Fighting Chance

by Shaun Baines

  “I need to talk to Hilltop,” he said.

  “He’s gone. He said he was leaving for the day. He didn’t say where.”

  “I don’t believe this. I really don’t. Is he sick again?”

  The Ward Sister tucked her clipboard under her arm. “There’s something going on here that I don’t fully understand, but I will in time. Dr Hilltop monitored Eisha very closely when she first came in. At the expense of other patients, I might add. According to the records, that attention waned over time. When I saw him earlier, he wasn’t ill. He looked as healthy as a horse. I even saw him playing with some of the children.”

  “What are you saying?” Daniel asked. He walked to the door, but the Ward Sister stopped him with a forceful hand on his chest. This time she didn’t remove it.

  “I’m saying the way he acted around Eisha has been very odd and I’m starting to suspect you and your family have something to do with that. I researched you on the internet. The Dayton name is as commonplace as porn and I don’t approve of either.”

  He wondered how long it would take her to get suspicious. It was testament to how much she cared about her hospital that she’d started an investigation. He admired that, but she had to know his reputation was more than just words on a screen.

  Her eyes bore into his. He took her hand and held it. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t think twice about crushing every bone in your fingers.”

  She didn’t pull away. “If I find you or your family have endangered my patients in anyway, I’ll drive over you in my car. And Mr Dayton? I’ll reverse several times.”

  Movement caught his eye through the window. Lily was on the ward, talking to a nurse. She looked tired, which wasn’t a shock given all she’d been though recently. Like the Sister, the Daytons were impacting on Lily’s life and as usual, that influence was negative.

  He turned to the Ward Sister. “I need you to get Hilltop’s address.”

  “It’s impossible. His computer is password protected and human resources won’t give that information out.”

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Okay. I don’t have time to argue. I have to go. It’s up to you now. Make sure you look after her. My friend visits regularly. I’m also going to get a couple of guys to keep an eye out. Keep her safe.”

  The Ward Sister frowned. “Who are you protecting her from?”

  Lily was still talking to the nurse, but he saw her edging away. “Is there another way out of here?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s complicated. Another way out?”

  Daniel followed the Sister’s directions, slipping through a side exit and bounding down a set of stairs. He couldn’t face Lily right now. He didn’t know how to begin the conversation they needed to have. There was too much going on. He couldn’t concentrate. His head was cluttered and whenever he thought of Lily, he unravelled.

  He focused on the job at hand. He was satisfied Eisha was safe for the time being. The Ward Sister would do her job twice as efficiently as Hilltop, but their conversation raised questions the doctor would have to face soon. Why was he hiding information? Why did he keep disappearing? What was his role in the game?

  But Hilltop was second on his list. Daniel wanted to find Fairbanks first and to do that, he had to go back to the beginning.

  Chapter Twenty

  Daniel was a boy the last time he visited Mosely’s home. Staring at his crumpled homework, his father had taken pity on him and suggested he witness his first cocaine deal instead. It was worth millions to the Daytons. The powder was weighed out using scales from Mosely’s kitchen while Daniel watched on, eating a packet of cheese and onion crisps.

  His home was in a suburb of Sunderland called Saltgrove Village. Its population consisted mainly of wealthy retirees and the white collar, middle class. They hid their detached houses behind privet hedges, marking a clear delineation between their home and the street. Entry was by invitation only.

  Older now, he sat behind the wheel of his van and surveyed Mosely’s property. It was set back from the road by a short, leafy driveway. There was a small overgrown garden, thick with brambles. Sun loungers lay on their side, blown over in the wind and never righted. He couldn’t see the house, but judging by the garden, the place was deserted and had been for a while.

  He froze as a figure paused by his window and gave him a small wave. It was a stubby legged postman with thick glasses, clutching a wad of envelopes to his chest. He mimed winding down a window and Daniel reluctantly complied.

  “Morning, sir. Can I help you?” the postman asked, showing a gap in his front teeth as he smiled.

