by Shaun Baines
“It’s like the SAS,” Daniel said. “The smaller the team, the faster they can strike and the quicker they can get away.”
And it made taking over the Dayton empire almost impossible, he thought. Of all the things Daniel had surmised about Fairbanks, he knew he wasn’t a gangbanger making a power move. It seemed too clumsy for someone that eloquent.
“What did you mean when you said ‘they didn’t believe in him?’“
“In his plans. His schemes. He doesn’t like to be questioned. Anyone who did, disappeared. We never saw them again.”
“His men were scared of him?” Ed asked.
Dougherty’s eyes widened in response. “They were my men,” he said before pausing to correct himself. “I run that crew. They are my men.”
Daniel swallowed his disbelief. This guy was a thug, a chess piece to be moved around the board by a smarter man. If Dougherty was in charge, it was only because Fairbanks let him think that way.
“So what happened?” he asked, nodding at the wound in Dougherty’s leg. “You stopped believing in him?”
“No, I always believed in him. I just hated him. He was a conniving bastard from the start. Whispering behind my back. Turning my boys against me. He bought them with easy jobs and easy money. All he asked for in return was complete obedience. I guess I didn’t give enough.”
“Why aren’t you dead?” Scott asked, stepping forward so Daniel had to lean to one side to get out of his way. “I would have killed you. Stamped my authority all over your face. He’s taken over your crew and he lets you live? It doesn’t make sense.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Daniel agreed with his brother. Leaving Dougherty alive was a liability. Had Fairbanks assumed he would bleed out before they got here? Was he relying on Dougherty’s misplaced loyalty to keep quiet? Whatever the answer was, it was the mistake they were waiting for, but instead of feeling hopeful, Daniel was uneasy.
His father pushed passed him. “What does Fairbanks want with my business?”
Dougherty shrugged.
“What’s he got planned next?”
“I don’t know. He never told us anything.”
“You don’t know where he is?” Scott asked.
He shook his head. “That’s how he works. We each get a part of the plan and we follow it blindly. It’s why he demands complete faith. Do you think I go around cutting off women’s fingers for fun?”
Ed turned to Daniel. “Is he telling the truth?”
He watched Mosely feeding Dougherty another bottle of water and nodded.
“It explains why Fairbanks shot him in the knee and not the heart,” Scott said. “It doesn’t matter if he’s alive or dead. He doesn’t know anything.”
Daniel knocked the bottle from Mosely’s hand. It landed in a pool of Dougherty’s blood where the remaining water sluiced it between the cracks in the floorboards. “Even if you were one hundred percent sure he couldn’t give you up,” he said, “you’d double tap him just to be sure. Shit, Scott would do it for fun so why take the risk?”
Dougherty straightened in his chair. “I might not know his plan, but I know him. Know your enemy, Fairbanks always said. It’s why we studied you for so long and I know plenty about him. He’s an orphan, like the rest of us. He likes fishing and hunting.”
“Hunting? Tony was shot with a rifle,” Scott said to his father.
“And he wears a ridiculous stud earring he refuses to take out. It looks like a diamond, but it’s not.”
“What is it then?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t need to know about his fucking fashion sense,” Scott said. Daniel ignored him and focused on Dougherty.
“When he was younger, he killed a dog. It was an accident, but he never really got over it. He prefers dogs to humans. It’s a loyalty thing.”
“Get on with it,” Scott said.
“Pet cremation services can compress your dog’s ashes into glass and set it in jewellery.”
“He’s got a dead dog in his ear?” Bronson asked, laughing.
Scott shot him an icy glance and he fell quiet. “That’s doesn’t tell us a God damn thing.”
“It tells us he has a sentimental streak,” Daniel said. “Useful thing to know when you’re dealing with a psychopath.”
“Has he got money?” Ed asked.
“We all have. His plans go like clockwork. He conjures money out of thin air. I can tell you where it is.” There was a collective intake of breath. Dougherty brightened at the flush of excitement they all saw in Ed’s face. “He’s probably shipping it to a new location as we speak. Get me out of here. Fix up my leg. I’ll tell you everything.”
