ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (18 page)

The nurses made Andrew wait outside in the empty corridor while Pen and Bex were rushed into separate operating theatres.  Nurses now flitted back and forth between the two rooms, glancing apprehensively at Andrew each time they passed by him.  Their expressions were always grim and pitying.  A bad sign.

Andrew’s own wounds – serious in their own right – needed looking at too, but he had refused anyone that tried to take him away.  He was unwilling to move until he knew the fate of his family. 

If only he could take their place.  If Andrew died, Pen and Bex would still have each other, but if
they
died, then Andrew would have nothing to live for anyway – his life would remain an empty husk forever, containing nothing more than the memories of things torn away from him.

Frankie will pay for this, one way or another.

“Mr Goodman?”

Andrew looked up to see a pair of familiar faces.  He smiled at them as best he could.  “Officers, what are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” said Dalton.  “We’ve had reports of multiple stabbings.  A man, his daughter, and wife.”

 “We were really hoping it wasn’t you,” said Wardsley, shaking his head solemnly, “but we had a bad feeling.”

Andrew huffed with exasperation; it came out more like a hiss.  “Looks like your feeling was right.”

The two officers took a seat on the bench either side of Andrew and leant forward so they could both see his face.  For the first time since Andrew had met them, neither was taking notes.  They weren’t here to take a statement; at least not right now.

“Was this all down to Frankie?” Dalton asked.

Andrew ran a hand across his forehead and rubbed at his tired eyes; they felt fuzzy and had started to itch.  It must have been getting close to dawn by now.  He nodded wearily.  “Frankie and his mates, yes.”

“You have names for any of them?”

“I got their first names but no surnames.  One of the kids was Frankie’s younger brother, though.  I know because I admitted the lad here at the hospital last night after I hit him with my car.”

Wardsley was wide-eyed.  “You ran him over?” 

Andrew shook his head.  “Not on purpose.  It was an accident.  A coincidence if you can believe that?  I rushed the boy here straight away and gave him a lift home afterwards.  Frankie found out about it.”

“He probably thought you did it intentionally,” Dalton suggested.

Andrew nodded.  “Pretty likely.  Didn’t matter that his little brother tried telling him the truth; Frankie wanted his fun.  Now my girls are in surgery, maybe dying…maybe dead already.”

“We’ll get him for this, Mr Goodman,” Dalton assured him.

“You think so?  I mean, honestly, do you think you’ll put him away and keep him there?  What if he has twenty people giving him an alibi?”

The look on the officer’s faces told Andrew all he needed to know.  “Don’t worry about it,” he told them with a wave of his hand.  “I know it’s not your fault.”

Wardsley sighed.  “If it were up to us then the little scumbag would never have gotten out in the first place.  Criminals like Frankie are beyond redemption.”

“But what made him this way?” Andrew asked them, unable to fathom the answer alone.  “Lots of kids grow up with a bad upbringing, but it’s more than that with this kid.  He’s rotten to the core or something.  There’s nothing where his heart should be.”

Dalton shook her head.  “I wish there were an answer that made some sense, but there’s not.  We made some calls to the borstal that he was kept at.  One of the guards there told us that during Frankie’s first year he was bullied severely by the other residents – maybe that has something to do with it.  He certainly changed during those following years.”

“What do you mean?”

Wardsley took over from his partner.  “This guard told us that by the time Frankie, he was running the show.  Top dog.  A complete turnaround.  He also told us…well, I shouldn’t really say.”

“What?” Andrew demanded.  “Shouldn’t say what?”

“Well,” Wardsley continued, “all of the youth offenders who had bullied Frankie in his first year were murdered – one by one throughout the course of a few months.  Every one of them was…impaled.  There were four in total.”

“Impaled?”

Wardsley nodded.  “At the time of death they were violated by a blunt object – typically pool cues from the Rec Room.”

Andrew grimaced.  “Jesus Christ.”

“We think that perhaps these other residents of the offender’s home abused Frankie during his first year and he took a fitting revenge on them all.  To say it left him with some severe emotional problems is an understatement to say the least.”

“That’s horrible,” said Andrew, “but it doesn’t make what he’s done okay.  He’s still a monster, whatever he’s been through.”

“I agree,” said Wardsley.  “He’ll never change now.”

