Free Danny Dempsey and the Unlikely Alliance by Denis Byrne

newspaper in disgust and placed it on the counter, picked up his drink and finished the last of it. Gerald was about to ease himself off the barstool, when he was tapped gently on the arm by the man sitting to his right. Gerald looked at him quizzically. He’d never seen him before in his life. Nor was he in humour of being engaged in conversation by some stranger right now. He was still brooding over his most recent loss, and annoyed that he hadn’t enough money left to buy himself another drink.
    â€˜Gerald Casey?’ Myles Moran enquired politely in a refined voice, pretending he didn’t know exactly who Casey was, despite the months of research he’d instructed some of his people to engage in to find out every detail about him. ‘Would I be correct in that assumption?’
    Gerald was taken aback somewhat. He wasn’t accustomed to being addressed in such beautifully modulated tones in his local public house. Granted, his boss, Matthew Dawson, spoke in much the same manner, but Gerald certainly wasn’t expecting to hear that accent replicated by anyone else when he was off duty, especially by those who might happen to wander into his local in the housing estate where he lived.
    â€˜Who wants to know?’ Gerald Casey asked, frowning, hoping it wasn’t someone representing anyone he might be in debt to.
    â€˜I’m your fairy godmother,’ Myles replied, smiling into Gerald’s face, ‘and I’ve come bearing tidings of good fortune for you in the future.’
    Dapper Desmond, sitting on the other barstool, turned his face away and put his hand to his face to smother a smile. The Boss always knocked him out the way he talked. Dapper loved working for him. The man was a genius. He could see Gerald Casey’s face in the mirror behind the counter, and it was an absolute hoot. He only wished he’d brought his digital camera with him. He was sure the shot would win first prize in a photo competition confined to startled looking goldfish.
    â€˜I’m sorry, I haven’t time for this,’ Gerald said as evenly as he could manage, thinking that the distinguished looking gentleman with the silver locks and beautiful accent must surely have escaped from some lunatic asylum. ‘I’ve just remembered I’m supposed to be somewhere else in about five minutes.’
    â€˜Oh, please stay,’ Myles said softly, but with such remarkable authority that Gerald found himself compelled to obey like some schoolboy being told to do something by his headmaster. ‘I assure you you’ll benefit greatly from what you’re about to hear.’ Myles clicked his fingers in the direction of Dapper Desmond. ‘Mr. Desmond, where are your manners? Please be good enough to carry out your duties as host. Myself and Mr. Casey will be in consultation in that booth over there where we can have some privacy. Kindly do the needful. The usual for me and whatever Mr. Casey’s heart desires.’
    It wasn’t long before Gerald Casey found himself snugly ensconced in the booth referred to, a double brandy sitting on a beer mat in front of him, sitting opposite this posh gentleman with the beguiling manner and impeccable dress sense. His fairy godmother. But there was a catch somewhere. There had to be. Men like this didn’t materialise out of the blue when you were on your uppers and hand you an envelope containing a thousand Euros for no reason whatsoever. That only happened in fairytales. Which made Gerald smile when it came into his head. The man had alluded to the contents of the envelope as a retainer.
    â€˜Fair enough,’ Gerald said cautiously, despite the nice warm glow in the pit of his stomach the brandy was responsible for. ‘But I think maybe you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not a hitman or anything like that.’
    Moran’s face took on a look of offence at the very idea.
    â€˜Oh, please, Mr. Casey, how could you