The arrival of the Sheehan brothers, irked at the constant disruption to their shipments and angry enough to return to active duty in the face of shortages on the streets of Liverpool, Manchester and the rest of their vast empire, proved to be no more than a brief diversion. Fat Stan as the elder Sheehan was universally known, although never within his earshot, blustered and bullied for a while, incensed that so little was known locally concerning the identity of whoever had so swiftly exercised dominance over shipments crossing the narrow strip of ocean separating the Moroccan coastline from Europe.
Fat Stan and his younger brother, Dermot, made a serious error of judgement in under-estimating the ruthlessness of Spider and his team. The Sheehan brothers fully expected their little local difficulty to be resolved by the traditional method of seizing the odd shipment and cracking a few heads together.
When this strategy had no effect, Fat Stan put the word out that he wanted a sit-down. Spider agreed to the meeting, but it was to be the only concession he was prepared to make. He stated his terms which were unequivocal; give up your business interests and walk away.
The Sheehan brothers had gone soft after many years of rich living. Their weaknesses were firmly pointed out by Spider. Large extended families, too diverse and numerous to guard with any hope of success.
‘You’re out of your depth, son,’ Fat Stan blustered. ‘Oldest rule in the book. We don’t involve each other’s families.’
‘Your rules, not mine,’ Spider assured him and responded to their interference in his business affairs by rounding up members of the Sheehan gang and administering old-style Berber justice. Limbs were amputated, testicles removed, eyes gouged out.
As a business strategy it was brutal, brief and effective. Fat Stan Sheehan became far more amenable after a visit from a dozen men wielding baseball bats while his younger brother, more hot-headed and less likely to listen to reason, eventually got the message in an even more painful manner. Spider pinned him to a row of wooden railway sleepers with six-inch nails before reversing a JCB over his lower limbs. Aware of their legitimate business interests he’d taken the trouble to import the JCB from Sheehan Brothers Plant Hire and attached a thick wad of notes to the windscreen as full payment for a week’s hire, even though the machine had only been used for a single day.
The Sheehan brothers elected for retirement to their native Sligo where Fat Stan’s nickname would soon be rendered inaccurate. A liquid diet, the legacy of a shattered jaw and ruptured spleen would see the pounds melt from his gigantic frame as he pushed Dermot’s wheelchair around the grounds of their estate.
