ASBO: A Thriller Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

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

  Davie shrugged. It seemed there was no right answer he could give her. Frankie was his brother and that was that. He would just have to trust him as he had always done. Things would work out somehow. Frankie would have a plan.

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

  Davie examined Rebecca’s mother. The woman was sprawled back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling without blinking. There was a dusty film of cocaine particles all over her naked body and thicker clumps of it clung to the fabric of her bra. Davie tried not to stare at the her breasts.

  “Do you know that she’s a special needs teacher?” said Rebecca. “Before that she was a paramedic. Spent her whole life trying to help people and now she teaches kids from broken homes just like yours. She tries to help people like you.”

  Davie knew the role of special needs teachers – 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,” Davie 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? Davie asked himself. Am I like them?

  He scanned the room, observing his brother with Michelle 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 was not trying to be funny. Finally, he looked back at Andrew, who looked right back at him, eyes swollen half-shut either side of a crumpled nose. The man was a bleeding wreck.

  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? What can I do different though? There’s nothing I can do!

  Or maybe I’m just too weak to try?

  Davie stared at the television and tried not to think anymore. The more he thought about what was going on, the more he found himself unable to cope with it. He was going mad and he just wished this whole thing could be over with.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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

  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. From only two feet away, Dom and Jordan lay watching television as if they hadn’t noticed.

  “You’re disgusting,” said Bex from the sofa, braver than her father for 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 right in Bex’s face while grabbing his crotch. “Just jealous because you want a piece of this too. Don’t worry, princess, maybe later.”

  “Never going to happen,” she said. “I think I’d rather you just kill me now, than that.”

  Frankie’s joking demeanour soured at the comment. “Hey! Show me some fucking respect or I’ll forget all about my earlier 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 ironic thing was that watching his daughter’s torment hurt Andrew more than anything Frankie could ever do to him directly. By staying quiet, Bex would be doing them both a favour.

  Frankie glanced at Andrew and motioned to Pen on the sofa. She was in some sort of daze, fixated on an invisible spot on the ceiling, never blinking. “I think she’s lost the plot, mate. She this lively in bed?”

  Andrew laughed bitterly. “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.”

  “I’m the prick? That’s a good one.”

  “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 around and struck Penelope in the ribs. She cried out in both shock and pain before crumpling forward to the floor. Frankie held his fist up to Andrew and winked at him. “You piss me off; I take it out on her. Sound good?”

  Andrew didn’t speak. He was in a hell of his own; one where he could do nothing but watch the people he loved suffer.

  Maybe this is what hell truly is? Not being punished yourself, but having to watch the people you love suffer for your sins.

  “I said does that sound good?” Frankie repeated.

  Andrew nodded.

  Frankie clapped his hands together. “Good. Now get up and fight me.”

  Andrew wondered whether he’d heard Frankie correctly. “What?”

  Frankie raised both fists in a boxer’s pose. “I want to see what you got, old man.”

  “I’m tied up,” said Andrew.

  “I know that, you fucking mug. Dom will let you loose, innit.”

  Dom heard his name and looked up from the television, fuzzy-eyed and half-asleep.

  Andrew thought about things for a second and decided it could be his only chance to do something. The only opportunity he might have of getting away and reaching help. He had to take it.

  “Okay, Frankie. I’ll fight you.”

  Frankie started throwing punches into the air as if already fighting an opponent that only he could see. “Dom, get him loose.” He gave the order between an uppercut and an overhand right. “Use the scissors – but keep a hold of em.”

  Lest I drive them into your skull, thought Andrew. Adrenaline had already begun coursing through his veins in anticipation. Fighting was a skill far beyond him and he had little doubt that Frankie would trounce him in short order. Standing toe to toe with the barbaric thug was not the plan he intended to follow though. Andrew had other ideas.

  Dom hacked away at the duct tape that held Andrew to the chair. With each passing second, he felt the bonds loosen. The circulation was returning to his arms. Several minutes later and he would finally be free.

  Then I will have my chance.

  As soon as the bonds fell away, Andrew stood up, wincing as the pressure in his kneecaps made them pop. Frankie stood in the middle of the room clenching both hands into fists and holding them in front of his chin like a boxer.

  “What shall we say?” said Frankie. “Three-minute rounds? Or shall we just fight till a knock-out?”

  Andrew took one last opportunity to try and reason with his tormentor. “You don’t have to do this, Frankie. You can just leave, right now. No one blames you for any of this. Your mother has obviously failed you.”

