by Shaun Baines
A mug of steaming tea was thrust into Bronson's hands, together with a stained towel he used to dry his face.
"Still no sign of Sprout?" he asked.
"He hasn't come in," Masani said. "I've tried calling, but there's no answer."
"Is he in the same kind of trouble as your car?" Marvin asked.
Bronson stared out of the office window, playing with his damp moustache. "He's in worse trouble than that."
"So, where is it then?" Marvin leaned into his chair. "You love that bloody car. What have you done with it?"
The world outside was grey, masked by sheets of rain. Bronson sipped his tea, gagging on the heat as it burned his mouth. He set the mug to one side and listened to the gutters overflowing. The water spilled to the ground in a relentless stream.
Rubbing his hands, he turned to Masani and Marvin. Their faces were pinched with worry.
"I take it I'm wanted in the garage?" he asked them.
Marvin nodded slowly. "He doesn't seem too happy, either."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Masani checked her rifle was loaded and snapped the barrel into place.
"I don't think that would help," Bronson said. "Not with him."
"Do you want...?" Marvin didn't finish his sentence. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at his keyboard.
Bronson gave a little smile to Masani, who rolled her eyes at her husband. Opening the door, the rain flooded into the office, splattering the front of his trousers.
"Everything's going to be fine," he said, walking into the wet.
Leaving Henderson's basement with Henderson screaming for mercy, Daniel had pressed Bronson for information, but he'd kept his mouth shut. If his idea was to work, he needed time to think it through. He'd also have to make a sacrifice he was uneasy about. Earlier that morning, he'd spent an hour polishing his BMW. Bronson usually had it valeted, but today was different. Using a variety of cloths, from chamois leather to silk, his hand moved slowly over every inch of the car until it sparkled. When he finished, Bronson stepped back and admired his efforts. It was a car he'd be proud to drive and the buyer agreed.
As he entered the garage, Daniel was inspecting the transit van, his hands behind his back. He didn't bother to look up. "Why does that woman carry an air rifle?" he asked.
"Masani? Scrapyards have rats. She keeps them under control."
"What about her husband? He asked me who I was and he almost pissed himself when I told him."
Bronson shifted from foot to foot. "Not everyone's a fighter. Marvin is good at keeping secrets."
Daniel stiffened, turning on his heels. His hands came forward, bunched into fists. He looked tired and his eyes were red, but that added to the meanness of them.
"That's not very good, is it?" Daniel asked, walking toward him. "You're running a business filled with rats and secrets."
"That's not what I meant." Bronson fought his urge to flee.
"And what about you, Bronson? I thought we were friends. First you want my help, then you don't. I help you out, then you disappear. And if that wasn't insulting enough, you make me wait here like a mug."
Daniel stopped in front of him, his pupils folding into black holes. Bronson gulped down his fear and Daniel's eyes went straight to his throat. The movement was a giveaway and Daniel honed in on it like a predator with its prey.
"Are you a secret keeper or a rat?" Daniel asked. "Tell the truth because there's something you're not saying."
Daniel's eyes softened. "You can tell me, you know? I'm waiting for you to tell me."
The words leapt into Bronson's mouth, his confession prepared and eager to be told, but he had gone too far down the wrong road to change direction. There was still a chance he could smooth things out without having to hurt his friend. Or worse, be murdered by him for his betrayal.
Bronson fumbled in his inside pocket. He threw an envelope at Daniel's feet where it landed with a slap.
"Thirty thousand pounds," Bronson said. "That's what I was doing at The Cellar. I went to find a Maguire."
"You were negotiating with them?"
"The only chance we had of moving that cocaine died with Clive Hawk. Angel knew that so she killed him. She'll keep coming until she gets what's hers."
Daniel circled the envelope, unwilling to pick it up. "We can find another buyer."
"Not in time."
The rain hammered on the roof, the water finding weak points and leaking through the gaps. Drops pattered around the envelope and Daniel's mouth twisted into a sneer. "There's nothing in that envelope. It's a finder's fee."