  Daniel breathed deeply. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “If you’re lost, I can give you directions?”

  “I’m not lost.”

  The postman cast an appraising look over the van. “We don’t get many strangers around here. Are you working in the area?”

  “Visiting a friend.”

  “Okey-doke, sir. Well, I’ll be in the street for a while. I’ll keep an eye on you in case you need help.”

  The threat was clear and he sauntered along Mosely’s driveway, whistling. Returning moments later, he waved and proceeded to a house two doors down, glancing over his shoulder after every second step. Daniel wound up his window, grinding his teeth. He’d wanted to be sure he wasn’t walking into a trap like his brother, but any chance of undercover surveillance was gone. The longer he stayed, the more likely it was that the postman would return.

  Waiting until the coast was clear, he bolted up the driveway. He found cover behind the trunk of a tree, viewing the house at last. The door was a glossy black with brass fittings and sandstone columns either side. The windows were large and rectangular, but the blinds were closed. From the outside, it looked like any other suburban home. There was no way of knowing what lurked inside.

  He remembered patio doors around the back; the easiest way to gain entry into any home. Keeping low, he jogged the outskirts of the garden, skidding on the algae sludge of Mosely’s decking. A quick glance through the glass told him the kitchen was empty. He reached up and tried the handle, hoping like hell the door was unlocked.

  “Bollocks,” he whispered.

  It was an old Amico lock with a protruding keyhole. Daniel took a small hammer and chisel from his jacket and waited for the sound of busy traffic. Five minutes passed before a bin lorry rumbled by and he hit the chisel through the lock. The barrel fell onto the kitchen tiles with a clatter. Quickly, he slid the door open and stepped inside.

  He replaced his tools in a pocket and smiled.

  The house was silent and Daniel was grateful he hadn’t tripped the alarm. Either it wasn’t set when Mosely left or he was still here.

  The kitchen was clean and stylish with teak coloured cabinets and a six ring cooker. He heard the hum of the fridge motor, proving the electricity was connected. He moved through the hallway. Framed, black and white etchings of naked women lay against the wall and a roll of bubble wrap lay close by. Mosely’s expansive sitting room had thick, purple carpet, but there was little else. No television, no coffee table, no seating.

  A sound came from upstairs. Daniel froze, waiting. When nothing more came, he inched up the staircase, breathing softly and quietly.

  The door to the main bedroom was open. Again, there was no furniture, only a thick carpet and a pile of packed suitcases and bags halfway filled. Mosely was preparing to flee. No matter what he’d said to Scalper, it confirmed his guilt. He’d betrayed the Daytons and Daniel smiled. He was on the right track.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to detect where he heard the sound come from. Radiators ticked as they cooled. Somewhere a window rattled. Had Daniel imagined someone moving around? He stepped further into the room. There was nothing there, except the suitcases and an antique wardrobe made from oak, deep enough to hide a man. The doors were shut, but not completely. The sliver of a gap allowed air in and out.

  He yanked open the wardrobe w
ith one hand, his other raised in a fist. Left over metal hangers rattled in agitation. It was empty. He was on his own after all. “Where the fuck are you?” he said to himself.

  A floorboard creaked behind him. “I’m here.” And a man rushed toward him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The man was as wide as Daniel and almost as tall, wearing a camouflage jacket and army boots. His tangled beard hid the lower part of his face while wild, black hair obscured the rest. Daniel barely had time to register small black eyes glinting under the mass of hair before being forced into a fight.

  His assailant hefted a meaty fist and swung it down to Daniel’s face. He stepped from the blow, but couldn’t avoid a second that struck his solar plexus. He gasped, the air pummelled out of him. He moved to the side, trying to catch his breath as another fist headed for the side of his head.

  Stepping into the attack, Daniel shoved his left shoulder under the man’s chin, forcing him off balance. He grabbed at his long hair and heaved his head backwards while reaching between the man’s legs. He snatched his testicles, twisting viciously, left then right. Crying out, the man launched both hands into Daniel’s chest and wrenched himself free.

