ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (27 page)

Frankie pointed the gun at Bex again but she didn’t flinch.  In fact she seemed more composed and defiant than she had been since the whole thing began.  “Don’t be a hater,” Frankie told her, “just because you can’t understand my greatness.  You just don’t see the big picture like I do.”

Bex cackled at him.  It was a cruel expression and Andrew never knew his daughter was capable of such a sound.  “You think a spree-killing is the big picture?  I thought the point of you being here was to get rid of the witnesses, but now you’re talking about having an audience.  You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Plan changed.  No shame in it.  I figure that if I can’t get away with shit, I might as well make shit count.  Going to go down like a man – a gen-u-ine pig-killing hero.  You think anyone will ever forget those kids in America that shot up that school?  Or that dude last year that blinded that cop?  No, they make films about people like that.  People will make films about me one day and the whole world will be sorry it ever got in my way.”

“Who are you so angry at?” Andrew managed to ask from the floor, fighting hard not to pass out.   

Surprisingly, Davie seemed to want to know the answer as well.  “Yeah.  What’s this really all about, Frankie?  What happened to you, man?”

“Nothing happened to me, little bro.  I’m on top of the world.”

“No,” said Davie.  “You’re not.  You’re talking about killing innocent people just so people respect you.  When did respect get so goddamn important?”

Frankie pointed the gun at Andrew but faced his brother dead on.  “Respect is the
only
thing that matters.  If people don’t respect you then you’re nothing but their bitch…”

Frankie trailed off slightly and Davie seemed to sense something.  “This is all because of what happened in the youth offender’s home, isn’t it?  What the hell did they do to you?”

“He got buggered by the bigger boys,” said Andrew, enjoying the sight of Frankie flinch at the comment.  The words hit him like the bullet’s he had fired into other people.

Frankie’s face twisted up and he twitched like a madman.  “Shut the hell up, man, or I swear I’m going to make your death so slow it will feel like an eternity.”

“He’s right though, isn’t he?” said Davie.  “Is that what this is all about?  Did someone…hurt you?”

Frankie still held the gun at Andrew, but his arm had begun to shake visibly.  “You’re chatting shit, little bro.  You don’t know nuffin, so just leave it, okay?”

“I know that this whole situation is fruit loops,” said Davie.  “Something happened to you inside that made you lose the plot, big time.  Did Andrew have something to do with it?”

“No way,” Andrew said immediately.  “I never even met the guy before all this.”

Davie shrugged.  “So, what then?  What is it about Andrew that made you go all batshit crazy?”

Frankie turned the gun on his little brother.  “I actually thought you were here to support me, Davie.  Stupid me, huh?”

“Support you?  This isn’t a job interview or a football match.  I can’t support you murdering people.”

“Then get the fuck out!”

Davie folded his arms and shook his head.  “Not going anywhere.  You want me to leave you’ll have to shoot me, too.”

Frankie cocked the gun.  “Don’t think I won’t.  I’m not afraid to kill anyone.  Sick fuckers in the nick learned that shit soon enough.  I showed ‘em all.  Fuckin’ nonces.”

Davie’s ears pricked up.  “Who?

Frankie pointed the gun back at Andrew and cocked the hammer.  “This fucker!  That’s who.”

Davie looked at Andrew and seemed confused.  “Andrew abused you?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said, nodding his head adamantly, tears forming in his eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about,” Andrew cried out.  “You’re talking complete nonsense.  I never met you before.”

“I don’t buy it,” said Davie.  “Andrew doesn’t even work at a prison.”

Frankie’s twitch went into overdrive and a nauseated expression took over his face.   “Well…not him exactly.  It was McMillan.”

Andrew was stunned.  “James McMillan?  My half-brother?”

Davie looked at Andrew, obviously confused.  “What?”

“My half-brother is called McMillan.  I haven’t seen him in years – not since I was teenager – but his surname is McMillan.  Is that who you’re talking about, Frankie?”

Frankie said nothing, but Davie nodded as if something was making sense.  “Let me guess: you two look alike?”

Andrew shrugged.  “I guess.  We have the same eyes and similar hair, but we’re not twins.  Like I said, though, I haven’t seen him in years.”

