ASBO: A Thriller Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  Rebecca managed to get her mother standing, despite the woman’s hands and feet being bound, and was now looking down at Davie with an expression he wasn’t used to. It looked like compassion. “I’ll make sure the police know that you had nothing to do with this,” she told him. “You should get out of here, too, before Frankie comes back dow-“

  Andrew crashed through the living room door and sprawled on the carpet beside the sofa. His hands were covered in blood, as were his jeans and shirt. Frankie came through the door immediately after him and swung a massive kick into his midsection. Andrew was silent as the blow crushed his ribs and sent him struggling for breath on his back. Covered by blood and swollen in the face, he looked more dead than alive.

  Frankie looked around as the others entered the room behind him and noticed that the women were now standing. Davie swallowed a lump in his throat as he waited for his brother’s reaction.

  “Sit down, bitches,” Frankie told them, but didn’t seem suspicious. Perhaps he assumed they’d stood up in surprise when Andrew had crashed into the room.

  Rebecca refused to sit down as instructed and instead lunged right at Frankie with her fingernails pointed out like claws. There was a deep red lump growing on Frankie’s forehead and Rebecca added to the wound by gouging two long furrows into the flesh of his cheek. The scratches began to bleed instantly, but Frankie reacted fast. He punched Rebecca hard in her stomach, doubling her over, then pushed her by the head down to the ground. He made it look as effortless as discarding trash.

  “Tie this slag up,” he ordered the twins, before looking at Davie. “What the fuck, bro? You were meant to be keeping these two under control.”

  Davie squirmed on the spot. “I’m sorry. I was just distracted by the way you all burst in. I’m sorry.”

  Frankie let his expression soften. He walked over and wrapped a hand around Davie’s head, pulling him close, forehead to forehead. “Don’t sweat it, little bro. No harm done. You just keep watching my back like you always do and nothing will ever hurt me. You’re my good-luck charm.”

  Davie hoped it wasn’t true, but was glad that his brother wasn’t angry with him. He decided it was best to help get things back under control again. Any chance that the women had of escaping was gone, and there would be no point crossing his brother a second time. Rebecca’s mother was still standing aimlessly. Davie eased her back down onto the sofa. Then he knelt down beside Rebecca on the floor.

  She lay on her side, breathing in and out rapidly. Davie waited a few moments while she calmed down. “Come on,” he said to her in a whisper, placing a hand around the soft, warm flesh of her shoulder and wishing that he could share some of her pain. “Let’s get back on the sofa. If you’re quiet Frankie should leave you alone.”

  Rebecca said nothing, but she rolled herself up onto her knees and got back to her feet. She was unable to straighten up completely and moved to the sofa in a stooped-over gait.

  Dom and Jordan came over with the duct tape. “Straighten her up, Davie.”

  “She’ll be okay, lads. I’ll make sure she behaves from now on.”

  Dom shook his head. “Get her on her fucking feet, Davie. You heard your brother.”

  Davie glanced at Rebecca who stared back at him sadly. He couldn’t tell for sure, but something about the way she looked at him told him that she understood he had no choice in the matter. He’d at least tried to help her.

  Hopefully that means something.

  Davie reached forward and pulled up Rebecca’s feet as she sat on the sofa. They were small with perfect little toenails painted a deep purple. He had to force himself not to gaze further up her naked legs. Davie knew little about women, but he knew when not to stare.

  Dom got to work wrapping the silver duct tape around Rebecca’s ankles, so tightly that it made her wince (though she didn’t complain). After he was done with her legs, he then had Davie grab her wrists while he trussed those up, as well.

  “Do the bitch’s mouth,” said Frankie from the other side of the room. He was busy getting an unconscious Andrew back into the armchair. Michelle was helping him.

  “No worries,” said Dom, tearing off another thick wad of tape and forcing it over Rebecca’s mouth.

  Jordan came forward to join his brother and squeezed one of Rebecca’s breasts. She tried to cry out in pain but could only mumble from behind the tape. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll take it off later when we have a good use for your mouth.”