Ed rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”
Immediately, Scott was on his phone, organising a gang of hard men to go in as Dougherty gave No Neck the address.
Ed paced the floor. “Bronson, go with Scott and pick up the shooters. Make sure you’ve got blades and bats, too. Go in two cars. Then if one of you gets pulled over, the other car will still get through. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“What about me?” asked No Neck.
“Stay with Dougherty. He’s started talking and I don’t want him to stop now. Find out everything he knows.”
“I’ll stay with him,” said Mosely. “You need all the men you can get. I’ve got the morphine. I’ll take him to Five Oaks. He can’t go much longer without medical attention.”
Scott placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Hurry up, Dad. The longer we wait, the more chance Fairbanks has of getting away.”
Mosley circled around Dougherty. “I want to help, boss. Please trust me.”
“Get him sorted, Mosely, but if anything happens, it’s your head on the plate, understand? And don’t forget the couple upstairs before you torch the place.”
Ed turned to Daniel. His father’s face glowed, panting in anticipation. “Scott will go in with his guys and bring Fairbanks out. You can talk to him afterward.”
“You’re not going to kill him?”
His father ran his fingers through his hair. “Not right away, no. I want to talk to him first and I want the money he stole.”
“You’re after his money. This had nothing to do with your granddaughter, did it? As soon as Dougherty mentioned there was cash, you wanted it.”
Ed might have been talking to Daniel, but his eyes watched Scott on the phone, waiting for good news. “You can’t expect me to ignore the fact Fairbanks could be worth millions. There’s a bigger picture here.”
“I want that fucker to pay for what he did to Eisha.”
Scott came off his phone and nodded at his father, who grinned in return. It was a large smile that split his handsome face in two. He patted Daniel’s cheek. “He will, he will. As soon as I get his money, he’s all yours.”
Daniel watched his father walk away, too stunned to stop him.
“Sorry, mate,” Bronson said, as he slipped by him.
Daniel threw his hands in the air. “You talk about family like it’s oxygen to you, but it’s really money that keeps you breathing.”
No-one answered. Mosely wheeled a bleeding Dougherty to the door, his eyes trained on the floor. No Neck followed him, paying as little attention to Daniel as he had when he arrived.
“What did you expect, brother?” Scott said, his fingers tapping over his phone. “This is our chance to get back on top. Do you think Dad would sacrifice that for family? He never has before.”
Daniel grabbed a can of lacquer and hurled it against the wall. It bounced and rolled impotently under Tony’s desk. He hung his head, feeling exhausted. “He’s like Fairbanks. When his men become redundant, he casts them aside, except with Dad, it’s his own sons he uses.”
Scott walked to the door. “Mosely will be back in a minute with the petrol. You’re welcome to stay.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? How Dad treated us as kids? Training us to be animals?”
Standing at the top of the stairwell, Scott
shielded his eyes against the morning sun. “Dad is a hardened criminal. So am I. So are you. You can’t have all that in a family and expect love too.”
He left without turning back. Daniel heard his footsteps on the metal stairs as he made his way onto the street. His brother was lying, of course. Like an iceberg, his words were part of a much bigger, complex whole. Scott expected his family to love him. It was why he constantly sought approval from their father and when it wasn’t forthcoming, some twisted part of him sought it out in Monica.
Mosely appeared carrying a green plastic petrol can and sloshed liquid around the room. Together with Nail Fantastic’s flammable stock, it would be ablaze in seconds, sending scorching heat into the roof above and molten flame dripping through the floorboards below. There would be nowhere to run. It would consume everything in its path, reducing it to ash and hazy memory.
Daniel hoped to be as deadly.
Chapter Eighteen
Scott's heart pattered as he pulled the ski mask over his face. It was a signal for his men to do the same. The wool scratched his skin and he yanked a loose thread away from his mouth. Underneath the mask, he was smiling, trying to control his breathing. These were the moments he treasured most. Most people took feeling alive for granted. For Scott, it was a state he worked hard to attain.
