Chapter 13 – Salty Outsmarts the Garda

 

Chapter 13 – Salty Outsmarts the Garda

It was just past midnight when the Garda riot vans arrived at the warehouse HQ. Blue and red lights flashed across the corrugated metal walls, illuminating the graffiti slogans sprayed by Salty’s people earlier that day:

“IRELAND IS NOT FOR SALE.”
“HORIZON OUT.”

Inside, Salty calmly finished his cup of black coffee, the strong bitter taste cutting through his exhaustion. Sarah watched from across the table, her tablet streaming CCTV feeds of dozens of armed Garda Tactical Support officers fanning out around the building.

“Looks like they brought the party to us tonight,” she said wryly.

Salty chuckled, scratching his thick beard. “Aww, bless them. They should’ve called ahead. I’d have put out biscuits.”

Sarah smirked, shaking her head as he stood and rolled his shoulders with a satisfying crack. Outside, a megaphone blared:

“THIS IS THE GARDAÍ. STEP OUTSIDE WITH YOUR HANDS UP. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR SEDITION, ILLEGAL ASSEMBLY, AND THEFT OF GOVERNMENT DATA.”

Salty grabbed his battered leather jacket and pulled it on. “Sedition,” he scoffed. “Haven’t heard that since Sister Mary accused me of seducing half the girls in Leaving Cert.”

“Were you guilty?” Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” he grinned.

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🚨 Outside

Salty walked out slowly, hands in the air, boots crunching over broken glass. Garda officers formed a semicircle around him, weapons raised. One stepped forward – Inspector Donal Breen, his thin grey moustache twitching with self-importance.

“Mr. Salty,” Breen sneered, flicking through his smart tablet. “Or should I call you Seán O’Sullivan. We’ve been looking for you.”

Salty tilted his head. “That’s me. And you must be Inspector Breen. Still using hair dye I see – Midnight Raven, yeah?”

Breen flushed crimson. “Shut your mouth. You’re under arrest for sedition, data theft, and leading an unlawful uprising.”

Salty nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. I’ve just one question before you cuff me.”

Breen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What is it?”

Salty smiled sweetly. “How’s your wife? Still enjoying her pole dancing classes at Club Phoenix on Wednesday nights?”

Silence fell. A few of the younger Garda officers choked back laughs behind their visors. Breen’s eyes bulged.

“You… you spying on my wife?!”

Salty shrugged innocently. “I wasn’t. But your lad Gavin here,” he gestured to a tall rookie officer turning beetroot red, “was there last week. Right Gavin?”

“Er… I… uh…” Gavin stammered as everyone turned to look at him.

Salty winked at Breen. “Anyway. Before you slap the cuffs on, Inspector, I’d just like to inform you that while you were here trying to arrest a washed-up docker and his friends… my team uploaded all Horizon Network’s files to every Irish social media channel, plus RTÉ, BBC, Sky News, and Brussels HQ.”

Breen’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Check your tablet there, lad,” Salty said.

Breen’s tablet pinged repeatedly. Headlines flashed across the screen:

• “BRUSSELS IMPLICATED IN TRAFFICKING SCANDAL.”

• “HORIZON NETWORK FUNDED IRISH GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS.”

• “MINISTERS LINKED TO ILLEGAL MIGRANT EXPLOITATION.”

Salty crossed his arms calmly as Breen’s hands trembled with rage.

“You see, Inspector,” he continued lightly, “you can arrest me, but you can’t stop the truth. And you definitely can’t stop your wife from learning pole dancing.”

One of the Garda officers snorted so hard he almost dropped his rifle. Even Sarah, peeking from the warehouse door, covered her mouth to muffle her laugh.

Breen’s face turned purple. “Take him in!” he roared.

Salty raised his hands higher with a grin. “Don’t forget to read me my rights in Irish, Inspector. Constitutional requirement and all that.”

As two officers handcuffed him, Salty winked at Gavin again. “Good luck at Club Phoenix, lad. Might see you there myself next Wednesday.”