Fighting Chance

by Shaun Baines

  “You’re a scumbag. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Our money comes from the same place so don’t come all high and mighty with me. Dayton pays me to deal and you’re paid to let me. We’re both feeding from the same trough.”

  “If Ed knew how much you cut your shit - “

  “He’d what? Tell me to stop? Ask me to walk a straighter line?” Mosely asked.

  Scalper hoped Mosely didn’t see the doubt in his face. Ed Dayton was the kind of businessman untroubled by ethics. However, he was always troubled by a drop in profits. When Scalper started working as a bouncer, he saw it as a gracious favour granted by an old friend, but it didn’t take long before he realised Ed saw it differently. Scalper was there to facilitate the needs of dangerous men like Mosely. His respectable role in the firm was a lie he swallowed night after night.

  Mosely looked to the stairway and Scalper saw his concern. Maybe Ed didn’t care what the drugs were cut with, but he’d care about Mosely killing his customers. And Mosely knew it.

  “I don’t want to cause you any bother,” Mosely said, “so I’ll leave early. It wasn’t a bad night, mate. At least the bitch paid up front.”

  Mosely snatched the radio from Scalper’s lapel and threw it against a wall. It shattered into pieces. “Don’t want you radioing the Daytons and telling them I’ve been a naughty boy, do we?” said Mosely. “Now get on with your job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Scalper cursed as Mosely weaved his way through the crowd and disappeared among flashes of light. One day he’d see that fucking creep in a wooden box.

  By the time Scalper made it to the stairway, Grievson was white with panic. He was average height with dyed black hair. He had a scar running down his face. He told everyone it was from a bottle fight, but Scalper knew it came from falling off his BMX when he was fifteen.

  Scalper went straight to the girl. She was in the recovery position, but that was the extent of the help she’d been given. There was vomit in her hair and that was good. The less time the drugs were in her system, the better.

  “Do you know who she is?” asked Scalper.

  Grievson shook his head. “They all look the same to me.”

  Brushing the hair away from the face, Scalper recognised Jackie immediately. He tried to compose himself.

  Her breathing was shallow and her face was a death mask; a poor imitation of the giggling young woman who had teased Scalper at the door. Typically, her so called friends were nowhere to be seen. It happened every time. At the first sign of trouble, friends were the first to leave. He hoped he’d witness more loyalty if he ever ran into trouble.

  Slamming his fist into the floor, he hissed like an injured animal. Mosely was going to pay for this. He couldn’t let the slimy twat out of the club like nothing had happened. Not this time. He needed to be taught a lesson. Ed would understand. If he didn’t, then Scalper would cross that bridge when he was thrown off it.

  “Are we dumping her out back, then?” asked Grievson.

  Scalper took another look at Jackie. She was so fragile, as if someone had stolen the vibrant girl he knew and replaced her with a china doll.

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry, mate, I didn’t hear you. This bloody music - “

  “Yes,” shouted Scalper. “Do what we always do. Throw her in the alley and call for an ambulance.”

  Grievson nodded quickly, picking Jackie up under her armpits and dragging her downstairs. Scalper watched one of her silly high heeled shoes coming away from her foot. He picked it up and threw it down the stairs.

  Leaving the stairway, Scalper barrelled through the club, knocking punters left and right, hoping to spot Mosely lingering in the shadows, but he was gone. He’d fled the scene of the crime, but he’d be back and Scalper would be waiting. He returned to the entrance of the club, barging the double doors open in anger. The cold air rushed to greet him and he saw the danger immediately. Five guys. A big man with acne restrained Fairbanks against a wall, his forearm pressed on his throat. Four others stood in a line. Three of them had bats. One of them swung a bicycle chain.

  It was organised. It was a take down.

  He reached for his radio, but Mosely had smashed it in a fit of pettiness; an action that was likely to get Scalper killed. There’d be no back-up. No friends. He would have to do this on his own and the prospect sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

  He’d faced down bigger guys, but never five at once. He couldn’t win, but he couldn’t abandon Fairbanks and run away. The best he could hope for was to take a few of them out. If Fairbanks could get free, they could fight their way to safety, but he wasn’t hopeful.

