ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (13 page)

“We
are
better!”  Pen hissed from behind him.

Frankie clicked his fingers.  “There’s my proof.  Your wife thinks I’m a piece of shit.”

Andrew huffed.  “Can you blame her?”

“Maybe not,” Frankie allowed.  “But there’s a war going on.  Survival of the fittest.  You might have your nice house and your Mercedes, but when it comes right down to it, you’re weak.  When it comes down to you and me, face to face, you’re the one shitting himself – not me.  I’m the one with the control.”

“We’re not cavemen, Frankie.  Life isn’t decided by who has the biggest club anymore.”

“If prison taught me anything, it’s that we’re as much like cavemen as we’ve ever been.”

Andrew looked at the boy – for that was all he was – and couldn’t figure out what was going on behind those narrow, bloodshot eyes.  Did he really believe he was vindicated in doing this?  That he was just fighting a war against people like Andrew? 
A war against the middle-classes.

“Look,” said Andrew.  “I can help you.  Whatever’s made you this way, we can sort it out.  There’s no need for any of this.”

Frankie’s lip quivered, not because of his usual twitch, but as if he were about to break into tears.  “Really?  You can help me?”

Andrew nodded.

Frankie released a sudden gout of laughter.  “You fuckin’ nonce.  Is that what you say to little kids right before you snatch ‘em up in your van?”  He drove a fist into Andrew’s stomach and made him gasp, then leaned forward, closer.  “You fuckin’ pedo!”

Bex finally managed to catch her breath and started whining in pain again, writhing back and forth on the carpet.  She was trying to keep her agony as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw any further reprisals from Frankie, but was failing to do so.  Andrew wished more than anything that he could help his daughter; take her to the hospital and fix her pain.

But he couldn’t.  Frankie now had total control over the suffering of Andrew’s family and would decide what happened to them. Knowing that chilled Andrew to his core.

The 10pm news came on the television and, for a moment, Andrew had the crazy notion that he would appear on it. 
Family man found dead in home.  Wife and daughter also murdered.

Andrew’s skin seemed to vibrate at the thought; the fear and panic threatening to burst through his skin.  He needed to get free.  He needed to save his family.

Frankie grabbed Rebecca by the hair and hoisted her up to her feet.  Then he examined her up and down.  She was wearing her night-dress and was totally bare from just above the knee downwards.  Andrew wished she’d listened to him about covering up.

“You going to give the bitch a haircut like her old lady?” Michelle asked, thick dollops of spite in her voice.  Andrew bet the girl was jealous of his daughter.  In a beauty contest, Bex would win hands-down.  In a situation like this, however, her beauty could be a danger. 

Nothing worse than a jealous woman.

Or a horny thug.

“Come on,” Michelle urged.  “Shave the slut.”

Frankie shook his head.  “Be quiet, Shell.  I make the decisions here.”  He turned Bex to face him and smiled at her almost tenderly.  That didn’t stop her looking terrified.  “What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Rebecca.”

“Okay, Rebecca.  I’m going to do you a favour because you’re so goddamn fine.  If you promise to sit by your mum and behave, I won’t hurt you or even tape you up.  Agreed?”

Bex whimpered slightly, likely due to the pain she was in, but managed to nod.

“Good girl,” said Frankie.  He kissed her on the cheek before pushing her down onto the sofa.  “Davie, you watch the both of ‘em, okay?  No fuck-ups, you get me?”

Michelle screeched.  “What!  You’re just going to leave her alone?  Why?”

“Because that’s what I decided to do,” said Frankie. “Now shut the hell up before I bounce your ass.”

Michelle shut up but did not look happy.  Andrew sat and enjoyed the relief that Bex might not be in any immediate danger.  Frankie’s apparent attraction to her had ensured her safety for now.

I just hope that attraction doesn’t lead to anything else…

Andrew shook the thought away and tried to retain his focus on the situation.  If an opportunity to help his family came up he could not afford to miss it.

“So, what we going to do instead, Frankie?” Jordan asked.

“We’re going to do some more blow.  Except I don’t want to do it on that coffee table anymore.  It looks dirty.”

“Where then?” Dom asked.

“Grab the old lady.”

