Doing his thick jacket up to his neck, George then buried his hands in his pockets and frowned against the biting cold as he waited for the inevitable bullshit.
Pacing up and down like a sergeant major, Dean called in a loud and tight-throated voice, "If you're working for me, you have a right to stay here." Condensation billowed from his mouth with every breath, and he waved his bloody hammer around. "If you have loved ones that you want to protect, then they have a right to stay here too. If they contribute, they get fed. If they don't, they only get a bed."
Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Ravi sag.
The pig squealed when Dean opened the cage on the back of George's truck. It made the suited lunatic jump, and George nearly laughed until Dean punched it on the nose. It squealed again. Raising his hammer, Dean looked like he was considering using it. After a pause, he lowered his arm and shook his head. "Mother fucker."
Staring at the scrawny bully, George then looked at the hammer in his grip. How easy would it be to take the cunt by surprise and relieve him of his weapon? Looking away from the man, he stared at the floor. It wasn't worth fucking everything up for the sake of a pig. Be patient, George, your time will come.
Having retrieved a loaf of sliced bread, Dean walked down the line of men with it in his hands and a bounce in his step. "Two slices each, boys. It's been a good day. Well done!"
When Dean got closer, George was hit with the stench of blood and rotting fabric. Breathing through his mouth, he tried to ignore his writhing stomach and looked at the slice of bread being offered to him.
It was tempting to leave the prick hanging. What the fuck did George want with that stale lump of shit? But this wasn't the time to make a stand. That moment would come. Forcing a smile, he took the bread. "Thanks."
Grinning, Dean moved on.
After dishing out the bread, Dean walked down the line again and handed out small pieces of cheese. Each piece was individually wrapped in clear plastic.
"I would imagine these still taste fine, boys. The basement they were in was pretty fucking cold. Make the most of this dairy. It's running out fast." Pausing, he looked along the line of men and laughed. "Unless any of you lot are good with cows?"
The bitter wind picked up, so George pulled his exposed face further into his coat. If Dean didn't hurry the fuck up, he was out of there. There was no way he was prepared to stand like a mug in the freezing cold all night.
Turning away from his vile brother-in-law, George suddenly found more patience when he looked at the women. All of them shivered as they stood in their own waste. They were so underdressed for the current weather conditions it was ridiculous, especially as they were left outside all night. Standing downwind from the truck, George could smell the rich tang of excrement. Half of the women didn't even lower their trousers before they went to the toilet now. Fortunately, Liz wasn't that bad yet.
"And finally," Dean called out as he pulled a bag from the truck, "an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Well, it best do because we don't have any fucking doctors, and I can't see many signing up for our campaign any time soon. We've probably robbed half of the cunts already."
Some of the men laughed. Most of them stared at their paltry rations with furrowed brows.
Please Sir, Can I Have Some More?
Pausing at the entrance to the tower block, George turned around to see Ravi hadn't moved. What was he doing? Standing aside, he let the other men file into the building.
The cold evening air cut through George's clothes and sent a shiver down his back as he stood by and watched.
Leaning so close to Ravi that their noses were close to touching, Dean's face glowed. "Is there a problem, boy?"
Despite being over twenty metres away, George still saw Ravi's Adam's apple bob. "Um, I don't mean to disrespect you, Dean."
Shadows from Dean's heavy frown darkened his face. Gripping his hammer, he tilted his head to one side. "Well don't then."
What was Ravi playing at? The last thing George wanted was to get involved in a row with Dean, but if he left them alone, the boy would be a smouldering husk in the skip by morning. Stepping forwards a pace, George got ready to intervene.
"It's just, my mum and dad are starving to death in my flat. I need to give them more food."
"Do they contribute?"
Dropping his head, Ravi didn't respond.
Leaning next to the boy's ear, Dean shook as he shouted, "Well what do you expect then?" The livid skin on his face crawled, and he pulled his shoulders back. Turning to face George, he pointed at the boy. "Did you put him up to this?"
