“What do you mean?”
“Just twenty minutes ago some dude was asking me the same question.”
“Really? What did he look like?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “A mess. Face all ripped up and shit. What’s it to you, anyway, kid?”
Davie thought of an answer. “I think it was...err…my dad.”
The man nodded. “What was he in for?”
Davie continued the fabrication, seeing no other course of action. “He had an accident at the factory where he worked. That’s why his face was injured.”
The man took another drag on his cigarette and this time blew the smoke right into Davie’s face. “Really? You see that’s funny, because he told me that he’d been in a car accident.”
Davie was stuck for a reply. Making stuff up had never been one of his talents and he’d obviously blown it. Before he even had chance to attempt another bluff, the hospital employee spoke again.
“Just get out of here, kid. I don’t know what’s going on tonight, but I’m not getting involved. Piss off out of here, now.”
Davie couldn’t afford to let the man go back inside and close the door. The hospital was deserted, perfect to reach his brother – if Frankie was indeed inside. It would also be the perfect time for his brother to kill Andrew and his family, so Davie had to get inside and keep that possibility from happening.
He pulled out the revolver from his trousers and pointed it at the chef. “Move out the fucking way.”
The man looked at Davie and laughed. “You a proper gangster, yeah? What is that anyway, a water pistol?”
Davie laughed back. “Yeah man, I’m a regular OG.” Then he smashed the gun against the man’s face and clocked him cold. His body sprawled back into the doorway and Davie wasted no time in stepping over him. He would have to find his way around the hospital now without a clue where he was going, but there was no other choice. Currently he stood by a cafeteria, but that didn’t help him much. The hospital had three floors and dozens of departments. It wouldn’t be easy to find his brother in this maze. In fact, it could turn out to be nigh impossible.
But then a gunshot rang out and things got a whole lot easier.
The short explosion had come from the same floor that Davie was already on, somewhere down at the end of the long corridor in which he now stood. The signs above him that pointing in that direction read: WARDS 3-7. Davie got moving as fast as his battered body would allow. He was still nowhere near recovered from his car accident, but he tried to put that discomfort aside for now. His tatty trainers squeaked on the floor as he picked up speed. Whatever the gunshot meant, one thing was for certain, it could be nothing good. The odds that someone had just been killed were high, and the odds that it was Frankie behind the trigger were even higher.
Either that or the police have just gunned down my crazy brother.
Davie didn’t think that was true, though. The police didn’t carry guns as far as he knew. They used pepper spray and batons and stuff. The only time Davie had seen police with guns was when they shot some sick nutcase on TV about a year ago. Raul something-or-other. Other than that, the pigs in this country were harmless – nothing like the American cops he watched in the movies.
Davie reached the end of the corridor and found himself lost again. He faced several options: he could go left, right or straight on. He chose to stand still and listen, hoping to hear something that would make the decision easier. While he was not absolutely certain, he thought he could hear faint voices coming from a ward on the left: WARD 7.
Davie headed there and was relieved when he heard the voices again, this time more clearly. He soon reached a wide, open nurse’s station and Davie clearly identified one of the voices as his brother’s. What was worrying, however, was that all the other voices he could hear sounded like they were pleading.
Davie made a full circle around the room, trying to hone in on where the voices were coming from. Eventually he settled on a room off to the left. He couldn’t see inside the room’s windows, because a curtain was pulled across them, but as he approached the door, Davie was certain that it was where his brother was.
“Frankie?” he shouted at the closed door. “Frankie, are you in there?”
The voices inside the room stopped abruptly. Then Davie heard his brother’s voice reply from inside. “Davie? Is that you? Get your ass in here, little bro. You’re just in time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The bullet had hit only centremetres above Bex’s head. Andrew’s heart had leapt into his throat and stayed there. Now, as he tried to speak, his vocal cords were so restricted that his words came out choked and mumbled. “I-I can’t b-believe you just did that! You’re insane.”
Frankie blew the end of the smoking revolver and then winked at Andrew. “Chill out, man. I was just making a point, innit?”
Bex had gone the colour of chalk. The gunshot had been so close to her face that the plaster behind her had fallen away and crumbled into her hair. The smell of cordite filled the room and mingled with the odour of blood.
Frankie strolled over to Andrew and crouched in front of him. “Hopefully I’ve got your full respect and attention now? I didn’t want to have to do that, but you gave me no choice.”
Andrew was feeling weaker by the minute. His mind must have been shutting off to relieve some of the pain pulsing through his kneecap and ribs. “Just…please…enough. Enough.”
“Begging again, Andrew? I thought you’d grown bigger balls than that.”
“Frankie? Frankie, are you in there?”
Everyone in the room looked towards the door. Someone was outside. If Andrew wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like Davie.
Frankie edged over to the doorway and leant his head next to the wood. “Davie? Is that you? Get your ass in here, little bro. You’re just in time.”
To Andrew’s surprise, it was indeed Davie that cautiously entered the room. He’d thought that the boy wanted no part of his brother’s insanity, but the fact that he was here now suggested different. When it came right down to it, they were typical brothers and stuck together, no matter what.