  Hesitation would get him killed for sure and Scalper waded in, targeting the guy with the bicycle chain. He feigned a left jab, swinging a right fist into the guy’s stomach. It connected hard and his opponent crumpled.

  Something struck the back of his head. Adrenaline coursed through his system, blocking pain receptors, but his vision blurred and he lost his balance. He couldn’t go down. He’d never get back up again.

  He straightened and swung a blind left at the shapes around him. He hit nothing but air. There was a kick to his right knee and he heard his tendon pop. Scalper staggered, but kept his feet. The figures surrounded him, forcing him into the centre of their circle with kicks and slaps. There was no way out.

  He made to grab the nearest guy, but he stepped out of reach with a laugh. Someone punched him from behind, driving their fist into his kidneys. He arched his back in pain, grunting like a whipped horse, exposing his stomach to the bicycle chain slashing through his flesh.

  His strength washed out of him and he dropped to the pavement where he lay waiting for the finishing blows. Fairbanks’ face swam into view and Scalper thanked a God he didn’t believe in. The boy had fought free of that acne faced goon. He was a good lad. Stronger than he looked. Scalper blinked away blood from his eyes, glad it hid his tears of relief.

  Fairbanks placed a gentle hand on Scalper’s chest. “I’m sorry, mate.”

  Scalper shivered with shock, but managed a smile. “Hell of a first night. You came through for me in the end, though,” he said.

  Fairbanks laughed. “You were really kind to me, Scalper. I won’t forget that.”

  Scalper tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. He’d been around violence long enough to know he was suffering from internal injuries. Had Fairbanks called for an ambulance yet? He hoped so. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. There should be one coming for Jackie by now. Maybe he could hitch a lift?

  “Have you called for an ambulance, mate?” he asked Fairbanks, but when he looked at the boy, he knew no-one had called, least of all Fairbanks.

  There was a cold detachment to his face that reminded Scalper of Ed Dayton whenever someone was about to die.

  Fairbanks pulled a Stanley knife from his pocket. Bouncers aren’t supposed to carry weapons, Scalper thought.

  “It’s just business,” Fairbanks said. “I hadn’t expected you to be so nice.”

  The blade was placed in Scalper’s mouth and it cut swiftly, opening up his right cheek. Blood spurted from the wound. He expected it to hurt, but all he could feel was the warm sensation of liquid running down his neck. Gulping down air, together with mouthfuls of blood, Scalper was drowning, unable to catch a breath.

  The last thing he felt was Fairbanks stroking his shaven head. It was a display of tenderness that wasn’t reflected in his eyes.

  Chapter Four

  “I’ve got good news,” said Detective Constable John Spencer as he pushed passed Daniel.

  Spencer was tall and thin with oily hair tied in a ponytail. He wore a cheap suit that hadn’t seen a dry cleaner since he’d pulled it off the rack and he was still wearing too much aftershave. No-one spoke to the detective without their eyes watering.

  Daniel closed the door slowly.

  One thing had changed about Spencer, though. He had grown a moustache. It was black and wiry,
hiding a scar Daniel gave him when he had failed to pay his debts.

  Spencer looked at the rucksack and stroked his chin. “Going somewhere?”

  Staying by the door, Daniel watched the detective prowl around his empty home. Spencer tapped a cigarette from a crumpled packet and lit it with a disposable lighter. “You mind if I smoke?”

  Daniel folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Spencer snorted blue smoke from his nostrils and ignored him. He wandered into the kitchen and returned looking unimpressed before inspecting Daniel’s only bedroom. “Shit, this place is small.”

  He came back to the room, flicking ash onto the carpet. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Daniel. You hid yourself well, which is no mean feat given your size. Nine months on the run is more than most people could manage.”

  “You’re not here to arrest me for what I did to the Guptals, are you?”