Bronson yanked on his moustache. "I knew you wouldn't like it, but there isn't another way out of this. I got it off Eleanor Maguire." The idea, at least. Her refusal to supply a finder's fee led Bronson to finding one himself.
But he would need another car.
"We don't require a way out of this," Daniel said. "We do what we always do. We kill them."
"They have hundreds of men, Daniel. Who kills them? Me? You? How about we draft in Masani and her pansy air rifle? Maybe Marvin can bore them to death with his spreadsheets?"
Blood crept up Daniel's face. "I've never settled for a finder's fee."
"Be reasonable. You sound like your brother."
Bronson saw it coming, expected it after what he'd said, but there was no avoiding it. Daniel slammed a fist into his jaw. Bronson's legs gave way and he tumbled downwards. The garage swam in and out of focus. He tried to stand, but could not tell which way was up. A boot crunched into his ribs. Lifted from the floor, Bronson spun in the air, landing on his back.
"I told you, we're not those Daytons anymore," Daniel shouted.
A shot rang out and a smoking hole appeared in the garage wall. Masani stood in the doorway, a rifle pressed into her shoulder.
"Fun time's over, big boy," she said, tightening her finger over the trigger. "Back off or I'll blow that handsome face to the other side of your head, cartoon-style."
Daniel spat on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Where's your air rifle? That's an ArmaLite AR-18. Bit much for pest control."
Masani smiled, though it never reached her shooting eye. "The bigger the rat, the bigger the gun." She stepped forward revealing Marvin behind her, half in the garage, half out. A crowbar shook in his hand.
"You're making a mistake," Daniel said.
The rifle was solid against Masani's shoulder. The barrel never wavered.
Bronson raised his hand and she halted her advance.
"Think of your daughter," Bronson said to Daniel. "Where is she?"
"She's safe."
"Is she? Because if the Maguires involve her to get to you, will she bounce back this time? Is she as strong as you think she is?"
Daniel looked down at the money, biting the side of his mouth.
"I've spoken to Bear," Bronson continued. "He's agreed to come back and work for us. The finder's fee guarantees his services. If the three of us make a little more, there's a guy called Henry who's looking for work. This is what I've been talking about for months. We build the Daytons back up or whatever empire you want to build. Not your father's. Yours. You keep Five Oaks and you keep Eisha safe. It's what you want, isn't it?"
The rain stopped, its endless drumming on the garage roof dying into silence. Bronson kept his eyes on Daniel, watching him wrestle with his pride; the Achilles heel of every Dayton.
Daniel walked to the van, opening the back doors. "But to do that, we have to give in to the Maguires first," he said, his voice echoing inside the cargo area.
"It's not giving in. It was stupid to think we could sell it and everything would go back to normal. The world doesn't work like that." Bronson shuffled backwards, feeling his body blossom with purple bruises. "It's a tactical retreat. Angel killed Ma Dayton, remember? That type of blood doesn't wash away. She'll get hers eventually."
The truth was the Daytons did need to return the cocaine. They couldn't win a war against the Maguires. And
Bear had agreed to come back, but the real truth was Bronson was unable to fight the Maguires and Scott at the same time. He needed to concentrate on the latter. The war with the Maguires would take too long and Scott was more dangerous. Appease the Maguires. Assassinate Scott. Get rich.
If he said it fast enough, Bronson almost believed it. The trick was to sell the idea to Daniel.
Towering over him, Daniel stretched out his hand. Bronson looked at it, his heart racing. With no other option, Bronson took a firm hold and was wrenched to his feet. He groaned, pressing his free hand to his ribs.
Masani and Marvin rushed to his side, taking an arm each and propping him up with their shoulders.
Daniel's face was as dark as the weather. "I'm not happy."
Bronson attempted a smile. "Are you ever?"
"But I should have trusted you." He looked at Masani and Marvin. "All of you. We'll do it your way."
"It'll be like ripping off a plaster," Bronson said. "The faster it's done, the better. Speaking of which, I need the first aid box in the office. Marv, can you pick up that money and do a count?"
