Fighting Chance

by Shaun Baines

  Daniel stepped back. “I’m not here to hurt you and I have no problem with you leaving, but I need access to my money.”

  Noodles’ fingers clicked together like the mandibles of an ant. “What money?”

  “The money that’s held in trust. Dad’s dead. Scott’s dead. That money belongs to me.”

  Noodles smiled and made a show of patting his pockets. “I’m afraid I don’t have it on me.”

  Daniel looked about the room, trying to appear casual as he searched for a potential weapon. “What’s in the boxes?”

  Noodles lifted a box from his desk with a groan. The weight was too much and it slipped from his grasp. As it hit the floor, the box burst open, shedding countless sheets of paper covered in spidery black writing. He tutted and braced his hands on the small of his back. Daniel could tell he was playing for time. He just didn’t know why.

  “This is my insurance. I have catalogued every transaction, every deal, every crime the Daytons ever committed since they came to power. Should anything happen to me, they are destined for the hands of some very powerful and law abiding men.”

  “You have everything in there? Including details of my adoption?”

  Noodles’ eyebrows arched in amazement and he slowly started clapping. “You finally worked it out. Good for you. Those types of secrets can kill a family, don’t you think?”

  “Do you?” he asked again.

  Daniel forgot about Fairbanks and his money. This was his chance to get some answers about his real parents. It might help him understand why he was so isolated or maybe why his daughter was so angry.

  He kept his eyes trained on the paper slewed across the floor as if it were the Holy Grail.

  “No, I don’t have any record of that, Daniel. I knew it was something I could never use. Your father had you and your brother so brainwashed into believing you were Daytons, I was sure you would kill me for even hinting it might be otherwise.”

  “You don’t know anything?”

  “I only have a name. Ranta Mustonen. Finnish, I believe, but working with the Network in Glasgow. I didn’t see the need to delve any deeper. Frankly, I didn’t care. Now if we’re done visiting, I’m afraid I’m very busy.”

  Noodles pulled the lid from another of his boxes and delved inside while Daniel stared at the floor. He had never heard of a Mustonen and he’d worked with every known face in the UK. Had his father kept them apart to keep his secret? Was this man still alive? And if he was, what was he doing selling children to high ranking criminals?

  He was getting frustrated and needed to concentrate. As usual, there were more questions than answers. It was something he could investigate later. Like Noodles, Daniel was busy too.

  “I know you told me that to stall for time, Noodles, but I appreciate it anyway. It might just save your life. Now tell me about my money.”

  Noodles’ papery face crinkled in disapproval. “As stated previously, there are two accounts. The first holds the bulk of your father’s funds. Some eighty million pounds. The second is smaller, holding only two hundred thousand pounds. If what you say is true about Scott, then they both belong to you.”

  “I need ten million by five o’clock today.”

  “There is no money, Daniel.”

  “But you just said - “

  “Did you honestly believe all that nonsense about proof of competency? I made it up to afford me time to transfer the money to myself. Your father trained you and your brother to be experts in the art of inflicting misery on others. No-one is more competent at being a Dayton than you, but you were never very smart.”

  Daniel made to leap over the desk, but the lawyer whipped his hands out of the box and produced a gun.

  “It’s an old Luger, but I assure you it works.”

  “You sly, back stabbing bastard,” Daniel shouted.

  “Says the man who abandoned his daughter, only to return and watch the rest of his family die.”

  Daniel paced the room. “Fairbanks wants that money. If he doesn’t get it, he’ll keep on killing until he does.”

  “Not my problem. The money was transferred to a bank account in the Cayman Islands, which in turn invested it in several building firms and logging companies in Brazil. I couldn’t give it back even if I wanted to. And I really don’t want to.”

  “Then I’ll tell Fairbanks you have it. How long do you think you’ll last with him in your life?”

  Noodles laughed. It sounded like glass beads falling onto a solid floor. “I have passports in five different names. I have properties in four different countries under names no-one else knows. Fairbanks is uncommonly bright, but without an in-depth knowledge of the law, he has no hope of following a paper trail so complex. The world belongs to criminals like me, Daniel. Not thugs like you.”