Dom and Jordan looked at each other and shrugged, seeming not to understand the request but happy to follow it all the same.  They headed over to the sofa and grabbed one of Pen’s arms each, before lifting her to her feet.

“Now what?” asked Dom.

Frankie smirked.  He picked up the scissors from the coffee table and waved them back and forth in front of his face.

Andrew held his breath and waited for whatever fate was about to befall his wife.  He wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t.

Frankie thrust the scissors at Pen, but didn’t intend to stab her.  Instead he began cutting her blouse through the middle, starting at the neckline.  Pen didn’t struggle; her fight was gone, her face lacked expression.  The bindings around her wrists made escape impossible.

It didn’t take long for Frankie to cut the blouse free, letting it fall to the floor in tatters.  Pen stood there, rigid, topless except for her purple-cotton bra – one of Andrew’s favourites.

Not anymore.

“Lay her across the table,” said Frankie.  “Face up.”

It was then that Pen found her instincts – struggling to break free of her captors and lashing out with the only weapon she had: her teeth.  Dom hollered in pain as she bit him and leapt back.

Then he slapped her across the face.  “Whore!”

Without further ado, the twins forced Pen down onto the table and held her there; arms above her head so that her midriff was exposed.

“Leave her alone,” Andrew screamed.  “Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone!”

Frankie leaped across the room and punched Andrew in his nose, spreading it across his face and unleashing a torrent of blood.  Then he grabbed the tape and wrapped several layers around Andrew’s head, covering his mouth – and almost, too, his nose.  Through teary eyes, Andrew was forced to watch as he struggled to breathe through his damaged sinuses.

Frankie went back to Pen.  He pulled a baggie from his pocket and bit a hole into it.  Then he upturned it and sprinkled its contents onto her exposed stomach.  It was more cocaine, Andrew realised, and Frankie was intently forming a long, thick pile onto Penelope’s body.  He used the edge of the kitchen scissors to separate the pile into several messy lines.

Frankie looked up at the others once he was done.  “Dig in, gangsters.”

Andrew watched helplessly as the teenagers took turns snorting coke from his wife’s belly, holding her down by the feet and wrists to keep her from squirming.  After a while she just gave up struggling all together.  She let them have their way.

Chapter Fourteen

Davie shook his head.  Unbelievably, his brother, the twins, and Michelle were all sat down in a huddle on the carpet watching television.  Davie remained on the sofa, watching over the girls like he’d been told.  Unlike the others, he’d not snorted any smack and was completely sober.  Watching them all now, stoned, transfixed by a documentary about increasing climate change
,
he was glad about that.

Davie did drugs sometimes, just weed mostly, but he’d always stayed away from the hard stuff.  Fortunately, Frankie never tried forcing it on him; otherwise he’d no doubt have been persuaded by now.

“Let us go,” Rebecca whispered from his left.

Davie looked at her and got caught in the stare of her soulful, dark eyes.  For a moment he forgot that she’d even said anything.

“I said, let us go.  Please.”

Davie shook his head.  “I can’t.  You’ll get my brother into trouble.”

Rebecca huffed.  “He’s already in trouble.  Kidnap is serious.”

“He hasn’t kidnapped anyone.  You’re still at home.”

“It’s still kidnap.  He’s holding us hostage.  Davie, please.”

Hearing her say his name sent a shiver down Davie’s spine that ended in his loins.  Girls like Rebecca didn’t usually talk to him, let alone speak his name.  Skanks like Michelle were more the type of girl he was used to being around.

He shook his head once more, but this time tried to express how much he regretted the situation.  He wanted her to know that if it were up to him, none of this would be happening.  “I hate all this – I really do – but Frankie’s my brother.  Family comes first.”

“What about
my
family?” she asked.  “Do they mean nothing?  Innocent people that never hurt anyone?”

Davie shrugged.  There was no right answer he could give.  Frankie was his brother and that was that.  He would just have to trust Frankie as he had always done.  Things would work out one way or another.

“Look what they’ve done to my mother,” Rebecca told him.

Davie looked to his right and examined the woman.  She was sprawled back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, unblinking.  A dusty film of cocaine particles covered her naked body and thicker clumps of it clung to the fabric of her bra.  Davie tried not to stare at the woman’s breasts.