Andrew shook his head.  “But chances are he’ll be back on the streets to hurt other people.”

“We’ll get him,” said Dalton.  “We’ll charge him with attempted murder and do everything we can for you and your family.  He won’t get away with this.”

“But even if he goes away, it won’t be forever; even if my family die?”

Dalton swallowed a lump in her throat.  “It’s…uncertain.”

Andrew had heard enough.  “So what the hell are you telling me this for?  I don’t need to hear it.”

Wardsley and Dalton both put their hands up to calm him.  “I know, Andrew.  We wanted to check on you, to see if you needed anything?”

Andrew looked at the officers, examined the concern on their faces and looked for gaps.  It seemed genuine and Andrew was left with little doubt that these two police officers were just people like anybody else.  They emphasized with his pain and despised the fact that demons like Frankie could walk the earth unobstructed.  Their offers of assistance were real, but right now Andrew had no clues what to ask for – or if he even needed anything from them at all.

Before Andrew had chance to reply, a fully-scrubbed surgeon stepped out of one of the operating theatres and approached him with caution.  “Mr Goodman?”

Andrew stood up, his knees shaking uncontrollably.  “Yes, that’s me.”

The surgeon nodded and smiled.  “Your daughter has been stabilised for now.  There is some damage to the digestive tract that could possibly cause complications later or some lasting damage, but we’ve managed to stem any internal bleeding and she’s no longer in critical condition.”

Andrew didn’t absorb a single word.  None of what the doctor said had informed him with absolute certainty what he really needed to know.  “Is she going to make it?”

The surgeon nodded.  “Barring anything unexpected your daughter should make a full recovery.  As I said, the damage to her large intestine could cause some issues, but nothing that can’t be managed.  You’ll be able to see her in a few hours when we move her somewhere more comfortable.”

Andrew let out a sigh of relief that seemed to go on forever.  He heard similar sounds from the police officers beside him.  “What about my wife?” Andrew asked the surgeon, moving on to his next concern now that the previous one was over.

The surgeon shook his head and seemed apologetic.  Andrew fought away the overwhelming urge to vomit as the man spoke.  “I’m afraid Dr Kilkarny is the attending for your wife, so I can’t give you much information.  From my cursory examination of her wounds, however, I would not be optimistic.  I’m sorry, Mr Goodman.”

Andrew felt all the blood in his body drop to his feet, threatening to tip him over like a statue in the wind.  The surgeon turned and walked away, back towards Bex’s room.  Andrew collapsed backwards and officer Wardsley caught him, directing his fall towards the bench and setting him down.

As Andrew fought to get his breathing under control, he looked the officers dead in their eyes and said, “I need a favour.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Sunshine crept into the room and smothered Davie’s face.  His eyelids fluttered as his pupils reacted to the light and it took him a few minutes to open them fully.  Once a little more awake he looked around himself to get his bearings.  The living room was foreign and bizarre but, after a few moments, Damien recalled the memories of last night.  This was Damien’s place; the current location of his on-going nightmare.

No one else inhabited the room currently and Davie had the entire plush sofa to himself.  He was alone in someone else’s house and suddenly felt very vulnerable.

“Everyone has gone back to their own gaffs,” said Frankie from the doorway.  He must have been standing there unbeknownst to Davie for a while.

“Didn’t you want us all to stick together?”

Frankie walked into the room and sat on a futon opposite the sofa.  “At first, yeah, but Damien told me that if the police come and find us in a group matching the exact description that a victim gave it would corroborate their evidence.  I gave everyone their stories and sent them on their way.  They know what to say so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” said Davie.  “I don’t know what I feel.  Last night was fucked up.”

Frankie nodded in agreement, seeming to reminisce about the events.  “Should never have gone down that way.  Way too messy leaving things like that.  Jordan’s face was really messed up this morning – think it’s infected or something.  My fault, though; should have dealt with things better…more neatly.”

“What do you mean?” asked Davie.  “You should have killed them?”

Frankie shrugged.  “Maybe.  Too late now, though.  We just need to be ready.”

“Ready how?”

Frankie smiled and tilted his body forward, sliding off the futon onto his knees.  He reached an arm underneath the sofa and retrieved a flat wooden box, placing it carefully on his lap.

