Free Danny Dempsey and the Unlikely Alliance by Denis Byrne Page A

dream I’d be requiring the services of such a person? I’m astonished you should bring up a reprehensible subject like that. I merely wish you to carry out something perfectly simple for me. And when it’s been satisfactorily concluded, you’ll be richly rewarded.’
    Gerald Casey liked the sound of that.
    â€˜Okay,’ he said, ‘Shoot! What’s so perfectly simple it’s going to turn me into a Lotto winner?’ The brandy on top of the pint of Guinness he’d had earlier was beginning to make him feel less in awe of the headmaster. ‘What do you want me to do, and how much do I get afterwards?’
    Myles Moran smiled. ‘That’s more like it, Mr. Casey.’ He sipped from his glass of Ballygowan in which at least half a dozen ice cubes bobbed about. ‘A man after my own heart. But first another drink before we discuss our business proposal.’ He snapped his fingers again, and Dapper appeared with another double brandy at the ready, which he placed on the table in front of Gerald after removing his empty glass. He was about to return to the counter, but Moran forestalled him. ‘Take a seat, Mr Desmond, if you’d be so kind. We’re about to open proceedings. I’d like you to bear witness to the outcome.’
    What a Boss, Dapper thought to himself for about the millionth time since joining Moran Enterprises. He’s something else. Cracks me up every time. Mr. Desmond ! Classy, or what? The only other times Dapper had been addressed as Mister was when he was up on charges and his free legal aid brief was pleading his innocence. Dapper had a record. A long-playing one. Funny thing, though, ever since Myles Moran had taken him into his employ, no charge had ever been proven against him. And that was because the most expensive brief in the country now pleaded his case whenever necessary, tying witnesses into knots and making them out to be people who shouldn’t be let out on their own without a seeing-eye dog.
    The Boss was magic. He snaps his fingers just like he did a minute ago, and people do things. Dapper had no idea how or why, all he knew was once you did what you were told, you were looked after. Good enough for Dapper Desmond.
    Myles called everyone Mister in Moran Enterprises. Except himself. Boss was what he liked to be referred to as. Even Needles got the Mister treatment. His little ferret face almost managed to form itself into a smile the first time it happened. But didn’t quite make it. Dapper was sorry he hadn’t had his digital camera on hand that day too.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Gerald said after the proposal had been fully outlined to him. ‘I couldn’t pull something like that on Mr. Dawson. He’s an old man with a dodgy ticker, and he’s been good to me. A hundred grand is tempting, but I just couldn’t bring myself to - -’
    â€˜Oh, dear,’ Myles Moran interrupted him in no more than a whisper, carrying in it a trace of disappointment. ‘I was hoping our business meeting wouldn’t transform itself into vulgar haggling. I really dislike horse trading. But I’m afraid that’s my final offer. You take that, Mr. Casey, or perhaps you’d prefer to conduct further negotiations with Mr. Desmond instead.’
    Dapper understood now why he’d been ordered to sit in on the meeting. The Boss thought of everything. Desmond casually unbuttoned his jacket and let it swing open, revealing his shoulder-holster, in which his Glock 9mm snuggled close to his chest. Dapper had checked immediately he’d entered the public house to ensure there were no CCTVs in evidence. There rarely were in watering holes like this one, but you never could tell these days. Gerald blanched, suddenly not feeling too well, despite the free brandy he’d been plied with. In fact, he felt terrible, and was having great difficulty tearing his eyes from the weapon, still staring fearfully at