“You look close enough,” said Frankie, marching towards him and grabbing both sides of his bloodied shirt, yanking him to his feet.  “Soon as I seen ya, I thought you was him.  Was only when I saw you up close that I realised you weren’t – that the piece of shit must have been your brother or something.”

Andrew shook his head and pleaded.  “I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager.  He lived with his father while my mum remarried someone else.  He was already ten years old when I was born.  I barely knew him.”

Frankie slammed Andrew back against the wall.  Pain exploded from his knee.  “You share that perv’s blood, though, don’t ya?  You probably have the same sick shit running through your veins as he did.”

“Did?”

Frankie smiled.  “That’s right.  Slit that fucker’s throat one night when he came into my cell, with a knife a pal smuggled in for me.  When the guards realised why he was in there at three in the morning, they covered it up.  Didn’t want anyone to know what a sadistic hellhole they were running.”

“I’m sorry,” said Andrew.  “I’m sorry for what my brother did to you.  I’m glad you killed him.”

Frankie released his grip slightly.  Then he laughed.  “You know I actually believe you.”

“Good,” said Andrew, “because I mean it.”

Frankie nodded.  “You know I can’t let you go, though, right?  It’s too late not to follow this shit through to the end.”

“I know that,” Andrew replied.  “You killed my wife.  There’s no quitting now for either of us.”

Andrew reached for the can under his armpit and pulled it free.  His index-finger gripped the release and pressed down hard.  A pungent jet of liquid exploded from the can’s nozzle and hit Frankie in the eyes and nose.  The excess vapour flew back and entered Andrew’s airways.  Both of them fell to the floor in a choking, spluttering mess.

Andrew’s vision was like being under water; all blurs and wet squiggles.  His whole face filled with a rising sensation of fire that worsened with every breath he allowed himself to take.  While he couldn’t see the room clearly, the sound of Frankie cursing was as clear as day.  This was it.  It would all end now, one way or another.

Andrew placed his palms down on the floor and tried to get to his feet, but it was impossible.  The dizziness, twinned with the uselessness of his knee, was too much to overcome.  Andrew knew that his daughter was bed ridden and that Officer Dalton was injured too badly to help.  The only person able-bodied enough to help was Davie.

But where the hell do that kid’s loyalties lie?

“Come on, man, get up,” Andrew heard Davie say to his brother.  “We need to get out of here fast.”

“Okay,” said Frankie.  “You’re right, little bro.  You’re always right.”

Andrew sighed. 
Thank you, thank you, God.  Finally this whole thing is over.

“But I need you to shoot them first,” said Frankie.  “I can’t do it myself.  I can’t fuckin’ see.  Do you still have your gun?”

“No way,” said Davie.  “I’m not shooting anybody.”

“Do.  You.  Still.  Have.  Your.  Gun?”

“Yes,” said Davie.  “I have it, but I’ not using it.”

“Then I’ll go down forever, is that what you want?  But if you get rid of the witnesses then we can sort out some alibis and get through this as brothers.  I’ll owe you, man – for life.  Please, Davie.  I need you to do this for me.”

There was silence in the room.  Andrew lay on the floor, terrified and blind, waiting for the next turn of events in the hellish nightmare that had become his life.

“Okay,” said Davie.  “I’ll do it.  It’s time to put an end to all of this once and for all.”

“Thank you, brother.  I love you.  You know that, right?”

“I know, Frankie.  I love you, too, and that’s the only reason I’m about to do this for you.”

There was more silence; interrupted only by what must have been Davie fumbling for a gun he had hidden in his clothing.

Davie cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry about all this, Andrew.  I truly wish none of this had ever happened to you.”

Andrew said nothing.  He just closed his eyes, replacing the blurriness with full-blown darkness, and waited for the end.  He tried not to hear his daughter screaming – he didn’t want that to be the last thing he thought about.  So he thought of a time long ago – to the day that Bex’s was born and they had been a family full of hope and joy.  Perhaps in the next life they would all be again.

He listened to the sound of the gun being cocked.

A pause.

A pause that seemed to go on forever.

Then an explosion of sound.

The smell of smoke.

Bex still screaming.