"Why the fuck would I put him up to it?" Glaring at Dean, George curled his hands into fists and refused to look away. There was no way he was losing face in front of him.
The suited psychopath looked at George's large hands, and his eyes sparkled. The man got drunk on conflict.
Returning his attention to Ravi, his tone softened to the point where there was no trace of the rage that had preceded it. "Your parents are useless to me. I'm not going to waste good food on them." Dean smiled. "How you choose to share your rations is entirely up to you, but I ain't the welfare state."
Stepping forwards, George watched on.
Grinding his jaw, Ravi continued to stare at Dean.
"Are you deaf or something, boy?"
"How the fuck am I supposed to keep them alive? If I snuck food in, you'd kill me. If I stole food, you'd kill me. I can't do any more than I'm doing, so I can't earn any more food."
The hammer twitched again in Dean's grip. Moving forwards more, George's muscles tensed in anticipation of leaping to the boy's defense.
Smirking at George, Dean then stepped so close to Ravi he pushed him back a step. "Rules are rules. Fuck off if you want to live outside the complex." Twitching as if trying to contain his rage, Dean ran a heavy hand through his hair. "Although at this rate, you won't be walking away from this conversation."
George took another step forwards. The distance between him and Dean had halved.
"I'm not sure what you fucking do anyway. I only ever see you in that truck with George. Are you sucking him off in there or something?" Turning to George, Dean flicked his head in Ravi's direction. "Is he your little bitch?"
Refusing to look away, George eyeballed Dean.
Spittle rode Dean's words when he said to Ravi, "You're lucky I feed you at all."
Ravi still didn't move.
Lifting his hammer, Dean bit down on his bottom lip and pressed the bloody head of it against Ravi's swollen nose.
Although Ravi gasped as his loose nose slid around on his face, he remained where he was.
"Hurts, does it? What the fuck happened to your nose anyway?"
"I hit the brakes too hard."
A jack-o-lantern grin spread across Dean's angular face when he turned to George. "You did this to him?"
"Si broke hard when you stopped for the gang. I was miles away. I was thinking about the lunatic I saw beat an innocent girl to death."
"The same lunatic that takes care of pregnant women, you mean?"
The air between them seemed to thicken and crackle.
When George didn't reply, Dean said, "So this dickhead's broken nose is all my fault? Is that what you're saying?"
"Not unless you're responsible for fastening that dipshit's seatbelt?"
Laughing, Dean turned back to Ravi. "Well, it sounds like you've already been punished today. If you ever question me again, boy, I'll skin you alive and dip you in vinegar." Taking the apple from Ravi's meagre pile of food, Dean bit down on it and then pointed his thumb at the tower block. "Now fuck off."
With rounded shoulders and heavy feet, Ravi skulked past George.
George stayed put.
After fishing some supplies from the back of the truck, Dean looked over. "You're still here then?" Holding up a pot, he said, "I'm trying to find all of the food that's off. This Greek yogurt's been bad for two months." Lifting a pack of sausages, he grinned. "These
went rancid three weeks ago." A packet of bacon. "These rashers have got so sweaty they'll turn to snot if I leave them in here any longer."
When George looked at the sealed packet of bacon and the clear liquid swilling around inside of it, his stomach tensed. "What are you going to do with them?"
Dean looked at the women in the cage.
A hard frown darkened George's view. "But that shit might kill them. You can't do that."
"Don't be precious, George." The suited psycho slammed the cage shut. The sharp clatter jabbed George's ears. "Waste not, want not. This isn't the old days where we could simply throw food away because of a date on a packet."
"But you might kill them, Dean."
Pausing, Dean then cupped his ear with his hand. "Is there a fucking echo or something?"
"What's happened to you? You're behaving like a right cunt at the moment."
"It's the pressure of bringing a newborn into the world, George. It's a lot of responsibility to make sure your little niece or nephew is going to be safe." Giggling like a child, Dean walked over to the cage with the women in it and slipped one item of food after another through the bars.