  “And what’s to stop me jumping over that desk and snapping every dry bone in your body?”

  A quizzical look passed over Noodles’ face. He looked at the gun as if to check it was still in his hand. “I’ll shoot you if you do anything other than leave the way you entered.”

  “You won’t shoot me. You’re a lawyer, not a thug. Remember?”

  Noodles smiled and kept the gun aimed at Daniel. “You’re right. No-one reads people like you.”

  The floorboards creaked. Daniel span on his heels to see No Neck in the doorway, his bulk blocking the gap. He weighed a metal baton in his hand and seemed overly keen to use it.

  “Who else knows you’re here, Daniel?” Noodles asked.

  “No-one.”

  Noodles waved the Luger. “Are you sure?”

  Daniel looked between the two men and nodded.

  “I believe you.” Noodles pulled the trigger, shooting at the ceiling and bringing down a plume of plaster. It was a distraction and it worked. Daniel flinched, coughing as the dust hit the back of his throat. He turned in time to see No Neck advancing, raising the baton above his head. Daniel ducked, but not low enough. The baton connected with the side of his head and he fell to the floor to the sound of running footsteps.

  ***

  “Daniel? Mate?”

  He woke to find Bronson shaking him vigorously by the shoulder. It was an effort to open his eyes. When he prised his lids apart, he wished he hadn’t. His head throbbed and his stomach churned with nausea. He gingerly pressed his fingers to his head and discovered the wetness of blood.

  “What happened?” Bronson asked.

  “That twat Noodles happened. He’s done a runner with our money.”

  Daniel pulled himself up on his elbows and waited until the room stopped spinning. He glanced at Bronson and noted the suspicious look on his face. “What is it?”

  “Noodles knocked you out? He couldn’t tear the skin off his custard without help.”

  Leaning on Bronson for support, Daniel climbed to his feet. “He had help. Some guy jumped me while my back was turned. That big black No Neck guy.”

  His voice echoed and he looked about the room. It was empty than before. The boxes were gone. Noodles had taken his insurance policy with him.

  “Have a look through that desk, will you? We might be able to figure out where he went.”

  Daniel fought the urge to be sick while Bronson yanked open the drawers of Noodles’ desk, throwing them to the floor with a crash. “There’s nothing here. Oh, hang on. This one’s locked.”

  He patted down his pockets. “My car’s outside. I’ve got something in the boot.”

  If the drawer was locked, it must be hiding something important, thought Daniel. Noodles had forgotten about it in his haste. Finally, they were catching a break.

  When Bronson returned, Daniel expected him to be carrying a kit similar to the one he had used to break into Mosely’s house. Instead, he hefted a crowbar in his hand with a grin. “This won’t take long.”

  Bronson jammed the bar under the lock so it protruded outwards like a lever. He stamped down on it and the lock gave instantly. He was showered with splinters of wood, but the job was don
e and he opened the drawer.

  He looked up at Daniel, unsure of himself. “You’re not going to like this, boss.”

  “I’m not your boss.” He joined Bronson on the other side of the desk and saw the note Noodles had left them.

  It read, ‘Just my idea of a joke. Fondest regards, Noodles.’

  “Wait till I get my hands on him,” Bronson said, hurling the crowbar at the wall.

  Daniel walked to the window and stared at the street below. Young men and women hurried off to work, clutching take-away coffees and consulting their smart phones. They’d punch in, punch out and do it all again tomorrow. Daniel gnawed at his finger. If only his life could be that boring.

  “He’s been planning this for a while,” Daniel said. “He had time to play his little prank so I’m guessing he felt all other bases were covered. There is no way we could find him in time. Even if we did, he won’t have the money on him.”

  “We can’t just let him go.”

  Daniel spat a sliver of skin at the window, a habit he had picked up from his father. “How much money did you manage to collect?”