  Davie wanted to slap Jordan for saying such a horrid thing to her, but knew that he would just take a clobbering. He couldn’t take Dom or Jordan on his best day and their worst – especially with a concussion and a stomach that kept threatening to purge itself.

  “Okay,” said Frankie, clapping his hands together. “Everybody nice and settled again?”

  No one said anything, but all turned in his direction.

  “Good,” Frankie nodded. “Then I think this would be a good time to explain to everyone what happens when people don’t follow my rules.” He turned to Andrew and patted him on both cheeks. “Stay with us, hero. I was about to tell your bitches what a fine display you put on up there.”

  “What happened?” Davie asked, knowing that the answer wouldn’t be anything good.

  “What happened, little bro, is that this gangster right here took a pole to my skull. Fair play, I say, but it never did him no good in the end. My knife was mightier than his pole.”

  Rebecca moaned beneath the tape on her mouth and Davie matched her reaction by stretching his eyes wide. “You stabbed him?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Had no choice, innit. Guy was out of control and needed putting down.”

  “We need to go, Frankie. This is getting well bad.”

  “Shut the hell up, Davie,” Michelle chimed in from Frankie’s side. “You’re such a downer all the time.”

  Unusually, Frankie did not jump to his defence, which Davie took as a bad sign. Frankie always jumped to his defence. “Okay,” said Davie, changing tact. “What now then?”

  Frankie smiled at him. “Glad you asked. What we’re going to do now is show Andrew the error of his ways. Man took a chunk out of my forehead then tried to take out Dom and Jordan. I think he needs to pay for that.”

  “You already stabbed him,” said Davie.

  Frankie nodded. “That was just to detain him. If the police catch you and give you a kicking, you still go to court afterwards. They don’t take the beating required to subdue you as the punishment for the crime.”

  “Yeah,” said Dom. “He still needs to be put on trial.”

  “And so here we are,” said Frankie, gushing with amusement, “to preside over the people versus Mr Andrew…whatever the fuck his surname is.”

  “What are the charges?” Michelle asked, playing along with the charade.

  “Kiddie-fiddling, goat-fucking, and the crime of thinking his shit don’t stink.”

  “How do you find?” asked Jordan, laughing till he was out of breath.

  Frankie held a finger in the air to silence the room. He seemed deep in thought. Then he thrust his finger at the floor and screamed the word, “GUILTY!”

  “What is his punishment?” asked Dom.

  Frankie put his hands together and placed the fingertips under his nose as if trying to gain guidance from the Divines. “Through the power invested in me by the courts, I sentence this wicked man to...death.”

  You mean torture, then death? – Davie corrected in his mind and the said the word three more times. Torture, torture, torture. Then he threw up.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “You okay, man?” Frankie had moved over to rub Davie’s back while he continued being sick and the vomiting had gone on for almost ten minutes now.

  Davie spat a wad of saliva onto the carpet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think so. Just came over me all of a sudden.”

  “Must be the concussion,” Frankie suggested. “Don’t worry though. He’s going to pay
for what he did to you.”

  Davie shook his head and looked up at his brother. “I just want to go. I feel rough, man. Need to go to bed.”

  Frankie examined him for several seconds then nodded. “Okay, Davie. We’ll get you home to rest.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Frankie smiled at him affectionately. “Just as soon as I’m done here. Let me finish up and we’ll kick it.”

  Davie took some deep breaths and tried to calm his stomach before speaking again. “What do you mean, finish up?”

  Frankie leaned closer and whispered in Davie’s ear. “Got to get rid of the witnesses, you know what I’m saying, bro?”

  “No way,” said Davie. “You can’t be serious?” He lowered his voice so that only Frankie could hear the next question he was about to ask. “You’re not really going to kill anybody, are you?”

  Frankie looked at Davie and nodded very slowly, very seriously. The cold cubes of ice that were his brother’s eyes chilled Davie to the bone. He finally realised he no longer knew the person standing in front of him. The memory of his big brother who taught him to kick a football and ride a bike was gone. Something integral had changed inside Frankie when he’d gone away – something that comprised a key component of his humanity. His brother had come back from borstal broken and destroyed.

