Fighting Chance

by Shaun Baines

  Fairbanks was puzzled to see he’d been crying.

  “I was told my brief wanted a word with me,” Scott said.

  “That’s what I told them to say.” He pointed to the other side of the desk. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Scott shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but stayed where he was. “Who are you?”

  “Before we begin, I want you to know no-one is sorrier at the news of your father’s death than me.”

  Scott took a sharp breath inward, as if he’d been immersed in icy water. His lower lip trembled for a fraction of a second before he regained control.

  “It does leave us with a problem, however,” Fairbanks continued. “This little war we’re embroiled in will only continue unless you help me. The Daytons need someone to lead them, Scott and you can’t do that behind bars.”

  Scott glanced at the security camera and then back to Fairbanks, who shook his head. “There are guards either side of these two doors and that camera will record everything. You attack me and you’ll never see daylight again.”

  “According to Noodles, I’m facing life anyway. What difference does breaking your neck make?”

  Fairbanks opened his bag and brought out a sheaf of legal documentation. “These are your way out. I file these and you’re free as a bird.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I never planned to kill you, Scott. You would have become a martyr to the Dayton cause. Better for me that you ended up in prison alone and impotent, but things change. Now I need you on the outside.”

  Scott pulled up a chair and sat down. Close up, he was more dishevelled than Fairbanks first noted. The hair on his chin was so blonde it couldn’t be seen at a distance, but Scott was clearly unshaven. His hair was unwashed and he smelled of the same disinfectant and body odour as the rest of the prison.

  “You’re Fairbanks? You look more like a paperboy to me.”

  He pushed the documentation toward Scott, who grabbed his hand and crushed it in his own. The bones clicked painfully together and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I can’t believe you’re the snivelling arse-wipe that’s been causing us all this bother,” Scott said.

  “How is prison?” he asked between gasps. “Dangerous?”

  Scott released his grip and Fairbanks snatched back his hand. He saw the white marks of Scott’s fingers on his skin. It looked like he’d been burned by frostbite. He leaned away from Scott’s reach. “I can’t understand why you’re not coping better with prison life. Yes, you’re upset over your father’s demise, but look at you. You’re a mess.”

  Scott folded his arms. As he did, Fairbanks saw the sweat stains in his armpits. “Some people thrive on being alone. Others take strength from their families. Without it, they wither and die. Which one do you think you are?”

  “Let’s turn off the cameras and find out.”

  Fairbanks drummed his fingers on the table. “I met your brother the other day. Daniel?”

  “I know who he is.”

  “Out of the both of you, I thought you might be more amenable. I don’t think Daniel likes being told what to do.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I understand, but Daniel has his liberty. You don’t. All I want is money. Plain and simple. Of course, I could leave you here and persuade Daniel to take over the Daytons. You know I can be very persuasive. I think he’d give me every penny just to spite you.”

  “He’d never do it. He hates being a Dayton. There’s no way he’d take over.”

  A knock came at the door behind Scott. “Two more minutes, Mr Fairbanks,” Montague said.

  “Your freedom in return for a bank transfer. Or I can give Daniel something he wants and maybe he’ll give me the money. He seemed very interested in knowing who hurt his daughter.”

  Scott looked at the legal papers in front of him, skimming them before pushing them away. “What is all this?”

  “Actually, they’re bullshit, like you said. Part of my cover for getting in here. You were refused bail because you’re a danger to public safety. No amount of whinnying from your lawyer will change that, but I’ve paid a substantial amount of money to some powerful people. You will be released this afternoon.”

  “So what? I get out. They put me back in after the trial.”

  “I have the secret bank account details of the Police Commissioner and several members of the executive board. They show erroneous payments going back years. Not just from you, but from the Maguires and Curley’s Crew. Not to mention the investment of my own. Your case will be dismissed in light of the corruption of public officials.”

  Scott looked toward the door he had appeared from and shivered. There was something behind it he feared, thought Fairbanks. Perhaps he had met a bigger bully than himself, though Fairbanks had trouble envisaging such a spectre. Perhaps it was incarceration itself, that same feeling of claustrophobia Fairbanks felt entering this room. Whatever it was, there was a weakness to Scott that made him happy.

  “I want to be absolutely clear with you,” he said. “If you renege on this deal, I will send you back here. I’ll find out what’s scaring you and I’ll triple it. You won’t die. I won’t allow it. You’ll spend every day of your sentence longing for my very kind offer. Understand?”

  Scott nodded, a greedy smile on his face.

  “Are you sure? I’m asking you to betray your family. To deny your father’s dying wish? Are you ready for that? It’s the price of your freedom.”

  Fairbanks watched him closely while he waited for an answer. His red eyes filled with tears, like the rising of the tide, but with a blink, they were gone. Scott’s jaw set firm. His nostrils flared and if Fairbanks didn’t feel cold before, he did now.

  Fairbanks hid his smile. He’d make the phone call when he left the prison grounds. It was almost pay day. He’d chosen the correct brother.