Some of the prisoners were frenzied, swiping at their fellow captives with their long and dirty nails. One of the women picked the bacon up, curled her body around it and bit into the plastic wrapping as if it was edible. The women had turned feral in just a few weeks, and the lump in George's throat was ready to burst.
Two of the prisoners who didn't look long for this world sat on the floor amongst the piss and shit and stared at the melee with their usual vacant glaze.
Liz and the more recent additions from the cul-de-sac turned their noses up at the food.
The rattle of Dean's hammer against the cage pulled George's shoulders up to his neck. The lunatic then addressed the more reserved women. "That's the best you'll get. The only other way to get food is to earn it." His eyes settled on the two girls taken from the close. Pointing at the one who looked slightly older, he said, "You, what's your name?"
The same glare of silent hatred came from Liz and burned into George.
Placing a hand on her ample chest, the girl's face buckled. "Do you mean me?"
Nodding, Dean licked his bloodied lips.
After dropping her head, she pouted. "Sarah."
"Well, Sarah, it looks like it's your lucky day." Thrusting his hips forward, an oily laugh then bubbled from his throat. "You've just hit the jackpot, sweetheart. You're going to find out just how generous Uncle Dean can be."
Looking at the hammer in Dean's hand, George's eyes narrowed. Why didn't he just end this now?
The girl's accent spoke of her private education. "No, thank you. I'm fine as I am."
The smile remained, but the rest of Dean's face sagged. "It isn't a choice, love."
The tears that she was clearly holding back rushed forwards.
When George looked at Liz again, her hazel eyes dared him to do something.
Before he could move, Dean turned to him. "I was with Sally earlier today. She told me to send you her love."
The impetus to act drained from George's body.
"She's happy and well at the moment. She needs me every day to make sure she's okay. You know what the last few weeks of pregnancy are like." Dean then nodded at the cage. "Help us out, will ya?"
The mention of Sally had turned George into a robot to Dean's commands.
"Here, hold this."
Taking the hammer, George refused to look at Liz.
"She's ready to pop any day now. You should see her."
The cage door creaked as Dean pulled it open. When he held his hand out to Sarah, the girl shook her head and looked away. Brushing his hair from his face, Dean stretched his neck as if it were causing him pain. "It's not a choice, love."
Continuing to look away, Sarah shook her head again.
For the first time that afternoon, Dean looked rattled, and his grin wobbled. "I can show you what happens to those who don't come of their own free will if you like?" Looking her up and down, his dark eyes smouldered. "Either way, I'm getting what I want from you. It'll be much less painful for you if you come of your own free will."
As Sarah sobbed, George squeezed the hammer. What's to say Dean wasn't lying about Sally? Maybe she was already dead?
But how would he know?
Dean must be bullshitting him.
Looking at Liz, George squeezed the hammer's handle and stared at the back of Dean's head. One heavy swing was all it needed.
Coward
Losing himself, George's focus blurred. How many people had to suffer at the hands of Dean and his merry men? How many people had to suffer before George gave up on his sister? The hammer hung from his grip, the weighted end screaming to be hurled in a wide arc that ended embedded in Dean's skull.
The weapon then suddenly disappeared from his hand.
The muscles in George's upper body pulled tight as he turned around and looked down at the smaller man.
Staring back, a flicker of instability shimmering in his dark eyes, Dean raised an eyebrow. "You weren't having any rebellious thoughts, were ya, George?"
Gulping a mouthful of dry air, the stares from the women in the truck adding to his burden, George remained silent.
Flipping the hammer and catching it by the handle, Dean paused and looked up at George again. "Do we have a problem?"
A gust of wind threw the stink of rot in George's face. Stepping back a pace, he shook his head. "No."