  Pushing the cushions from a worn sofa onto the floor, Spencer flopped into it with an exaggerated sigh. His ponytail wrapped itself around his shoulders like a greasy snake.

  “What makes you say that?”

  As Daniel eased away from the front door, he noticed a flicker of concern in Spencer’s eyes. “Because you work for Northumbria Police and live in the pocket of the Daytons. Neither of those things have anything to do with the Guptals.”

  Spencer smiled and twirled the end of his ponytail with his fingertips. “Okay, then. It’s time to lay my cards on the table. What do you want to know first? Why I’m here or why I’m here in your house?”

  Daniel stiffened. He already knew the answer, but he wasn’t about to play so easily into the detective’s hands. He kept quiet. Spencer was sly and could trick him into revealing too much.

  “I’m here because I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life. The biggest of which was consorting with your father. Actually, the biggest mistake was getting in too deep with your father’s bookies and allowing your father to cover the bill. From there, I’ve been forced to make a lot of compromises.”

  Daniel glanced at his rucksack. Could he grab it and run? The van keys were in his pocket. He could be on the road before Spencer even had a chance to fart, but he couldn’t leave him here. Not alive at least.

  “I know what you’re thinking and all I’ll say is don’t,” Spencer said. “Firstly, the guys at the station know I’m here. Secondly, I’ve called your father with your exact whereabouts. He’ll have men on the A69 heading your way already.”

  Daniel’s mouth turned dry with fear. His suspicions were correct. This was about his father. It was always about his fucking father. He couldn’t stand to see Daniel free from his control. “I’d rather be in handcuffs than back in Newcastle.”

  “Stop being so melodramatic. It’s not like he’s going to kill you. I don’t think.”

  Daniel rounded on Spencer and he leapt from the sofa, his palms open in a gesture of peace. “Do you remember when I questioned you over the assault of a bar tender at the White Ensign pub in Gateshead?”

  Daniel shook his head.

  “I keep forgetting you’re not very smart,” Spencer said, taking a step back. “He refused to serve you and you beat him with a pool cue. It took fifty-two stitches to put his face back on and he still looked like the Elephant man.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “If you could do that when you were thirteen, what could you do to me now? All I’m saying is I need you to calm down. Let me explain why I’m here and you can make your own decision.”

  Daniel walked silently around the room, circling the detective. Spencer followed him with his eyes, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He stopped pacing and cracked his knuckles. “I’m seconds from digging a hole out back with your name on it.”

  “You have to know this was never going to last,” Spencer said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Your Dad was never going to give up looking for you.”

  “I’d rather be dead than face that man again.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Daniel. Those guys on the A69 might not be as reasonable as me.”

  Daniel stepped closer. “Tell me why you’re here?”

  “I told you I had good news, didn’t I? If you calm down, I’ll tell you. Just back off, okay?” Spencer placed another cigarette in his mouth. As he went to light it, he caught Daniel’s eye and slid it back into his packet.

  “Your father is worried sick. He wants you back. There are guys like me - “

  “Bent coppers,” Daniel said.

  Spencer breathed deeply, steadying his nerves. “There are guys like me in every station in the UK waiting for a word, anything, to track you down. I got transferred to Dumfriesshire Area Command, the arsehole of the world no-one ever bothered to wipe. Then I hear about a disturbance; a giant of a man assaulting two victims in their home. There aren’t many giants around, Daniel. I showed the Guptals your photo and it was a positive ID.”

  “I wasn’t assaulting him. He was a wife beater.”

  “Wife beater or not. You almost killed him. I persuaded them to drop the charges. You’re in the clear. That’s the good news.”

  Spencer attempted a smile, but it looked crooked on his worried face. “Between you and me,” he added, “I think there was something messed up going on in that house, but that’s the countryside for you. They marry their cousins out here, so what do you expect?”

  Whipping his rucksack back onto his shoulder, Daniel moved to the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked Spencer.

  “Somewhere else.”

  “What about your father?”