  Daniel advanced, not wanting to give his opponent any advantage, but didn’t see the rabbit punch coming as it connected with his ribs. Even amidst the shuffling and the grunting of the fight, he heard the crack of bone. Daniel staggered, his elbow clamped to his injured side. His opponent followed, the shine of polished teeth beaming through his beard as he smiled.

  Feinting to the left, Daniel grabbed him by the neck and brought him in for a head butt that broke his nose. The man lurched, tears in his eyes, blood streaming around his mouth. Daniel kicked him in the stomach with the heel of his foot. He bounced against the wardrobe and fell onto Daniel’s right hook. There was a crunch as knuckle met jawbone. An arc of blood splashed on the wall, together with a tooth that deflected and accidentally hit Daniel in the eye. The man dropped with the thump of a felled tree.

  Daniel leaned against the wall, breathing hard. He rubbed his teary eye where the tooth had struck, but didn’t dare touch his ribs. They were too painful. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat at the man on the floor. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  The man stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.

  “I’ll kick your balls off. Tell me your name?” he repeated.

  Looking up from the floor, the man’s eyes were glassy, but focused, flicking from Daniel to the open door and back. It wasn’t hard to read his intentions.

  “All I want is your name.”

  He sat up, stroking his jawline. “Reaver.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Packing up Mosely’s things. All his stuff is going into storage.”

  “If he’s on the run, why don’t you just burn everything?”

  Reaver pinched his beard. “Greed, I guess. No-one turns on their friends without greed coming into it somewhere. Maybe it’s so he feels comfortable wherever he ends up.”

  Legs straight. Feet splayed. Regular breaths. Even tone. Reaver was telling the truth, but Daniel wasn’t certain. His hair obscured his face and made the signs difficult to interpret. He was also sending twice as many as most people did, as if he knew what Daniel was doing and was consciously muddying the waters.

  “What did Mosely do for you?”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  Daniel considered the question. “Would it make a difference if I did?”

  “Find him and he’s yours,” Reaver answered, looking to the door. “If Fairbanks is letting Mosely go, then he must be done with him.”

  Daniel stamped heavily on Reaver’s knee. He howled, grabbing it, pressing his palms into the joint to stop the pain from spreading anywhere else. “What did you do that for?”

  Circling around him, Daniel searched for somewhere else to strike. Reaver tried to keep him in sight as he walked around and around. “Where is Fairbanks?” he asked.

  “He doesn’t tell us everything. Just what he needs us to know.”

  Picking up a suitcase, he hurled it across the room. The corner hit the side of Reaver’s head and he toppled, eyes rolling. Daniel gave him a moment to regain his senses before dropping another suitcase on him.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Reaver shouted.

  There was another suitcase in the corner, but his ribs were screaming. There had to be a better way to get Reaver to submit. It had been a long time since he’d bitten off a man’s ear, he thought and reached forward, teeth clacking together. Reaver scuttled away, pulling himself along the floor.

  “Where is Fairbanks?” Daniel asked, slowly stalking him around the room.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “I told you, I don’t know where he is.” Reaver got to his knees and scrambled to the door. Daniel leapt in front him, blocking his way and swept his arms away with a foot. Reaver fell forward, his already broken nose hitting the floor. His shriek was muffled in the luxurious carpet.

  Daniel dragged him onto his back, noting the greasy red stain he’d left behind. Reaver shook his head. “No more.”

  Smiling, Daniel watched the blood bubbles burst from his nose while he waited for Reaver to capitulate.

  “There are three more men in a caravan park. South Shields,” he said finally.

  “They’re the rest of your gang?”

  Reaver nodded and Daniel stared into his ruined face. “You see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  He stepped back, as if preparing to strike a football, and knocked Reaver out with a kick to the head.

  Leaving the house, Daniel walked down the driveway to open the gates. The postman stood waiting, his eyes widening at the sight of the blood on Daniel’s clothing.

