“Okay, everybody stay right where you are,” the bartender pulled a pistol and held it at the ready between Jon and the woman. “Let's just stay calm. We're with the RUC, you've just walked into a crime scene. Right now, missus, I need you to walk around to the side of the bar where that fellow's standing. Leave your purse right there, now move it.”
“Suppose—someone tries to steal it?”
“That's gonna be the least of your worries if ye don't move it.”
“It's probably the owner back there,” Jon told the auburn-haired, violet-eyed woman. “These bastards are probably a UDA hit squad.”
“Shut yer bleedin' hole, you scum,” the bartender c****d the trigger as his associates came up and frisked Jon, pulling his Glock and tossing it atop the bar.
“What's this shite?” the squat man flipped through J