  The straps of the rucksack cut into Daniel’s shoulder and he paused to get more comfortable. “You said it yourself. I’m a free man. Dad has spent nine months looking for me. If you keep your trap shut – which you will if you know what’s good for you - it’ll be another nine months before he finds me. You’re not expecting me to wait for them to come, are you?”

  Daniel reached for the door handle.

  “Someone is making a move on your Dad’s patch.”

  Daniel stopped and Spencer continued. “I’m stuck in Scotland and I don’t know all the details, but it looks bad for him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Looking around Daniel’s empty cottage, Spencer shrugged. “Look, I’m sure Scotland is great. There’s enough whisky and enough men in skirts to make anyone happy, but I have a family in Newcastle and I haven’t seen them since you disappeared. Whoever finds you gets guaranteed passage back home. I get to start again. No more working for the Daytons. You of all people should appreciate that.”

  “So it’s my freedom in exchange for yours? You’re not the only one trying who wants a new beginning.” Daniel readjusted the rucksack. It was weighing him down. Inside were clothes and a poster of the Tyne Bridge he had never mounted. It was still in the cardboard tube he had purchased it in. The bag was almost as empty as his cottage so why did it feel so heavy?

  It was getting late and the light was dying outside. A purple ray of sun beamed through the window, settling on Spencer’s troubled face. “I know you won’t come with me. Christ, I couldn’t even fit you in my car, never mind persuade you to sit nicely.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded like he was retching. “When I spoke to your Dad, he told me things were going from bad to shit and his family was being attacked.”

  “Good,” he said. “My family deserve it.”

  “Not all of them, Daniel.”

  The rucksack slipped from his shoulder. There was so little in it, there was barely a sound when it hit the floor, though it was enough to make Spencer jump. He swallowed before resuming. “Whoever is attacking the Daytons doesn’t care who gets hurt. Your daughter was targeted. I’m sorry, Daniel, but Eisha’s in a coma.”

  Chapter Five

  The party was held in the function room of The Amen Corner, an up market bistro owned by the Daytons. The building dated back to 1893 and was originally the offices of
a shipping magnate called Sir Malcolm Arnott. It reflected Sir Arnott’s lavish taste with stained glass windows, marble pillars and a fluted archway entrance. On purchasing the property, the Daytons had installed a revolving dancefloor and sound system.

  Ed Dayton sipped from a glass of ice cold Feuilatte champagne, hoping to wash away the bad taste in his mouth. Smiling faces filed into the room. Some headed straight to the bar while others found seats among the shadows to continue their secretive whispering. Ed had arrived before his guests so they knew he wasn’t afraid of them.

  Silver balloons filled with helium were captured in nets hanging from the ceiling. They would be released when the guest of honour arrived. The Glitterball DJ prepared his set while waiters carried hot food from the kitchen, arranging it on a central table made from maple wood. It was going to be the party of the year. Ed insisted on it.

  He needed this, he thought. It had been the worst time of his dubious career so far and Ed had had his fair share of dicey moments. His empire was being dismantled before his eyes under a shroud of smoke and mirrors. Ed understood gunfights and he knew how to use a baseball bat. What he didn’t understand was Fairbanks.

  He was in his early fifties, standing six foot tall with an athletic build he worked hard to maintain. His grey eyes and long lashes softened a face lined with harsh experiences. He was dressed smartly in a dark blazer and light coloured chinos, but kept the knot in his silk tie loose. It reminded him too much of a noose.

  “Looks like it’s gonna be a helluva night, Ed.”

  John ‘Smally’ Washington sidled up to him, a pint of bitter in his hand. John was in his early twenties with short black hair brushed forward and made crisp with gel. His nickname always confused Ed. Although Smally barely made five foot tall, he was also close to thirty stone in weight and anything but small.

  He was a made man in the Network, a Glasgow based gang who made most of their money from drugs and women. Ed forced a smile and slapped Smally on his shoulder. The room was cool, but his shirt was damp with sweat. “I like to treat my friends, Smally. You know that.”