ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (4 page)

Three hours till work.  God knows how I’m going to get through the day on zero sleep.

Andrew’s job as an Ad Exec wasn’t physically taxing, but it did require concentration.  The project he was working on at the mument for a Soda company was especially important – the rebranding of a nationally-recognised product.  The stress of last night’s events was a concern he could do without.

Andrew took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  If there was any chance of getting an iota of sleep, he would need to clear his mind.  He needed to forget that he had allowed an adolescent bully to take his trainers as if he was some helpless child and not the successful family man that he was.  The humiliation weighed down so heavily that Andrew felt like his skull may split open, spilling the memories of his cowardice all over the pillow.

4:40AM.

The minutes flew by and Andrew’s mind flittered between numb consciousness and troubled sleep.  His waking thoughts were so vivid that they merged seamlessly with his dreams, to the point that he had no idea whether he was asleep or awake.

5:01AM

Noise.  From downstairs.

Andrew’s eyes snapped open.

He was sure the noises had been real, that he had been awake to hear them and not simply imagining things in his sleep.  It sounded like a door opening.

5:13AM.

Another sound.

Somehow, Andrew had snoozed another ten minutes, the beckoning embrace of sleep managing to override his grasp on reality.  But now he was fully awake, sat up in bed as he listened to yet more sounds from downstairs. 

Footsteps.

Someone was inside the house.

Andrew heard another sound, this one closer.  He realised it was just Pen snoring, but it was no relief.  There was someone inside his home.

Someone rifling through our things.

Andrew summoned the courage to get out of bed, reinforcing himself with indignant anger at someone invading his family’s privacy.  Greasy Chinese food worked its way up his gullet as a thick, syrupy mixture of fear and loathing took a hold of his body.  His legs wobbled as he set them down on the soft carpet.  There had been no more sounds from downstairs, but Andrew was sure that there had been a break in.  His thoughts now turned to what the result of that would be.

Have they cleared us out?  Taken everything? 

Andrew’s mouth filled with saliva.  He had to swallow several times as he exited the bedroom into the unlit landing.  Bex’s door was open, as usual, and he could not fight the urge to look inside and check on her as he passed by.

Thankfully, his daughter was still asleep, snoring softly in an identical way to her mother.  She was tucked up beneath her plush duvet and had not been woken by the noises downstairs.

Good.  Maybe I can get everything cleaned up before she wakes up.  I can reduce some of the shock.

Andrew reached the end of the hallway and looked down the stairs, cocking his head to listen for more sounds.  He could detect nothing.  A slither of hope told him that maybe he’d imagined it all, and that the scary movie – and his altercation with Frankie – had just spooked his anxious mind into creating yet more scenes of danger.

He jabbed the switch at the bottom of the stairs and blinked as the light filled his adjusting pupils.  The downstairs hallway was undisturbed.  The photos on the wall were still in place and his grandmother’s bureau was still locked tight.

So far so good.

Andrew moved over to the living room door and paused outside of it.  This was the room with the television, DVD player, and most other things worth stealing in the house.  If anything was missing, it would be from this room.

And if anybody is still inside, then they’re most likely to be in this room, too.

Andrew took a deep breath and pushed open the door, clutching the handle tightly as he turned it.  A smell hit him as he entered the darkness of the room: a bitter, salty odour along with something more acrid.  Andrew wrinkled his nose and tried to identify it.

Bleach…vinegar?

He reached along the wall and found the light switch, familiar enough with his own home to find it without the use of sight.  His finger lingered over the switch as his stomach performed somersaults.  As much as he needed to see the state of the living room, he also wanted to delay things for as long as possible.  Once the lights were on, he would be forced to deal with the situation.  Right now he was safe in the dark, oblivious.

Can’t put things off forever...

Andrew switched on the light.

The room came into view and at first presented too much visual information for his brain to interpret all at once.  One thing slowly became clear, however: Nothing was missing.

Thank god!

But a few muments later it became clear that something had been added.  All over the room was a mulched-up mess of what looked like…

Fish and chips.

