Fighting Chance

by Shaun Baines

  "I remember this place," he said.

  Hannah picked at the skin around her thumbnail. "People come here."

  "What kind of people?"

  "Sophia is probably in there," she said. "She works there."

  "So she's not a cleaner?" Daniel asked.

  He stepped onto the brittle tarmac lined with decaying white bays. A cool breeze puckered his skin. "Do you want to wait in the van?" he asked.

  Hannah traced the outline of her gingerbread scar and nodded.

  "Tough," Daniel said. "You're coming with me. If I leave you here, you'll steal my van. Or you'll run off. Or you'll signal your mates in there to give me a kick in."

  "They aren't my mates," Hannah said, glancing at the open door.

  Daniel dragged her from the seat and placed a friendly arm around her shoulder, so friendly Hannah winced in pain.

  "Why do I need to come with you?" she asked.

  "Because something in there scares you," he said. "I can see it in your face."

  Daniel marched her to the door, forcing Hannah in before himself. The door led to a room with a buckled floor and sagging ceiling. The damp made Daniel's nose twitch. It was in the air and on his skin. His lip curled at the sight of a rusting fire extinguisher in the corner. It was older than he was.

  Teenagers like Hannah leaned against walls, toking on vaping pens and consulting their phones. They ignored the pockmarked coffee tables and a small shelf of books.

  "They mean well," Hannah said, tearing a corner off an anti-drugs poster, "but what do they know?"

  "Who's they?" Daniel asked.

  The teenagers cast their eyes to their screens, but Daniel wasn't convinced. When he looked down, contemplating his fists, he sensed reproachful eyes on him, like ants crawling over his skin. Without looking, he knew he was being watched.

  "Are you okay?" Hannah asked.

  "Where's Sophia?"

  Hannah pointed to a blue door. "Spends most of her time through there."

  Cupping her arm, Daniel dragged Hannah to the door. Nailed to the front was a sign that read 'Toilet.'

  "Is this some sort of joke?" he asked.

  Hannah shrugged her arm free, scowling. "Do I look like a clown to you?"

  Daniel took in the gingerbread man scar and Hannah's ginger hair and decided not to comment. "You're too young to be leading your own crew. I'm betting Sophia is in charge." Daniel pointed at the door. "Is she selling in there? Keeping you all happy with pot or pills?"

  He turned at the sound of scraping feet. The teenagers had gathered in a semi-circle, raising their phones. Daniel was blinded by the flashing lights as they took photos, recording his presence.

  "Tell them to stop," he said to Hannah.

  "They don't listen to me, mate."

  "Who do they listen to, then?"

  Hannah tapped on the toilet door.

  "You first," he said, but Hannah shook her head.

  Daniel glared at her. "What are you so afraid of?"

  A cacophony of clicks told Daniel his image was being stolen. "Get in," he said, ushering Hannah through the creaking door.

  The bathroom was box-sized, stained with the colour and smell of urine. The floor was tiled, the grouting eroded into a crumbling, brown powder. A mirror ran the length of the wall. It was cracked in a spider's web, cutting Daniel's reflection into ribbons.

  "I'm busy," Sophia said from a cubicle. "What do you want?"

  Daniel pushed open the cubicle door.

  Sophia was on her knees in tracksuit bottoms and a hooded top. Her hands were in the toilet as she scrubbed it clean.

  If she was a powerful drug lord, Sophia hid it well.

  "You are a cleaner," Daniel said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Where the hell was it?

  Bronson searched Daniel's bedside cabinets, knowing his boss would be a fool to have hidden the memory stick in such an obvious place. In the top drawer was a Heckler handgun. It only saw sunlight when Daniel was backed into a corner, which wasn't often. Bronson left the gun where he found it and searched the cupboard beneath.

  As he suspected, it was empty.

  Bronson was about to abandon his search when he noticed something strange. Peering at the back of the cabinet, he stood away, jamming his hands on his hips. Disbelieving, he checked again.

  The cabinet was one size, but its inside was another. The space was smaller.

  Reaching inside, his fingers nudged the rear wall. A false backing gave way.

