ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (10 page)

Davie decided not to participate in any further conversation.  The less Andrew knew about him – and his blood relatives – the better.  In fact, too much had been said already.

The speeding car took a road on the left and started slowing down.  It entered into a residential area that Davie did not recognise.

“I think you’ve gone the wrong way.”

Andrew shook his head, but kept his eyes forward.  “No, I haven’t”

“Yeah, you have,” Davie argued.  “You should have kept on the main road for a little while longer, I think.”

“We’re making a little detour first.”

Davie felt sick.  “What?”

Andrew smiled at Davie for a moment then looked back at the road.  “I have someone I want you to meet.  Then I will take you home, alright?”

“Okay,” Davie hesitated.  “Who?”

Andrew took a deep breath as if he was considering something.  “I want you to meet my family, Davie.  They were worried when I told them I hit you.  I just want them to see that you’re okay.  That cool, buddy?”

Davie nodded.  “Yeah, okay, but I really need to get home soon.”

“No problem.  Be just five minutes.  My wife will never get off my back until she knows you’re going to be fine.”

Davie looked out of the car’s window as it parked up on the curb outside of a row of houses.  He couldn’t help feeling like a rat caught in a trap.  There was something off about the situation and Andrew’s demeanour had suddenly changed, but there was nowhere to run.

Andrew applied the parking brake and switched off the ignition.  “Okay, get out.”

Davie nodded in silence.  He pushed open the door on his side and stepped out into the street.  The air felt icy after leaving the stifling compartment of the car.  It was a good sensation, though, and woke up his senses, easing the low-level headache that had been with him since the hospital.

“Come on, inside,” said Andrew, walking up a path to one of the houses.  There was a light on in the living room, mingling with the pulsing flash of a television.

Davie followed obediently, wishing he was somewhere else – anywhere else – than the property of a man who most likely meant him harm.

Andrew opened the front door with a key and stepped inside.  Dave stepped inside too, stopping inside the porch.

Andrew locked the door behind them.  “Living room’s on the left, pal.  Go on through.”

Davie entered the hallway and turned to the door on the left.  It felt as though turning the handle would be the beginning of something he didn’t want to get into.  He wanted to refuse to go in, to turn around and demand to be let out.   But it was too late for that.

I’m already inside.

Davie turned the handle and pushed open the door, then entered the living room.  Inside, there was a mixture of smells that didn’t usually go together.  It smelt like vinegar and…bleach?  A moment later Davie saw the source of each odour.  Two women – one young and one older – crawled on their hands and knees, scrubbing at the carpet with bleach-soaked cloths.  The whole room seemed to be littered with mashed up potatoes and bits of fish.

“My family,” said Andrew behind him.

The women looked up and both seemed to receive a fright at Davie’s presence.  Both of them stood up quickly.

Andrew stepped through into the centre of the living room and stood in front of the women.  “This is just one of the things Frankie has done to us for no reason, Davie.  My wife and daughter have been scrubbing at these carpets all day and the smell still hasn’t gone completely.  You know all about the damage to my car as well.”

Davie shook his head and wondered what to say.  What words would make this situation end?

The older woman’s eyes had gone wide and she looked at him, bewildered.  “You know Frankie?”

Davie said nothing.  He didn’t want to admit to anything that could get him hurt.

“This is Frankie’s brother,” said Andrew, “and he’s a good lad.”

Davie raised an eyebrow at him.  “What?”

Andrew shrugged.  “Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think you enjoy hurting people like your brother does.”

Davie still chose to say nothing.  His thoughts were a muddle, perhaps from the concussion – perhaps not.

“Sit down,” said the woman.  “I’ll get us all some tea.”

Davie hesitated.  He still wanted out of there, but somehow felt his uneasiness going away at the thought of staying.  A cup of tea could be exactly what he needed.

The younger girl stepped towards Davie and held out a hand.  She was about his age and beautiful – like a younger version of her mother but with a lightness to her features that made her seem angelic.  Davie could tell just by looking at her that she was a kind person.  She continued to offer out her hand and Davie finally took it, albeit reluctantly.

“There you go.  My name’s Rebecca,” she said, leading him towards the sofa.  “Take a seat and we’ll talk things through.  You look like you’ve been in the wars.”

