Since taking out Terry Gold six months ago, he now had his own personal earns. Patrick had given him the lion’s share of three very lucrative pubs, and a new nightclub they had recently opened in East London. All he had to do was show his face on a regular basis and collect the takings from his managers – it was so easy it felt almost wrong. He was coining it in, and he had to do fuck-all. But he was shrewd; this was just the opener. Once Patrick had seen for himself how Michael coped and what he could earn from the venues, he would then be asked to do some real work. Patrick was thrilled with him, and he had rewarded him well for proving that he was a man who could be trusted. It was just a matter of time until the serious graft was offered him. Michael couldn’t wait.
Josephine was standing at the far end of the bar, and he watched her for a few minutes. She was chatting away to her friends and, as he observed her, he couldn’t help smiling. Everyone liked her – she had no side to her and that was her greatest asset.
As usual she was the best-dressed bird in the whole place. She had a knack for finding the clothes that really suited her figure. She always looked well groomed, from her hair to her make-up to her nails. Even if she was only popping to the shops for a pint of milk she made sure she had her make-up on and her hair done. It was all part of her charm. He loved her femininity. She was fragile, vulnerable and she needed him so much. He wanted her to need him, to depend on him. That was how it should be.
The music was blaring out, and he was pleased to see that the place was already filling with people. It was still early, and Friday night was ladies’ night. The girls got in the club for free before ten thirty and, by the time the pubs turned out, the place was thronging with women and girls of every shape and size.
Catching her eye, he motioned to Josephine to join him and, as she walked towards him, he saw the bouncers giving her the once over. It was gratifying, but she was his – and everyone knew that.
‘It’s really taking off, Michael, don’t you think? You must be well pleased.’
He grinned. ‘It’s all right, Josephine, we’re getting there. Listen, darling. I have to go and sort a few bits out. You be all right with your mates for a while?’
‘’Course! You go and do whatever you need to.’
He kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I won’t be long, darling, promise.’
Josephine looked into his eyes; he was so good to her, always had her best interests at heart. ‘You know where I am!’
He watched her as she went back to her little clique of mates, before making his way to his offices. He walked through the foyer of the club, pleased to see that there was already a big queue of people waiting to get in. He saw the doormen searching the ladies’ handbags, not just for weapons – a girlfriend was the obvious choice to smuggle in a knife or firearm – but for alcohol as well.
As he slipped through the heavy brocade curtains that led into the offices, he was whistling under his breath. Life was definitely good.
Closing the heavy door behind him, he savoured the relative quiet. The music was now no more than a muted drone. He loved this office, it was his sanctuary. It had pale cream walls and expensive oak furniture. There weren’t any windows, but that was a plus really – it added to the security that was necessary when large amounts of money were involved. The big, heavy safe was bolted to the floor behind his desk, dominating the room. It was not just used for the storage of the money that the club accumulated, but also for certain other items of value.
He sat down behind his desk, and busied himself going over the invoices for the alcohol and food. He had a good manager in – the guy was young, granted, but so was Michael – and he had known him for a long time. He trusted him implicitly, and knew that Paulie O’Keefe had the gift of numbers. He could not only keep two sets of books going – a must for anyone in a cash business like this – but he also had the added bonus of being big enough and ugly enough to ensure that people would think twice before they crossed him. Michael and Paulie were a good team. The only way he could survive was by surrounding himself with people he could trust. He had learnt that from Patrick Costello.
There was a gentle tapping on the door and, sitting back in his chair, Michael called out, ‘Come in.’
As expected, Paulie O’Keefe entered the room. With the heavy build of an Irish navvy, he seemed to fill the room with his presence. Michael was a tall man, but Paulie was big everywhere, from his huge legs, like tree trunks, to his giant head. He had short, thick red hair and small piercing blue eyes. His mouth was thick-lipped, and he had a nose that seemed to have been flattened across his cheeks. He had the look of the fool about him, but Michael knew that he was actually a genius, especially when it came to numbers. He was perfect for the job in hand and, once people got over his appearance, they soon learnt that nothing got past him.
‘Fucking hell, Paulie, you seem to grow bigger every time I see you!’
Paulie laughed. ‘What can I say, Michael, I like me grub.’
Paulie sat down gently in the large leather club-chair opposite Michael and, taking out a pack of Benson & Hedges, he lit one leisurely.
‘Well, we are well in profit, Michael. It’s like printing dough, honestly.’
Michael nodded in agreement. ‘I know. I went over everything last night. This place is already paying for itself. Everyone’s happy, I can tell you that.’