“Cus it seems like lately every time I turn around you’re on my back.”
“Just looking out for you.”
Frankie let the curtain go and turned around. “I know you are. You’re my blood and that means more than anything. But you keep riding me and we’re going to have a problem. You get me?”
Davie nodded. He tried to swallow but found himself unable. His head was banging beneath its tightly wrapped bandage.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Frankie continued. “I got my shit tight – wrapped up solid.”
Davie turned and looked at Andrew in the armchair. “They’ll go to the pigs as soon as you let them go, you know? You’ll end up back inside.”
Frankie smirked. “You see, that’s where you underestimate me, little bro. Who said I’m going to let them go?”
Frankie moved away from the window, leaving Davie to think about his brother’s intentions. He looked around the living room at Andrew and his frightened family. Then he looked at Michelle, the twins, and his brother. He knew right then that he was different to them all – the odd one out. Unlike them, he was not enjoying this. Not enjoying it at all.
Chapter Twelve
Andrew looked down at his daughter and fought the urge to cry. He would not give these thugs the satisfaction of seeing that. He knew now that he had indeed heard something snap as his precious child had been maliciously shoved down the stairs. Her left wrist was purple from the subdural bleeding almost certainly caused by a broken bone. Agony would consume her when she awoke and Andrew hoped with all his heart that she slept till this was all over.
But when will that be, and what will have happened in the meantime?
Andrew watched Frankie, who was kneeling beside the coffee table that was now turned right-side-up. He was emptying a small plastic bag onto the glass surface and a small pile of fine white powder was building up. Frankie’s girlfriend – Michelle – crouched beside him with a small makeup mirror. She was using it to sweep the substance into several parallel lines. The twins stood watching nearby like baying dogs, almost drooling at the sight of the powder in front of them.
Then there was Davie, Frankie’s younger brother – little bro. Andrew watched the boy sitting beside Pen and couldn’t work him out. He was as complicit in this as the rest of them, but something about the expression on his face told Andrew that Davie was not enjoying himself.
In fact it looks like the kid wants out of here as much as I do.
While everyone was busy doing other things, Andrew took the opportunity to test his bonds. He wriggled side to side, trying to loosen the adhesion of the duct tape that held him to the chair. At first the tape started to give a little, but then the plastic bunched up and became unbreakable. There was no chance of getting free.
Which means I’m screwed.
Andrew sat impotently while Frankie and his entourage began snorting the lines of white powder, their noses twitching frantically as the substance entered their sinuses. Frankie’s facial tic had now gone into overdrive.
“That’s good shit,” said one of the twins orgasmically. Andrew couldn’t tell whether it was Dom or Jordan.
“Innit,” said Michelle.
“Not too much,” Frankie told them. “We can’t zone out when there’s shit to take care of.”
Michelle cackled maliciously and then sauntered over towards Andrew. She straddled his lap and patted him on the cheek hard enough that it was almost a slap. “You ready to party, old man?” she said. “You want some of this?” She rubbed her fingers against Andrew’s lips and forced her way past to his gums. The taste of the powder on her fingernails was like chalk and suddenly his entire mouth went numb. He spat, trying to clear his mouth.
The girl removed her hand and Andrew stared her dead in the eye. He said nothing, but privately thought about how disturbing it was that such a young girl could be so devoid of remorse or emotion. There was no telling how far these messed-up teenagers were prepared to go just for a bit of fun. Andrew looked across at Pen who was looking back at him from beside Davie. She had the same anxious expression on her face that he no doubt wore on his. Both of them were afraid, obviously, but both of them were also indignant of the injustice taking place inside their home. There was a look on Pen’s face which told Andrew that beneath her anxiety was a steely determination to not give in to these thugs. He felt exactly the same way.
Our home, thought Andrew. The one place we’re supposed to feel safe. I won’t let a bunch of uncontrollable children take that away from my family.
Frankie switched the television on and turned up the volume. He gave Andrew a catlike grin. “Don’t want people hearing the screams now, do we?”
Andrew swallowed a lump in his throat. Things were about to begin. He felt like he was sitting on a rollercoaster climbing up the very first hill about to take the first horrifying plunge.
Michelle clapped her hands together. “Sweet! Peep Show has just started. That shit is so funny.”
Frankie pulled Michelle’s arm so that she spun to face him. “We’re not here to watch bloody television.”
Michelle’s smile sunk away and she nodded. She looked like a chastised child.
Frankie really has a hold on these kids. What a difference a few years of age can make. They almost look up to him like a father.
“You guys keep an eye on things,” Frankie told the group. “I’m going to check out the kitchen.”
“What for?” Davie asked him.
Frankie ruffled his brother’s hair. “Just going to look for some munchies.”
Then Frankie disappeared into the kitchen. Somehow the room felt empty without him, like an atmosphere of oppression and danger had left the room. Andrew took the chance to speak to the others.
“Davie, you have to stop this? We’ve done nothing to you.”
Davie shook his head and didn’t reply – his expression was one of torment.
“Davie!” Andrew repeated.
A slap stung his cheek, rattling his entire face. It was one of the twins that had hit him. “Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I’ll mess you up bad!”
“Nice one, Dom,” said the other twin. Andrew noticed a slight difference between them now. The other twin, Jordan, had a wispy goatee growing on his chin, whilst Dom was clean shaven. Dom also wore a sovereign ring which had been attached to the hand that had just slapped him. Andrew could feel a throbbing bruise forming already.
