Revenge (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Patrick and Declan arrived at the scrapyard and, as expected, Michael was already there. The lights were on in the Portakabin that passed for office space, and Declan noticed that the night watchman and his Doberman were gone. He understood the significance of that. He could not change anything that was going to happen. It had gone too far now.

Patrick didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, however, and he walked quickly towards the offices.

Declan followed his brother slowly into the Portakabin, sorry that it had to come to this, but knowing that there was nothing else to do now. Patrick was a liability, and that could not be tolerated.

Chapter Forty

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.

Michael was already the go-to man, and Patrick’s untimely departure would only give him more power. He wondered if Michael knew just what he was taking on. Without Patrick behind him, Michael Flynn would have to prove his own worth in more ways than one.

It didn’t occur to Declan that Michael had always prepared for any and every scenario. He was a man who never once left anything to chance, who thought everything out from every angle possible – that was the reason Patrick had taken him on in the first place. And he had taught him well. Patrick had seen a kindred spirit in Michael Flynn. He had passed on the knowledge needed to be a part of the world Patrick had so carefully created. It was a world of extreme violence, where
everyone
was suspect, where money was made in huge quantities by people who needed not only Patrick’s permission but also his know-how. Patrick Costello had never offered an earn until he had worked out every scenario humanly possible. It had been why people saw him as a safe partner. He never took risks, he would lose money before he would ever put himself or anyone he was involved with in any danger. It was what he was good at and why he was so well respected. Now he was gone and, like everyone in the world they inhabited, people would mourn his passing but, other than that, once the shock wore off, he would become just another story people told. It was brutal, but true. Patrick had one flaw: his natural capacity for lunacy. It had been his downfall. It had happened to many men before him. It was also the reason they eventually died violent deaths.

Michael Flynn was always going to get the top spot, it had just been a matter of time. In fairness, Declan knew that Michael would never have sought it unless there had been a good reason. He had thought the world of Patrick, and he had appreciated the man’s interest in him and his trust. Declan knew that Michael had only done what was needed, but it still left a bitter taste.

Michael was more than ready to take control of the Costello business – in all honesty, he couldn’t wait to get started. After a decent period of mourning, of course.

Chapter Forty-One

Michael felt fantastic. Everyone was giving him their condolences, while letting him know, at the same time, that they were willing to carry on as usual.
That
was the important thing – he needed to be seen as capable of taking over Patrick’s role.

He was aware that his hand in Patrick’s death – albeit without any hard proof – was already being accepted as a fact of life. Patrick’s behaviour before his demise had been seen, noted, and, therefore, his untimely death had been judged a necessary evil.

Now at the man’s funeral, Michael Flynn was being fêted as Patrick Costello’s natural successor by everyone who mattered. It was more than he could have hoped for. He had been quite happy to fight his corner if needs be – he had worked hard enough for it, after all. But, in reality, he knew that Declan’s acceptance of his leadership had been what had really sealed the deal. For all Declan might act the fool, he was far more on the ball than he let on. That he had stood back, today of all days, and let Michael take centre stage spoke volumes. He would always remember that, and appreciate it. He knew that Declan really missed his brother, and so did he. He had loved Patrick Costello – he had been the father he had never known. But Patrick had been the one to teach him the number-one rule – sometimes things had to be done and, as hard as it might be, you could never let emotions cloud your judgement. He had understood that from day one and, like Patrick, he had been determined never to allow his emotions to let him down.

Carmel Costello sat through the service, pleased at the turn out for her husband, but even more pleased that he was gone. She could breathe again, and her daughters could relax. Thanks to Michael, they were safe in every way. Assumpta had got rid of her child already, and now they were all going to move to the house they owned in Spain. For the first time in ages she could actually breathe easily, and relax like a normal person. She finally had Patrick off her back. Not that she hadn’t loved him – she had in her own way, and she had lived with his strangeness when necessary – it had been a small price to pay for everything else she had got from the relationship. But, as the time had gone on, he had become a difficult man to deal with, and this last lot had really made her realise just what she was actually dealing with. He had terrified her and the girls, and she had known there was no talking to him, that he was beyond her control.

Carmel had wanted Patrick because of his money and what he could offer her. His reputation had given her security, and that had been his big attraction for her. She had believed that her tantrums and his allowing her to have her say, demand what she wanted, had been because
she
had some kind of control over the life they led. But that had been a sham. Providing she ultimately did what he wanted, he tolerated her antics and that was all. The last few months had opened her eyes, shown her exactly what she had tied herself to, and how precarious her life with him actually was. Patrick was dangerous.

Michael had given her not just her freedom, and her daughters’ freedom, but he had also given her the one thing she had never really known existed until now. He had given her peace of mind.

She had watched the way that everyone had gone to Michael, offering their condolences – and their fealty. She hadn’t cared that she was relegated to second place. None of that mattered – that was poor Josephine’s problem now. She would soon see how difficult it was to be with a man who had to fight every day of his life to keep what he had and who saw skulduggery at every turn. It was hard work.

Chapter Forty-Two

Father Riordan was watching the congregation with a heavy heart. He had tried to leave this parish, but he had been made to stay, against his will. He looked at Michael Flynn, and he wondered at a God who could let a man like that loose on the world, a man who paid his dues to the Church, and who actually believed that he was a good Catholic. It was against everything he had always believed. Oh, he knew of priests back home who had happily heard confessions from the men in the IRA, who saw them as no more than products of their environments, but that could never be him. He believed that the fact that poor Josephine had not been given a child was his God’s way of making sure people like Michael Flynn didn’t bring any more of his ilk into the world. But that didn’t explain why so many other violent men in the parish seemed to have child after child, year after year.

