Michael had planned for this and was leaving nothing to chance. He had given the nightwatchman a decent few quid, and he had willingly gone home with his Doberman who was his closest friend. She was in whelp so, as far as he was concerned, she had earned a few days off. It wasn’t the first time he had been asked to leave his post for unexplained reasons. As he was a man who had no interest in anything or anyone – which was exactly why he had been given the job in the first place – he left without question.
As Patrick walked into the offices, Michael was already in place. He was clear that Declan shared his opinion about Patrick and his latest escapades. The fact that Declan had arranged for the meet to be here said it all. This was the only place secure enough to do what was needed. It was quiet, it was dark, and it had the added bonus of being somewhere that Patrick Costello would feel safe.
‘You all right, Michael?’
Michael nodded. Even now, Patrick Costello was impressive. He seemed to fill the space with his personality, with his natural charisma. So few people displayed that kind of edge – it was what separated the men from the boys, the real criminals from the wannabes. Even now, completely off his fucking tree, the man still had more nous than most of the people around him. It was such a shame that the man’s mental capabilities had finally let him down. The same capabilities that had given him the lead role in the criminal underworld for so long, were now the reason he couldn’t ever be trusted again.
Michael walked towards his friend with a smile of greeting on his face, holding out his right hand. As Patrick gripped it, ready for the handshake he expected, Michael pulled him towards him quickly and with his left hand he plunged an eight-inch blade into Patrick’s heart.
It was over in seconds.
Michael held Patrick as he crumpled in his arms, and carefully lowered him to the floor, giving him as much dignity as possible. He stood over him with his brother Declan as he bled out. He hoped that the man had not suffered too much.
‘Oh my God.’ Declan was nearly in tears. He knelt beside his brother’s lifeless body.
Michael shrugged. ‘My old mum used to say, Declan, I’m glad you think of Him as yours as you will need Him one day. She is a good Catholic, I’ll give her that.’ He poured two large brandies and, passing one to Declan, he said gently, ‘You know this had to happen, mate. It’s better this came from us than from someone else, someone who could use it to their advantage. It was quick, and almost painless. We did what was needed and we did it for the right reasons. Remember that.’
Declan knew that Michael was right, but it still felt wrong. For all Patrick had become, he was still his brother. ‘I know you’re right. But I wish it hadn’t come to this.’
Michael didn’t answer him. There was nothing he could say to make Declan feel any better. This was one of those things that happened in their world. It wasn’t malicious, it was just necessary.
‘I want it to look like a robbery, Declan. No one will believe that, of course, but it will satisfy the Old Bill and Carmel will get the insurance.’
Declan nodded. It occurred to him that with his brother’s demise, he now, to all intents and purposes, worked for Michael Flynn. Michael was now the new king on the block. Not that he cared – he wouldn’t want that kind of responsibility for all the tea in China – or should that be all the heroin the Chinese could supply? He knew Michael was thigh-high in that kind of shit.