He stepped back into the office quickly. They were drunk as cunts, but Jack would know there was something amiss if he saw him there.
He had told the doorman to clear the club by two a.m. The Cornels would think they were getting a lock-in. His lads had already told them they had arranged it so they could be there when Michael arrived. They were drunk and vulnerable and, as far as Declan Costello was concerned, that was exactly as it should be. The treacherous pair of filthy, dirty bastards! Wanting to fucking shoot Michael Flynn dead, and then to assume that would be enough to give them credibility, turn them into real Faces, real villains. They thought he would allow them to step into his shoes without a fight? It was so demented, it was almost comical.
Declan Costello could feel the beating of his heart as his anger smouldered. If the Barkers had not given him the heads up tonight could have been a blood bath; it could have brought the Filth down on everyone concerned, including the visiting Colombians, and that was something, he had a feeling, that would not have been taken lightly.
He lit a cigarette, and pulled on it deeply. It was just coming up to one o’clock. Michael would be there within the hour, and that was when the Cornel brothers would finally realise the error of their ways.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Michael Flynn watched Salvatore Ferreira as he cheerfully succumbed to the charms of the beautiful Bella. She was one of his top-earning lap dancers. She wasn’t as young as she looked, but that didn’t really matter. She had the thick blond hair, blue eyes and creamy skin of a real English rose. She also had a very posh accent, and that went a long way with the clientele. She was really from Dagenham, but she had taken elocution lessons, ballet lessons, and had shrugged off the mantle of an Essex girl, creating a whole new persona for herself. He admired her. She had the sense to realise that this wasn’t a job with a pension, she knew that her shelf life would be short, but could be very lucrative if she played her cards right. He had guaranteed her three grand, cash, to keep Salvatore amused: go home with him, and make him feel like a king. In fairness, she deserved a fucking BAFTA. What a performance! He caught her eye, motioned towards the door, and Bella was off her pole, and in Salvatore’s lap within nanoseconds.
Michael Flynn walked them out to a private car five minutes later and, winking lewdly at a very drunken Salvatore Ferreira, he waved them off gratefully. He had done his bit, and now he could finally concentrate on the other business of the night. He was being driven by a young lad called Davey Dawkins, a good kid, who drove the car without ever trying to start a conversation. Michael appreciated that tonight more than usual. He was so angry he was quite literally capable of murder.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Josephine couldn’t sleep – it was a long time since she had slept through the night. Even sleeping tablets didn’t work any more. She had her own bedroom now. When Michael was out all hours, she didn’t have to go to bed without him and pretend everything was OK. She could come in here and watch her TV programmes, sit in peace surrounded by her private things – her ‘knick knacks’, as Jessie called them. Though they weren’t really knick knacks as such. The boxes she kept in here were full of important papers and magazines. She also had all of her daughter’s school work from the first day she had attended – all her pictures, drawings, report cards. She even had the wrappers from sweets her daughter had eaten over the years. She couldn’t part with them. Michael didn’t think keeping everything Jessie had ever touched was normal. She didn’t care. He didn’t understand the bond between a mother and her child. She had every item of clothing that her daughter had worn. It was boxed up now, of course, washed and ironed. She knew exactly where everything was – every Babygro, every bib, everything she had kept she could find should she wish to.
Her bed was a double, with an antique mother-of-pearl headboard, and crisp white linen. There was no other furniture in here now, except for her chair and her TV. She didn’t need anything else; she was quite happy to give the extra room over to her boxes of memories.