“What do you get out of this?” Andrew directed the question to all of them.
“Shits-n-giggles,” Dom replied. “Now be quiet, or else.”
“Or else what? You’re going to do what you want to do anyway.”
“Yeah, but we can make it hurt a lot worse,” said Frankie re-entering the room. “So don’t get on our tits.” He was clasping a pair of scissors that he must’ve gotten from one of the kitchen drawers. The blades were long and glinted under the soft light of the living room.
“Before the party starts we need to get everyone looking presentable.” Frankie pointed the scissors at Pen. “And I think this old bag is in serious need of a haircut.”
The teenagers cheered, except for Davie who seemed like he was trying to force a smile but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Leave my wife alone!” Andrew shouted.
Frankie ignored the outburst and grabbed a hold of Pen’s hair. She squealed, making a tormented sound that Andrew had not heard from her before and would be happy to never hear again.
Andrew yelled at Frankie, ordering him to get out of his home, to just leave now, but the demands fell on deaf ears. Frankie dragged Pen down onto the floor and yanked a thick clump of her hair. He cut it free with the scissors. She began to weep as strands of her soft brown hair fell to the carpet in front of her. Frankie got to work on the rest. Less than ten minutes later, he had hacked every hair from Pen’s head, leaving behind several clumps of ragged stubble. When Pen gazed up at Andrew, she looked like a different person – bald, with a face stained b
lack with smeared mascara. Andrew’s chest clenched and for a moment he thought he was having a heart attack. Then he realised it was just the grief of seeing his wife humiliated. Andrew joined in with her sobbing.
Frankie was grinning. “She looks much hotter now, don’t ya think?”
Andrew spat. “Fuck you!”
Frankie rushed forward and struck Andrew across his face. Stars invaded his vision and he wondered if the blow had broken his jaw. He moved it left and right, sparking extra pain, but was satisfied that it hadn’t.
“Come on, Frankie,” said Davie. “You’ve made your point. They’re both in tears. Let’s go.”
Frankie turned and pointed the scissors at Davie and shook his head. “I ain’t even getting started yet, little bro.”
“What did this guy do to you?” Davie asked. Andrew wondered the very same thing.
Frankie’s lip twitched as his anger seemed to rise. “Why do you care so much, man? He’s just some stuck-up cunt with a flash car who thinks his shit don’t stink.”
Is that it? Andrew thought. Is this whole thing just because I have a nice car? This whole nightmare is down to some insecure thug resenting me, jealous of what I have?
“What’s your problem, little D,” asked Michelle. “Just chill your beans, innit. You’re acting a twat!”
“Hey,” said Frankie, pointing the scissors. “Don’t talk to him like that.” He threw the scissors down on the table and approached his younger brother, putting an arm around him on the sofa. “Davie’s just a bit sensitive, ain’t that right? He worries a lot, but he means well.”
Davie nodded. “I just don’t like any of this. It’s going to end badly.”
“Yeah, for him,” said Dom, pointing to Andrew.
Andrew sat silently, bewildered by what was becoming some sort of surreal soap opera: people bickering casually in front of him whilst he was held captive in his own living room.
Davie helped Pen back onto the sofa, pulling her up by a handful of duct tape at her back. Then he sat back down beside her. For some reason, Andrew decided, Davie seemed protective over Pen.
Andrew turned his head to the floor as a noise alerted him. When he saw what was making it, he felt nauseous. Things were about to get worse.
Frankie looked down at Bex who was stirring on the floor. He beamed merrily. “Well, lookey here. Little miss fine-ass is finally joining us. Now we can really step things up. Let’s see how much of a party-girl she is.”
Andrew watched Frankie approach his daughter and, for the first time in his life, he prayed to god.
Chapter Thirteen
Andrew had never seen a person wake up screaming before, but that’s just what Bex did. As soon as she regained consciousness, the agony of her broken wrist kicked in.
Frankie marched forward and kicked her in the ribs, knocking loose every last ounce of breath she had in her lungs. “Keep it the-fuck-down!”
Bex’s screams turned to inward gasping. The hissing sound she made was like the venting air-brakes of a bus.
“Please,” Andrew pleaded. “Please, just leave my family alone. Do what you want to me…”
Frankie winked at Andrew as if they were old buddies. “I’m going to do that anyway, mate, so what exactly are you trying to negotiate with?”
“For god’s sake, Frankie. Have some decency. My family have done nothing to you.”
Frankie strolled over to Andrew and perched himself on the armrest of the chair. “I say otherwise. People like you look down their noses at people like me; think you can treat us like dirt. Doesn’t matter if it’s you or your women, you all think you’re better. It’s in your blood.”
“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?” he said. “You would help me after all this?”
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 he leaned forward, closer. “You dirty 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 and made him feel like a pathetic specimen of a man.
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. His 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 psychopath.
“Come on,” Michelle urged. “Shave the slag.”
Frankie shook his head. “Be quiet. I make the decisions here.” He turned Bex around to face him and smiled at her almost tenderly. That didn’t stop her looking terrified. “What’s your name?” he asked her.
“R-Rebecca.”
“Okay, Rebecca. I’m going to do you a favour because you’re so goddamn fine. If you promise to sit down 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 she 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 h
is 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. But I don’t want to do it on that coffee table anymore. It looks dirty.”
“Where then?”
“Grab the older bird.”
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. 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 just stood there rigidly, 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 leapt 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, struggling to breathe through his damaged sinuses.
ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror Page 10