“Little bro, I thought you’d given up on me.”
Davie shook his head. “I was wrong to say what I said. I’m sorry.”
Andrew shook his weary head. I had hope for you, Davie, but it turns out that you’re no better than your brother. To hell with the both of you.
A whispered voice caught Andrew’s attention. He turned his head sideways and saw that Dalton was trying to say something to him. She’d lost every hint of colour from her cheeks and resembled a ghost more than she did a young woman.
She placed a hand on his forearm. “Grab…my belt. The…canister.”
Andrew tried to figure out what she meant. He looked down at her belt and saw a collection of evenly placed pouches. The one on the far right contained a small aluminium spray can with a bunch of writing on the side.
Dalton nodded at him. “Grab…it.”
Andrew nodded back and looked at Frankie, seeing that he was distracted by a conversation with his brother. He reached a hand towards the canister. Inch by inch, his fingers stretching towards it, reaching out, until…
Got it.
He managed to get his hand around the can and started pulling it away from its pouch. But it was stuck on something and would not move. Andrew quickly realised that there was a popper-button attaching a tongue across the top of the can. With his thumb, he unfastened it then started to pull again. The can slid out easily now and Andrew’s heart beat rapidly as he eyed Frankie. One false move and the psychopath would shoot him for sure. He would have to keep his movements slow, gradual.
Careful.
Inch by inch.
Frankie turned around.
Andrew thanked his lucky stars that he’d managed to slide the canister into the space beneath his armpit a single second before Frankie faced him. He’d gotten away with it and now had a slither of hope to hold onto.
&nbs
p; “What you looking at?” Frankie asked him. “If your eyes were any wider they’d fall on the floor.”
Andrew didn’t reply (what the hell did Frankie expect him to say?). Instead he looked down at the mangled wreck of his knee and thought about the small metal cylinder concealed beneath his armpit and whether he would get the chance to use it.
“So what’s your plan?” Davie asked his brother. “You know there’s a bunch of pigs outside?”
Frankie shrugged. “What the hell they gonna do? I already popped one of em. They want to be the ones concerned about me.”
“We should really get out of here.”
Frankie put a hand on Davie’s shoulder. “No way, little bro. This is my moment. The day the whole world learns not to fuck with Frankie Walker. The fact that my little brother is here to share it with me just makes things even more perfect.”
Davie seemed confused. “Your moment? What are you talking about?”
“Gonna whack these bitches, just as soon as everyone comes back in from outside. No point doing it without an audience. Then I’m gonna go out in a blaze of glory. Take a few more pigs with me, if I can. People will remember my name forever. People will have nightmares about me for years.”
“You’re a whackjob,” Bex wailed from the bed. Andrew wished she would be quiet, but he assumed at this point it wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference.
Frankie pointed the gun at her again, but she didn’t flinch. In fact, she seemed more composed and defiant than she’d been since the whole thing began. “Don’t be a hater,” Frankie told her, “just because you can’t understand my greatness. You don’t see the big picture like I do.”
She cackled at him. It was a cruel sound, and Andrew never knew his daughter had such a sound in her. “You think a spree-killing is the big picture? I thought the point of you being here was to get rid of the witnesses, but now you’re talking about having an audience. You don’t know what you’re doing, do you? Just making it up as you go along.”
“Plan changed, no shame in it. I figure that if I can’t get away with this shit, I might as well make it count. I’ll go down like a man – a genu-ine cop-killing hero. You think anyone will ever forget those kids in America that shot up that school? Or the dude last year who blinded that cop? No, they make films about people like that. People will make films about me one day, and the whole world will be sorry it ever got in my way.”
“Who are you so angry at?” Andrew managed to ask from the floor, fighting hard not to pass out as his pain bubbled to intoxicating levels.
Surprisingly, Davie seemed to want to know the answer, as well, and looked at his brother. “Yeah. What’s this really all about? What happened to you, man?”
“Nothing happened to me, little bro. I’m on top of the world.”
“No,” said Davie. “You’re not. You’ve lost the plot, talking about killing innocent people just so people respect you. When did respect get so goddamn important?”
Frankie pointed the gun at Andrew but kept his eyes on his brother. “Respect is the only thing there is. If people don’t respect you, then you’re nothing but their bitch…”
Frankie trailed off slightly and Davie seemed to sense something. “This is all because of what happened in the youth offender’s home, isn’t it? What the hell did they do to you?”
“He got buggered by the bigger boys,” said Andrew, enjoying the sight of Frankie flinching at the comment. The words hit the lad like the bullet he had fired into Dalton.
Frankie’s face twisted and twitched like a madman. “Shut the hell up, or I swear I’m going to make your death so slow it will feel like an eternity.”
“He’s right though, isn’t he?” said Davie. “Is that what this is all about? Did someone…hurt you?”
Frankie still held the gun to Andrew, but his arm had begun to shake visibly. “You’re chatting shit, little bro. You don’t know nothing, so just leave it, okay?”
“I know that this whole situation is fruit loops,” said Davie. “Something happened to you inside that screwed you up, big time. Did Andrew have something to do with it?”
