ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (15 page)

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 in agony, then shoved her, by her head, to the ground.  He made it look as effortless as discarding a piece of rubbish.

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

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

Frankie let his expression soften and walked over to him.  Wrapping his hand around Davie’s head and pulling him close, forehead to forehead, he told him not to worry.  “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 that wasn’t true, but was glad that his brother was not angry with him.  He decided it best to help get things back under control again.  Any chance that the women had of escaping was now gone and there would be no point crossing his brother.  Penelope was still standing aimlessly and 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 until she managed to calm down and then said, “Come on.”  He placed a hand around the soft, warm flesh of her shoulder and wished 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 in a stooped-over gait.

Dom and Jordan came over with the duct tape.  “Get her on her feet, Davie.”

“She’ll be okay.  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
hoped
she knew that.

Davie reached forward and pulled up Rebecca’s feet.  They were small, with perfect little toes 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 not to stare.

Dom got to work, wrapping the silver duct tape around Rebecca’s ankles so tight that it made her wince.  After he was done with her legs, Dom had Davie grab the girl’s wrists while he trussed them 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, happily 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 the girl’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 – and especially not 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 about 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.  Guy was out of control and needed putting down.”

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

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

Unusually, Frankie did not jump to his brother’s defence, which Davie took as a bad sign.  “Okay,” he said, 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 name is.”

“What are the charges?” asked Michelle, happily 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.  Suddenly he thrust his finger at the floor and screamed the word, “GUILTY!”

“What is his punishment?” asked Dom gleefully.

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

Torture –
Davie repeated the word in his head three times. Then he threw up.

Chapter Seventeen

“You okay, man?”  Frankie had moved over to rub Davie’s back while he continued to be sick.

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.  This bandage is on my head for a reason.”

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

“Really?”

“Yeah.”  Frankie smiled at him warmly.  “Just as soon as I’m done here.  Let me finish up.”

Davie took some deep breaths and tried to calm his stomach before he spoke.  “Finish up?”

Frankie leant closer and whispered in Davie’s ear.  “Got to get rid of the witnesses.”

“No way,” said Davie.  “You can’t be serious.”  He leant forward and lowered his voice so that only Frankie could hear the 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 that he no longer knew the person standing in front of him.  Something had changed inside of Frankie when he went away – or was it that he came back with something missing?

What the hell happened to you in that young offender’s nick, Frankie?  What the hell screwed you up this badly?  You were never like this before.  You were just my big brother and that was enough.

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

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

Davie nodded.  The urge to vomit was rising up from his guts and he fought hard to contain it.

“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.

His upper lip curled up in a snarl.  “Shut the hell up, Shell, 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 turned to Davie.  He let out a short laugh but looked deadly serious.  “You got to learn to play nice, man.  That was out of line, you get me?”

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

Frankie slapped Michelle viciously 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 fell to the floor and cowered, 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 you.”

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 just a bunch of crack 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 you’re giggling your bloody arses off like it’s the funniest thing you ever saw.”

Dom and Jordan suddenly looked like naughty children and 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.

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, but he figured it was a valid question for all 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 himself but to laugh.  “Sucks for you, huh, whitey?”

Andrew laughed – it was a thick, throaty sound, full of derision.  “I think it sucks for you…that you let another man own your ass.  You’re all just Frankie’s bitches.”

Andrew started to laugh harder, despite the obvious difficulty he had taking in air through his crumpled nose.  Dom and Jordan seemed furious, but were lost for words.  It wasn’t very often anyone had the balls to sound off at the twins.  Davie looked down at the floor and grinned.

Frankie re-entered the room, carrying a tea towel that seemed to be wrapped around something.  He moved to the centre of the room and placed the tea towel on the coffee table, before 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 might end up being the one with concussion.”

Dom came over and looked down at the assorted implements. He whistled.  “Shit’s going to get real, huh?  I dig that.”

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 towards 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 even have been acceptance.  Davie held his breath as he waited for what was to come.

This is going to be bad.

Frankie pointed the knife in Andrew’s face and scowled.  “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.  It suddenly occurred to Davie that his brother never had a facial tick before he went inside.  It was just one more thing that didn’t make any sense to Davie.

What the hell happened to you?

Frankie placed the blade against the flesh below Andrew’s left eye.  “You 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 unsteady.

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

Andrew’s eyes widened, despite their swelling.  “Don’t!”

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

Frankie drew the blade across the side of Penelope’s face, drawing a slick line of blood as he flayed open her flesh.  At first she remained silent, still trapped by whatever daze imprisoned her mind, but then she snapped back to reality, letting out a high-pitched wail that could have cracked crystal.  Frankie wrapped a hand around her mouth and stifled her.

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 help Frankie; Davie was trying to keep her from getting hurt as well.