“Do you know that she’s a special needs worker?” said Rebecca.  “She teaches kids from broken homes, just like you.  She tries to help people just like you.”

Davie knew the role of special needs teachers well – he’d dealt with many – and could agree that they were generally very kind people.  None of them ever really did any good, though.  Kids like Davie and his brother, Frankie, never had a chance at anything aside from turning out just like their deadbeat parents.  In fact, special needs teachers succeeded only in giving false hope.  Davie didn’t waste his time with such things.

“Be quiet,” he said.  “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine,” said Rebecca, “but by doing nothing, you are just as bad as they are.”

Is that true,
thought Davie. 
Am I…bad?

Davie scanned the room, observing his brother and his girlfriend as they kissed and groped each other on the floor.  Then he watched Dom and Jordan, scratching at their balls and laughing at a television program that wasn’t intended to be funny.   Finally, Davie looked back at Andrew, who looked right back at him, eyes swollen half-shut either side of his crumpled nose.

Davie shook his head and felt nothing but confusion in his heart. 
I’m not bad, I’m not like Frankie…but I’m not good either, am I?  But what can I do different?  I’m powerless! 

Or maybe I’m just weak…

Davie stared at the television and tried not to think anymore.  He had a feeling that the truth would hurt him.

Chapter Fifteen

Horror melded with disgust inside Andrew’s stomach as the teenagers cavorted on his floor.  Under the influence of grade-A drugs, Frankie’s lack of inhibitions persuaded him to pull off Michelle’s jeans and tug aside her skimpy panties.  He then proceeded to enter the girl, right there on the carpet, rutting like monkeys on the Discovery Channel.

How can anyone be so…decadent?  Frankie truly has no conception of other people’s feelings at all, does he?  It’s almost like the world is just an illusion that revolves around him.

Andrew turned his head away as Frankie began to climax inside the girl, his naked buttocks clenching in coitus as he ejaculated for what seemed like forever.  The sound of him cumming was like a wild animal being butchered, but, from only two feet away, Dom and Jordan lay watching television as if they hadn’t noticed.

“You disgust me,” said Bex from the sofa.  She was brave being the one to speak what they were both thinking.

Frankie pulled out of Michelle and Andrew cringed as a sloppy wet sound emanated from between them.  He quickly stood up and refastened his jeans, then laughed in Bex’s face, grabbing his crotch.  “Just jealous because you want to piece of this, too.  Don’t worry, princess, maybe later.”

“Never going to happen,” she said adamantly.

Frankie’s joking demeanour suddenly soured at the comment.  “Hey! Show me some fucking respect or I’ll forget all about my offer of leaving you in one piece.”

Bex chose to say nothing and Andrew was relieved.  If she just kept her mouth shut then perhaps the only one to suffer tonight would be him.  The irony was that watching his daughter’s torment hurt Andrew far worse than anything Frankie could ever do to him directly.  By staying quiet, Bex would be doing everyone a favour.

Frankie looked at Andrew then motioned to Pen on the sofa.  She remained in some sort of daze, fixated on an invisible spot on the ceiling.  Frankie chuckled.  “I think she’s lost the plot, mate?  She this lively in bed?”

Andrew laughed a bitter laugh.  “You’re evil!  Hell would be too good for you.”

Frankie laughed right back.  “Maybe they’ll make a place worse for me.  Some deep dark abyss where I don’t have to put up with pricks like you.”

Andrew’s eyebrows raised.  “
I’m
the prick.  That’s a good one.”

“You getting lippy with me, old man?  I already broke your nose; want me to break something else?”

Andrew shook his head, but couldn’t keep a lid on his anger.  “Go right ahead.  What difference is it going to make?”

Frankie grinned as if he knew something that no one else did.  Without warning, he turned. Then he struck Penelope in the ribs.  She cried out in shock before crumpling to the floor in agony.  Frankie held his fist up to Andrew and winked at him.  “You piss me off; I’ll take it out on her.  Sound good?”

Andrew didn’t speak.  He was in hell; where he could do nothing but watch people he loved suffer. 

Maybe that’s what hell is?  Not being punished yourself, but having to watch others suffer for your sins.