But now his son had been the catalyst for a situation so serious it could easily deteriorate into a fucking war.
Michael walked into the other office. Kelvin McCarthy was sitting on an old typing chair tied up like a kipper. Michael could see the fear in the boy’s deep-blue eyes. He was his father’s son, there was no doubting that. He had the same arched eyebrows and thick black hair and, like his father, his face had the dark shadow of a man who needed to shave twice a day. He was Christie’s living image – a handsome fucker – but that’s where the similarity ended. Personality-wise, he was the antithesis of his old man. He was a weak-willed, vicious bully, who traded on his father’s name, and his father’s reputation. Well, he had picked a fight with the wrong people this time.
Declan walked into the room behind him, and Michael knew he was wondering, along with Kelvin McCarthy, what was going to happen. His incarceration had clearly thrown Kelvin off kilter. He had not expected to be treated so roughly, nor so carelessly. Never before had anyone ever dared to bring him to book. He had always been given a pass, and his father had smoothed things over.
‘How old are you, Kelvin?’ Michael’s voice was casual, even interested.
Kelvin could detect no real anger, and he felt himself relax a little. The fact he had been brought here worried him. He knew enough about the Life to realise that Michael Flynn wasn’t a man to be crossed lightly and that even his father would balk at a face-to-face with him.
As he was sobering up, and coming down from the pills he had popped like sweets, he understood for the first time in his life that he was in real trouble.
‘I’m twenty-six.’
Michael didn’t answer him immediately. He just stood there looking at him. Under the man’s gaze, Kelvin felt the first flush of shame wash over him.
‘Did you hear that, Declan? He’s twenty-six years old, for fuck’s sake.’
Declan Costello knew how to play the game, so he said nonchalantly, ‘I heard him all right.’
‘Fucking amazing though, isn’t it, Declan? Twenty-six, and a completely fucking useless cunt. That has got to hurt your old man – he has to be ashamed of you, Kelvin. Can I call you Kelvin, by the way?’
Kelvin McCarthy nodded his agreement. He didn’t know what else to do; he had never been in a situation like this in his life. ‘’Course you can. It’s my name, after all.’ He tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere that permeated the room, acting like he wasn’t bothered about being trussed up like a chicken and unable to move.
Michael Flynn stared at him for long moments. Kelvin McCarthy watched him warily. His eyes were ice cold; he looked capable of anything. Kelvin knew instinctively that he was. He possessed no fear of anyone or anything.
‘You can call me Mr Flynn.’
Kelvin McCarthy was suddenly feeling very frightened, and that was an alien concept to him. All his life, he had been cushioned by his name. Now he was feeling the terror that being at the mercy of a man like Michael Flynn could elicit. Kelvin McCarthy was a coward really. He had always traded on his father’s name, and that had been enough to get him what he wanted, and guarantee him a level of protection. He wasn’t so sure about that any more. But he still believed that, whatever happened, no one would harm him because his father was Christie McCarthy, and that alone gave him the criminal equivalent of diplomatic status. His father’s name and his reputation was like money in the bank. He had worked with everyone who mattered, from Jack Spot to the Krays and the Richardsons, and had carved for himself a unique place in the world of villainy. He provided a service that no one else could even attempt to emulate. His word was his bond. His whole business relied on his reputation as a man of the utmost integrity, who could be trusted without question. That was his father’s main strength, and why his father was so respected in his world. It was also why he felt that even someone like Michael Flynn would think twice before he did anything that might cause a rift between them.
Kelvin watched Michael warily. The man was completely relaxed, and that alone was unnerving. He was acting as if this was an everyday occurrence.
‘So, Kelvin, what do you think I should do with you?’
Declan Costello walked from the room, and busied himself pouring them both large whiskies. He had a feeling they were going to need them. Michael was baiting the boy, and he hoped that Kelvin had the brain capacity to give him the answers he expected. He didn’t hold out much hope though – he could see the boy was rattled.