It's nothing personal John -- it's just business
Sargent sleeps with the fishes -- so the Greens now know you don't mess with the men in the mohair suits, says Cathal MacCarthy
WHEN last we met Don Gormleone and his mob, the Verde family, he had turned up the heat on the Esri crew, an uptown outfit that specialised in the numbers racket and had now decided to join with city hall and stick their noses into the rubbish business.
The Don smiled as he remembered their flailing attempts to explain that they had meant no harm, no disrespect. He loaded two organic walnuts into his fair-trade nutcracker and squeezed down hard. The shells split with a little squeak and the nuts inside were reduced to minute fragments. Oh, yeah. The Esri outfit had learned their lesson good. So would anyone else who wandered onto the Gormleone patch.
Life was good, thought the Don, as he threw back a shot of elderflower wine and watched two of his most trusted lieutenants poring over the details of the forthcoming Green Paper on the possibility of powering the Dail restaurant's sandwich maker through wave power.