Pulling on his latex gloves, he looked over his Smith and Wesson one last time. It had been cleaned and oiled earlier. There were no fingerprints, no serial numbers and no chance it would jam. If Fairbanks was still there, he wouldn’t come easily. Scott wanted to be certain that when he raised his weapon, someone’s head was going to be blown off.
Their vehicles rolled into the car park of the Wylam warehouse. Scott and two doormen from the Glitterball got out of a rusting white Transit van. The doormen, who were called Jake and Marblehead were there in support of Scalper and by support, they meant revenge. Bronson and a man called Harvey climbed out of a Ford Mondeo, popped the boot and handed out a cache of weaponry.
Scott took Bobcat aside, the driver of the Transit van and reiterated his earlier instructions.
Night had arrived. The street lamps in the car park were broken and there didn’t appear to be any signs of life in the warehouse. They could barely see and all they heard was the invisible water of the Tyne rumbling in the darkness. Scott edged to the warehouse, followed by his silent crew.
The building was a single storey with a pitched roof and walls of corrugated iron. There was one entrance and one exit. Scott had used similar warehouses in the past, but had always ensured they had multiple exits. One exit risked getting trapped under a hail of bullets. He breathed slowly, stymying his excitement. Like shooting fish in a barrel, he thought.
Scott and the doormen stood on one side of the entrance. Bronson and Harvey on the other. They raised their weapons. He scanned the surrounding area for witnesses or signs of an ambush. Seeing nothing, he readied himself to give the order when he felt the vibration of his iPhone in his pocket.
“Not again,” he whispered, fishing it out. His anxious father had been texting all day. In between answering his messages and devising an assault strategy, Scott just wanted to get on with the shooting.
He hid the glow of the phone’s screen under his coat and checked the message. It was from Monica.
“Pls call asap. Love, M. xxx.”
There’d been no time to call her as he had done every day since their time together had ended. She rarely picked up. It was rarer still for her to call him. He read the message several times, wondering at the urgency and her motive for sending it. Bronson coughed gently and he switched off the phone, pressing too hard on the button so that it glowed back into life moments later.
“Fucking hell,” he said, launching it into the darkness where it landed with a distant thump.
Scott placed the mask of his respirator over his face and breathed deeply. The air tasted stale and the visor fogged when he exhaled. One exit was a problem for Fairbanks, but one entrance was a problem for him. For all he knew, the Mexican army could be waiting on the other side of the door. Unlike Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Scott was prepared and he trusted in his abilities to kill.
He tugged the handle on the warehouse door. It was unlocked.
Bronson handed him a CR gas canister and Scott waited until everyone attached their respirators. He pulled the pin. Smoke rose instantly from the diffuser. Opening the door, he skidded the can along the floor and followed instantly, keeping low, his gun trained ahead of him. There was no defensive gun fire. No Mexican army. His men came fanned out, wafting the toxic gas around the warehouse.
Boxes were stacked neatly on floor to ceiling shelving units. The flooring was poured concrete and despite the layer of noxious gas crawling over its surface, Scott saw it had been swept clean. He heard nothing other than the rasp of his breathing through the mask.
No guards? An unlocked door? Scott’s heart sank. They were too late. Fairbanks was gone.
Bronson caught his attention and pointed at an office in the rear of the warehouse. It was lit by a dull glow. Raising their guns, they inched toward it, their feet kicking up swirls of CR gas. Scott motioned for them to stop when they got within twenty feet. The office was a simple box shape, built from stud walling. The door was shut. The single window was smeared with grime, making it impossible to make out any details, other than confirming the light came from a desk lamp.
Voices and gunfire exploded behind them. Scott and his men ducked and ran for the office, diving inside, slamming the door shut. They swept their weapons around the space. It was empty. The gunfire stopped and they looked at each other in shock.
“What the fuck happened?” Bronson asked Scott.
Ignoring him, he looked around the office. It was unremarkable, just a room with a metal desk covered in chipped green paint. The lamp that lured them in had a canvas shade imprinted with leopard spots. The walls were bare, except for a handful of invoices pinned by the door.
