Michael opened the bottle of brandy, and poured himself a large measure. Then he passed the bottle on to Declan. Michael sipped the liquid, savouring the taste. He did like a nice brandy. Patrick Costello had educated him, explaining the finer points of a good brandy and a good wine. Patrick Costello had told him, in confidence of course, how he had paid a mad French bloke – a sommelier from one of London’s leading hotels – to teach him about wines, and how to appreciate them. Patrick had admitted to him that he had been amazed at the man’s knowledge, and at how much he had learnt from him. And Patrick, in turn, had enjoyed passing his knowledge on. Michael would always thank him for that.
Garry England was telling everyone at the table a funny story about when he was a kid and he had gone with his mum on a visit to Parkhurst to see his dad. Declan was already giggling like a teenager; he had heard the story before. Michael couldn’t concentrate though, he was still reeling from the shock that Palmer had actually attempted to replace the man he had introduced him to, a man he had worked with for years, who he trusted implicitly.
Jeffrey Palmer had been his choice. He had recruited him personally to be his replacement. He had trusted him to take over. That was the real bugbear – he had trusted a man who had not understood the enormity of what had been offered him, who had not had the intelligence to understand exactly what he was dealing with. It was a real melon scratcher, as his mum would say.
Chapter Fifty-Six
A very pretty girl carried their coffees into the spacious office that Michael used when he was in Canary Wharf. This was where the legitimate businesses were located, and where some of the more exotic business was also conducted. They were luxurious, and they were private. There was a whole workforce here who actually worked for their living.
Declan Costello was tired out and he sipped his coffee carefully.
Michael Flynn watched the big, overweight man opposite him with affection. Declan looked like a social worker, his suit was a tad too small, and his shirt was cheap. His whole look was unkempt and slightly soiled. But Michael trusted him. Declan Costello was a man who looked like an affable fool, but was actually a dangerous fuck when crossed.
‘I need your advice, Declan. I know I can trust you, so please tell me what you think.’
Declan sighed. He knew that Michael was in a quandary; he had surreptitiously listened in to his conversation with Jeffrey Palmer and, like Michael, he had been mortified. More so because it had been Jeffrey Palmer talking such bollocks, a man who should have known better. But it was always the chosen ones who overstepped the mark.
‘I did try and warn you, Michael. Patrick always said, the more you give people, the more they want. He was on the money. Why do you think he recruited you? As young as you were, he trusted you from the off, but you also had the added advantage that Patrick actually liked you. He saw your potential, and he was right. I know he made you prove yourself to him, prove that you were capable of what he asked of you – that was his way of sounding people out. But, on reflection, he brought you in out of nowhere, didn’t he? He didn’t bring up someone from the ranks, someone he knew, he had already worked with. He brought you straight in over all their heads.’
Michael digested the man’s words; there was a logic there that couldn’t be denied.
‘You need to think long and hard about the people you put in place, Michael, and eventually you need to find yourself a number two. I’ve said this to you before. It’s a big fucking responsibility for one person.’
Michael listened carefully. He respected Declan’s opinion. He had a lot more going for him than anyone realised. Patrick used to joke that Declan was like a tree who didn’t quite manage to reach the top branches, but he was a lot shrewder than people gave him credit for.
‘I am aware of all that, Declan, but I’m asking what do you think about Jeffrey Palmer? I can’t believe he opened up to Charlie Carter! The man’s a fucking card-carrying, paid-up moron, who now knows who we deal with, how and when we deal with them, and what we earn from them. That is a dangerous fucking combination. What was that cunt thinking? I would have laid money on him having the nous to keep his fucking business to himself.’
Declan laughed. ‘He was thinking about money, Michael. What else? You might guarantee him a good fucking wedge, but I bet Carter can offer him a better one. They are mates as well, and that is the danger, see? Jeffrey can’t see that he is dealing with people you chose, who you know are safe, who have proved their worth over and over again. Jeffrey Palmer doesn’t know anything about them, he’s never even heard of them. He can only see his mate, and the benefits of working with someone he knows well. He has been told he can earn a lot more money if he can persuade you to change suppliers. It’s the old story, Michael. Though I have to say, Charlie Carter will swallow a tug. He is a man who knows when to shut his trap.’