  What the hell happened to you in there, Frankie? What the hell screwed you up this badly? You were never like this before. You used to look after me.

  “I don’t want to kill anybody,” Davie said, tears forming in his eyes.

  “You don’t have to, little bro. Leave it all up to big brother. Haven’t I always looked after you?”

  Davie nodded. The urge to vomit was rising up from his guts again and he fought hard to contain it. He couldn’t take being sick any more.

  “This is getting boring, Frankie. Let’s fuck something up.” It was Michelle. The sound of her voice was like a squealing pig to Davie’s ears. If someone really was about to die, Davie wished it could be her.

  “Shut the hell up, Shell,” Davie said. “You coked-up whore.”

  Michelle marched forward and grabbed a hold of Frankie’s arm. “You going to let the little wanker talk to me like that?”

  Frankie shrugged away from her grasp and grinned at Davie. He let out a short laugh, but looked deadly serious as he spoke. “You need to learn to play nice, man. That was way out of line, you get me?”

  “Is that it?” asked Michelle, stamping her feet and waving her arms like an outraged cartoon character.

  Frankie walloped her across the face. It wasn’t hard enough to injure her but had enough force to knock her to the ground. “How many fucking times have I told you to leave it out, you skinny cunt?”

  Michelle cowered on the floor, raising her arms up to deflect any further blows. “I…I’m sorry, baby. Please…”

  Frankie clicked his fingers at her. “Get the fuck up and be quiet. You give my brother shit one more time and I’ll end your sorry ass.”

  Michelle nodded and hurried away to the far side of the room. Davie noticed that Dom and Jordan were sat watching the television again, but were keeping one eye on the argument and giggling between themselves.

  Davie shook his head. You’re all a bunch of coke heads.

  “Okay,” Frankie rubbed his hands together. “It’s getting cold in here so I’m going to go and put the heating on. When I get back it will be time to carry out sentencing. Dom, Jordan, sort your shit out and wake up. You’re sat watching the snooker championships and giggling your bloody arses off like it’s the funniest thing you ever saw.”

  Dom and Jordan, looking like naughty school children, struggled to their feet quickly. Frankie left the room and Michelle ran after him, no doubt to fawn over him and try to make up. Davie sat down on the sofa between the women and worried about their fates.

  I don’t think I can cope with this anymore.

  A garbled murmur let those in the room know that Andrew had regained consciousness. He was looking across the room at Davie through his swollen eyelids.

  No, not at me. He’s looking at his family.

  “Everything will be okay,” Davie told him, hating himself for lying. “We’re all going soon.”

  “Yeah,” said Dom. “After we deal with your pasty, white ass.”

  “Why…why do you follow him?” Andrew asked the room. Davie wasn’t sure who it was directed at specifically, but figured it was a valid question to each of them.

  “We don’t follow no one,” said Jordan. “We just hang with Frankie cus he’s got the supply.”

  “So you…help him terrorise...innocent people just because he feeds you…drugs?”

  “That about sums it up, blud.” Jordan couldn’t help but laugh. “Sucks for you, huh, whitey?”

  Andrew laughed – a thick, throaty sound full of derision and disdain. “I think it sucks for you…that you let another man own your ass. You’re all just Frankie’s bitches.” Andrew laughed harder, despite the obvious difficulty he had taking in air through his crumpled nose. Dom and Jordan looked furious, but seemed lost for words. It wasn’t very often anyone had the balls to sound off at the twins and Davie looked down at the floor and secretly enjoyed the moment.

  Frankie re-entered the room, carrying a tea towel. He moved to the centre of the room and placed the tea towel on the coffee table, unravelling it to reveal a set of various-sized knives, a corkscrew, screwdriver, and a pair of pliers.

  “What are those for?” asked Davie, already knowing the answer.

