going to be the victor.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Declan sipped his coffee and listened to Phillip's new game plan. It amazed him that he really believed Ricky Thomas would roll over without a fight, and he said as much. 'Hang on a minute, Phil, Ricky's family have had that arcade since the nineteen twenties. It's a family business – his grandfather started it, and it's all he's ever known. I think you're being a bit premature assuming he's going to swallow without a fight.'
Phillip listened intently to his brother, let him have his say. He was always polite with Declan, he was the one person whose opinion he was even remotely interested in. But he had made up his mind and this was made evident by his next remark. 'The thing is, Dec, I ain't giving him a choice here; he either sells to me at a decent price, or I'll get it by fair means or foul. It's what I want, it's perfect.'
Declan sighed heavily. There was no more to say and they both knew it. It was futile labouring the point; Phillip had made his mind up and that, basically, was that. Declan felt a pang of sorrow for Ricky. He was a nice bloke, out of his league of course, but a nice fella all the same.
'What about this place? How's the pig farming going?'
Phillip grinned. 'Fucking lovely, we decided on Old Spot, a real English pig. Come and have a look at them, they are fucking phenomenal, Declan. Do you know pigs will eat literally anything? Bone, skull, you name it. The only thing they don't eat is the teeth of a carcass – well, they do eat them but shit them out afterwards! And the chickens are amazing. It's like watching a soap opera – one of the cockerels gives each hen a quick shag first thing every morning, randy fucker he is.'
Declan laughed. 'How's the old boy Sammy working out?'
Phillip was pulling on his wellies as he spoke. 'Come and have a looksee. The cottage is finished and I think it's the best digs the poor old fucker ever had. I had Sky put in for him, he's over the fucking moon. But there ain't a thing he don't know about farming or animals. He's like having me own personal Jack Hargreaves, I could listen to him for hours. I've got a couple of the lads working for him too. The kitchen garden is three times the size now, and the polytunnels are all bursting with produce. Honestly, the difference in the taste of the food is amazing. And even more amazing is that young Timmy is turning into a right Farmer Giles – he loves the land. Reckon it must be the Irish in us, eh?'
'Farmer Giles, he got piles then!'
They both laughed as they crossed the yard towards the new piggery. The sounds of the smallholding were wholesome and innocent, pigs snorting, hens clucking and, in the distance, the sheep were dotted about the top field; it was idyllic, it was beautiful and well looked after. Nothing was too good for Phillip's livestock. He had created an oasis for himself, they were more or less self-sufficient now, and this farm was Phillip's number one priority. He fed the whole family on his produce and he was rightly proud of that fact. He had added to the land over the years; through threats and intimidation he had taken on all the surrounding houses and fields. He was like the lord of the manor, and he took his place as the head of the community very seriously indeed.
It was yet another facet of Phillip Murphy's weird and wonderful personality.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Breda was tired. She had had a very late night with a young Jamaican fella with bushy dreads and arms like legs of lamb. She was sated, happy and late for a meeting.
Breda had changed a lot in ten years. She had taken to wearing power suits and expensive shirts, and she ran the clerical side of the games enterprises, sorting out the staff, the wages and other mundane matters that Phillip saw as beneath him. She loved every second of it. She kept a beady eye on everyone, made sure no one was making any money for themselves, and the few times she had found thieving among the staff she had meted out a swift and painful retribution. She had everything she wanted really – respect (her number one priority), money (her second priority) and a job that was interesting, exciting and gave her the chance to show off her skills. Phillip was thrilled with her, and that was the main thing.
Today though, she was having a meeting with a gun specialist who she had come across through a favourite pastime of hers: looking for men of a certain age and disposition. Her criteria were pretty basic: young, healthy, muscular and black. This particular man was called Daniel, and he was a gun runner for the Jamaican Yardies. He could get the best quality guns on the pavement for a fraction of the usual price. They were brought in quickly and safely by boat, and they were distributed with the minimum of fuss. As all the guns were preordered, there was no need to stash them, or find the buyers. It was a pretty neat little operation, and Phillip was pleased at her acumen in getting them all in on the ground floor. The Jamaicans were notoriously difficult to work with, having an inherent distrust of the white Anglo-Saxon male. Somehow Breda had inveigled herself into their world, and she fitted in perfectly where a man wouldn't have been given such a chance. She got on well with Daniel on all levels; they were two of a kind, so understood each other perfectly. The guns she procured were clean, of a superior nature, and didn't have any local bodies on them. She was selling them on for a good profit, and that was as always the bottom line with Phillip.
She was also well in with her mother at the moment because, after all these years, she had talked Phillip into letting Jamsie be her driver. Phillip had never spoken a word to Jamsie since he grassed on Declan, had never even looked directly at him. He always removed himself from Phillip's presence as soon as he heard him enter the house. Even on Christmas Day, as soon as Phil turned up with his family, Jamsie had to go upstairs out of his sight. No one commented on it, it was surreal almost. It was stranger still because Declan had long forgiven him. But it was better than the alternative, and that was Jamsie being murdered by his brother. Jamsie hadn't touched a drink or drugs since he had came home from hospital. It was as if he didn't trust himself to be out of control; he needed to be in his right mind. Now, because of that, he was the perfect driving material, and he was grateful,
These days she was a really big part of the family firm and, because of that, she had utter respect. Everyone in their orbit treated her with the reverence she felt she deserved. Like Jamsie, she had learned a valuable lesson about how best to get on in the family, and that was by listening to Phillip, taking onboard what he wanted from her, and making sure any orders were carried out to the letter. Having Declan there was an added boon. When he came home, he took up the reins with Phillip, and his presence was a much-needed buffer between them all and Phillip. Forever the voice of reason, Declan was the only person alive that Phil would even entertain being questioned by.
All in all the Murphys' lives were good, and they could only get better. Breda couldn't be more pleased to be an integral and important part of it all.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Veronica was thrilled to bits. The house had just been redecorated from head to foot, courtesy of Phillip and Declan, and it looked amazing. She had enjoyed the whole experience of having the decorators and carpet fitters in. Now the place resembled something from a magazine and she knew the neighbours were impressed, and that alone was enough for Veronica. People saw the esteem her kids held her in and how well they looked after her, and that meant the world to her.
She was also pleased that poor Jamsie was driving for the family firm; that was a huge burden lifted because she had worried over the years that Phillip would hurt him one day. She knew it was only Declan who'd stopped his older brother from taking his retribution and she was grateful for that.