  Bronson pulled it free. Lying in the shadows was Daniel's memory stick.

  "What are you doing in here?"

  Bear stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

  "Looking for something." Bronson slipped the stick into his pocket and closed the cupboard door. "Can I ask you something?"

  Bear's eyes went to the bedside cabinet, returning to Bronson as laser beams. "I'm not ready to start dating again, if that's what you're after."

  "What do you know about Daniel?" Bronson asked. "I think there's something he's not telling us."

  "Is there a reason why he should?"

  Bronson hadn't considered the question. He was so used to knowing the workings of Daniel's mind, he assumed it was his right.

  "Because I need to know," he said.

  And because Liz was spurring him on.

  Stepping to one side, Bear indicated the hallway outside. "Let's go downstairs and talk about it more."

  Adjusting his tie, Bronson strolled to the door.

  "That's a nasty bruise you've got," Bear said, eyeing the lump he'd given him.

  The corridor smelled of polish, a lemon scent that irritated Bronson's nostrils. He had to hand it to him. Bear ran a tight ship.

  Bronson flexed his jaw, grateful that the worst of the pain had eased, but even when the bruise disappeared, it wouldn't be forgotten. By either of them.

  "We still need to talk about what happened in the billiard room," Bronson said.

  "I'm always here."

  "Don't I know it," Bronson said, rolling his shoulders. "You're like one of those cleaner fish latching onto the side of a shark. We don't have the money to carry parasites."

  Bear grinned without humour, fumbling behind his back. "What were you looking for in Daniel's room?"

  "A sense of purpose."

  Bear whipped out a can of furniture polish and aimed it at Bronson's face. "Try and be funny one more time."

  "What's that?" Bronson asked. "The maid's pepper spray?"

  "Not quite." With his other hand, Bear pulled out a lighter. He struck it and pressed the spray.

  A jet of flame arced over Bronson's head, singing his hair. He ducked, rolling out of reach, leaving a trail of smoke as he went. He crouched, ready to spring forward.

  Bear lowered the flames, scorching the carpet at Bronson's feet.

  "Stop it, you two," Liz shouted from the top of the stairs.

  They both turned on their heels. Bear hid the polish in his pocket, his face colouring.

  Bronson poked him in the ribs. "He started it."

  "I don't care who started it," Liz said, her eyes narrowing. "I'm finishing it."

  Bear cleared his throat. "Sorry, Mrs Dayton, but Bronson was in Daniel's room. He's not supposed to be in there. No-one is."

  The clack of Liz's heels was silenced by the plush upstairs carpet. She looked at the scorch marks left behind by Bear's makeshift flame thrower.

  "Will you be paying for that damage?" she asked.

  Bear followed her gaze and his blush deepened. "As soon as I get paid," he said.

  "Knowing Daniel, that won't be anytime soon," Liz said, "but don't worry about it, love. And I'll have a word with Bronson and get this ironed out, okay?"

  The muffled barking of a dog reached them from outside.

  "Where's Eisha?" Bear asked.

  Liz pointed out of a near window. "Playing with bloody Princess. That dog won't let me get anywhere near her."

  Bear chewed his lip. "Pr
incess was mistreated before he got here. The dog has trust issues."

  Bronson shoved Bear as he passed, descending the staircase without a backward glance.

  Liz followed him into the kitchen, her perfume reaching him first, like an adrenaline shot to his heart.

  "What was all that about?" she hissed.

  "He caught me taking the memory stick," Bronson said, holding it out in the palm of his hand.

  "Bear has suffered a lot over these past few months," Liz said. "It makes him dangerous."

  "I can handle it."

  Liz kissed Bronson on the cheek. Her hand travelled down his chest and Bronson was sure she was holding his heart in her hand.

  "We can't do this," he whispered.

  But her hand continued its journey, snaking into his own.

  Liz snatched the memory stick and fell from his embrace, fumbling with her handbag as she dropped the stick inside. The clasp snapped shut as the chimes of the kitchen clock sounded.

  "I'll call you," she said.