He waited patiently as the coffin was carried from the church on the shoulders of men who were all as violent as they were fêted. He would give Patrick Costello the full funeral Mass, as was his right – he was a Catholic and he was entitled to it. But Father Riordan was also aware that the man was another violent criminal, and he had died by the sword, or by the knife, which was the same thing really. It stuck in his craw. He had no option but to do as he was asked – he had to do as his religion commanded him. Jesus had been a prisoner, unfairly captured, tortured and humiliated. Finally he had died on the cross for the sins of the world – for men like these. His job was to never have an opinion or judge anyone, but it was hard, knowing what he knew about them.

He saw that Michael Flynn and Declan Costello were the lead pallbearers, and they did what was expected of them both with the maximum of respect for the man they were burying. It was the least they could do for the man they both loved in their own ways and, if the gossip was true, who they robbed of his life. It was an open secret, and it would never be questioned. Michael Flynn was too powerful for that now. He was untouchable.

In their world, Patrick Costello had been given a good send off. He had been given his due, for what that was worth.

But Father Riordan hated that he was again a part of it, and he could not do anything about that. He hated that this was what his life had become.

Chapter Forty-Three

‘That went well, Michael. Patrick would have been happy with the day.’

Michael smiled sadly. ‘I hope so, Declan. None of us wanted this.’

Declan was aware Michael was only speaking the truth even if it hurt. ‘Well, Carmel’s happy, anyway!’

Michael laughed – Declan had got that much right. Carmel was over the moon at her husband’s death, and who could blame her?

‘In fairness to her, Declan, she did what she could for him. Somewhere nestled between those expensive tits of hers is a heart. I feel sorry for her, but even she knew it was all over for him.’

Declan sipped his beer. The wake was being held at Michael’s house. No one seemed to think that was strange – it was common knowledge that Declan wasn’t in a position to host such an event, and the word on the street was that Carmel and her daughters didn’t want the responsibility of such a huge undertaking.

It was a big funeral. People had come from all corners of the globe, as was expected. They were not just paying their respects to the man they knew and loved – they were also making sure their earns were safe.

Josephine had done a fantastic job. The whole thing was perfect. The food had been catered – it was expensive and plentiful and she had arranged for waitresses and bar staff to serve the drinks. Now everyone was happily drunk and reminiscing, as was expected at a funeral such as this. Michael’s house was plenty big enough to hold such a huge party, and he knew that the fact it was at his
home
would just reinforce his credibility, as well as giving him the opportunity to prove how successful he was. He knew how important it was for him to be seen as a man of means with money behind him. The lifestyle was everything; it was what would define him to the people he’d be dealing with. This was a win-win situation for him, but he was glad that it was nearly over and he could finally get back to normal.

Still, it was nice to see his house full, and watch his wife play the hostess; she did it so well. He was going to make sure that the men he dealt with got the personal touch. He would invite them here with their wives for dinner. He would bring this house to life, and give his Josephine the opportunity to shine. He was so proud of her today. She had taken the onus off Carmel and, at the same time, she had made sure that people saw that he was the real deal. He couldn’t help feeling as he looked around him that he was where he deserved to be. He had worked for this. He had learnt from the master, and now he could feel pride in what he had achieved.

He was still a young man, yet he had just inherited the biggest prize of all. He had taken on Patrick Costello’s mantle, and no one had questioned that. Michael knew he had his creds, but he had still expected at least one person to challenge him. He planned his defence down to the last detail – he was not going to give anything away without a fucking fight. He was prepared to wipe out anyone who even looked like they might want to try it on. Yet he had been wrong. It seemed that everyone accepted his new role. Personally, he would have been straight in there, sooner rather than later; if he was in their shoes, he would have done everything in his power to take him out. This was the only chance anyone was going to get to push themselves ahead in the game for a long time, Michael was determined about that.

Declan brought him over a large whisky, and he took it gratefully.

‘Old Joey Murphy is on top form. He loves a fucking Irish funeral. He wants to sing.’

Michael laughed. It was the icing on the cake. He dragged Declan over to the old boy; he was eighty if he was a day, and an old IRA man. He could cause a fight in an empty house with a drink in him. He had buried his children – three handsome sons. Two had been murdered, the youngest had died in prison of cancer. He was a real character, and he was always given the respect he was due. He was a great singer of Irish songs.

‘Come on, Joey, how about “The Wild Colonial Boy”? Patrick always loved that one.’

Joey was thrilled to be singled out, and he sang the song with real feeling, knowing that everyone would join in the chorus.

Michael saw Josephine watching him, and he winked at her, before opening his arms wide. She walked into his embrace unhesitatingly; this was where she always wanted to be.

As the singing swelled around her, Josephine laughed delightedly. The baby was hanging in there, and she felt wonderful. Michael was so caught up in the aftermath of Patrick’s death, he still hadn’t noticed anything. That was what she wanted. She didn’t want anyone to know about her pregnancy – all she wanted was to be left alone long enough to know if this baby was going to be there for the duration. Patrick Costello had inadvertently given her the time she needed to carry this baby inside her without a fuss, and she would always be grateful to him for that. Michael hugged her tightly suddenly, and whispered in her ear, ‘I love you, Josephine Flynn.’

And, looking up at him and smiling brightly, she mouthed back, ‘I know.’