South street.

Should have been a routine night. The pubs now closed. The idiots gone home after either throwing up, dropping their kebabs or kissing someone they wouldn't if sober. As I looked down the street I could see amber lights, neon shop fronts and a fresh glisten of a rain shower. Nothing much to report. Some boy racer was headed up the hill nearby way too quickly with his techno blaring and the straight-piped exhaust waking the dead. RrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRphiiishht, rrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRphiiiishht. And then it was silence again. I could hear it. I began to walk the length of South street and head in the general direction of the station. And then my attention was taken by two figures in the distance. The unmistakable tall, leaning walk of Cashman and his five-foot sidekick Roberts. Joined at the hip and always up to no good, they were affectionately known as Batman and Robin in the station. They were bottom feeders. Scabs on their knuckles from dragging them along the ground, in debt to dealers, court appearances aplenty. I didn't like running into their kind anytime, let alone two in the morning. Their footsteps were the only sounds on the street.

"Ah jaysus, if it isn't Garda O'Connor!" Roberts exclaimed, obviously happy to find me outnumbered and alone.

"Evening lads. Cold one isn't it?" I watched them slow down and look at each other. Cashman, the brainy one, (if two brain cells and an education to 6th class meant clever) was obviously carrying something concealed in his back pocket. I didn't want to know, was going to let it slide but they were blocking my exit towards the station. I kept my hand on the night stick and he kept his hand behind his back. Both of them were sweating despite the February cold.

"Well, I'll be on my way lads." I made to get past them but they didn't budge. I stared into dilated pupils and menacing looks. Cashman's eyes narrowed, he took a half step forward and moved the hand from behind his back....

"Ah, I don't think you are going anywhere tonight O'Connor...."