ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror (7 page)

“Frankie’s been with me last couple of days,” she said, “and we ain’t left the bedroom, except to eat.”

“See, yer wrong!” Frankie’s mother slurred at Andrew.  “Want to watch who ya start accusin’, mate.”

“I am not wrong,” Andrew stated.  “This young lady has been just as much involved in what’s going on as he has.”

The girl laughed at him.  “You must be high.  I would remember an old perv like you if I met one.  You’re talking a load of shit, mate.”

“You’re Charlie’s friend, aren’t you?” asked Andrew, putting two and two together.

A spark of confusion flittered through the girl’s eyes and, for a mument, her mocking contempt was diluted.  A mument later it was back in full force.  “Don’t know a Charlie, mate.  Who is he?”

Andrew finally lost his temper.  “Look, you evil little bastards.  If you come near my family again, you’ll regret it, okay?  You’ve had your fun, but now it’s time to move on.  No more games.”

Frankie leapt out of the doorway and shoved Andrew back along the path.  “You think you can come down
my
manor and threaten
me? 
You must be trippin’.”

“Yeah,” added Frankie’s mother.  “Get away from my house before I call the police.”

“
You’ll
call the police.  That’s rich.”  Andrew was about to say more, but realised it was pointless.  He put his palms in the air and backed away.  “Fine,” he said.  “Have it your way, but this is going to stop one way or another.”

“Just fuck off!”  Frankie shouted.  “You come here again and you’re a dead man.”

Andrew sneered.  “Same goes for you, my friend.  Stay away from my house.”

“He ain’t your fuckin’ friend,” said the girl.

“You’re right he’s not.”  Andrew turned his back and walked away.  He couldn’t help wondering if he had just made things worse, but somehow he didn’t care.  He was furious. 

The walk home was a long one.

Chapter Six

Davie had watched his brother’s argument from the top step.  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his brother in a doorstep altercation and it would doubtlessly not be the last.  Mum getting involved and making things worse wasn’t particularly unusual either.

The man at the door had been middle-aged, older than the usual type of person Frankie had misdealings with.  Davie assumed it was the same man his brother had delivered a beat down to recently.  Frankie hadn’t mentioned it directly, but Dom and Jordan had been laughing about it at last night’s party.  The man had seemed angry, but more desperate than anything else – like he just wanted to call a truce.

Good luck, buddy.  You obviously don’t know my brother.

Frankie was coming up the stairs now, casually, as if nothing had happened.  He was flanked by his girlfriend, Michelle, and both of them were laughing.

“Hey,” Davie said.  “Who was that?”

“Fuck knows,” Frankie said.  “But the guy has a death wish to get all up in my face like he did.”

Davie shook his head.  “Don’t shit me.  Who was he?”

“Just some perv,” Michelle answered.  “Don’t worry about it, D.”

“My name is Davie.  How did he know where we live?”

Frankie shrugged. Michelle answered again: “Stupid bitch, Charlie, must have told him.  He knew we used to be friends so she obviously spoke to him at the chippy or summin.”

“Okay,” said Davie, “so what did he want?”

Frankie shrugged.  “Fuck should I know?”

Davie looked at him and sighed.  “I’m your brother, man.  Tell me the truth.”

After a couple seconds, Frankie finally relented and let down his guard.  “Okay, little bro, you’re right.  He’s just some geezer I had to teach a lesson in manners the other night.  I gave him some grief and he just came round to kick off about it.”

“You going to leave off now, then?”

Frankie laughed and patted Davie on the shoulder.  “Hell no!  Shit is only just getting started.  Now get out my way.  This bitch needs a good seeing to.”

Michelle punched Frankie on the arm, but giggled as she did so.  Davie got out of his brother’s way without saying another word.  There was no point in arguing.  Frankie would do as Frankie wanted; that was the way it had always been.

Davie decided to descend the stairs rather than return to his room.  He entered the downstairs hallway on his way to the kitchen to get a snack.  It was unlikely there’d be anything to eat – there never was – but stranger things had happened. 