  Another kiss set Bronson's cheek into a fresh dance.

  "What are you really doing here?" he asked, as Liz walked out of the door.

  "I'm here for my family," she said, slamming it shut behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Daniel was sorry he could no longer smell the urine. There must have been enough of it in his nostrils to make him numb. Who knew what Sophia could smell? Did it register with her at all?

  The bathroom had been white, but was now yellowed with age and misdirected aims. There were three cubicles, each with their fair share of graffiti. A single sink hung tenaciously to the wall, its rusting pipes like the tentacles of a jellyfish.

  "Nice place," he said.

  Sophia raised an eyebrow. "If you want to catch cholera."

  "Maybe you deserve it," Daniel said. "You've been economical with the truth."

  Sophia stood with a groan, peeling the rubber gloves from her hands. "If I'd told you the truth, would you have helped me?"

  "Of course."

  "That I was penniless? That I basically lived here? That no-one believed me when it came to these kids going missing?"

  Daniel scratched his nose, hoping his sense of smell hadn't been irrevocably damaged. "Why were they taking my photo? The kids in the other room?"

  "Because they've never seen you before," Sophia said with a snort, "and neither have their friends."

  "Meaning what, exactly?"

  Sophia examined her hands. They were raw from scrubbing. "To prove their lives mean something, they collect likes and shares online. I imagine capturing someone like you on camera would boost their profile."

  Daniel turned to Hannah. "You make films of kicking the shit out of people. Is she right?"

  Hannah washed her hands in the sink, keeping her head down.

  "Leave her out of this," Sophia said.

  "I'd heard you were very protective of her."

  "She's protective of everyone," Hannah said, shaking her hands dry, "but she fails more times than she succeeds."

  Sophia picked up a toilet brush and placed it in a shopping bag. The wet bristles pushed against the plastic. "If you're here, that means you know I don't live in a posh house in Whitley Bay."

  "By the way, I think you've been fired," Daniel said.

  "It was a nice job, but I couldn't stay." Sophia dropped her rubber gloves into the bag. "I was needed here. I volunteer."

  "You're not getting paid for this?" Daniel asked. It explained why Sophia's only currency was a stolen painting.

  She shrugged. "There's not enough money in the world for what I scrape off the back of those toilets. I do it because no-one else will."

  "Why did you lie to me?" Daniel heard a click in his jaw as he ground his teeth. Nothing was making sense. He'd spent his life accumulating wealth and status. It was for his daughter and for himself, but he'd never cleaned toilets for a living, never mind for free. What drove a person to do that?

  "This place is giving me a headache. Can we step outside?" Sophia asked, swinging the plastic bag.

  They returned to the main hall where the teenagers perched like owls on the tables. They lifted their phones as Daniel entered the room.

  Sophia gave a small shake of her head and the phones disappeared.

  "Did you know this used to be a scout hut?" she asked.

  Daniel remembered it from his childhood. When he was a kid, Scott had dared him to sign up. His brother had thought it would be amusing to see Daniel involved in something so wholesome. Daniel had thought so too until he attended his first meeting. They'd played football, learned songs and built a wigwam out of blankets. He'd almost forgotten about the knife he'd brought with him.

  When he returned to Five Oaks, Daniel regaled his brother with stories of his woeful adventure. Scott had been pleased, even going so far as to allow Daniel his choice of takeaway that night.

  But Daniel had returned the following week without Scott's knowledge. He even made a friend. There were games and camping. There were competitions where losing wasn't met with derision. It was a full month before his father discovered Daniel had been neglecting his criminal duties.

  Takings were down and Ed Dayton had followed his errant son to the scout hut. The resulting fracas made the regional newspapers.

  "It closed down after a mass brawl," Sophia said, "and the building lay empty for years until we got permission to open it up."

  Daniel caught the teenagers glimpsing at him. They had the same look in their eyes as Hannah did. They were like cornered animals; dangerous and scared at the same time.

  "But why bother?" he asked.

  Sophia sighed. "There's nowhere else for these kids to go. Their home lives are a nightmare. It's a community here."