Marvin handed Bronson over to Daniel and collected the envelope from the floor.
Masani and Daniel dragged Bronson to the door.
"Make the arrangements for the drop-off and get the van loaded with the coke," Daniel said. "When we're ready, I'll drive. You get there first to make sure they're not up to something."
Bronson's steps faltered. "I can drive."
"Not in the state I've just put you in," Daniel said.
"Honestly, I'd rather do it."
Eleanor Maguire had said there'd be no finder's fee. If anyone mentioned it at the drop-off, Bronson's lie would be exposed, turning a potentially explosive situation into something nuclear.
"I can do it," Bronson said again.
Daniel's arm tightened around him, kneading his bruises. Bronson's teeth rattled as his friend gave him a comforting shake.
"Don't worry," Daniel said with a grin. "You can trust me."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Town Moor was an area of common ground in Newcastle, its touch stretching into Kenton, the city centre, Gosforth and Jesmond. It was an oasis of scrubland, larger than New York's Central Park, where cattle grazed and underage teenagers raced their motorbikes.
Bronson waited by a play area at the site of a smallpox hospital, now reduced to broken bricks and buried glass. It had been demolished in the late fifties, but when he was a kid, there were still remnants to be found. The site was hidden behind a dank copse of trees, which he watched with a cautious eye.
Checking his watch, Bronson rested against a plastic horse mounted on a spring. "He's late."
Angel swung on a timber swing set, its chains squeaking with every sway. Thorny tendrils of bramble strangled the climbing frame and the six-foot slide was rusted through with holes, acting more like a cheese grater for anyone brave enough to take a turn. The nearby ice cream kiosk had closed over a decade ago. Its shutters were decorated with the phone numbers of local perverts.
"You chose a nice place to meet," Bronson said.
"Dad used to bring us here when we were younger," Angel said, chewing methodically on a piece of gum. "We'd play on the swings while he did business."
Bronson glanced at the numbers on the kiosk. I bet he did, he thought. "You've taken a risk coming on your own."
The chains on the swing rasped as Angel rocked to and fro. She looked to the trees and smiled. "Everybody is alone."
He'd guessed Angel had stashed her goons in the shadows. It's what he would have done. If he'd had any, that is. Hopefully, he would never see them. Bronson was there to facilitate the drop-off and he intended to do it quickly, with as little chatter as possible.
"I was pleased to receive your call," Angel said, blowing a bubble. "I didn't think you'd give in so easily. How did you like what I did to Ed Dayton's grave?"
Bronson's jaw ached with tension. "I called your mam. Not the foetus skulking around her skirts."
Angel's bubble burst and she spat the gum to the ground. "Mind your manners, Bronson," she said with a glare. "I'm the one in charge here."
There was no sign of Daniel and Bronson tapped his watch, confirming it still worked. He scanned the dirt track cutting through the scrubland. It stretched to the A189, the road Bronson had travelled to get there. It was empty, except for the grey mottled cows using it to find fresh grass. They lumbered through the thatch, their heads lowered, their jaws working from side to side.
Angel popped a fresh slip of gum into her mouth and chewed. "Do you think Daniel has had second thoughts? I hope not for your sake, but he has been distant of late, hasn't he?"
Bronson kicked out at a patch of grass. "Remember who you're talking about."
"You're like an uppity lap dog. You want me to tickle your tummy, Bronson? Or just put you to sleep?"
Two six-inch nails dropped from Bronson's sleeves.
The creaking of the swing stopped, but Angel remained seated. "Men always want to solve things with violence. Why can't things be civilised?" She pulled a snub-nosed gun from her pocket, resting it in her lap. Looking to the trees, Angel brought her eyes back to Bronson, running her fingers over the handle of the gun.
Bronson halted by the ladybird sandpit.
"That's better," Angel said. "All I want is what you stole from me. We can go on our merry way once we're done."
