Captain Fin

by Amanda M. Thrasher

“Did you file the Harrington case at the courthouse by 3:00 p.m. yesterday like I asked you to?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nigel responded.

  “Good. Then did you need to see me?” He laughed out loud. “Well, of course you did, you’re sitting right here in my office.”

  He walked back over to his door, stuck his head out, and hollered.

  “Jessie.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Two coffees, if you don’t mind, please.”

  He threw his jacket over the back of a chair and sat down next to Nigel instead of behind his desk. They made small talk until their coffee arrived and then Michael asked him the question.

  “So what’s really going on?”

  Nigel set his coffee down and nervously wrung his hands. Not knowing where to start, he struggled with an opening sentence.

  “You’re not in trouble, are ya?”

  “No sir, it’s not me.”

  “Well, just start from the beginning and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Nigel took a deep breath and did just that; he started from the day Nathan stood side by side with Hank and the others during the strike. He voice cracked as he described the fatal shooting and his brother’s death.

  “I’m so sorry about Nathan, Nigel. It was tragic and never should have happened. That pain is real, and you don’t have to be afraid to feel it.”

  Nigel nodded. It was definitely real. Every time he watched Nate score a basket, he thought about Nathan. Every time Nate brought home a great grade, he thought about Nathan, and every time Nate asked about his dad, his heart broke all over again for all of them. Finally, he stared Michael straight in the eye.

  “This is the part where it gets crazy.” He hesitated. “And where I ask you for your help, if you’re willing.”

  Michael knew better than to make a promise he couldn’t keep. He didn’t answer one way or the other but kept listening with an open mind.

  “Well, why don’t you go on and finish your story. I don’t know yet what you’re trying to ask of me, so I can’t honestly say if I can help you or not.”

  Taking a deep breath, hoping he could persuade Michael to join a cause he had no business getting involved with, Nigel finished telling him about the unusual predicament he found himself in.

  Chapter 39

  Borrowed Time

  Think.

  Let me think for a minute.

  Your boy’s in trouble.

  ~ Michael ~

  Michael stood up and began to pace the floor. The wheels were spinning in his mind, Nigel could tell. He always had a peculiar look on his face when he was in deep thought, thinking, planning, trying to work issues out in his head. Nigel sat motionlessly. Scared to death that bringing this to Michael’s doorstep was a mistake.

  “You know this is out of the realm of family law.” He walked over to the door, pulled it ajar, and asked Jessica to bring in more coffee. “You need a criminal lawyer.”

  Nigel shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out, Michael was flipping through his address book on his desk.

  “I know a couple of good criminal attorneys, good guys, who would be a great fit for this type of case. In fact, this would be right up their alley. Here are their numbers.”

  He was scribbling their contact information on a piece of paper, talking at the same time, and hoping that Nigel would accept the names and numbers.

  “This isn’t something we do here, hell, all we’re known for in this town is handling nasty divorces, you know that.” He sat down behind his desk. “Your boy in there needs a divorce?”

  His forced laugh indicated that he knew Nigel hadn’t found his joke very funny, and he was right. Nigel shook his head and stared at the paper he now held in his hand. Maybe he didn’t sound sincere enough, or perhaps the case didn’t seem important enough, but how could that possibly be after he’d just laid out the facts the way that he had? Granted, he wasn’t an attorney, but even as a paralegal Nigel knew this could be an open-and-shut case.

  “Give Doug a call first, he’s likely not as busy as Randall, but still a good attorney,” Michael insisted.

  Shaking his head, Nigel declined.

  “No time. Forget the money, which there isn’t any, time isn’t on our side.” His face was filled with anguish. “We’ve got the last man alive who can tell us word-for-word exactly what happened that night, the fight, and a witness to verify his account, and he might not live long enough to give a sworn affidavit.”

  Leaning over to the left side of his desk, Michael pulled out a small bottle of bourbon. Taking a swig right out of the bottle, he held it up to Nigel. Wanting to decline, Nigel changed his mind, reached for the bottle and took a shot of the bourbon as well. It was smooth and went down with ease. Michael took another shot before shoving it back in his drawer. His brow was wrinkled, and Nigel could tell he was struggling within himself.

  “I want to help you, I really do, but this is out of my area of expertise.”

  “Mike, look at the facts, just like you always say to me. This should be, should be, an open-and-shut case!”

  Nigel stood in front of Michael’s desk, leaned over, looked him in the eye, and made one last plea.

  “The man’s going to die before anyone hears what he has to say, but what he has to say could affect the lives of so many people, including a man who has spent the better years of his life behind bars.”

  “Shit!” Leaning back in his chair, Michael gave him the answer that he had hoped to hear. He would help him. “Damn it! You’re lucky these sons of bitches are happy in this town! Divorce court is light right now.”

  Relieved, Nigel stood up to start preparing the necessary paperwork to begin the filings. Knowing what he knew, he prayed the court system would work with him since time sure wasn’t going to.

  “When can this guy come in? What’s his name… Studer, Stodder?”

