Independent by Means of Magic

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ten years ago:

McDuff followed Station Chief Edwards through the dank, mildewy gray stone passageway, wondering how long since this reeking Glaswegian hell had been cleaned out. Most nights, he didn’t give a damn.

People were in for a reason, and it wasn’t up to him or anyone else on the outside to make sure they had a comfortable little vacation at the city’s expense.

He supposed this one was in for a reason.

Well, he knew this one was, more than most.

Reasons didn’t always matter when it was his baby brother thrown in the pit.

“He’s in bad shape, Rob,” Edwards said. “Might have to move him to hospital before day breaks. Or the lunatic asylum. It’s not like Bedlam any more, not here. They might be able to—”

“No asylum,” McDuff said. “They’d break whatever mind he has left. Did he come in that way? Or did it happen here?”

Their shoes echoed for ten steps before Edwards answered. The man was easily thirty years McDuff’s senior, hair pure white, gait slow and stiff. Edwards had probably arrested their father more than once before the bastard who spawned them got himself taken out of the world permanently.

“I’ll not lie to you. Most of it was his own doing, before we ever picked him up. The worst of it, even. I wasn’t back here when the fight broke out.”

McDuff shook his head, not sure if he was denying what Edwards said or trying to stop him from continuing.

“My brother hardly inspires careful treatment when he’s into this,” he said. “Long as you say it was mostly outside, I believe you.”

“I say that’s the truth.”

The wall to their left opened up to a long row of heavy metal bars interrupted by thin layers of stone. Most of the cells were occupied right now with the gang riots escalating all over the city. McDuff knew his brother wouldn’t be in any of these group holding pens after he’d already been at the center of some kind of riot.

Michael was too much trouble in any crowd, to himself and everyone around him.

They were heading toward the smaller, solitary cell blocks at the end of the row.

Downstairs, in the true pit.

“What are the charges?” McDuff said. “How long is he in for this time?”

“I’m sorry, son. They should have told you when it happened. He’s not getting out any time soon. Even if he manages that, as long as he stays in Glasgow he’ll get picked up again. Too many of these bloody thugs know he’s an easy mark. I’ve known Michael as long as I’ve known you. I don’t think he quite understands what he gets himself into, but that only means no one can stop him”

McDuff didn’t speak again until they were at the end of the hall, right before they went down the stairs into the purest hell of the solitary wing. He touched Edwards’ shoulder and stopped.

“I know his past, more than I want to. Who’s the judge on this one? I can take him out of here, down to London when I go. That’s one reason I put in for this bloody transfer, Edwards.”

The chief looked up, his eyes moving from side to side. McDuff saw the hard lines of his jaw flexing.

“These gangs aren’t only in Glasgow, Rob. They fight this disease in Manchester, London, Liverpool. New York and Baltimore in America are crawling with this vermin. A cousin of mine tells me it’s got all the way to Australia. You up for keeping him out of trouble no matter where you go, for the rest of your life and his?”

“I can’t let him rot here,” McDuff said through clenched teeth. “I won’t. Just tell me the judge. I swore to our mother before she died, you know that.”

“It’s McChafee. And you know what a hard arse he is. I don’t want to interfere in your family business, Rob, but you may not want to get into this with Michael. Sometimes guys like this, they never find their way out. He’s been nothing but heartache to your mother. What makes you think he’ll be anything less to you?”

“I don’t know what else I can do.” MacDuff’s stomach churned with sickening reality, and the near certainty that Edwards was right. “Leave him here to rot? Let him get himself killed on the street next time like our bastard of a father did?”

Edwards nodded. “And you feel like you let him down, not raising him right. He’s not your son, Rob. He’s your brother.”

“I had even less choice there than I do now. Look, the man got himself killed when we and our mother needed him most. I can’t change that, and I’ll never replace him. But I should have been able to keep Michael from following in his wasted footsteps.”

“Sometimes we do all we can and it’s never enough,” Edwards said, starting down the uneven stone stairs. A few electric lights barely touched the dark down there. “Work in a jail long enough and you learn that lesson more than any other. You did your best. You made something more of your own life. Maybe he can’t do better. Maybe this is all he’s got.”

McDuff followed, trying to keep the images away.

Michael as a wee baby, one of his own earliest memories. Michael always seemed to smile, even when his troubles started as a teenager.

Michael sobbing at their father’s funeral, their mother too far in shock to help. McDuff’s first adult failure, when he couldn’t get anyone’s tears to stop.

Michael laughing when he got kicked out of school, not understanding he was heading right into the seething nightmare that took their father.

“Maybe it is all he’s got,” McDuff finally said right before they reached the first cell. “And maybe all I’ve got is to do the best I can by him. I’ll talk to McChafee, see if I can get him to listen. He might be willing to get him out of town if nothing else.”

“I wish you the best,” Edwards said, his words slow and sad. “I hope this doesn’t eat your own life the way it is his.”

McDuff followed him past three cells, two occupied with fierce-eyed men who stood at the bars and stared. A new arrival kept everyone on edge, especially one dragged in bloody.

At the fourth Edwards pulled out his keyring big as his hand. He flipped the correct key into his fingers without even looking.

“Ready?”

McDuff closed his eyes for a second. “No. Let me see him anyway.”

The lock clanked when the key turned, and Edwards had to push with both hands to get the door open. The hinges squealed, the harsh noise echoing through the jail and into McDuff’s bones. The cell was so narrow that he couldn’t see anything until he stepped in front of the open door.

Michael sprawled belly down on the filthy bunk, head over the edge, one arm hanging down with it. A pool of blood glistened on the nearly black floor. His pale wool trousers stained and ripped, and his long-sleeved shirt only had small patches of white showing through the blood and muck.

McDuff stepped forward, his guts twisting inside him. Seeing thugs in worse shape on patrol nearly every day didn’t make seeing his brother easier.

“Michael? Mike? It’s Rob.”

The man on the bunk jerked and groaned. He pushed himself up, but his head hung close to his chest. When he finally looked up, McDuff wished he hadn’t.