Bronson pointed at a calendar with the picture of a topless woman. “Take a look, Scott.”
“I think I can hear them coming,” someone said.
“I’m not in the mood for your stupid jokes,” Scott said to Bronson, wiping his hands down his trousers.
“We’re sitting ducks in here,” Jake the doorman said.
Bronson yanked the calendar down from the wall and threw it at Scott. “That doesn’t look like a joke to me.”
The blonde reclined on a deck chair wearing tight, bikini bottoms. Her large breasts were oiled and glistening in the sun. Where her face was supposed to be, someone had glued a picture of a skull, its yellow teeth bared in a grin. Today’s date was circled in red with the inscription, ‘The Day Scott Dies.’
Scott swallowed. “I have to get out.”
Cleaning the window with the cuff of his shirt, he peered outside. There was no sign of Fairbanks, but he could see the exit. It was a five second sprint. Sweat stung his upper lip, but didn’t dare take off his mask to wipe it away.
He reached for the radio on his belt. There were more shots and more shouting. Scott ducked involuntarily, expecting the flimsy walls of the office to explode under gunfire.
He needed to speak to the man on the other side of that exit. “Bobcat, can you hear me? We need you to move the van. Bobcat, it’s Scott. Can you hear me?”
“What are you talking about?” Bronson asked.
“I told Bobcat to block the van against the exit door to stop Fairbanks from escaping.” Scott turned back to his radio. “Bobcat, are you there?”
Everyone was quiet, waiting for an answer. After seconds of static, Scott clipped the radio onto his belt and stared at the floor. “Bobcat’s dead.”
“Jesus Christ. What’s going on?”
“They must have followed us in,” Bronson said. “We thought we were trapping them inside, but they were trapping us.”
“Like fish in a barrel,” whispered Scott.
“What’re we going to do, boss?”
asked Jake.
The pressure of their expectations weighed heavily upon him. Scott shook his hands free of the trembling that had gripped them. He tried to tell himself it was just adrenaline, like his father had told him countless times before. He wasn’t convinced. Fairbanks had outmanoeuvred him so easily. He was out of his depth and Daddy wasn’t here to bail him out.
“Look, we’re going to make a run for that exit, but we have to be fast and hit the door at the same time. With any luck, we’ll create enough room to squeeze through.”
“That’s madness, Scott and you know it.” Bronson hoisted the gun in his hand. “We’ll be cut into butcher’s meat the minute we step outside.”
“Have you got any better ideas?”
“What about if we just surrender?” Jake discarded his gun and held up his hands. “They might take mercy on us.”
Bronson spat on the floor and snatched up the spare gun. “I’d rather be shot to shit than give them the satisfaction.” He smiled at Scott, his cheek twitching. “Ladies before gentlemen, though.”
At that moment, Scott didn’t know who he hated more; Fairbanks or Bronson, but now wasn’t the time. He crouched down, his long legs bunched into coils. “It’s not far and I think we can make it. If we can’t shift the van, then run. Start firing and run.”
They all looked at each other, scared and vulnerable. Jake was white with panic.
“Okay,” said Scott. “On the count of three.”
He counted down quickly before doubt paralysed them all. They surged through the office door, their legs and lungs pumping. CR gas rose in plumes, wrapping around their feet like poisonous seaweed. The door loomed ahead.
Scott prepared for the impact of the door when it opened before him. He threw himself to the ground. Bronson fell over him, followed by the other men. Regaining their senses, they whipped their guns toward the exit. A light shone into the warehouse and a figure emerged to greet them.
There was a gunshot. They saw a rifle in the man’s hands. They opened fire with a deafening roar, all five guns emptied into the silhouette. It danced under a barrage of bullets. Cordite mixed with the smoke of the CR gas and created a blanket of fog that settled over them. Their guns clicked dry. They couldn’t move. They hid in the mist and waited for return fire, but nothing came. A hush descended over the warehouse.
