‘Declan, have a fucking day off, will you! Read the papers! Every other day some fucking head banger kills somebody for no fucking reason. They stab them or attack them in a shopping centre in full view of everyone around them. And, the worst thing of all is, these people – these nutters – are only roaming the streets because some fucking shrink decides that they are not a danger to anyone. But they are. This cunt is a fucking Grade A looney. I don’t care what the doctors in the nut house might have said about him – he had the nous to fucking take my baby. He has a very high IQ, remember? And he reads a lot. Well, when I finally get my hands on him – Mr Fucking Intellectual – I will personally remove his brain from his skull and I will then cheerfully force feed it to the useless cunt who decided he was fit enough to rejoin society. I can’t believe this ponce is actually getting the better of me. That is the hardest part of all, Declan – this fucking no-mark, this mentally challenged fucker, is actually getting one over on me.’

Declan agreed with Michael wholeheartedly; this ponce was either very clever or very lucky; Declan had a feeling it was a combination of the two. But that wasn’t what Michael needed to hear at this precise moment in time.

‘That is fucking mental, Michael. Listen to yourself! He is a nut – granted – but that is his weakness, not his strength. He doesn’t even want a ransom, for fuck’s sake. That alone should tell you something.’

‘It does, Declan. It tells me this isn’t about money, this is fucking personal, and we both know why that is, don’t we?’

Declan didn’t answer.

‘Patrick knew what he was asking of me. He knew the house wasn’t empty. He was using me to vent his fucking spleen. It was one of his biggest failings – his narrow-mindedness. He could hold a grudge for the tiniest of reasons, an imagined slight, or a small loan that was overdue – something he should have been big enough to overlook. But he couldn’t. When he got that bee in his fucking bonnet . . .’ He trailed off. His anger was threatening to take over, and he knew he had to calm himself down, think logically, not let his heart rule his head. ‘You know what I am saying as well as I do, Declan.’

Michael Flynn looked out of his window. Today he wasn’t enjoying the view he’d always loved. Today he was wondering how a man like Steven Golding could get the better of him. That was something Michael Flynn couldn’t live with, something he would never be able to overcome. The man was on a fucking death wish, and Michael was going to make sure he got exactly what he was asking for.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six

Chapter One Hundred
and Twenty-Six