Mondo Desperado Read Online Free PDF Page A

pulp with golf sticks and, of course, the occasion on which Teresa Carstairs (Mrs) embezzled the entire funds of the Barntrosna Lacemaking Association
and decamped to Honduras without ever being heard of again.
    But all this was as nothing to what happened to Declan Coyningham who, on that dread day, had only two things on his mind and they were how to surprise his mother with a little treat and how
best he might serve the Blessed Virgin Mary the mother of God, now that the month of May (her special time) was upon us. Which was why it took him completely by surprise when
‘Fish-hook’ Halloran, Nailie Hopkins and one or two others emerged from their hiding place behind a wall and barked: ‘Hold it! Stop right there, Coyningham!’
    Initially, Declan was quite pleased, but his good humour and sense of bonhomie began to dramatically evaporate when Fish-hook pulled the tassel of his woollen scarf in a clearly aggressive
manner and snapped: ‘Look here! This has gone far enough, Coyningham!’ With the conversation taking this turn, Declan became somewhat alarmed. Which he was indeed correct in doing,
especially now that Fish-hook was glaring at him like a man possessed, with the fleshy tip of his tongue darting in and out like a serpent’s. There was only one thing Declan could think to do
and that was to say the prayer his mother had taught him, the little prayer to St Anthony for intercession in times of great distress. A definition which most definitely applied now, Declan
realized, as Fish-hook gruffly wrenched the missal from his hand and demanded: ‘What’s this? Prayers, eh? Pshaw!’ flinging it disdainfully across the hedge. Declan emitted a
shriek of horror and cried out. He explained that it had been a gift from his Aunty Gertie but Fish-hook disdained his pleas with a wide sweep of his mucus-silvered arm, explaining that he
didn’t care who gave it to him, all that mattered now was that Declan’s carry-on had to end once and for all. Because he was somewhat uncertain as to what exactly Fish-hook was talking
about, Declan ventured tremulously: ‘What carry-on is that, F-F-Fish-hook?’
    Which was unwise in the circumstances because it only succeeded in further deepening the rage of his glowering adversary. ‘What sort of carry-on?’ he snapped. ‘Don’t play
dumb with me, Coyningham! You and your stupid balaclavas, that’s what! We’ve about had it with you! Acting the big fellow! Ha! Look at the big fellow now, lads!’ to which his
predatory companions responded with a guttural ‘Haw!’
    When Declan tried to explain that it had never been his intention to act ‘the big fellow’, the response was nothing more than a bewildered shaking of heads. ‘Oh no,’
Fish-hook said, ‘of course it wasn’t! And I suppose the next thing you’ll be trying to tell us is that you don’t deserve to be blown up!’ At this, raucous laughter
erupted ecstatically skyward as small tears came into Declan’s eyes. ‘There’s one thing I’ll say for you, Coyningham,’ continued Fish-hook wearily as he took him by
the arm, ‘there’s no doubt about it! You’ve definitely got some neck!’ Declan meekly permitted himself to be led away as in the distance – although his captors were
but a few feet away – he heard: ‘Come on, lads! Let’s get this over with! We haven’t got all day!’ to which his eager minions responded eagerly: ‘Yep, Fish-hook!
Whatever you say, Fish-hook, sir!’
    In a way, there was a strange beauty about being led away to be blown up, Declan reflected, as they passed the railway gates, going towards McConkey’s field. An odd sense of comfort, of
journey’s end, in that he intimately knew the place in which he was to meet his demise, and had done for most of his admittedly brief time upon this earth. A privilege which, he was well
aware, had been denied to the Saviour in His particular time of trial, never having seen Calvary before in his life. So it was that