  “Mr. Stockton. It’s James Stockton, and he’s not going to be able to come in. We’ll have to go to him. He’s literally counting down the days. Hospice care; any day could be his last, and no one knows which day that will be.”

  Taking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, Nigel described his first meeting with Mr. Stockton.

  “Man, it was tough! Prepare yourself, seriously, because the first thing I noticed was the smell, and it wasn’t because the house was dirty or gross or anything like that, it was like a sickly, someone-in-here-isn’t-right kinda smell.”

  “Well, like you said, he’s dying.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. It’s that death smell, but he’s still here.”

  Nigel shuddered, and it was visible. Michael pretended he hadn’t seen his friend so squirmy, but he couldn’t deny that his description was making him feel nervous as well. Being around sick people wasn’t exactly his cup of tea.

  “He wears this breathing equipment, ’cause he can’t hardly breathe, but takes it off to talk. Puts it back on in between sentences.”

  “What you’re saying is no small talk then, right?” Michael smiled, but even he knew it wasn’t funny.

  “And he gets tired super quickly. So we have to move fast. Know what we’re going to ask him. Be direct and get it done.”

  “So there’s no way he’s going to be able to come here?”

  Nigel shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “Did you hear a word I said?”

  “I heard ya!” Michael threw his pen down on his desk, spun around in his chair to stand up, and replied, frustrated, “Ah hell, I hate creepy house visits!”

  Dialing his cell phone as he gathered paperwork, Nigel placed the call to Sharon, Mr. Stockton’s daughter. The phone went straight to voicemail. Disappointed, and with a sound of urgency in his voice, he left a detailed message.

  “Call me as soon as you get this, it’s urgent!”

  Sharon called back within the hour, agreeing to allow them to visit that afternoon to speak to her dad and try to get a sworn affidavit, if
he was up to it. Right before they hung up, Michael nudged Nigel and handed him a piece of paper. He read it and then asked Sharon the question that Michael had posed.

  “Sharon, we really appreciate the time with your dad this afternoon, especially on such short notice. Given the sensitivity of this case and your father’s declining health issues, do you mind if we also videotape the interview?”

  Dead air.

  “Hello, Sharon?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Would that be a problem? It is for a record for the court only.”

  Still, she never said a word.

  “Unless, of course, you’d like a copy. If so, then one would be provided.”

  “I have a request.”

  “Sure. If possible, I’ll try to see if we can make it happen. Of course, I haven’t heard the request yet.” He chuckled, but she didn’t laugh.

  “When you introduced yourself, you know, before, when you explained why you needed his help.”

  “Yeah,” Nigel responded hesitantly.

  “Well, I think… I think… um… it’s kind of a weird request, but I think I’d like to meet the family that he ends up helping.” There was silence on the other end of the phone, and just when Nigel was about to say something, she spoke again. “Do you think that would be possible?”

  Nigel nodded his head. Realizing she couldn’t see him on the other end of the phone, he quickly responded.

  “I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

  “All right then, see you at one.”

  Chapter 40

  Scared to Death

  Fear will no longer consume me

  Death is knocking on my door

  ~ James Stockton ~

  Michael drove to Mr. Stockton’s house while Nigel searched online for a case that had been overturned that was similar to the one that they were about to take on. Technology, it was a wonderful thing, especially when you were on the go, low on funds, and out of time!

  “That’s it.” Nigel pointed to a beige duplex on the left.

  It wasn’t in a bad neighborhood, didn’t look rundown, and if you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have a clue that a man inside the walls of the average-looking house was, in fact, fighting for every breath he took and was deteriorating by the minute. Sitting in the car for a moment, gathering their things, each one silently wondered if they were doing the right thing. Was it even their place to get involved? After all, it had been years since anyone had mentioned that night. What if no one even cared? To his relief, his boss eased his fears.

  “You know, I have a feeling that, like most stories, there’s more to this story, and it’s about to unravel. It’s probably a good thing that we’re here; the story may never have been heard in its entirety if you hadn’t have pursued this angle on behalf of your friend.”

  Nigel put his hand on the car door and started to open it. “Well there’s only one way to find out; let’s do it.”

  A pretty lady answered the door, but Nigel discreetly shook his head and averted his eyes, indicating to Michael that this was not Sharon, Mr. Stockton’s daughter.

  “Hello.” Nigel politely introduced himself and Michael. “We’re here to see Mr. Stockton and Sharon, his daughter.”

  He pointed to his friend and then to himself. “Michael Daniels and Nigel Nichols; they’re expecting us.”

  “Can you give me a second, please?”

  She half closed the door and walked back down the hallway. Muffled voices could be heard, and another lady appeared at the door.

  “Sharon! Good to see you again.” Nigel immediately stuck out his hand.

  “Come in, come in! Sorry about that, you know Nancy, the nurse? If not, that was Nancy.” Her smile was warm and her voice welcoming as she stepped out of the way to let them in. “Please, he’s expecting you.”

