Chapter 14 – The Unbreakable Man

 

Chapter 14 – The Unbreakable Man

The interrogation room was freezing. Grey concrete walls. No windows. A flickering strip light buzzed overhead. Salty sat calmly, chained to a steel chair bolted to the floor. His leather jacket lay in a crumpled heap in the corner, confiscated upon arrival.

Inspector Donal Breen paced slowly before him, moustache twitching with fury. Two plainclothes Garda Intelligence officers stood in the shadows, arms folded, watching silently.

“You think this is a joke, O’Sullivan?” Breen snapped, slamming a smart tablet onto the table. News headlines flickered across the screen, each more damning than the last.

“Brussels Human Trafficking Ties Exposed.”
“Irish Ministers Named in Horizon Bribery Scandal.”

Salty smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “Well… yeah. It’s a bit funny.”

Breen slammed his fist on the table. “You’re looking at life in Portlaoise. Sedition. Treason. Cyber terrorism.”

Salty raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was only guilty of seduction and looking too handsome in my Leaving Cert photo.”

One of the plainclothes officers coughed to hide a laugh. Breen spun on him, eyes bulging, before turning back to Salty.

“You think this is funny now, but your friends are next. That blonde – Sarah – and your little Belfast handler, Kat or whatever she calls herself. We’ll bring them in and see how loyal they really are.”

Salty’s smile faded for a moment, replaced by steel-hard resolve. He leaned forward, chains rattling against the table.

“Listen to me, Inspector,” he growled, voice low and deadly calm. “You can threaten me all day. You can break my bones, waterboard me, starve me. But if you touch either of them… if you even think about harming them… there won’t be a hole deep enough in this country to hide you.”

Breen’s jaw twitched. He tried to hold Salty’s gaze but faltered after a few seconds, turning away with a frustrated hiss.

“Leave us,” he barked at the two intelligence officers. They left silently, the door hissing shut behind them.

Breen sat down opposite Salty, folding his hands, moustache quivering. “Help me, Salty,” he said quietly. “I know Horizon are scum. I know Devane is scum. But if Brussels pulls out their credits, this country collapses. We lose hospitals, AI services, half our food imports.”

Salty tilted his head, studying the inspector. For a flicker of a moment, he almost felt pity.

“Then maybe it needs to collapse,” he said softly. “Maybe Ireland needs to stand on its own feet again. Without the EU’s blood money. Without scum like Horizon. Without men like you propping them up.”

Breen slammed his hands on the table again, shaking with anger. “You’re just one man, Salty! One old docker with a beard and a bad back. You think you can change all this?!”

Salty chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “No, Inspector. I can’t. But me… plus a thousand marchers… plus fifty thousand angry dock workers… plus every single mother who can’t afford her rent because Horizon owns half of Dublin… we can.”

Silence fell. The flickering strip light buzzed overhead. Breen stared at him, chest heaving, then pushed back his chair and stood.

“Put him back in the cell,” he barked as two uniformed Garda entered. They unchained Salty roughly and dragged him to his feet.

As he was marched out, Salty turned back to Breen, a wry grin on his cracked lips.

“By the way, Inspector,” he called out, “next time bring better coffee. Tastes like Horizon sewage.”