  Bronson grimaced. “I went everywhere you told me, but they’ve gone to ground. There just wasn’t enough time, mate.”

  “How much?”

  “Six hundred thousand. I was lucky to get that. People would rather take their chances holding back than stumping up what they owe.”

  Daniel didn’t know how much money the Daytons had on the street, but he knew it had to be more than six hundred thousand. Fairbanks wouldn’t even take that as a down payment. Daniel was sure of that much.

  Picking up the crowbar, he swung it at Noodles’ desk. It landed with a thud and cracked the surface. He swung it again. And again. As if he was chopping down a tree with an axe. His head hurt and his ribs ached, but it felt good to destroy something. Scorched earth, he thought.

  He stopped when the desk was reduced to wooden fragments and sweat stung his eyes.

  “Fairbanks wants the money by five today,” he said, panting. “It’s a drop off at Jesmond Dene. What are we going to do?”

  “We could tell him we’re not going to pay. I never liked the idea anyway.”

  “He’ll pick us off one by one. We might deserve that, but our families don’t.”

  The twitch in Bronson’s face stopped. “It’s a drop off, you said?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Bronson grinned and smoothed down his hair. “How are your sea legs?”

  Chapter Forty

  The North Sea around Seaburn Harbour was calm, but always cold. Grey waves toppled onto the shingle beach while driftwood dried under a steely sky. Seagulls settled on the orange sandstone faces of the cliffs and squawked incessantly. It was a cool day and only the stalwarts braved the seafront. Parents sat huddled on deckchairs holding cartons of chips for warmth while their children built sandcastles wearing hats and gloves.

  Daniel stood and watched their pink skin turn blue.

  “I’ve got the money,” Bronson said, fanning a wad of notes in Daniel’s face. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”

  Pulling his coat tighter, he stamped his feet. “A bad plan’s better than no plan, right?”

  He followed Bronson down a steep road into the Seaburn Yacht Centre, a private owned harbour where boats and yachts of various sizes were tethered to wooden jetties. As they prowled the floating gangways, Daniel felt the gentle rise and fall of the waves underneath and turned green. Whoever his true parents were, they definitely weren’t sailors.

  Bronson capered ahead and they found a cabin cruiser on jetty fourteen called the Slippery Eel. Neither men knew anything about boats, but at thirty-two foot and well-polished, they were impressed. It was white with a black streak along the side. The long and pointed bow gave it a predatory look.

  Out of the cabin popped the head of a ruddy faced man in his forties.

  “Peter,” shouted Bronson as way of a greeting.

  Daniel followed Bronson on board, feeling uneasy with the bobbing motion of the boat and shook hands with the ginger haired man.

  “Daniel, this is Peter Pan Hands.”

  Peter gave him a wink. “I was a wee thief when I was a nipper. People said my hands were as big as pans and could carry twice as much.”

  Daniel tried to hide his confusion. Peter smiled. “Maybe it was an Irish thing. You lads said you were in a hurry? Well, I’ve got what you’re after down in the cabin.”

  The cabin stretched along two thirds of the boat with enough room for a kitchenette and seating area. There were two doors, which Daniel assumed were for the toilet and bedrooms. Peter and Bronson settled easily, but he was forced to stoop against the ceiling, stiffening his legs against the rolling boat. Windows either side of them lent a view of the harbour until Peter closed the curtains for privacy.

  “We’re all friends here gentlemen, but business is business.”

  Bronson handed over the cash and Peter counted it swiftly. Satisfied it was all there, he tucked it away in a drawer. He reached to an overhead cupboard and produced a cardboard box, placing it on the table in front of them. “You’re lucky I had the parts.”

  “You made this on your boat? Isn’t that dangerous?” Daniel asked.

  “Only if you switch it on.” Peter’s grinning face turned serious when he showed them the explosive inside. “I want you to listen to me now. You get this wrong and you’re fish paste. Most bombs have three or four components. That includes a battery, a switch and the stuff that goes bang. Anything else is showing off.”