Davie frowned.  “What’s that?”

“Our insurance policy,” said Frankie, unfastening a pair of brass clips on either end of the box and popping the lid.

Davie couldn’t believe what he saw inside.  “Guns?  Are you crazy?”

“Chill the fuck out.  They’re just in case that nutcase comes after us.  I ain’t going to play with this guy no more.”

“Nutcase?”  Davie was dumbfounded.  “We held him hostage and stabbed his family.  I think he has good reason to be a little nutty.”

“Whatever,” said Frankie dismissively.  “If he comes at me he’s going to taste lead…or whatever the stuff they make bullets out of nowadays.  Now quit your bitching and take this.”

Frankie thrust one of the revolvers at Davie and he immediately tried to shove it back.  “No way! I don’t want it.”

Frankie pushed harder until Davie had no choice but to take ownership of the weapon.  “Keep it in your waistband.  You don’t have to go looking for trouble, but I want to know you’re going to be safe if that prick comes after you.”

“Andrew.”

“What?”

“His name is Andrew.”

Frankie shook his head in confusion.  “Does it look like I give a monkey’s nuts?”

“No,” said Davie.  “No it doesn’t.  Fine!  I’ll take the gun, but only for protection.  What about the twins? Did you give them a gun?”

“Fuck them,” said Frankie.  “They can fend for themselves.  Only person I care about is you.”

“Hope I’m not breaking up a Hallmark moment.”  Damien entered the room and stood in front of them both.  Everything he was wearing was emblazoned with a logo of some kind.

Frankie looked up at him from the sofa.  “Nah, man, everything’s cool.  Was just getting my little bro strapped.”

Damien nodded.  “What’s your next move?”

“Don’t know,” said Frankie.  “Either the police will turn up at my door or this guy that has a beef with me will.  I’ll be ready for whatever happens, though, thanks to you.”  Frankie waved the gun as though it were a toy and not a deadly weapon.

“You get caught with that you leave my name out of it, you hear me?  They belong to my old man and he’d go ape if he knew I was lending ‘em out.  Can’t have you dead, though, can I?  Need you out on the street.  What you do to this dude anyway?  You can’t have just fucked up his car and house.”

“We stabbed his wife and daughter,” Davie blurted out.  It felt like a weight had been lifted by the sudden confession.

Damien’s eyes widened and his eyebrows lowered into a scowl.  “The fuck?  The hell you do that for?  You don’t fuck with a man’s family – with women.”

Frankie waved a hand dismissively.  “Shit went down. That’s all there is to it.  You’re one to talk, anyway, man.  You fuck people up all the time.”

“Business,” said Damien.  “I don’t fuck up families.  Did this guy even do anything to you in the first place?”

“No,” said Davie.  “He never done nothing to nobody.”

Frankie turned to Davie and growled.  “Will you shut the hell up!”

“Sounds like your little bro has a conscience,” said Damien.  “Good for him.  You should both get the fuck out of my house now, though.”

Frankie stood up.  “What?  Why you being like this?”

“Cus you’re a fucking mug; an amateur.  Now piss off – and leave the pieces behind.”

Frankie pulled the revolver on Damien and cocked the hammer.  Davie wondered how his brother even knew how to do that.  Damien’s face was unflinching, while Frankie’s twitch had gone into overdrive. 

Damien curled his upper lip into a smirk.  “I hope this dude fucks you up.  Makes you a little bitch again like you were in the nick when I found you.  How long’s it been since you had a cock up your arse, Frankie?”

Frankie stepped forward and shoved the weapon’s barrel against Damien’s forehead.  His whole arm was shaking but Damien was still unflinching.  Frankie was visibly shaken.  “Not another word, cunt, or I’ll end you, right now.”

Davie sprung up and moved in front of his brother, trying to attract the attention of his demented eyes.  “What’s he talking about, man?”

Damien sneered, despite the gun in his face, and directed his gaze to Davie.  “He never tell you? 

“Tell me what?” asked Davie.

“When I went down for a little stretch – for dealing and shit – they sent me to the same nick as Frankie.”

Frankie thrust the revolver forward, shoving the muzzle right up against Damien’s forehead.  “Not another word!  I’m warning you.”