Davie sat down and nodded.  “I got run over.”

Rebecca sat beside him and looked shocked.  “No way!”

“Yes,” said Andrew, seating himself on a nearby armchair.  “It was me that hit him.”

The girl now seemed even more shocked.

“Was an accident, Bex,” Andrew added.  “Davie’s going to be just fine, though, so don’t worry.”

“Thank god.  This week’s been horrible enough without anything else happening.”

“I’m sorry,” said Davie without realising the word had even escaped his lips.

“It’s okay,” Rebecca told him.  “We just want your brother to leave us alone.”

“Yes,” said Andrew.  “It all needs to stop, right now.  We’re innocent people.”

The older woman re-entered the room with a tray full of steaming mugs.  The one she handed to Davie had a Bart Simpson design.  “I added sugar.  Is that okay?”

Davie nodded and thanked her, but then said, “I need to go home.”

“Okay,” Andrew nodded.  “Just drink your tea and we’ll get going.  I just wanted you to meet my girls first.”

“Why?”

“So that you can tell your brother that we’re real people he’s hurting.”

“He knows that.”

“Does he?  Because maybe things don’t seem as real if you don’t know the person you’re having ‘fun’ with.”

Davie shrugged.  “I know what you’re doing, but I don’t think it will work.  I’m sorry.”

“Can you not do anything at all, Davie?” asked the older woman.

Davie shook his head.  “Frankie doesn’t listen to anyone, least of all me.  I think…I think he enjoys hurting people.”

Andrew nodded.  “Like Charlie?”

Davie looked down at the brown liquid in his mug and watched it steam.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I just want to go home.  If you take me know, I won’t tell Frankie about what happened.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at him.  “Are you threatening me?”

Davie shrugged.  “Guess I am.  Frankie has got it in for you.  If he hears that you ran me over, I don’t know what he’d do.”

“So why would you want to tell him if it will cause more trouble?”

Davie stood up, shocked at his own impulses, and flung his mug of tea aside, adding to the stains on the carpet.  “Because you won’t let me the-fuck go!  I’ve asked you nicely.  Now let me fucking leave, right now, you get me?”  Davie felt woozy, but continued anyway.  “I’ll walk home from here and not say a thing, but if you keep me here any longer than you’ll pay.”

Andrew’s eyes saddened as they looked at him.  He stood up and nodded.  “Okay, son.  It’s a shame because I thought better of you.  Guess I had it wrong.”

Davie couldn’t understand why, but tears began to beat at the back of his eyelids.  His head was spinning and his emotions were all messed up.

Must have something to do with this bloody concussion.

Andrew had been correct when he said knowing a victim makes things more real.  It genuinely upset Davie to see the effects his brother’s behaviour had had on these people, but it was none of his business.  Frankie was family.  Frankie was his brother.  This man in front of him was just a stranger.

Davie yanked open the door to the hallway and stepped outside, trying to control his breathing as it threatened to get out of control.  He entered the porch and waited for Andrew to come and unlock the front door.  It was not Andrew, however, that came to join him.  It was Rebecca. 

“Hi,” she said to him.

Davie gave a half-smile.  “Hey,” he said back.  “I’m sorry about all this shit my brother’s brought down on you, but it’s nothing to do with me.”

Rebecca smiled at him and nodded, then reached out a hand and touched his shoulder.  “It’s okay.  I know you can’t do anything about it.  It was shitty of my dad to corner you like that, but he’s just trying to protect us, you know?”

Davie didn’t want to get into it anymore, he just wanted to leave.  He found himself giving an answer, though.  “I understand why he did it and I’m not going to tell anyone.  Just let me out, okay?”

Rebecca obliged.  She produced a key from her pocket and shimmied past him.  Her body felt warm against his as she brushed past.  Davie felt dizzy again.  She unlocked the door for him and stood aside.

“Thanks,” he told her, taking one last look at her – sad that they would not speak again after this.  Just as he stepped out onto the pathway, she put a hand out and stopped him.  “It’s okay, you know?”

“What’s okay?”

“Being afraid of Frankie.  I am too.  I guess lots of people are.”

Davie smirked and puffed up his shoulders.  “I’m not afraid of anybody.  Especially not my own brother.”