“No way,” Andrew replied immediately. “I never even met Frankie before all this.”
Davie shrugged. “What, then? What is it about Andrew that made you go psycho?”
Frankie turned the gun on his little brother. “I actually thought you were here to support me, Davie. Stupid me, huh?”
“Support you? This isn’t a job interview or a football match. I can’t support you murdering people.”
“Then get the fuck out!”
Davie folded his arms and shook his head. “You want me to leave, you’ll have to shoot me too.”
Frankie cocked the gun. “Don’t think I won’t. I’m not afraid to kill anyone. Sick fuckers in the nick learned that shit soon enough. I showed em all, fucking nonces.”
Davie’s ears pricked up. “Who?
Frankie pointed the gun back at Andrew and cocked the hammer. “This fucker!”
Davie looked at Andrew and seemed confused. “Andrew abused you?”
“Yeah,” Frankie said, nodding his head adamantly. Tears were forming in his eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Andrew cried. “You’re talking complete nonsense. I never met you before.”
“I don’t buy it,” said Davie. “Andrew doesn’t even work at a prison.”
Frankie’s twitch went into overdrive, and a nauseated expression took over his face. “Not him, exactly. It was McMillan.”
Andrew was stunned. “James McMillan? My half-brother?”
Davie looked at Andrew. “What? The brother you were telling me about earlier.”
“My half-brother is called McMillan. I haven’t seen him since we were kids – he went to live with his dad, I told you that – but his surname was McMillan. Is that who you’re talking about, Frankie?”
Frankie said nothing, but Davie nodded as if something was making sense. “Let me guess: you two look alike?”
Andrew shrugged. “I guess. We had the same eyes and similar hair, but we’re not twins or anything. Like I said though, I haven’t seen him in years.”
“You look close enough,” said Frankie, marching towards him, grabbing both sides of his bloodied shirt, and yanking him to his feet. “I thought you was him when I first seen you. Was only when I saw you up close that I realised you weren’t – that the piece of shit must have been your brother or something.”
Andrew shook his head and pleaded. “We haven’t seen each other since I was a teenager. He went to live with his father and my mom remarried. He was already six years old when I was born. I barely knew him.”
Frankie slammed Andrew back against the wall. Pain exploded in his knee. “You share that perv’s blood though, don’t you? Probably have the same sick shit running through your veins as he did.”
“Did?”
Frankie smiled. “That’s right. Slit that fucker’s throat one night when he came into my cell, with a knife a pal smuggled in for me. When the guards realised why he was in there at three in the morning, they covered it all up. Didn’t want anyone to know what a little hellhole they were keeping. The other lads started respecting me then, isn’t that funny? Pity most of them had already crossed me by then. I had to deal with them, too.”
“I’m sorry,” said Andrew. “I’m sorry for what my brother did to you. I’m glad you killed him and the others that hurt you.”
Frankie released his grip slightly. He laughed. “You know, I actually believe you.”
“Good, because I mean it.”
Frankie nodded. “You know I can’t let you go, though, right? It’s too late not to follow this shit through to the end.”
“I know,” Andrew replied. “You killed my wife. There’s no quitting now for either of us.”
Andrew reached for the can under his armpit and pulled it free. His index finger gripped the release and pressed down hard. A pungent jet of liquid exploded from the can’s nozz
le and hit Frankie in his eyes and nose. The excess vapour flew back and entered Andrew’s airways, as well. Both of them fell to the floor, a choking, spluttering mess.
Andrew’s felt like he was trying to see through water, his vision all blurs and squiggles. His whole face burned and the sensation worsened with every breath he allowed himself to take. Almost blind, he could see nothing clearly, but the sound of Frankie cursing was as clear as day.
This is it. It’s all going to end now, one way or another.
Andrew placed his palms down on the floor and tried to get to his feet, but found it impossible. The dizziness, twinned with the disuse of his knee, was too much to overcome. Andrew knew that his daughter was bedridden and that Officer Dalton was too injured to help. The only person still able-bodied was Davie.
But where do that kid’s loyalties lie? To his brother, of course.
Andrew heard Davie talking to his brother. “Come on, man, get up. We need to get out of here.”
“Okay,” said Frankie. “You’re right, little bro. We need to leave now.”
Andrew sighed. Thank you, thank you. Finally, this whole mess is over.
“But I need you to shoot them first,” said Frankie. “I can’t do it myself, can’t see. Do you still have your gun?”
“No way,” said Davie. “I’m not shooting anybody.”
“Do you still have your gun?”
“Yes,” said Davie. “I have it, but I’m not using it. No way.”
“Then I’ll go down forever; is that what you want? If you get rid of the witnesses for me then we can sort out some alibis and get through this as brothers. I’ll owe you, man – for life. Please, Davie. I need you to do this for me. I need you to look after me like I’ve always looked after you.”
There was silence in the room. Andrew lay on the floor, terrified and blind, waiting for the next turn of events in the hellish nightmare that had become his life.
“Okay,” said Davie. “I’ll do it. It’s time to put an end to all of this, once and for all.”
ASBO: A Thriller Novel Page 21