Punching him on the top of the arm, Dean threw his head back. "Ha ha, I was only fucking with you." The mirth then fell from his face quicker than it had appeared, and he twisted Sarah's long, blonde hair around his grip. Yanking on her ponytail so she was facing the sky, he then leaned over her and licked her face. When she gasped, Dean's features lit up. "And now I'm going to start fucking with you, sweetheart. I've got all kinds of toys upstairs and a gang of horny men."
Tension grabbed a hold of George's stomach as he watched a solitary tear run down Sarah's cheek. "Leave her alone."
"What?"
It was hard to prevent the wobble riding his words. "Leave her alone. She's just a kid." Sarah's glazed blue irises rolled over to look at him. She was still facing the sky.
The nostrils on Dean's red face flared. "I hope you're fucking with me, George."
In his mind, George separated the pair and turned Dean's weapon against him. In reality, he stood dumb and immobile. He was always much braver in his fantasies. The flicker of hope on Sarah's face died.
"Right," Dean said. "Like I thought."
Without saying another word, George watched Dean yank on Sarah's hair and pull her towards the tower block. The poor girl twisted and contorted as she clearly tried to make the experience as comfortable as possible.
* * *
The door had slammed shut quite some time ago, and George hadn't moved. He was a fucking coward. The opportunity to end all of this had presented itself, and he'd ignored it. Instead, he chose to believe that Dean still had his sister. The slightest shred of hope had turned him into a puppet. Worse, it had turned him into an accomplice.
One of the windows to Dean's penthouse flat was open, and the light from inside shone out across the dark city. It was the only flat in the building with light and the only building in the vicinity with power. Dean had a generator up there with him. Its low growl was a constant that George never grew used to. It interrupted his sleep every night. He'd heard other men complain of the same thing, but who was going to tell the psychopath to shut it down?
Shadows inside the flat kept cutting the beam of light. How many of them were in there? What where they doing to her? Shrill screams shot out through the night air, setting George's nerves on edge.
When a wet thud of fist against face silenced them, something inside George's chest shrivelled into nothing. He could have prevented it. She was only a kid.
The moon was obscured by dark clouds that looked like they would rain rocks down
on them. That was exactly what they needed. "Just fucking end it now," George muttered to a God that he'd never believed in. "Please."
Then he started to hear it. It had been a background noise for some time. It came from the cage. When George looked across, he saw the noise was coming from Liz. She stared at him with her face glowing and her eyes wide. "George! What the fuck?!"
The whole world spun as if he was drunk, and his moment of clarity was lost again. Focusing on the door, he trudged towards it, the noise of Liz's voice lost once again to the chaos of his thoughts.
* * *
When George opened the front door of the tower block, he was hit with the low hum of the generator and the thick stench of bleach. The communal areas were sterilized from top to bottom every day because Dean was a clean freak.
The sharp bite in the air cut into George's throat, and the cavernous hallway amplified his hacking cough. His oesophagus burned as if it were tearing. Hawking up some phlegm, he spat it on the floor. Clean that, you prick.
There was a metallic taste in his mouth, but it was too dark to tell if it had traces of blood in it.
What little moonlight there was shone through the few small windows that ran up the side of the building. It was the only thing cutting through the inky blackness. It did nothing to light his path.
By the time he'd walked up the first flight of stairs, the thick chemicals in the air burned his eyes like chlorine gas. What the fuck would he do if there was a fire in this place in the middle of the night?
Covering his mouth with his sleeve, George wheezed as he continued his ascent. The toxic air still bit into his throat, but at least he could fill his lungs. Not like Zach when he choked. The images had played through his mind countless times. He saw Zach waking and grabbing his throat, his eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe. In his fantasises, he kicked the door down, entered the flaming room, and rescued the boy. In reality, he was too pissed to wake up when his son needed him most.
When a high-pitched cackle tore through the dark hallway, George stopped, put his hand against the wall and looked up. The laugh had come from Dean's flat. It sounded like Ginge. He heard nothing from Sarah. What were they doing to her?
Crash II: Highrise Hell Page 4