  Frankie sighed at his brother. “Enough with the questions. You’re giving me such a headache that I’ll end up being the one with concussion.”

  Dom came over and looked down at the assorted implements with a look of appreciation. “Shit’s gonna get real, huh?”

  Frankie picked up a small, silver blade and examined the edge with the pad of his thumb. When he was satisfied with its sharpness, he sauntered over to Andrew, waving it back and forth. “You ready for sentencing, old man?”

  Andrew lifted his head and looked Frankie in the eye. There was no fear in his expression, only a weariness that could have been either acceptance or defiance. Davie held his breath as he waited for what was to come.

  Frankie pointed the knife in Andrew’s face. “Swallowed your fucking tongue?”

  Andrew spat, a mixture of blood and saliva that hit Frankie right in his face.

  Frankie’s twitch went into overdrive, perhaps matching the tempo of his heart that undoubtedly beat with anger. Davie was reminded then that his brother never had a facial tic before he was sentenced. It was just one more thing that made Davie wonder what on earth had happened to his brother inside.

  Frankie placed the blade against the flesh below Andrew’s left eye. “You’re going to wish you never did that, gangster. Nobody disses me and walks away clean.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” said Andrew. He sounded calm, but his breathing was quickening and his voice was slightly unsteady.

  “We going to see how much of a fuck you don’t give, old man.” Frankie removed the knife from Andrew’s face, turned around, and shuffled over to the sofa so that he was standing behind Penelope. “You positive I can’t make you care?”

  Andrew’s swollen eyes widened. “Don’t!”

  “Don’t what?” said Frankie. “Don’t do this?”

  Frankie drew the blade across the side of the woman’s face, drawing a slick line of blood as he flayed open her flesh. At first she made no sound, still trapped by whatever daze had imprisoned her for most of the evening, but then she snapped back to reality, letting out a high-pitched wail that could have cracked crystal. Frankie quickly wrapped a hand around her mouth and stifled her screams.

  From beside Davie, Rebecca struggled to get free. He had to put both hands on her to keep her in place. He wasn’t trying to assist Frankie, was just trying to keep her from getting hurt as well.

  “Thought you didn’t give a fuck?” said Frankie to And
rew as he etched another long slice across his wife’s face. “Looks like you care now!”

  No one said anything. The air was tense enough to carry electricity. Frankie continued to gag Andrew’s wife with his hand for several more minutes, finally letting go when her sobbing and moaning had quieted down sufficiently. She shook and trembled on the sofa, her face a crimson mask of blood.

  Frankie cricked his neck to the side and shuddered. “Damn, that was fun.”

  “You sick fuck!” Andrew cursed him. “You sick fucker!”

  “Those cuts are deep, bro,” said Dom. “They ain’t ever going to heal right. Scarred for life, blud.”

  Davie agreed. The cuts were thick and blood-filled. Along with the woman’s bald head and her other abuses of the night, Davie knew that the deepest scars, however, would be the ones inside her mind. Frankie had caused damage that no amount of therapy would ever cure.

  “Can I cut someone now?” asked Michelle, almost innocently, like an eight year old asking to taste her daddy’s wine.

  Frankie offered out the knife. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

  Michelle took it and immediately headed for Rebecca.

  Frankie put a hand out and stopped her. “Not so fast, baby girl. No one touches the fitty but me.”

  Michelle’s entire face drooped. “Seriously? Come on! Just let me cut her a little bit. Slapper thinks she’s the shit. Needs bringing down a bit if you ask me.”

  Frankie didn’t speak. He just stared at her, unblinking.

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll slice her dad.”

  She took the knife over to Andrew who looked back at her pityingly. “How did a nice girl like Charlie ever have a friend like you?”

  Michelle hissed at him. “I kicked that bitch to the curb long time ago. Thought she was better than me.”

  “That’s because she is,” said Andrew.

  Michelle lashed out with the knife, hitting against Andrew’s ribs with an audible clank. The knife was small and could only have entered an inch or so, but it was more than enough to make Andrew growl in pain.