Jermaine got out of his car, and Michael saw he had two men with him. They were both close to Jermaine O’Shay, had worked for him for years. Michael Flynn ushered them into the Portakabin, before closing the door. Then, rubbing his hands together noisily, he said jovially, ‘It’s fucking taters out there tonight, all right. Colder than a witch’s tit.’

The Portakabin was warm and inviting. Motioning to Jermaine with his hands, Michael watched as he sat down in the only other available chair. His two minders stood awkwardly by the doorway. The Portakabin was already filled to capacity; none of the men there were exactly small.

‘I thought I said to come alone, Jermaine?’ Michael’s voice was cold now. His face without his usual smile, without any emotion whatsoever, looked very different, like a mask.

Jermaine O’Shay was not going to be intimidated. He had two of his best men with him and he was here to fight his corner, and remind Michael of who he worked with, and why he was so well thought of. He was partner to some of the hardest men who walked the earth. This was not a fucking friendly sit down, as far as he was concerned. This was him, making a point, once and for all. This had gone on too long now, and he was bored with it.

‘Well, as you can see, Michael, I didn’t. I haven’t come here to negotiate.’

Alarm bells rang for Jeffrey Palmer – there was going to be trouble. He swallowed the last of his whisky quickly. He could see that Declan Costello was as nervous as he was. This was not going to end well, he knew that much.

Michael laughed gently. ‘Do you know what, Jermaine? I fucking knew you would come mob-handed. I said that to you, didn’t I, Declan?’

Declan nodded his agreement. ‘You did at that, Michael. That’s why we made provision for just such a situation.’

Jermaine O’Shay frowned. This was not what he was expecting at all.

Declan got up and opened the door that led to the other office.

Michael Flynn called out happily, ‘Come in, guys, your moment in the spotlight has arrived at last.’