  “Did you have all this stuff lying around on a shelf?” Daniel asked. It wasn’t just the motion of the boat that was making him queasy. He looked at all the cupboards and wondered what else was hidden behind them.

  “Scary, isn’t it?” Peter said. “There’s no problem getting hold of the explosives. After the Iraqi wars, the black market is flooded with it. Batteries can be bought off the shelf, but the switches have to be made individually, which means, if anything’s going to go wrong, lads, it’ll be with the switch. The safest way to ensure the bomb goes off right is a manual, but you want a remote switch, don’t you? Something that can be triggered from a distance?”

  Daniel and Bronson looked at each other and nodded.

  “Well, I don’t have one. The best I can do is this,” Peter said, pointing at a mercury switch fixed to the explosive. A droplet of mercury sat in the centre of a metal circle viewed through a clear plastic container.

  “Listen carefully, lads. This’ll make the difference between a long life and a wee short one. The button on the side of the switch arms the bomb, right? It won’t trigger until the mercury connects with the metal circle. You arm the bomb and walk the fuck away. You understand?”

  He looked at Daniel and Bronson, and sighed when they returned his expectant stare with blank looks.

  “You switch it on when the mercury is sitting dead centre in that circle. You don’t touch it again. When the bomb is moved, the mercury rolls into the metal circle and makes the connection. That’s when you get your fireworks and not before.”

  “How much explosive is that?” asked Daniel. “I don’t want to leave a crater.”

  Peter pulled out a bottle of Bushmills and three glasses.

  “It’s enough to take off someone’s head, but if you’re twenty metres away, it’ll barely part your hair.”

  He filled the glasses with dark brown liquor, accidentally spilling some as the boat rolled on a wave. Wiping the bomb dry with a dish rag, he raised his glass into the air. “May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.”

  Peter drained his in a gulp and Daniel and Bronson followed suit. The other two smacked their lips in appreciation, but Daniel struggled to keep his down. He slid his glass as far away from Peter as he could without looking ungrateful.

  “Will you stay for another drink?” Peter asked.

  “No,” Daniel said with a belch.

  They took one last look at the bomb and
put it back in the cardboard box. Bronson reached for it and paused, looking at Peter. “This definitely won’t go off?”

  “It will, just not right now.”

  Climbing out of the cruiser, they tasted salty, fresh air and made their way along the gangway. Bronson carried the box under his arm and a sheen of sweat on his brow, despite cool weather. Daniel was just glad to be on dry land.

  This was it, he thought with grim satisfaction. The end was in sight. If they didn’t have the money to give Fairbanks, they’d give him something else.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The weather had changed from a sky that promised rain to one that delivered. A murky drizzle descended, coating the world in a film of grey. It seeped into their clothes and chilled their bones. Bronson wiped a drip from the end of his nose. “At least, it will keep the tourists away. No-one would be out in this for fun.”

  Jesmond Dene was a narrow, wooded valley that flanked the River Ouseburn. Its trees, dells and waterfalls offered a tranquil idyll for residents of the surrounding area. There was a petting zoo, a restaurant and a dilapidated flour mill. The picnic area near the Pavilion was the place people came to sit and no-one liked to stay still when it was raining. It was flanked by trees and plenty of places to hide.

  Daniel and Bronson stood by a heavy table set aside from the others. They had transferred the bomb into a blue sports bag and rested it on the surface. Daniel eyed it warily. Once the button was pressed, there was no going back. It couldn’t be disarmed, at least not by them and couldn’t be moved without dire consequences.

  Bronson sucked air over his teeth. The twitch in his cheek jumped erratically. “I’ll switch it on.”

  “No, I’ll do it,” Daniel said. “Step back a few metres, mate. If this goes wrong, you don’t want to be anywhere near me.”

  Bronson shook his head. “I’ll stay.”

  Daniel thought of Scalper and his devotion to the Daytons. Bronson was the same. He sometimes caught him staring at the hand that had felled Scott. It was as if it had betrayed him and done something unforgivable.