  Scott slowly unfolded his arms and laid his hands on the table. “How much can I give you?” he asked.

  Chapter Thirty

  Having read the cover article of the Evening Chronicle, the Ward Sister's usual night time routine was ruined. She tried to cook dinner, but burned the beans and singed the toast. Her soap operas were on, but she couldn’t concentrate. Switching off the TV, she went to her ‘treat’ cupboard. She sat in the dark, listening to the sound of traffic outside her downstairs flat and crunched through her jammy dodgers. The Ward Sister finished the pack and decided to call a friend.

  The following morning, she stood under a steaming shower and washed the tiredness from her body. Every day she looked at her left breast and the crescent moon scar left by the surgeon. Ductal carcinoma. Removed to prevent it turning into cancer and corrupting the rest of her body. At least they’d caught it early.

  Sacrificing her usual bacon sandwich, she went to work early and marched into Eisha Dayton’s room. “Who would assault such a beautiful, young girl?”

  Daniel was staring into the quiet face of his daughter when the Ward Sister arrived. He turned to her and she saw black rings under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved and there was a dark smudge of bristle on his jaw. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said.

  “Can you give me any further details regarding the attack on your daughter?”

  “I was working away when it happened. I don’t know anything.”

  The Ward Sister consulted the clipboard nestled to her bosom and wrote ‘Absent Parents’ in her notes. She waved it in front of Daniel, making sure he saw it.

  “You don’t know anything about the incident?” she asked again, her eyebrows arched.

  He cracked his knuckles and shook his head, but she persevered. “The misappropriation of Eisha’s records threw me a little and I haven’t been able to give you my full attention, but I thought a lot about you last night, Mr Dayton and there’s something very wrong.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, shifting in his chair.

  She perched on the side of the bed, stroking the blanket covering Eis
ha’s thin leg. “I was sorry to hear about your father in the Evening Chronicle.”

  He cast his eyes to the ground. “Tragic,” he said.

  “‘Local Businessman in Suicide Shock,’ but what I found shocking was the coincidence of it all. One Dayton commits suicide. Another in a coma and one more running around my ward like a madman.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “The point is I don’t like it. I met my friend here last night. He works in the morgue. He said your father was shot in the stomach, but it was never mentioned in the report. Judging by the look on your face, I’d say you already knew that.”

  He stood and his shadow fell across her. She slipped her hand inside a pocket containing a syringe filled with five cubic centimetres of sedative, enough to stop a horse. She wished she had more.

  “I’m sorry, Sister. I’ve had a difficult few days.”

  “I warned you, Mr Dayton. If your family endangered the lives of my patients, there’d be consequences and yet here you all are. Spreading like a cancer.”

  “And cancer needs to be cut out?”

  “Every time. The only reason I haven’t informed the police is because of this poor girl here. I think she’s been caught up in something and I think you’re to blame.”

  Daniel looked at his daughter, running his finger along the creases of the blanket. The Ward Sister left the syringe where it was and yanked the paperwork free from her clipboard. “And as for that fucking Hilltop, I’m going to swing for him the next time I see him.”

  She crumpled up the paper and threw it in the medical waste bin.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “That was a requisition form for more cleaning supplies. I just wanted you to know what I think of you.”

  “It seems like you might have had a change of opinion regarding Hilltop too.”

  “I remembered how he forbade any of the staff to examine Eisha. He said, it was enough that she was examined when she was admitted.”

  Daniel frowned. “Is that normal?”

  “No, not really,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek, “but he’s a doctor and like I’ve said, he was being very attentive.”

  The Ward Sister had the eerie sensation that Daniel was studying her. His eyes were everywhere and nowhere at once and while she froze under his searchlight gaze, he appeared to relax.

  “You went against his orders, didn’t you?” he said with a knowing look.

  “Speaking to my friend wasn’t the only thing I did last night. When no-one was around, I looked at your daughter’s wounds. There was nothing there. Eisha wasn’t assaulted. There wasn’t a cut or contusion anywhere.”

  “Of course, she was assaulted. Why else would she be in a coma?”

  He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. She braced herself for an attack, wishing her hand was closer to the syringe. He stood there, motionless, his brown eyes wide and lost.

  “What’s wrong with my daughter, Sister?” he asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me. What is it you do, Mr Dayton?”

  “I’m a tree surgeon,” he said, dropping back down into his seat.

  “But what do you really do?”

  Daniel sighed and cracked his knuckles again. The Ward Sister waited.

  “I wasn’t involved in what happened to Eisha, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “I came back to punish the man who hurt her. And now you’re telling me she hasn’t been hurt. You’re telling me she’s in a coma and there’s nothing we can do.”

  Sitting on Eisha’s bed, the Ward Sister was wary of getting too close. Whatever had happened to Daniel Dayton over the past few days or the past few years even, had scarred him. He was the product of his environment. She hated to think what that environment had been.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  Daniel rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know anymore. I was a father who ran out on his daughter. I was a son until I wasn’t. I come from a dangerous world; a cancerous world. I could tell you what you want to know, but you’d feel compelled to act, Sister. It would be better if you let me handle things on my own.”