  The comment seemed to strike a chord with Frankie. His clenched fists lowered slightly and his rigid posture eased itself. Then he spat onto the carpet. “Bitch has nothing to do with me.”

  Andrew nodded. “I know that and it’s a shame. No one deserves to be raised like you and Davie were.”

  “You don’t know shit! Not a thing, so don’t play the caring soul with me. People like you couldn’t give two shits about people like us.”

  “Yeah,” said Michelle. “Just put his lights out, Frankie, and be done with it.�
��

  Frankie nodded to his girlfriend and raised his fists again. Then he rang an imaginary bell. “Ding! Ding!”

  With Frankie approaching, ready to strike like a viper, Andrew made his own move. He dashed for the living room door.

  “The fuckers trying to do one,” said Jordan from the floor.

  Andrew barged through into the hallway and immediately turned to his right, sprinted for the porch. His plan was to rush into the street and cry out for help. His neighbours probably wouldn’t come out to assist him, it must have been past midnight now, but he was certain at least one of them would at least call the police. This will all be over soon.

  Andrew reached the porch, and something that could only have been terror filled his belly. The front door was locked.

  “Looking for these?” Frankie stood in the living room doorway, jangling a set of keys from his index finger.

  Andrew was cornered inside his very own house, but it may as well have been some dark, deserted alleyway for all the safety it provided now. He looked about himself and snatched at the first thing he could find, which turned out to be a golfing brolly. He leapt forward with it, holding the long metal umbrella in front of him like a pike.

  Frankie dodged out the way. “The fuck you going do with that, mate? Catch the blood that’s going to be raining down when I murder you?”

  Andrew considered the viability of his weapon and realised that it wouldn’t be hurting anyone – at least not enough to win a fight. His only option was to run – but to where?

  Andrew eyed the stairs and saw that they were the only available place to escape to. With panic threatening to explode his heart, Andrew made a break for it. Frankie snatched out at him with both arms as he passed, but Andrew managed to fend him off by poking the umbrella into his face. The sharp point found its mark and Frankie fell back against the wall, clutching his eye.

  “Dead man!” he shouted after Andrew. “I’m going to mess you up.”

  Andrew ignored the hateful comments and continued up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Frankie continued shouting from the floor below, rallying his drug-addled troops into battle. Andrew sped across the upstairs landing and headed for the only room he knew that had a lock: the bathroom.

  Once inside, he slammed the door shut and engaged the lock. Quickly, he dragged the linen basket across the tiled floor and placed it in front of the door to form a barricade. He collapsed on top of it, huffing and puffing like he’d just run a marathon. It would all be for nothing, though, he soon realised. The door was too thin to hold and eventually Frankie would get inside. All Andrew had succeeded in doing was trapping himself inside and delaying the inevitable.

  In any other room of the house he could have escaped through one of the windows, or at least cried out for help, but the bathroom had only a slim horizontal pane of frosted glass set high into the wall. Even if he shattered the glass it was far too small to climb through.

  Andrew’s soul deflated and he leant his head back against the door. It wasn’t long before Frankie arrived to kick it in.

  ***

  “You’re a corpse,” said Frankie, thrusting another hefty kick at the door.

  The wood at Andrew’s back was already cracked and splintered, weakening further with every blow. Andrew pushed back against the door, trying to brace it, but he already knew it was useless. Frankie was going to get through.

  The bathroom suddenly seemed very alien to Andrew. It had once been a room where he could relax, de-stress, and release the worries of his day – but no more. Now it was a cage and he was the rat trapped inside of it.

  Another kick struck the door and rattled the fragile woodwork of the frame. Andrew stepped away from the door and begun rifling through the bathroom’s wall cabinets. There was a vast collection of various junk and hygiene products, but nothing that he could defend himself with (unless toothpaste had recently been reclassified as a deadly weapon). The recently-renovated bathroom was a jewel of modernist design – which meant it was pretty much empty. Andrew put his hands on the only thing that seemed even remotely useful.

  The chrome towel rail came away from its fixings fairly easy, the thin cavity wall offering almost no resistance. The quality of newer built homes did not compare to the industrious design of Victorian housing, but Andrew was thankful for that right now. However it was also the reason that a large, cracking dent was widening in the middle of the bathroom’s flimsy door. Frankie would get through soon and Andrew prepared himself for it. The earlier option of running was no longer an option.

  “You’re finished,” Frankie shouted through the door, rage filling his voice like acid into a beaker. “Going to string you up and let your family watch you hang!”

  “Yeah,” said a female voice that could only have been Michelle. “But I’m going stamp on your head first, you fucking perv!”

