the cops, the mob, the broads etc etc

Phone call late in the evening.
About half past ten.
It was the chief of police.
"Hello James, Superintendent Rourkeson here."
A certain weariness descended upon my broadly built shoulders.
"Okay, alright," I said gently.
I drew a deep breath before speaking again.
"I'm not going to talk to you," I told the commish. "I don't want to know you. You people have betrayed Ireland."
And I hung up on him.

The question for today boys and girls is this:
How many bridges can one one man burn at any given time?