  "Because you don't have your own kids," Daniel said, "you force yourself on this lot."

  The teenagers swivelled on their perches, their eyes beady. They stared directly at Daniel and they weren't scared anymore.

  Sophia sucked on pale lips, a hand rubbing her flat stomach. "You're right. I can't have children."

  Blood rushed into Daniel's cheeks. "I didn't realise."

  "Does that make you happy?" Sophia asked. "To hear I'm lonely? That I love kids?"

  Daniel's apology stuck awkwardly in his throat. He was about to force it out when a teenager in a dirty tracksuit dropped from his seat and stood behind Sophia. He was joined by another and another until the whole room had drawn a line. The teenagers stood on one side while Daniel and Hannah stood on the other.

  "Like me," Sophia said, "they have very little, but the Motorheads seemed determined to take that away too."

  Hannah cleared her throat, but wouldn't look Daniel in the eye.

  "I want to show you something," Sophia said.

  She pushed through the teenage crowd and was swallowed by a sea of baseball caps until she appeared on the other side. Next to the Toilet door was another marked with an X.

  Sophia disappeared inside.

  The remaining teenagers were a morass of angry glares. They moved as one, undulating like a predatory snake, blocking Daniel's path.

  "You first," Hannah said.

  Daniel turned to the crowd. It was like ten pin bowling, he thought. If he hurled himself hard enough, he'd get a strike.

  Head down, Daniel picked up speed and waded into the teenagers. They bowed under his strength, stretching, but not breaking. His arms swam over the tops of their heads, his feet kicking frantically to gain precious inches.

  They weren't going to give. Something gave them power, something bigger than Daniel. Sweat trickled down his back and he slipped backwards.

  "Hey, dickheads," he heard Hannah shouting.

  She stood on a table, the ancient fire extinguisher pressed between her thighs. Pointing the nozzle, Hannah sprayed white foam into the crowd.

  The teenagers roared. The foam dripped from their baseball caps, soaking into their cheap clothes. They spluttered, wiping hands down their faces.


  Daniel saw his chance and surged forward.

  Hannah jumped from the table and slipped through the loosened throng to join him.

  He wrapped his arm around her thin waist, carrying her forward through the mysterious door.

  On the other side was a dark cloakroom. Rotten clothes hooks jutted from mouldy walls. The ceiling was low, forcing Daniel to stoop.

  "What the hell was that all about?" he asked, wiping foam from his clothes.

  "They don't like you," Hannah said.

  "Why not fight me then?" he asked, resisting the urge to go back and start one himself. "Why act like a bunch of milk bottles?"

  Hannah brushed her hair from a contorted face. "They don't fight. Sophia taught them it was wrong to raise your fists."

  "Easiest way to get killed, if you ask me."

  Daniel and Hannah continued through the cloakroom to another door, the floorboards creaking under their feet.

  Sophia was waiting for them.

  "She's on the other side," she said.

  They followed her into a boiler room. Rusting pipes ran along the ceilings and walls, like the roots of a giant plant. The boiler whistled with all the strength of a kettle at full steam. The room was unnaturally cold and filled with beds.

  Only one of the beds was occupied. A young girl sat with her ankles crossed, her hands woven tightly in her lap. She looked up as they entered.

  "Rachel?" Hannah asked, rushing forward.

  Daniel watched as the girls fell into each other's arms. Within seconds, they were sobbing.

  "Is this like a hospital ward?" Daniel asked.

  "I wasn't lying about these children," Sophia said. "I look after them as best I can, but they need your help."

  Daniel shifted on his feet. "Rachel doesn't look well."

  "She's been away for weeks. Won't talk about it, but she's lost a finger. It's the same people who abducted Karin."

  "Why did you say Karin was your daughter?" Daniel asked.

  Sophia balanced on the edge of a bed, resting her elbows on her knees. "You're an awful man, Daniel and the stories surrounding you are worse, but you have one saving grace. Your daughter. I saw how you looked at her at the school gates. The fear. The pride. I thought if I pretended to have the same, you might help me."

  "And maybe overlook the fact you had no money?"