Declan went to the bookcase and busied himself by pouring a drink. ‘I see Michael has already started on a new earn. He has a real knack for sniffing out the money shots. I only heard about it through one of my blokes. He mentioned that he had seen Michael over in Ladbroke Grove. He was drinking with that Winston Oates – he’s the main man where drugs are concerned, as you know yourself. I assume he is making a point to the Barber brothers as that’s their turf, so to speak.’

Patrick was startled; he had heard nothing about Michael having a new earn. He had always prided himself on knowing everything about everyone around him – even his brother Declan was not immune. He had always believed in the adage that knowledge is power. Now he was wondering if he was getting lax in his old age, if his affection for Michael was clouding his judgement. He had not even asked about the boy’s movements recently; he had trusted him implicitly. Patrick had always been in possession of a healthy but suspicious nature – it was something he had always prided himself on. He trusted no one, and that was why the Costello brothers were so successful. But it seemed that Michael Flynn had achieved the impossible. For the first time ever, Patrick had not thought to have one of his main earners watched. He couldn’t believe that he had been so remiss. He trusted Michael – of course he did – but large amounts of money could be a terrible temptation to even the most loyal of men. History was filled with examples of how money – second only to a seriously good shag – could turn the most level of heads.

Declan observed his brother’s reaction and couldn’t help feeling a small twinge of satisfaction; it was very rare that he knew something of interest before his older brother. He had only found out about Michael’s meeting by accident but, unlike Patrick, who had a pathological fear of taking anyone on face value, he really did believe that Michael Flynn was as straight as a die. He hoped that he had not caused the boy any unnecessary aggro – he knew from bitter experience that Patrick could turn on a coin if he felt that he was being mugged off in any way. He was dangerous was Patrick, especially if he felt he had been overlooked in some way. He always had to be the fucking main man. He decided to backtrack.

‘Listen, Pat, I might have that all wrong, mate. I heard it from Cecil Thompson and, let’s be fair, he was never the sharpest knife in the fucking drawer, was he? His wife had more cocks than a geriatric chicken, and he never had a fucking clue – it was only when his youngest came out blacker than Nookie’s knockers that he suspected there might be skulduggery afoot!’