A battered cod fillet had been stamped into the carpet whilst dozens of individual chips had been mashed against the sofa’s upholstery.  Even the walls were smeared with deep-fried potato.  The smell of salt and vinegar enveloped the room, pungent to the point of making Andrew’s eyes water.

It wasn’t long before he put two and two together – that he realised the fish and chips were a message from the person responsible.  They had knocked them out of Andrew’s hands only several hours before.

Frankie did this.

***

 The police arrived within the hour, just as the sun rose and the birds began singing.  The light coming through the window bathed the living room in a pleasant, orange glow which seemed unsuitable in the presence of such mess.  Pen and Bex sat, huddled together, on the sofa in their night gowns.  Andrew sat at the dining room table with two police officers – a man and a woman; PC Wardsley and PC Dalton.

“What time did you hear the noises, Mr …?”

“Goodman.  Andrew Goodman.  And I don’t know exactly, but it was around 5AM, I think.”

“Okay,” said the female police officer, PC Dalton, whilst PC Wardsley took notes.  “What exactly did you hear?”

Andrew felt like he was going to have a breakdown, so exhausted from lack of sleep. He did his best to answer calmly.  “I’m pretty sure I heard doors opening and closing, and somebody creeping around.”

“Did it sound like just one person?”

Andrew nodded.

Dalton smiled and nodded, performing gestures she’d doubtlessly learned through sensitivity training.  “Do you have any ideas how someone could have entered your home?  Were all the doors locked?”

Andrew shrugged. He looked down at the table, not wanting to make eye-contact with the officer.  “I don’t know.  Before this, I never worried about locking everything up at night.  It’s a nice neighbourhood.  The front and back doors were locked, I know, but I probably left a window or two unlocked.”

“We won’t be doing that again,” Pen added from the sofa, before returning to the dazed silence she’d displayed since waking.

“No,” said Andrew.  “We won’t.”

PC Dalton asked her next question.  “Do you know anyone that would want to do this to you?  Nothing was taken, so it seems that causing upset was the main motive for the break-in.”

Andrew listened to the sound of his own breathing for a few seconds, wishing the whole thing would go away – but it wasn’t going to, no matter how much he wanted it to.  He gave his answer: “Frankie.”

The male police officer, PC Wardsley, raised an eyebrow.  “Frankie?”

Andrew nodded.  “There’s a gang that’s been hanging around the last few days.  I think their leader is a guy named Frankie?”

Wardsley scribbled down some notes eagerly, whilst his partner, Dalton, took over questioning.  “Why do you think this…Frankie…would want to target you?”

Andrew looked over at his wife and daughter.  Both were looking back at him with great interest.  Then he turned back to the female officer.  “I
know
, because the bastard assaulted me yesterday evening – punched me in the ribs.  I was carrying fish and chips at the time and he knocked them all over the road.”

“What?”  Penelope started shouting.  “Why on earth did you not tell me?  You sat with us all night and you didn’t think to tell us that you’d been attacked?”

Andrew felt ashamed.  Bex had started to cry which only made the feeling worse.  “I’m sorry,” he told them both.  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Pen folded her arms and shook her head at him.  “Worry me?  What do you think all this is doing?”

“Okay,” Dalton butted in.  “Can you describe this man, Mr Goodman?”

“Teenager,” Andrew corrected.  “Barely past being a kid.”

“Okay.  What else?”

“He’s muscly – like he works out a lot.  Red beanie hat.  Has a scar across his lip and a weird facial tic thing.”

“He has a twitch?”

“Yeah,” Andrew confirmed. 

“Anything else?”

“The girl that served me at the chip shop said that Frankie had just gotten out of a kid’s prison; warned me he was dangerous.”

“God,” Pen uttered and covered her mouth with one of her hands.  “How did you get mixed up in all this?”

Andrew felt a pinch of aggression, but managed to stop it going further.  “I didn’t have much choice,” he said.  “I had to walk past him on the way to the chip shop.  Apparently that’s all it takes to wind the guy up.”

“None of this is your fault, sir,” said Dalton who looked at Pen as she spoke as if trying to mediate.  “I’m afraid this is just the way some of today’s youths get their kicks.”

