather, Patrick O’Sullivan, was purported to have been a member of the IRB. Eamon never showed any real interest in politics generally, and seemingly, no interest in the age-old conflict between Irish Nationalism and British Imperialism, as his mother would put it. His uncle, Rory O’Sullivan, felt differently, seeing a close relationship with Britain as most beneficial to the economic situation. A friend of his father’s, whose name he never knew, told Eamon that he could get him to America…where all the money was, if he would work for a man he knew when he got there…a Mr. Stanley Griswold. Of course, "Griz" was one of the top bosses in the West Coast Syndicate, and Eamon, who changed his surname to Sullivan to avoid the Irish connotation, proved himself a valuable lieutenant. Although he hadn’t shown a willingness to kill for the sake of a United Ireland, he had no internal qualms with killing other criminals…who deserved it anyway, he reckoned. He was soon a member of Griswold’s Inner Circle, which included a man known as The Fixer. A gang war broke out between the Syndicate and a Chinese gang run by Mr. Sung, who operated out of Chinatown. There had been a truce for over a decade, but another Syndicate boss named Torelli, who specialized in running gambling operations, attempted to diversify into specifically Chinese games of chance. This led to several killings. In particular, Griswold ordered Sullivan and Fixer to take out a particularly notorious squad of “Sungies.” Late one nigh, a squad led by Sullivan and Fixer burst into a Chinese laundromat that had a Pai Gow operation in the back, shooting several Sungies. Sullivan was arrested along with a couple other members of the hit team, although Fixer got away. Unable to prove that Sullivan was the trigger man, he was convicted on a charge of conspiracy.

In South Hills Penitentiary, he shared a cell with Mike Armstrong, who was serving time for a daytime raid of a local hospital, during which a close friend of his got away with a large amount of morphine. The Syndicate’s prison gang was run by Donnie D, who controlled much of the prison in conjunction with the Gothic Brotherhood…a violent motorcycle gang that was allied with the Syndicate. They were protecting a dirty ex-cop named Victor Briggs, who would later depose Griswold. Sullivan’s hatred of Briggs came about after two Goths, War-pig and Grinder, jumped Sullivan and almost killed him. Sullivan recruited Armstrong while in prison, and after both were released, Mike, who had become known as Crank, handled drug-dealing operations delegated to him by Sullivan. The two grew closely associated with each other, and as a result, Ginny Cooper knew Sullivan well.

While drinking in a pub in Boston known to be a front for raising money for the IRA, Sullivan encountered Ian Masters, an ex-RUC man from Northern Ireland who was wanted by the security services in Britain for selling weapons to both the IRA and the Loyalists, and since he played both sides, there were contracts taken out on his life by Republicans and Loyalists. Ian walked into the pub, ordered a lager, climbed up onto the bar, began singing “God Save the Queen,” and finally tore down a Tri-Color hanging above the bar. A fight ensued between Ian and Sullivan, which ended with Ian stabbing Sullivan. Sullivan soon learned that Ian was a gun-runner working for Sanderson, a weapons-dealer and member of the Syndicate’s Board of Directors. Ian and Sullivan each swore to kill the other. The situation worsened when Eamon found out from his cousin Nuala, who lived in South Armagh, that her son had been arrested when he was caught moving guns across the border for the IRA. He was also known to have carried out several bombings. Ian found out about it too and told Sullivan that his contacts in Northern Ireland could easily kill “Nuala’s wee lad” if he paid them to do so. Soon after, the feud between Ian and Sullivan would come to a dramatic conclusion.

Before Gus Cooper, Mikey’s cellmate was Eamon Sullivan. He was associated with an organized crime ring involved in various criminal enterprises on the west coast. His cousin was Nuala O’Sullivan, who lived in South Armagh in the North of Ireland. Nuala was married to a known paramilitary who was believed to have been linked to Republicans in Dublin, and British authorities suspected that he was involved in the acquisition of weapons for use in the North. The US government initially believed that Eamon Sullivan may have been involved in providing funds to terrorists in Ireland. Then Nuala’s husband was arrested on his way to a meeting on the Irish side of the border. The Gardai seized weapons and explosives during the raid. He had in fact been set up, and soon languished in prison. Nuala remained a very vocal proponent of a United Ireland, and her insistence that the armed struggle was the only way to bring it about kept her family in the sights of the authorities, whether in the Republic, in the North, or in the US. After successive waves of rioting and inter-communal violence in Belfast and Derry triggered a new and even deadlier manifestation of the armed struggle, her family in the US was again investigated by federal authorities. In reality, Sullivan had no political leanings and cared even less about his ancestral home. Well, at first at any rate. But at the time he was motivated by greed, and police investigators suspected him as the shooter in the murder of four members of a rival gang. In the end, he was convicted of only one count of conspiracy to commit murder. Years later, allegations of corruption related to the Sullivan prosecution were reported in the press. When Sullivan left prison, he agreed to do business with Crank as soon as he was out. After leaving prison, Crank and Gus set up a drug dealing operation specializing in heroin. Initially, they weren’t selling it locally. Instead, they were acting as transporters for Sullivan’s organization.

It wasn’t until much later that Crank was found with a bullet in the back of his head. It turned out that Crank had been an FBI informant for years. He passed on information to the FBI that enabled them to put away several of Sullivan’s more senior associates in the organized crime ring, including Fixer and Stan Griswold. When the leaders of the Syndicate realized that they had a mole, a concerted effort was made to find him. Another man associated with Crank was pulled off the street one day, taken to a warehouse and “convinced” to tell them about Crank. What they were told was enough for Sullivan to receive orders to kill Mike Armstrong. Two weeks later, Sullivan turned up dead behind the Star-lite diner. The FBI believed that Sullivan was killed by a mysterious figure dubbed “Shotgun” by the media after a string of killings were uncovered where the murderer had used a shotgun.