He doubted it. Bronson had been in the game too long to believe a promise like that. There'd be a hiatus, maybe. Some breathing space, but only so the Maguires had time to shift the coke and rally their troops. The same plan the Daytons had. It was a question of who got there first.
Standing, Angel tugged on her blue fringe, working the gum in her mouth. For a second, it looked to Bronson like she was talking to herself, the gum hiding the strangeness of her actions.
The track behind him remained empty and Bronson wrung his hands together. "We heard your coke isn't just coke. It's Pepsi Max."
"It's my ticket out," Angel said. "Blizzard is a new drug for the next generation. It's cutting edge stuff. One taste and you're addicted. I'm going to be proper rich."
Bronson cocked an eyebrow. "Don't you mean it will make your family rich?"
"My family already have what they need. They have each other."
A horn blared in the distance and the cows scattered in terror, their heavy hooves causing a rumble as they ran from the transit van ploughing through them. It bumped along uneven ground, lost periodically in troughs before rising again into view.
Daniel jerked to a stop next to the climbing frame and stepped into the ramshackle play area. "Keeping yourselves amused?"
"Where have you been?" Angel asked.
"Auditioning for The X Factor."
She frowned and pointed her chin to the van. "Open it up. I want to make sure it's all in there."
Daniel presented the van keys, dangling them between his thumb and forefinger. He waved them, like an owner teasing his pet with a treat.
Keeping her gaze on his face, Angel's eyes grew murky with suspicion. "Is there anyone in the back?" she asked. "Warming up a shotgun for me?"
Bronson wished he'd thought of that. Masani could have done it without breaking a sweat, but Daniel shook his head and threw the keys at Angel.
She fumbled the catch and they fell at her feet. Her lips moved and Angel chewed hard on her gum. Picking up the keys, she pointed them at Daniel, raising her gun at the same time. "We'll open it together."
Daniel followed her to the rear of the van, bowing over her smaller form. "That's an unusual perfume, by the way. What's it called?"
This wasn't the man Bronson knew and his stomach muscles clenched. Daniel was too relaxed, too happy. Bronson watched him closely, trying to remember what he'd been taught about micro-signals. The smile was light on Daniel's lips. The look on his face was too open. Bronson stood away from the van, close enough to react if something went wrong, but with enough distance to sp
ot any ambush from the trees.
Something was going to happen.
Angel unlocked the door.
"Open it," she said to Daniel.
It was almost over. As soon as the doors opened, she'd see the cocaine. Bronson had loaded it himself so he knew it was there. Angel would drive away, satisfied she'd won and the Daytons had been humiliated. So far, no-one had mentioned the finder's fee, which was fortuitous because Bronson didn't have a plan if they did.
"Daniel, can I have a word, mate?" Bronson asked.
"No." Angel's refusal was sharp. Her finger moved to the trigger of her gun. "No more talking."
But his question roused Daniel's interest. There was a look on his face Bronson couldn't gauge. He wasn't angry or dejected as he might have been. He was concentrating on something, but what? And why was he late? Daniel was never late.
Opening the doors with a flourish, Daniel stood to one side as Angel crowded in. Bronson looked over her shoulder. Stacked in the middle of the van were the silver blocks of cocaine. Exactly where he'd left them. He counted them quickly and they were all there. At least, Daniel hadn't double-crossed her. They were giving away a fortune, but avoiding a bloodbath.
Angel covered her nose with the gun. "What's that smell?"
"Petrol," Daniel answered, holding out a Zippo lighter with the sapphire heart. He struck it and a blue flame jetted from the ignition.
"What are you doing?" Bronson asked.
"You wouldn't dare," Angel added.
"I'm not very smart," Daniel said, "but I know when I'm making a mistake."
Bronson's cheek twitched in rapid movements. "You're risking a war."
"I'm levelling the playing field. I torch this, the Maguires lose thousands. I don't, they use that money to build themselves up. More drugs, more men, more strength. It's exactly what we were going to do, except it's the Maguires, not the Daytons."
"We'll lose millions," Angel shouted. "Not thousands, you moron."
"This isn't the way," Bronson said.
