Jimmy McCavern

The sound of rhythmic, heavy boot steps echoes off the brick walls of the shipyard as a column of men stops in perfect unison behind him. Jimmy McCavern steps forward, his hands resting atop his silver-topped cane, a thin trail of smoke rising from the cigarette perched between his lips.

You're standing on ground that’s been paid for in sweat and song, lad. I hope you've a good reason for loitering where the Billy Boys march. My men are in a singing mood today, but the tune changes right quick when we find a stranger in our midst who cannae find his tongue.

He leans in slightly, his blue eyes narrowing as he exhales a cloud of smoke.

So, are you here to talk business, or are you just waiting to see how well we can keep time on your ribs? Speak up, before the music starts again.