Andrew opened his eyes again.  His vision had cleared a little due to closing them for a few moments, and though he could not make out the finer details, he could see that a body now adorned the floor in front of him.

“I’m sorry about your wife,” said Davie from the corner of the room.  “I hope this makes up for it a little bit.”

Andrew opened his eyes wide, trying to see more clearly.  He wasn’t completely certain, but it looked like Frankie was lying dead on the floor in front of him.  Davie had shot his own brother.

Andrew shook his head with disbelief.  “W-Why?”

Davie didn’t answer Andrew’s question. Instead he simply said, “I’ll go and get some help.”  Then he left the room, dropping the gun on the floor beside his dead brother along the way.

Andrew realised that he hadn’t taken a breath in almost a minute.  He expelled the air from his lungs and things in the room slowly came into focus.  The first thing he made out was Officer Dalton on the floor beside him.

“Hey,” he said to her.  “It’s over now.  Help will be here soon…Officer Dalton…Laura?”

Andrew put a hand on the woman’s chest and rocked her gently, and then more firmly.  She did not wake up.  Her body slid sideways and flopped onto the sticky tiles.  The blood had stopped pumping from her stomach and she was no longer breathing. 

Andrew mourned the loss of her more than he would have expected.  He had met the policewoman only days earlier, yet she had been a massive part of the reason he and his daughter were still alive.  He would never forget what she did for him – her sacrifice.

“Dad?”

Bex’s voice was like music, clearing away the nightmares that filled Andrew’s head and replacing it with love and hope.  His daughter would be safe and that made the world bearable again.  It was just him and her now.  He would never let anything hurt her again.

“Everything is going to be okay, honey.  It’s over.”

Andrew’s vision cleared and he used it to make certain Frankie was dead.  The bullet wound in his temple made it very clear that he was.  Andrew took in the deepest breath he had ever taken in his life and then let it out slowly.  He was about to lose consciousness, but before he did, he managed to smile.

Yep,
he thought sleepily. 
It’s finally over.

Epilogue

April 17
^th

Dear Diary

Today is my eighteenth birthday.  Dad and I spent the afternoon at Mum’s grave.  We both still miss her every day.  Visiting the cemetery helps alleviate some of the pain, but I know it affects Dad differently than it does me.  He still blames himself for being unable to protect us that week Frankie forced himself into our lives.

It still shocks me that Davie Walker shot his older brother that day, to save me and my father. I’ll never know the full reasons why he did it, but I can still picture him now, squeezing that trigger as though the weight of the world fought against him.  It must have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.  But he did it anyway.  I’ll always be grateful to him for that.

After the events in the hospital, the police arrested Davie for murder, but after they took my Dad’s statement about what happened, they offered him a deal: testify against Dom in exchange for a reduced sentence.  He was looking at about five years.  When my Dad got a lawyer involved, the police dropped the charges altogether.  Murder in self-defence.

Davie went into care after it was discovered what a poor excuse for a mother he had.  His identity was withheld to protect him from the media-circus that ensued to cover what came to be known as the West Midland’s Massacre.  I don’t know what happened to him after that, but I hope he’s okay.

Eventually my wounds healed and things went back to normal, little by little.  We sold the house and moved to the country, away from the pavements and lampposts of urban living, and away from the memories that haunted us.  Somehow, I managed to get my head together enough to finish high school and move on to college.  I’m about to start university – my first year studying Law.  All in all, I managed to get through the ordeal Frankie put us through with my mind and body still intact.  A scar across my stomach the only physical reminder of the night I nearly died.

Dad hasn’t been so lucky.  Even three years later, he still walks with a pronounced limp.  The wounds of his mind are even worse.  Sometimes when we watch TV together he starts crying for no reason.  His emotions don’t work the way they used to.  If I go out without calling him every two hours, he panics.

It’s not all bad, though.  After what happened, there was a media furore about how the police had failed my family and about how all the red tape in the criminal justice system did nothing but hurt the people that needed protecting the most.  My dad fronted a campaign to increase police powers, and he succeeded.  Now young offenders can be given something called an ASBO and placed on a public register for as long as the police deem necessary.  They can also be escorted back to their homes if they’re caught congregating after nine o’clock at night.  It isn’t much, but it’s a start.  People at least have hope again.