  Andrew could hear Dom and Jordan on the landing as well, but couldn’t make out what they were saying – it was just laughter mostly. It sounded like a goddamn party out there. The whole gang is here, ready for their pound of flesh.

  A desperate anger started to consume Andrew, an instinct reserved only for when flight was no longer an option – a sudden spark of insanity which infected any animal inescapably cornered: the willingness to fight to the death.

  Andrew clutched the towel rail above his head and tried to imagine it was a mighty broadsword, while at the same time picturing that his attackers were pillaging Vikings coming to take his land and women. The fantasy did nothing to alleviate his fear.

  Frankie continued to kick at the door.

  The wood splintered.

  Cracked.

  Caved.

  Frankie gave one last hefty kick that splintered away the frame that held the lock. The door swung open, pushing aside the linen basket that lay against it. Frankie poked his head through the gap and grinned maniacally. “Hey man, what you up to? Guy spends too long in the bathroom it starts to look a little…unsavoury.”

  Andrew huffed defiantly, still clutching the towel rail above his head. “Nice word. You learn that one today? Here’s another one for you – pussy!”

  Frankie smashed through into the bathroom.

  Andrew swung the towel rail.

  The blow connected with Frankie’s head. He reeled backwards and lost his balance as the backs of his legs hit the lip of the bathtub. Andrew took advantage of the situation and made a run for it, but Jordan and Dom blocked his way, twin slabs of granite extinguishing any hopes of escape.

  Before the twins had chance to react, Andrew swung the towel rail at them. The blow missed both targets and hit the battered frame of the doorway, but it was enough to make the two boys hop aside to avoid it. Andrew found himself facing an open doorway, and was just about to race through into the hallway when something bit into his calf. Andrew fell down to one knee as fiery agony engulfed his leg. Frankie was standing over him, grinning, and licking blood from a nasty-looking knife.

  “What are we going to do with you?” he said, before stamping on Andrew’s face and sending him swirling into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Davie sat in the living room listening to the ruckus upstairs. The women sat beside him and shuddered with every sound. “It will be okay,” he told them. “They’ll all be gone soon. My brother’s just having a laugh.”

  Rebecca looked at him like he was an idiot. “A laugh? Are you insane? Someone is going to end up dead and you’ll be just as much to blame as your psycho brother.”

  Davie shook his head. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Wake up, you dickhead. Your brother’s dragged you into this. You’re the one keeping an eye on us – that makes you one of the kidnappers. You’ll rot in jail unless you let us go, right now.”

  Davie wanted to make her see sense, but managed only to choke on a mouthful of words that never even got close to forming sentences.

  “You’re in a mess and you know it,” said Rebecca. “You don�
�t want any of this, do you? You don’t want to end up a worthless thug like your brother.”

  “Shut up!” Davie stood up from the sofa and begun pacing. “I won’t let you talk shit about Frankie.”

  Rebecca shook her head at him in a way he did not like. Her delicate eyes oozed pity. “Stop defending him, Davie. You’re not like him, I can tell. You’re a good person.”

  Davie ran both hands through his hair and let out a long sigh. His head still ached and now he felt dizzy as well. The banging and shouting from upstairs didn’t help the situation. How did things get so crazy? Did it start when Andrew hit me with his car, or was this whole thing destined to happen no matter what? Davie thought that Andrew and Frankie would’ve reached this point regardless. He only hoped his involvement hadn’t made things worse.

  “Let us go,” said Rebecca. “This is the point where you decide whether you want to be part of this or not. If you let us go now, then it will be clear that you just got caught up in something. Keep us here, though, and you’re proving that you’re as happy to go along with this as the others.”

  Davie stared down at the carpet, examined a chunk of browning fish meat that jutted out from beneath the sofa. He thought about things long and hard before looking Rebecca in the eye. “He’ll kill me if I help you. You’ll have him arrested and when he gets out, he will literally kill me. Frankie is all I have so why would I want to make him hate me?”

  Rebecca stared back at him with deep, dark eyes. “Because you know this is wrong, Davie.”

  He nodded. She was right, he didn’t want to see Rebecca get hurt – in fact he could hardly bear it. “Okay,” he said to her, regretting what he was about to do but powerless to stop himself. “Get out of here, quick.”

  Rebecca jumped up and put her arms around Davie, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you,” she said, then stood up and grabbed her mother’s hand. “Come on, mom. We can go and get help now. It’s all over.”

  Davie knew the decision he’d just made was the right one – could tell by the love and concern Rebecca had for her mother – but it didn’t make him feel any less apprehensive. Frankie would indeed kill him.