ASBO: A Thriller Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  Which means I’m screwed.

  Andrew watched while Frankie and his entourage began snorting the lines of white powder, their noses twitching frantically as the substance entered their nasal cavities. Frankie’s twitch had now gone into overdrive.

  “That’s good shit,” said one of the twins. Andrew couldn’t tell whether it was Dom or Jordan.

  “Innit,” said Michelle. “Grade A shit.”

  “Don’t do too much,” Frankie told them. “We can’t zone out when there’s shit to take care of.”

  Michelle sauntered over towards Andrew and cackled maliciously. She patted him on the cheek hard enough that it was almost a slap. “You ready to party, old man? You want some of this?” She rubbed her fingers against Andrew’s lips and forced her way past to his gums. He tasted the powder on her fingernails and his entire jaw went numb. He spat, trying to clear his mouth.

  She removed her hand and Andrew stared her dead in the eyes. He said nothing, but was thinking about how disturbing it was that such a young girl could be so devoid of remorse or emotions. There was no telling how far these messed-up teenagers were prepared to go. Andrew looked across at Pen who looked right back at him. She had the same anxious expression on her face that he no doubt wore on his. Both of them were afraid, but both of them were also indignant at the injustice taking place inside their home. There was a look on Pen’s face that told Andrew that underneath her anxiety was a steely determination to not give in to these thugs. He felt exactly the same way.

  Our home, thought Andrew. The place we’re supposed to feel safe. I won’t let a bunch of uncontrollable kids take that away from me.

  Frankie switched the television on and turned up the volume, then 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. The menacing atmosphere hung in the air like a heavy gas. It felt like sitting on a rollercoaster, climbing up the very first hill about to take the first horrifying plunge.

  Michelle clapped her hands together. “Sweet! Friends 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 bloody watch Ross shag Rachel.”

  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 and a bit of blow 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, an apprehensive tone to his voice.

  Frankie ruffled his brother’s hair. “Just 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. “Davie, listen to me.”

  A slap stung his cheek, rattling his entire face. It was one of the twins who had hit him. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, “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 sprouting 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 clasped 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.” He pointed the scissors at Pen. “And I think this old bag is in serious need of a haircut.”

  The others 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 snarled.

  Frankie ignored the command and grabbed a hold of Pen’s hair. She squealed, a tormented sound that Andrew hadn’t heard before. He’d be happy to never hear it again.

  Andrew shouted at Frankie again, ordering him to get out of his home, to never come back, but the demands fell on deaf ears. Frankie was undeterred as he dragged Pen down onto the floor and yanked a thick clump of her hair. He cut it with the scissors, followed by another clump, followed by another. Pen began to weep as strands of her soft brown hair fell to the carpet in front of her.

  Less than ten minutes later and Frankie had hacked every hair from Pen’s head, leaving behind several patches of ragged stubble. When Pen gazed up at Andrew, she looked like a different person – bald with a face stained black by smeared mascara. Andrew’s heart hurt so bad that, for a moment, he thought he was having a heart attack. Then he realised it was just the grief of seeing his wife humiliated this way.

  Frankie was grinning. “She looks much fitter now, don’t you reckon?”

  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. Let’s go.”

  Frankie pointed the scissors at Davie. “I ain’t even getting started yet, bro.”

  “What did this guy even do to you?”

  Andrew wondered about that answer himself.

  Frankie’s lip twitched and his anger seemed to rise. “Why do you care so much, Davie? He’s just some stuck-up prick 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? I still don’t buy it.

  “What’s your problem, little D?” asked Michelle. “Just chill your fucking beans.”

  “Hey,” said Frankie, redirecting the scissors so that they now pointed at her. “Don’t talk to him like that.” He threw down the scissors onto the table, approached his brother, and put an arm around him on the sofa. “Davie’s just a bit sensitive, ain’t that right? He worries a lot; can’t help it.”

  Davie shrugged. “I just don’t like this. It’s going to end badly.”

  “Yeah, for him,” said Dom, pointing at 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 being 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 wondered if it stemmed from issues with his own mother.

  I wouldn’t blame him, having a mother like his.