Rebecca nodded and smiled at him.  Davie thought the expression contained all the caring in the world, but also a great deal of pity.  She asked him one last question before he went.  “If you’re not afraid, why won’t you help us?”

Davie was thinking of an answer when he heard someone shout from behind him.  It was his brother’s voice.  Frankie was here.

“Davie?  What the fuck are you doing?  Why the hell are you coming out of that fucker’s house?  I’m going to kill him!”

Chapter Ten

Andrew heard Bex scream and immediately panicked.  His first thought was that he’d completely misjudged Davie and that the boy had done something to hurt her.  He pushed past Pen and rushed into the hallway, heading directly for the porch.  Bex was still crying when he got there but she didn’t seem to be hurt.  In fact she was alone.

“Bex, what the hell is going on?”

She spun around.  “It’s Frankie!  He’s outside.”

Andrew stepped up to the front door and looked out into the night.  Davie was halfway down the path.  Frankie was with him and the two were arguing – both voices were heated and angry, but the sound of Davie’s voice seemed to be more pleading than aggressive.

“What the fuck happened to you, bro?” Frankie demanded, pointing to the bandage on Davie’s head.  “Did that fuckin’ mug give you a kicking?  He’s a dead man.”

“No,” said Davie.  “I got hit by a car.  The guy who lives here was just helping me.  He took me to the hospital and drove me back.”

Frankie looked towards the house and spotted Andrew standing there.  “Oh, did he?  Is that what you do, old man?  Give lifts to young boys?  Fuckin’ perv.”

Andrew pushed Bex back and told her to go and join her mother in the living room.  Then he looked back at Frankie.  “He was injured.  Would you have preferred I just left him there?”

Frankie didn’t say anything and Andrew hoped that he was getting through to him.  When he eventually did say something, it was in a calmer tone than his usual aggressive slur.  “No, course not, but how the hell did you happen to be there, anyway?”

“Right time, right place,” Davie quickly answered.

But Andrew owned up.  Lying could make things worse.  “Because it was me that hit him, Frankie.  It was an accident.  That’s why I made sure he got to the hospital.”

Frankie’s face dropped.  “You mowed down my little brother?  You’re a dead man.”  Frankie marched up the path, shoving aside his brother’s attempts to stop him.  “A motherfuckin’ dead man.”

Andrew stood rooted in the doorway, unsure how to proceed.  When Frankie pulled out a flick knife and released the blade, the decision was obvious.  Andrew slammed shut the front door and locked it as quickly as he could.  Then he called the police.

***

Frankie stood outside Andrew’s house for almost ten minutes, screaming threats and vowing that Andrew would pay for what he’d done.  Bex and Pen were both in tears by the time he left.  Five minutes later the police arrived and were now sitting in the living room as they had done only hours before.  It was the same two officers, Dalton and Wardsley.

“He actually threatened your life,” asked Wardsley.

Andrew nodded.  “Several times.  My entire family heard him.  Then he pulled a knife on me.”

“Okay.” Wardsley nodded.  “I think we have good reason to go and ask this Frankie a few questions now.”

“Questions?” said Andrew, leaning forward in his armchair.  “I want you to do more than that!  He’s a danger to society.”

Wardsley nodded.  “I understand you want something done, sir.  Believe me, we’ll be arresting him and holding him over night.  We’ll do what we can to get him in front of a judge, but…”

Andrew nodded.  “But he’ll be back on the street in twenty-four hours.”

Dalton took over for her partner.  “I’m afraid that’s the system.  The burden of proof is on the victim, not the offender.  You’ll need evidence and things will have to go through the courts.”

Andrew flopped back in the chair.  All the times he had dismissed conservative claims that there was too little justice in the British prosecution system and it turns out they were right.  There was no justice.  Andrew’s family were being terrorised and the system would do nothing to protect them.  Instead, it was more interested in protecting Frankie’s rights.  Andrew didn’t blame the two police officers in his living room.  They’d let down their impersonal barriers since the last time they’d visited and seemed genuinely sympathetic.  They wanted to help.  Andrew imagined they were just as frustrated by their lack of power as he himself was.

“Look,” said Andrew.  “What the hell should I do?”