Patrick sipped at his drink noisily before saying, ‘He’s Jonny Barber’s boy, Michael.’
Michael shrugged nonchalantly. Declan was impressed with the boy’s complete disregard of his brother. He had such confidence in himself, it was a pleasure to listen to him. He would not be another of his brother’s yes men. But Michael Flynn was not arrogant – he genuinely wanted to bring in an earn.
‘We want the Barbers out of the way, so what’s the fucking difference? They’re all cunts. Why do you think I cultivated Oates when I got the chance? He’s an all right geezer, and the Barbers have treated him in a diabolical fashion. None of the people they have around them are even remotely happy with the circumstances of their employment. They shit on their own doorstep, rip off their own – they don’t seem to understand that times have changed. I have done no more than open up a dialogue with Oates and he was thrilled, believe me. It’s the next step, Pat.’
Patrick was listening to the boy intently. Michael had no side, he was as honest as he was loyal. He had proved that already.
‘You’re right, mate. But I wouldn’t be the boss if I didn’t flex my muscles now and then. It never hurts to show that you’re aware of what’s going on. It’s the reason we are so fucking successful, son. Remember that.’
Michael knew he had been both praised and subtly warned. He wasn’t too bothered about either. He had no reason to worry – he had done nothing more than set up a good deal. He knew how to play the game. People like Patrick Costello needed to be reassured, needed to know that the people he put his trust in appreciated him. Michael was more than willing to give him what he saw as his due. It was a small price to pay for what he was getting in return, and he did respect him.
‘I won’t ever forget that, Patrick, don’t you worry. I want you to know that I am grateful for every opportunity and every penny that I have earned from being a part of the Costello family. I just wanted to bring something to the table. It’s a big earn, Oates likes me and, to be honest, I really like him. He’s a decent bloke. But I’m not a fool – I guessed you would already be two jumps ahead.’
It was exactly what Patrick wanted to hear. He relied on the network of people he had accrued over the years, people who were willing to give him the full monty about anyone and everyone around him. Even Declan wasn’t immune to his interest – that was something Patrick was not proud of, but he couldn’t help himself.
‘You’re a good kid, Michael. I know that.’
The office door crashed open, and they were all surprised to see Douglas Marshall burst into the room. Dougie was no more than a soldier, one of Declan’s crew of heavies, and his interruption was not appreciated at all.
‘What the fuck are you doing, Dougie?’
The words were spoken by Declan and the inference was that he had obviously lost his mind.
‘I’m sorry about this, Declan, but the fucking Barbers have turned up looking for a fucking row.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dicky Barber was drunk enough to be reckless, but not so drunk he couldn’t hear the warning bell that was clanging loudly in the back of his mind.
As he looked at the men policing the gates of Patrick Costello’s home, he could see that they would happily die before giving the Barbers and their entourage entrance. They were just standing there, completely unconcerned at the turn of events, armed, of course, and adamant that the Barbers were not on the guest list.
Dicky knew they had made a colossal fuck-up. Neither of them had thought it through. Dicky wished he wasn’t so drunk. The reality of the situation was dawning on him, and he knew he and his brother looked every inch the complete cunts they were.
Rob, however, was experiencing no such qualms. He was still determined to make his mark, make a public statement to the world. But, as a man who had never once had the nous to plan ahead, to try and cover any eventualities that might occur if things were to go wrong, he was not taking onboard that the men who had accompanied them were now backing away, realising they were outnumbered and outclassed. He was being treated as a minor irritation, and not as a serious problem.
Rob was quite affronted that they had not been granted immediate access to the Costello home. He had believed they would be ushered in like visiting royalty. But they were still outside the gates, and that was not going to change.
Rob was shouting now. ‘Just tell him we are here, will you? It’s a fucking party, ain’t it? We are fucking guests.’
A heavyset man in his late fifties stood in front of the gates. He sighed. It was like dealing with football hooligans – all drink and bravado and not a brain cell between the lot of them.