'I want you and Declan at the farm by eleven tonight, OK?'
He saw her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he stopped himself from smiling at her obvious surprise.
'Come on, Breda, you didn't think I'd leave you out of something this big, do you? This is a family celebration, darling.'
As an afterthought he said grandly, 'Bring Jamsie and all. Fuck it – let's have a family party!'
Breda was thrilled at the invitation and, going around the desk, she hugged him tightly. 'Thanks, Phillip.'
He grinned happily. 'Why are you thanking me? We're family, Breda, we look out for each other, girl.'
'Talking of family, Phillip, how's Christine?'
He laughed then, and so did she when he said cheerfully, 'Mad as a box of frogs, but she's getting there, mate. It's the best I've seen her in years, to be honest.'
'I'm glad, Phillip, I think the world of her, you know that.'
He did know it; it was the truth, and truth meant a lot to him. It occurred to him that he could use Breda's relationship with Christine to help get his wife back on track. If Breda said that he had changed, mellowed, then Christine would believe her, especially if Breda actually believed it herself.
He would play the long game; it wouldn't be the first time, and he was sure that it wouldn't be the last.
Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
Philly watched Jonnie Piper like a hawk – he was fascinated by him. That he wanted his father dead, and yet was strutting about their kitchen acting like everyone's best friend, was just outrageous.
Philly knew he had to act like he didn't know what was going on, and he felt he was doing a pretty good job of it. Piper would be feeling secure in himself, because he'd assume that Phillip Murphy wouldn't want his sons involved in a murder. But, as his father had explained to them earlier in the evening, that was the genius of the whole plan. It didn't occur to Philly for a moment that no decent man would be dragging his boys into something so serious and so dangerous. Most hardened criminals wanted their kids to be anything but a villain. It was why you earned, to give your kids better opportunities than you had had. Any decent man who had sat in a prison cell for any length of time wouldn't want that for their kids. They would rather see them out and free, not banged up. That was the hardest thing for any parent. But Philly and Timmy took every word out of their father's mouth as gospel; they didn't yet understand that it was really only ever going to be about him and what he wanted, never about anyone else. That was Phillip Murphy – it was how he was made.
Philly felt he was on the cusp of greatness, and he was looking forward to the night's events. He was a bit frightened that he would let his father down in some way, but he was mostly excited about doing something so outrageous, and dangerous. He still couldn't believe his father trusted them both enough to be involved. If he needed any more proof in his father's belief in them, this was it.
'Come on then, lads, who wants to walk the land with me?'
It was just what Jonnie Piper had been waiting for and, picking up his large Scotch, he said jovially, 'Fuck me, Phillip, I thought you'd never ask.'
They laughed as they walked out the back doors, and changed into Wellington boots. Phillip always kept spare sets for anyone who might be visiting, he knew better than anyone the damage dirt could do to a decent pair of shoes.
As they began the quarter of a mile walk they were joking around, and Jonnie Piper was sorry about the boys, because they were nice lads. But needs must and all that – he couldn't leave them as witnesses and, once the dirty deed was done, he would put it out of his mind as always. This was kill or be killed, like war, and these lads were what would be known in wartime as collateral damage.
It was a bright night, and the moon was full, and their voices were loud as they ambled slowly towards what was misleadingly called the 'big barn' but was, in reality, a huge chimney stack with ornamental brickwork, and solid hardwood doors. It looked more like a chapel than a furnace room. Phillip had given the local planning officer a serious drink to get the fucker built in the first place, but it had been worth every penny. After all, Phillip never skimped on quality, that was part of his charm.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Colin Banks and Jerome O'Grady were in the barn, ready. They were calm, and waiting patiently for the night's events to unfold. Both were used to this. Colin had committed his first murder when he was seventeen – he had glassed another lad in a pub in Liverpool's Knowsley district. He had done eight years of a life sentence, and came out far more knowledgeable about murder than when he had gone in. Jerome O'Grady, on the other hand, had learned his trade as a drug dealer's apprentice and he had learned early that if you tucked up a drug dealer, you were dead. It was a real cut-throat business, and that was no pun. He had got fed up with it because it was too obvious, and the likelihood of getting banged up too risky. He now worked for people like Jonnie, clearing up their shit for them, and he and Colin made a good earn. Far more than if they were in a normal legal line of work.
Funny thing was though, people still looked down on them – he assumed it was because they were like the grim reaper. Jerome's wife thought he was a courier; she was far happier thinking he was bringing in diamonds and gold, or even cocaine, than knowing what he really did. Now that would freak her out. Colin's wife thought he was a debt collector, and the way she spent she must think he was collecting for Asil Nadir. But it worked for them and, once tonight was over, they would have a drink, get their pay and fuck off home. One good thing about it, as Colin was always saying, the hours were great, and you could piss off from the wife in peace because you could say you had to go to work and she wouldn't question it.
They both heard muted laughter and, even though the only light was from the moon coming through the skylights, they had a pretty good view of the door. They settled themselves in position. They had chosen American handguns for the job; both were untraceable and had been supplied by Jonnie. The Colt 45 was a big gun, powerful and intimidating. Not something most people would pick in this day and age, but it was the gun of choice for the old die-hards.
As the door opened, they were both ready, holding out the guns as if they were playing a part in a film. The two boys were amazed to see them there, and Jerome saw the fear cross their faces as they took in what was happening.
He felt almost sorry for them.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
'Let it go, Veronica, will you? I'm sick of hearing about it.'
Phil Senior was annoyed; he wanted to watch the telly, not have another post-mortem on his son's life. As far as he was concerned his Phillip was a fucking lunatic, but a well-heeled, functioning lunatic. The boys had to learn a craft at some point, so why not now?
Veronica was not pleased at her husband's reaction to her worries. She expected him to agree with her, that was how it had always been. Plus she was genuinely worried. In contrast to her Phillip she wasn't sure that her grandsons were capable of making a living on the rob. They were too well brought up after all the money her son had weighed out for their educations. 'Don't you ever think about anything else except drink, sport and telly?'
She watched as her husband shrugged in the chair. 'What else is there to think about in this house? Unlike you, Veronica, I ain't obsessed with my eldest son, am I?'
She stood up, and he saw the anger burning out of her bones. He knew he had gone too far. But he wished she would for once stop talking about Phillip; she was like a fucking stuck record, saying the same things over and over again. Who gave a flying fuck? Not him that was for sure.