The James Joyce Incident

    The stairway looked to be about 500 feet high when in fact it was only about fifty steps to the scond level and the James Joyce - a favorite of the local Irish.  At the bottom of the long green stairs, he began in earnest with a bucket of soapy water and a brush.  Blood covered the base of the stairs and there were marks on the wall from the man's hands as he had scraped with his fingers in an earnest attempt to stand back up.  Now as he scrubbed away, Billy started to realized just how bad it had been.  There was much more than just blood down here.

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        People were starting to come into the bar in droves to see the band.  Friday and Saturday nights, they had been drawing in between 75 and 100 people and were really starting to get some serious followers.  The three girls from the local college were here again.  There were a few of the regular fraternity boys as well as the guys from the brokerage that had their office down the street.  Many regulars were beginning to bring in their friends to see a band that would play lots of cover songs, but also was starting to create their own unique sound.

        About 2 minutes past midnight, everything went to hell. 


   


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    In the past few days, however, word of what had occurred had made its way across the pond to the head of the IRA who had denounced the action and claimed that it had not been done by their organization.

   
    There had been three of them that night, claiming they knew everything.  Irish, of course, but more militant than quiet country Irish.  Thugs.  That was really the only way to describe them.

    They came in around 9:00PM and sat in the corner.  Sarah took their order and carried them over pints of Guiness and baskets of chips.  Two of them had the traditional "Irish" look - red hair, fair skin, green eyes.  Later, I would learn that these were the O'Conner brothers; Shane and Shawn.
 
    The other one was much larger and much darker; Spanish-Irish if you will.  Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin.  His Irish accent was stong to a point where he was almost speaking Gaelic.

    They sat quietly and ordered another round.  The dark one kept getting brief phone calls on his cell.  I couldn't tell if they were looking for something or someone.