  A noise alerted Andrew, making him turn his head to the floor. 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, and grinned. “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 exactly what Bex did. As soon as she regained consciousness, the agony of her broken wrist kicked in. She let out a wail that sounded more feline than human.

  Frankie stomped forward and booted her in the ribs, knocking loose every last ounce of breath she had in her lungs and instantly cutting off her noise. “Keep it the-fuck-down!”

  Bex’s screams turned inward, gasping. The hissing sound she made was like the venting air-brakes of a bus.

  “Please,” said Andrew, “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?”

  “Damn it, Frankie. Have some decency. My family has 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 – like we’re not even human. Doesn’t matter if it’s you, or your women; you all think you’re better.”

  “We are better!” Pen hissed from behind him. “You’re behaving like animals.”

  Frankie clicked his fingers. “There’s my proof. Your wife thinks I’m an animal.”

  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 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 tied to a chair – not me. I’m the one with all of 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 cold, twitching 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-class. Hatred like this was not a random occurrence; hatred like this came from pain and fear. There was a reason for all of this, a reason why Frankie was so full of anger.

  “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? You’d do that for me after what I’ve done to you?”

  Andrew nodded.

  A torrent of laughter erupted from Frankie. “You fucking nonce. Is that what you say to little kids right before you snatch em up in your white van?” He drove a fist into Andrew’s stomach, making him gasp, and then leaned forward, closer. “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 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 10:00PM 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 flesh. He needed to get free. He needed to save his family.

  Before it’s too late.

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

  “Give the bitch a haircut like her old lady,” urged Michelle, thick dollops of spite in her voice. Andrew bet the vile, little cow was jealous of his daughter. In a beauty contest, Bex would win hands-down every time. In a situation like this, however, his daughter’s beauty could be a danger.

  “Come on,” Michelle said again. “Shave the slut.”

  Frankie shook his head. “Be quiet, Shell. I make the decisions around here.” Then he turned Bex around to face him. He smiled at her almost tenderly. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “R-Rebecca.”

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

  Bex let out a whimper, likely due to the pain she was in, but managed to nod and say, “Yes.”

  “Good girl,” said Frankie. He kissed her on the cheek before pushing her down onto the sofa. “Davie, you watch the both of them, 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. Time was running out.

  “So what we doing instead, Frankie?” asked Jordan.

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

  “Where then?” asked Dom.

  “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, struggling with the weight in his arms.

  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 hurt her. Instead, he began to cut her blouse through the middle, starting at the neckline and working downwards. Pen didn’t struggle, her fight was all gone and 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 remained standing there, rigid, topless except for her purple-cotton bra – my favourite, thought Andrew. Not anymore.

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

  It was then that Pen regained some of 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. 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, sending him half-blind with tears. Frankie then 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 saw, and Frankie was intently forming a long, thick pile along Penelope’s mid-section. Michelle helped him, using the edge of the kitchen scissors to separate the pile into several messy lines.

  Frankie looked up at the twins when he was done. “Dig in, gangsters.”

  Andrew watched helplessly as the teenagers took turns snorting
coke off his wife’s body, holding her down by the feet and wrists to keep her from squirming. After a while she just gave up struggling altogether. Her stare went blank and she let them have their way.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Almost unbelievably, Frankie, the twins, and Michelle had all sat down in a huddle on the carpet to watch television. Davie chose to remain on the sofa, watching over the women like Frankie had told him to. Unlike the others, he’d not snorted any of the smack and was completely sober. Watching them all now, half passed out on the floor and transfixed by a documentary about climate change, he was glad about that.

  Davie did drugs sometimes, but only weed. He stayed away from the hard stuff, too afraid of it after seeing what it did to his mother. Fortunately, Frankie never tried to force it on him; otherwise he would no doubt have been persuaded.

  “Let us go,” Rebecca whispered from beside him.

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

  “I said, let us go. Please.”

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

  “He’s already in trouble. Kidnapping is serious.”

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

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

  Hearing her say his name sent a shiver up Davie’s spine that emanated from his loins. Girls like Rebecca didn’t 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. I’m sorry.”