Michael was watching Declan eat; the man was a veritable force of nature. He could consume his own bodyweight in steak, and still have room for a dessert. He was like a machine; he ate with a dedication that was almost inspiring, he enjoyed his food so much.
Michael was at the head of the table, of course, Declan was sitting to his right, and the other eight seats were taken up by people they worked with who were important enough to join them for dinner once a month. Declan couldn’t see the value of it at all. He just saw a big bill at the end for Michael to pay. These people worked for them – surely they should be paying the bill? They gave them their earn, for fuck’s sake! Yet Michael insisted that they wine and dine them. In Declan’s mind, this was completely fucking ludicrous. But he couldn’t see the money that they were bringing into the firm on a regular basis – Declan only saw the money they earned personally. He couldn’t see the big picture – that these men brought in far more than they earned. But then, Declan didn’t really understand the economics of the big earns. Michael made him come to these dinners, because he was his business partner. He had tried to educate him on the finer points of the businesses he ran, but Declan genuinely had no real interest whatsoever. Michael knew that these dinners were worth every penny. The men around him were all good earners, and they appreciated that he singled them out and showed them how much he valued them. He knew that, to keep people onside, you had to make them feel a part of everything, give them your time and, better still, your interest. It was a good night out for everyone concerned as well – good food, good wine and good company.
He sat back in his chair, feeling very relaxed. He had imbibed a few glasses of red wine, and he was enjoying the company. Jeffrey Palmer was on his left, in pride of place. He was always a good bloke to have around; Michael liked him a lot and, since the removal of young McCarthy, Jeffrey Palmer had done everything possible to show his appreciation. He was grateful to Michael Flynn for taking care of a very awkward situation for him, and he would never forget that.
Michael couldn’t tell him that the main reason the boy had been dispatched was because he had dared to pull a gun on his premises. He could not let that go – no matter who might be involved. He would have taken out anyone, no matter who they were or who they worked for. It was the principle.
‘What a great night.’
Michael smiled easily as always. He was good at that. ‘I like it here, Jeffrey. It’s a great place – a delicate mixture of bankers and wankers!’
Jeffrey laughed with him. ‘That is a great analogy, and very true! But listen, Michael, I want to run something by you. I had a visit from an old mate this week. He did a big lump in the nick, but he has been out a good while. He now lives in Spain. He has a couple of nightclubs in the ’Dorm, and he has the contacts to procure any drugs required – in any quantity.’
Michael Flynn sipped his wine; he was not going to join in this conversation until he had to.
Jeffrey Palmer knew the game, but he had downed a few drinks, and he felt secure. Michael Flynn had done him the favour of a lifetime and he wanted to return the favour. He grabbed Michael’s arm roughly, pulling him closer. ‘Look, Michael, from what he tells me, he can undercut anyone.’
Michael pulled his arm away roughly. Leaning forward, he looked into Jeffrey’s eyes, as he said sarcastically, ‘Well, fuck me, Jeff. Let’s ring him now, shall we?’
Jeffrey Palmer was taken aback at Michael’s reaction and, as far as Michael was concerned, so he fucking should be.
‘Listen, Jeffrey. We deal with people who are well under the plods’ radar, who can supply very good gear, and who have always proved themselves to be very reliable. Never once have we ever had even the threat of a tug. Yet you want me to wipe out a friendship and a business partnership that goes back fucking donkey’s years – a partnership that I have recently given to you, remember, and for what exactly? An ex-fucking-con who lives in fucking Benidorm of all places – the arsehole of the world. What the fuck are you on?’