He lit a cigarette, and pulled on it deeply. It was just coming up to one o’clock. Michael would be there within the hour, and that was when the Cornel brothers would finally realise the error of their ways.

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Five

Michael Flynn watched Salvatore Ferreira as he cheerfully succumbed to the charms of the beautiful Bella. She was one of his top-earning lap dancers. She wasn’t as young as she looked, but that didn’t really matter. She had the thick blond hair, blue eyes and creamy skin of a real English rose. She also had a very posh accent, and that went a long way with the clientele. She was really from Dagenham, but she had taken elocution lessons, ballet lessons, and had shrugged off the mantle of an Essex girl, creating a whole new persona for herself. He admired her. She had the sense to realise that this wasn’t a job with a pension, she knew that her shelf life would be short, but could be very lucrative if she played her cards right. He had guaranteed her three grand, cash, to keep Salvatore amused: go home with him, and make him feel like a king. In fairness, she deserved a fucking BAFTA. What a performance! He caught her eye, motioned towards the door, and Bella was off her pole, and in Salvatore’s lap within nanoseconds.

Michael Flynn walked them out to a private car five minutes later and, winking lewdly at a very drunken Salvatore Ferreira, he waved them off gratefully. He had done his bit, and now he could finally concentrate on the other business of the night. He was being driven by a young lad called Davey Dawkins, a good kid, who drove the car without ever trying to start a conversation. Michael appreciated that tonight more than usual. He was so angry he was quite literally capable of murder.

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Six