  Nigel hadn’t exaggerated about the smell. The house was small but clean, neat and tidy, and you could tell everything was in its place. But lurking behind the smell of antiseptic and air fresheners was a smell that anyone who had been around a decaying body could recognize. It was a distinctive scent. And despite their best efforts to disguise it, the odor had lingered and penetrated the fabrics, walls, and air of the house. Nothing worse than watching the ones you love dying in front of you, watching them decay from the inside out. Cancer was a terrible disease! Michael felt sick to his stomach but tried his best not to breathe through his nose. Nigel felt sadness for Sharon, who spent each and every day with her father that she could, but likely hadn’t given herself a second thought in a long time. Wishing he could tell her how much he admired her, but knowing that now wasn’t the time, he recognized they had to move fast. Her father could literally pass at any time. The realization of what ran through his mind prompted him to move swiftly.

  “May we speak to your father, please?”

  Sharon nodded and pointed toward a bedroom door.

  “He just wasn’t up to getting out of bed today; he did try.”

  “No worries,” Nigel responded as he pulled out the camera and walked into the room.

  Introductions were brief. Nigel set up the video camera and pulled out the document that would eventually become his sworn affidavit.

  “When you’re ready, Mr. Stockton.”

  “James,” he mumbled. “It’s James, and nice to meet you both.”

  “Yes, sir. James.”

  Nigel repositioned the microphone.

  “I’m going to state the day, date, your name, and location, and you’ll confirm. After that, tell us everything that you can remember from that night. Start from the beginning, and try to recall as many details as you can. Where you were, what day or year, if you can remember, who was there, and most importantly, what exactly happened.”

  “Do you have any questions before we get started?” Michael interjected.

  James shook his head.

  “Once you’ve told us everything you can remember, we’ll question you, if we feel that there are details missed and see if we can jog your memory. Okay?”

  He nodded again. “I’m ready.”

  Closing his eyes and allowing his mind to drift back to when he was working on the docks, the union, and that night at the pub, the Shamrock. For a second, Nigel thought that between his illness and the medication, James might actually drop back off to sleep. Thankfully after a few moments, which felt much longer, James started to retell his story. The account was ten times more sordid than Nigel had previously heard and he’d heard multiple reports, a few of them hearsay, but from several sources.

  “I wished I’d never gone into the Shamrock that night, but like the others, I did.”

  Nigel, pen in hand, took notes and continually made sure the video was recording as James spoke.

  “You already know the part about your brother, Nathan, being shot earlier that week.”

  Nigel nodded, and though Michael didn’t say a word, he reached over and patted Nigel on the back. James took two deep breaths with his oxygen mask placed firmly over his mouth before he continued.

  “We’d gone there to have a pint in honor of Nathan, but Hank was already there sitting at the bar. It didn’t seem like he wanted to be bothered, and he never talked much anyway. You could tell he just wanted to be left alone.”

  He pulled the oxygen mask down a tad and went on with his version of the story. “That’s about the time he came in, Tom, just mouthing and being his usual loud self, but no one paid him no mind. Well, until he started making a toast for Nathan.”

  Nigel interrupted.

  “Mr. Stockton, excuse me, James, for the record, who came into the Shamrock that evening?”

  “Tom O’Halloran.” He took another hit of his oxygen. “But he didn’t come alone; there was a whole group of his friends, or I should say his followers, with him.” He took a couple of breaths in between his sentences. “They wanted him, Tom, to take Hank’s spot as one of the leaders in our group down on the docks. It wasn’t an official position, but Hank had
leadership skills among the workers, and they listened to him.” James drifted off in thought for a second. “Influence, you know, like he could make others see things his way.”

  Nigel and Michael nodded.

  Coughing and spluttering interrupted the recording session. A sip of water, a five-minute break, and they were able to continue. Sharon stood nervously at the edge of the bed, worrying that the interview was taking too much out of her father.

  “Can you go on?” Michael asked. “If not, we’ll stop.”

  James was having trouble breathing. Each breath was shorter than the last and all involved were fearful it could be his last. Sharon begged him to slow down.

  “Take deep breaths, and your breathing will return to normal. Put your oxygen mask back on for a few minutes.”

  James’s monitors started beeping as his blood pressure rose. His heart was beating faster, and his hands were shaking. Stressed. Scared. A panic attack was about to set in. Nigel, worried they wouldn’t get the entire story, backed off.

  “Let’s take a few minutes.”

  James whispered. “No.”

  Anxious and frustrated, he belted out a request.

  “I need to tell you something first.” His eyes were full of panic as he repeated his request over and over to start his story at the very end.

  “Can I do that? Just in case we don’t finish. In case I croak or something.” He tried to laugh, but no one laughed with him.

  “Can I? Can I tell you the last part first? I need to tell you why, because it’s important.”

  Having no clue what he talking about and fearing being so upset might actually kill him, Nigel nodded and confirmed.

  “Sure, James, no problem. You can tell us whatever you want, okay?”

  Nodding, he pointed for his water. Nervously everyone waited as he took a couple of sips. With a shaky, weak voice, James began to speak. It was the first time in over eleven years the truth had been discussed at all, let alone with strangers, and now it felt as if it were indeed part of his last and final confession. His words stunned everyone, including Nigel, who had not heard this part of the story until now.