Free Revenge by Martina Cole Page A

It’s like printing dough, honestly.’
    Michael nodded in agreement. ‘I know. I went over everything last night. This place is already paying for itself. Everyone’s happy, I can tell you that.’
    Paulie smiled, acknowledging the compliment. Then, leaning forward in his chair, he said quietly, ‘There is one bugbear though, Michael, and I can’t do anything about it without your say-so.’
    Michael frowned. There weren’t many things on God’s green earth that Paulie O’Keefe couldn’t sort out by himself. Michael felt a distinct tightening in his guts, and prepared himself for bad news.
    ‘Come on then, Paulie. Out with it.’
    Paulie O’Keefe stared at his friend for long moments before saying angrily, ‘It’s that flash little cunt Rob Barber. He’s been coming in here mob-handed, and he runs up huge tabs – never paid one of them to my knowledge – and he causes a fucking fight every time. Now, the bouncers are wary – after all, he is a Barber. No one wants to be the one to cause a fucking turf war. But he has to be tugged, Michael. I kept this quiet because I knew you would go mad if you found out. But last week he went too far. He was coked out of his fucking brains and, to cut a long story short, he ended up smacking some little bird in the mouth. I told him to fuck off out of here myself, and he went without too much trouble. I think even he knew he had gone too far. But we have to make a stand, Michael.’
    Michael sighed heavily. This was trouble with a capital T all right. The Barbers and the Costellos had always had an uneasy alliance. The Barbers were Notting Hill boys, and they had no interest in East London, or South London come to that.
    Jonny and Dicky Barber were not men whose company was sought after. The Barbers were no more than violent thugs. Unlike the Costellos, they had not adapted to the changing times, they still ruled their little empire with only violence and intimidation. Consequently, although they made a living, they were hated. Their empire was also shrinking. The Jamaicans were not easy to subdue – anyone who had ever dealt with them knew that. Now they were a force to be reckoned with in their own right. They had the monopoly in Brixton, Tulse Hill and Norwood, as well as a strong presence in Notting Hill, Shepherd’s Bush and the surrounding areas. They were the new Irish, for fuck’s sake – everyone with half a brain knew that. They were happy to work beside you for the earn, had plenty to bring to the table and, most importantly, had the contacts needed to supply the product for the growing trade in cannabis.
    Now Rob Barber, the youngest brother, an idiot with the IQ of a fucking amoeba, had the gall to come to his club, and try to fucking mug him off?
    Paulie could see the anger building inside Michael. He had to be the voice of reason, but he had not had any other choice here. Rob Barber had shit on their doormat, and that could not be tolerated. Still, it had to be sorted with finesse. ‘Listen to me, Michael. My first instinct was to take the fucker out the first night he rolled up here, but I knew that would only cause more trouble. So I swallowed because, as big a cunt as he is, there are still his brothers and their firm to deal with. Patrick and Declan have to be in on this, mate. You have to see the logic of that. They must have the final say.’
    Michael knew that Paulie was right, but it was the principle as far as he was concerned. That little shit Rob Barber would have known that it was his name on the door here, that the Costellos had given the club to him . Rob Barber had really been challenging Michael, and that was hard to overlook.
    He had earned his place in the Costello family, he was respected by everyone in his orbit. When Patrick Costello singled a person out, it was assumed – rightly – that the person concerned had done something very noteworthy indeed. Something that warranted their meteoric rise through the ranks. To be treated so