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Mercier Press, Unit 3b, Oak House, Bessboro Rd, Blackrock, Cork, Ireland
MERCIER PRESS
3B Oak House, Bessboro Rd
Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.
www.mercierpress.ie
www.twitter.com/IrishPublisher
www.facebook.com/mercier.press
Paul D. Gibson, 2018
ISBN: 978 1 78117 573 6
Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 574 3
Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 575 0
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
For Eamonn Jr and
Terrence Doc Magee
ACRONYMS
BBBofC: British Boxing Board of Control
BUI: Boxing Union of Ireland
GAA: Gaelic Athletic Association
IABA: Irish Amateur Boxing Association
IBF: International Boxing Federation
INLA: Irish National Liberation Army
IPLO: Irish Peoples Liberation Organisation
IRA: Irish Republican Army
NICRA: Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association
OC: Officer Commanding
PIRA: Provisional Irish Republican Army
PPS: Public Prosecution Service
PSNI: Police Service of Northern Ireland
RUC: Royal Ulster Constabulary
UDA: Ulster Defence Association
UDR: Ulster Defence Regiment
UFF: Ulster Freedom Fighters
UVF: Ulster Volunteer Force
WBA: World Boxing Association
WBC: World Boxing Council
WBO: World Boxing Organisation
WBU: World Boxing Union
THE END
14 March 2017
He pleaded guilty this morning.
At last.
Aye. Yesterday he was still pushing for manslaughter but he came in this morning and pleaded guilty to the murder charge.
Was he sentenced?
Hes getting life but weve to go back to hear the minimum tariff. And Ill make sure he serves every second of it here and not in Turkey.
Did he look you in the eye?
No. No, he was smirking away yesterday, but he kept his head down today.
Its over then.
Not til I hear for how many years the bastard will rot away in an Irish cell.
10 June 2017
Eamonn.
Paul. Listen, its about time I loosened my tongue a bit here.
Okay, mate. Go on.
Im sitting here with tears streaming down my face and I swear to God I dont know [heavy sobs]
Take it easy, mate. Take it easy. Whats happening?
Fourteen years? Fourteen fucking years? For a premeditated murder in cold blood? He was a hitman. He went tooled up. He knew how to use a knife because hed learnt it in his military service in Turkey. He lay in wait for my son. For his prey. He stabbed his prey in the thigh and the buttock to drop it and then ended his life with two strikes through the lungs. Then he stabbed him some more [more sobs]
Im sorry, Eamonn. Fourteen years is an insult.
Correct. A fucking insult. Someone has done a deal somewhere. But why would anyone help that bastard? Hes wasted two years of everyones time and public money. Two years prolonging our agony. Six separate counsels hes been through. All telling him the same: youre a murderer stop with this manslaughter nonsense. He sacked them all. We had a jury sworn in and all at one point til he dismissed his counsel and set us back to square one. And now the fucking system helps him out
Its a disgrace, mate. Who knows how
Im disgusted with them all. Im disgusted with the PPS who have treated me like dirt from day one. Liaison officers supposed to be helping us and they never answered their phones. Im disgusted with Judge Treacy. I was delighted when we got him for the trial. Id have picked him out of a hundred judges cos hes a tough bastard. And then he hands down fourteen years. That day he got up and walked out of his own courtroom with his head down without even asking for the court to stand. Ive never seen a judge leave his own courtroom like that. It showed me a deal had been done and he was ashamed of the sentence hed just handed down. Fuck sake, he gave someone sixteen years the following week for attempted murder.
Seriously?
Im fucking serious. Sure, I know people have done longer for armed robbery. Judge Stephens, too, in the appeal. They should all be ashamed. My own barrister and counsel couldnt have done more for me. Working til two or three in the morning every night so they were. But Im disgusted with the whole justice system in this country. Theyve let me down. Theyve let my son down. What fucking justice?
I know, mate.
[through heavy sobs] What fucking justice?
PROLOGUE
A book? the passive-aggressive voice on the other end of the phone answers me incredulously. Listen, Ive been beaten with baseball bats, Ive had my throat slashed, Ive been kidnapped and Ive been exiled out of the country. My familys been held captive in our home as well. Ive been shot twice, Ive been in prison and my sons just been stabbed to death. Amongst all that, I was the welterweight champion of the world while drinking the bar dry and doing enough coke to kill a small horse every night. My lifes not a book. Its a fucking movie script.
These were the first words Eamonn Sean Terrence Magee ever spoke to me. I was sitting in a Madrid car park while he stood in John Breens gym on the outskirts of Belfast. I still recall the pressure I felt, the fear that Id lose him before I ever had him, the creeping sense of panic that Id caught him on one of his supposedly many off days.
Magee is an alcoholic. More than that, Id been warned he can be a truculent, temperamental, dangerous, depressive, paranoid alcoholic. I believed I had to time my call wisely. Weekends were likely to be a write-off, for example. Too early or too late on any day of the week may lead to an unfavourable response from the ex-boxer. I reasoned that after a mid-week gym session was probably my best bet. There was every chance he would have turned up for it reeking of the previous nights excesses, but hopefully hed sweat and beat enough of it out of his system to be open to my suggestions. Having earlier spoken to Breen, his closest confidant in boxing, I knew that on this day Eamonn was scheduled to work with Marco McCullough ahead of the local featherweights November outing in Belfasts Waterfront Hall. A text message from Breen was my cue that it was now or never.