  “You don’t have to do it on your own.”

  “There’s no-one I can trust.” He tucked his chin into his large chest and stared at the floor.

  “Is that it?” she asked.

  He looked up, but his mouth was clamped shut. She walked to the medical waste bin and dropped the sedative inside. “You’re too big to be feeling sorry for yourself, Mr Dayton. Do you think I got to run this ward because I cried every time those stupid doctors talked down to me or criticised my work?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying - grow up.”

  The Ward Sister smiled and produced a notepad from her pocket. “And I didn’t say there was nothing we could do.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Scott walked free from Frankland prison in a suit left for him by Fairbanks. It was black and shiny with worn patches at the elbows of the jacket. It fit, but only just. His personal effects were returned, amounting to a handful of change and half a pack of spearmint gum.

  There was no-one to greet him and although, he’d been granted a phone call to arrange transportation, he hadn’t used it. The afternoon sun was strong and his jacket was soon slung over his shoulder as he walked two miles to the village of Brasside. He intended on taking a bus to Newcastle. It was his first time on public transport and he was nervous. Growing up, there was always a car and a driver to take him wherever he wanted to go. The tattered paper timetable confounded him. Unable to decipher it, he decided to wait.

  He sat in the plastic bus stop and wiped his brow. His view of oncoming traffic was blocked where someone had put a lighter to the plastic window and burned it opaque. He tapped his foot. What he didn’t do was think about where he’d been and what he was about to do next.

  “What time is the thirty-two, mate?”

  Scott squinted against the sunshine and saw a bald man in his thirties wearing a tracksuit similar to the one he’d been wearing when he was almost raped. He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  “The timetable is over there. Can’t you read?” The man entered the bus stop, kicking Scott’s long legs on his way to examine the schedule. “Watch where you put your feet, mate.”

  The fluttering sensation in his chest was unfamiliar to him. It increased whenever he glanced at the other man.

  “Can you spare me some money to get the bus, mate?” the bald man asked.

  “I don’t have enough.”

  “How much is it to Newcastle?”

  Scott wiped his brow again. “I don’t know.”

  The bald man stood over him, his hands down the front of his tracksuit bottoms, rearranging his junk. “How do you know you don’t have enough then? Come on. Let’s see how much you’ve got.”

  Scott was hungry by the time the bus arrived, but that wasn’t his only problem. The door opened with a hiss. He climbed on board and was hit by the smell of diesel riding on a wave of heat. The driver stared at him over his hook nose. He waited expectantly as Scott stood with his hands in his pockets.

  “Where are we going to?” the driver finally asked.

  “Newcastle.”

  “It’s a big place. Whereabouts?”

  Scott looked down the aisle, hoping someone might rescue him, but he was greeted by empty seats and the pages of the local newspaper scattered on the floor. “The city centre please,” he said, “but I don’t have any money. I lost it.”

  The driver rolled his eyes and shifted the bus into gear. “‘Course, you did, mate. That’s what they all say. Just got out of Frankland, did you? Sit down and don’t cause any trouble. Okay?”

  As Scott found a seat, the bus pulled away from the curb. He closed his eyes, feeling the reverberations of the engine and listening to the driver’s lecture on smackheads and charity cases.

  Alighting near Eldon Square, he ignored the driver’s offer to join a prayer
meeting and found the nearest phone box. Reversing the charges, he made a call.

  He’d grown up on the streets of Newcastle. They were home to him, but today they were filled with aliens. Gastro pubs with outside seating bustled with loud mouthed men in pin striped suits. Goths with stained black hair read Morrissey lyrics on The Green while teenage mothers with orange tans pushed their latest baby around in the latest designer pushchair.

  Since the arrest, his family and all other known associates eschewed any contact. They weren’t about to risk being dragged down with him. He had done the same when a childhood friend of his had been done for arson. Scott had never felt so alone and even back on familiar territory, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was one man in a sea of strangers.

  Turning down Grainger Street, he found Carlo’s, a quiet coffee house where he knew the owner. He entered through a red door and climbed a flight of stairs to reach a dark room filled with the aroma of roasting coffee beans. Hanging from the ceiling were dried flowers Carlo had received for services rendered. The majority of them were from his female customers, but his main business was providing neutral ground for clandestine meetings for which he was paid in cold, hard cash. The tables were small and only sat two. There was no music, but the sizzle of the coffee machines disguised the whispered conversations held there.

  Scott waited with an untouched espresso, his jacket back on his shoulders. He didn’t want anyone to see the sweat stains on his shirt.

  He stood from his seat when Monica walked in, accidentally spilling his coffee. She wore a canvas coat so big she could have worn it twice. A member of staff wiped down his table as she came over and two new cups were produced by the time she sat down.

  Even in this dim light, he saw there were lines around her eyes and mouth. She pushed her coffee away and pulled down the sleeves of her coat, covering her hands. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” she said.