  “Please help me,” Daniel said. “There’s been an accident. I need my phone from the back of the van.”

  The postman reached it before him, hopping from one stubby leg to another while he waited. Daniel checked the street as he pulled his keys from his pocket. The only things moving along the pavement were fallen leaves caught in a breeze.

  “We better call the police too,” the postman said with an excited grin.

  Daniel punched him in the face and he tumbled into the gutter. “Fucking neighbourhood watch twats.”

  Opening the van doors, he threw him inside and jumped into the driver’s seat. He drove up the driveway and parked as close to Mosely’s front door as he could. Rummaging through his glove compartment, he searched through business cards and receipt books, memories of his time in Hounswood and found an old lighter. He checked it worked before going inside.

  Back in the bedroom, Daniel tied Reaver’s hands behind his back and, scooping him up under the arms, he dragged him downstairs. It was hard work and the bones of his broken ribs nipped painfully together. He opened the front door and checked for more nosey neighbours. There was no-one in sight. With the last of his strength, he threw Reaver in with the dazed postman and locked the van.

  Mosely’s home had eleven rooms from front rooms to bathrooms. Daniel went through them all, checking for clues to Mosely’s disappearance. He didn’t expect to find anything and contented himself with ensuring all the windows were locked shut.

  He hadn’t found Mosely and he hadn’t found Fairbanks, but he was pleased with the work he’d done on Reaver. He had another lead, another avenue to pursue. He’d keep knocking down walls and eventually, he’d get where he was going. A plan to extract Fairbanks’ men from their caravan was already formulating in his mind.

  In Mosely’s kitchen, he turned on the knobs of the gas cooker and went upstairs. He was tired and aching after his fight, but Daniel believed in scorched earth and he wanted to do this right. The neighbourhood watch would love it. He stacked the suitcases containing Mosely’s clothes in the centre of the room, hissing against the pain in his ribs. He paused for breath. Sweat ran down the contours of his back. One suitcase re
mained, standing on its own in the corner.

  Pulling on the handle, it moved an inch and he was forced to stop. The case was heavy. He dragged it part way and was about to abandon it when he wondered about its contents. If the other cases contained clothes, what made this one so cumbersome?

  The suitcase was a hard shell Samsonite, sealed shut by a sturdy padlock. He took out his lock picking kit and placed the chisel under the shackle. With three swift blows, the padlock broke and he twisted it loose. He lifted the lid and stared inside. He tutted then stood, looking about the room, as if an explanation might be written on the walls. They were as blank as he imagined his own expression to be.

  His eyes returned to the suitcase. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

  Fairbanks didn’t leave loose ends. Daniel knew that, Reaver had convinced him otherwise. It was unnerving and he felt a part of his self-belief shift like sand under his feet. He couldn’t remember falling for a lie so completely and yet the evidence was here before him. Actually, there were lots of bits of evidence before him. Mosely hadn’t escaped. He’d been dismembered and locked away in a suitcase.

  His head lay on top of bloody thighs, which had been severed at the hip and above the knee. He couldn’t see the calves and feet, but assumed they were in there somewhere. His arms had been cut off at the shoulder and inverted either side of his torso so his hands grabbed at his bloody neck. Still in his precious suit, Mosely was reduced to an ugly mess of body parts and judging by the ragged wounds, they had used something with a serrated edge.

  Daniel closed his eyes, knowing he couldn’t leave without searching the body. Getting comfortable, he reached into the secret pocket of Mosely’s suit where the dealer hid his drugs. If there was a mobile phone with a contact number, that’s where he’d find it. It was another chance to get closer to Fairbanks and Daniel couldn’t help but feel excited.

  The flesh was cold and wet. He avoided touching it as much as he could. Slipping his fingers along the blood soaked lining of the jacket, he found the pocket with his fingertips. There was nothing. He pushed deeper, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth until found something that shouldn’t be there. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he pulled it free.