“So what do we do?” Bex asked, sounding frightened.  “How do we get this Frankie to leave us alone?”

“I take it you’re going to arrest him?” Pen asked the officers.

Dalton said, “We will question him of course, but without evidence we can’t arrest him.”

“What?” Andrew couldn’t believe it.  “You can’t do anything?”

“I didn’t say that.  We’ll see what the forensic team brings up when they search the house a little later.  If we find his prints then, yes, we can certainly arrest him.  Did anyone else see him assault you?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Okay, well, let me make a call to see what I can find out about this Frankie character.  In the meantime pop the kettle on to calm your nerves.  Things can all seem very overwhelming at this point.”

“Okay.”  Andrew nodded.  “Thank you.

The police officers left the room and returned to their car outside.  Andrew joined his family on the sofa.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” Pen said to him.  “That…
bastard
…was in my home.”

Andrew sat down and put an arm around her.  “It’ll be okay.  The police will do something.”

“You heard them!  They probably won’t be able to do anything.”

Andrew sighed.  “Look, let’s just see what happens.  No need to assume the worst yet.”

“Are you okay, Dad?” Bex asked from the other side of her mother.  “Did you get hurt when they attacked you?”

“What do you
think
?” Pen snapped at her.  “There’s nothing pleasant about being assaulted, is there?”

Andrew hushed his wife.  “Calm down.  It’s not Bex’s fault.”  His daughter was crying again so he gave her a brief smile to reassure her.  “I’m fine,” he said.  “Just some sore ribs; I’ll live.  Will take today off work and rest up a while.”

“Don’t you
ever
keep something like that from me again, Andrew,” Pen ordered him.

“Yeah, never,” Bex added.

Andrew reached over so he could hug them both at the same time.  “I promise.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.  What’s done is done, though.  You should go to work as normal, Pen.  Don’t worry about me.”

Pen nodded then looked over at Bex.  “I’ll give you a lift to school, hun.”

Bex frowned.  “I don’t even get to have the day off school?  Sucks!”

Before there were any arguments on the subject, the police officers re-entered the room and halted the conversation.  Dalton was smiling politely, but Andrew could tell by her weary eyes that she didn’t have good news for them.

“Mr Goodman,” she said.  “Would you like to step outside for a mument?”

“Why?”

“Because we have information that you may wish to share with your family separately.”

Andrew didn’t like the sound of that at all.  He stood up and moved away from the sofa, following the officers out into the hallway.  “What is it?” he asked once they were out of earshot of his family.

Wardsley looked down at his notepad and began reciting what he’d written.  “We weren’t personally aware of this individual, Frankie, when you first mentioned him, but then PC Dalton and I recently exchanged from the Stratford branch.  As it turns out, this ‘Frankie’ is well known to the local branch.”

“Who the hell is he?” Andrew asked.

“A scumbag,” Dalton replied bluntly.  “We shouldn’t comment on such things, but Francis Walker was put in a young offender’s institute at fifteen-years-old after stamping a fellow school pupil into a coma.  When the police caught up to him, he had a grand’s worth of cocaine on his person.”

Andrew couldn’t believe it.  “What the hell was a kid doing with all that coke on him?”

Wardsley shrugged.  “Most likely he was selling it for a supplier.  It’s common practise to get kids to move it – less suspicious.  He obviously fell in with criminals at an early age and he’s only gotten worse since being released.”

“Why the hell is he back on the streets, then?”

“Because he was convicted as a child,” said Dalton.  “The courts take sympathy in such cases.”

Andrew shook his head.  “He should still be locked up.  He’s a thug.”

“We agree,” said Dalton.  “Frankie Walker may well have been misled as an innocent child, but that doesn’t change the fact that since an early age all he’s been exposed to is crime and violence.  There’s nothing else he knows and it’s doubtful he’ll ever reform.”

“So get him back inside,” said Andrew.

The officers looked apologetic.  Wardsley spoke first.  “We intend to do just that, Mr Goodman, but I’m afraid we can only do that with sufficient evidence.”