The malodour of alcohol and weed was stronger downstairs than up and managed to permeate every corner of the lower floor.  The sound of garrulous daytime television polluted Davie’s ears just as much as the smell polluted his nose (the additional noise of Frankie and Michelle now beginning to fuck loudly upstairs only added to the assault on his senses).

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” his mother asked as tried to sneak past the living room.

“Half-term,” he told her truthfully.

Davie’s mother stared at him, trying to work out if he was lying or not, oblivious to the fact that she should know his school schedule anyway.  Davie stared right back at her and eventually she seemed satisfied. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” she said.  “Come sit with your old mum.”

Davie smiled uncomfortably and joined his mother on the grimy settee.  She pretty much lived in this room, sprawled in front of the television like a rotting slug.  Davie sometimes wondered whether her sweat-soaked flesh would someday fuse with the festering cloth of the cushions and keep her there forever.

His mum took a long swig of beer and followed it with a throaty belch.  She looked at him.  “So whaya bin up to, Davie?”

Davie shrugged and stared at the television.  “Nothing really.  Just hanging out with Frankie.  I’m glad he’s back.”

She huffed and took another swig of beer.  “Boy’s a bad un.  Done nothing but embarrass me his whole life. All I ever did was try to raise him like a good mother.  You need to stay out of his way, Davie.  You study hard and make your old mum proud.  That boy will only bring you down with him – drinking, drugs, sex.  He’s no good.”

“He’s my brother.  He just does what he needs to survive.”

Davie’s mum laughed; a wet cackle that eventually became a hacking cough.  Phlegm and spittle flew from between her cracked lips and settled on the grungy carpet.  When she finally managed to get control of her lungs again, she said: “He tell ya that, did he?  Bloody swine.”

Davie didn’t answer.  He hated it when his mother started on about Frankie – it never ended well.  There was a real, palpable hatred between the two of them and Davie was the unfortunate victim in the middle.  He loved them both, but when it came right down to it, only one of them was really looking out for Davie – and it wasn’t his mother.

The sounds of sex from above grew louder and more frenzied, approaching a crescendo. Michelle cried out in orgasm, lacking regard for anyone having to listen.

Davie’s mother looked up at the ceiling and sneered, upper lip curling.  “Goddamn whore!  Where does Frankie find em?  Regret the day I gave birth to that monster, I really do.”

“Mum, don’t say that.”  Davie knew where things were going: same place they always did.  “Just watch your TV show. Okay?”

Suddenly her demeanour changed. Her eyes turned dark and her expression exuded a deep and hateful bitterness.  “Don’t you tell me what to do, you ungrateful little shit.  Who do you think you are?”

“Mum…”

She struck him across the face.  Davie’s instincts almost made him strike her right back, but he managed to refrain from any retaliation. 
You never hit women
, Frankie always used to tell him,
those are the rules
.  So, instead, Davie stood up calmly to exit the room.

His mother shouted after him as he left.  “That’s right.  Get outta my sight.  Devil-child, that’s what you are.  You and your brother make my life a living hell.”  She started to sob to herself.  “What did I do to deserve this?  I do my best…”

Davie ignored the rest of her comments, he’d heard them too often before to let them settle in his mind and flourish.  He turned away and went back up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. Maybe he’d while away the day with a videogame or two.  Keep his head down.  But, before Davie got to his room, Frankie stepped out onto the landing.

“What that bitch say to you?” he demanded.  “I heard shouting.”

“Nothing,” said Davie.  “She’s just mouthing off at the television again.  You know what she’s like when she’s been drinking.”

Frankie examined Davie’s face, trying to work him out.  Eventually he nodded and said, “Yeah.  It’s what she’s like when she hasn’t been drinking that I know nothing about.  Old bag’s a waste of space.”  Frankie stepped over to Davie and put his hands on his shoulders.  “Go find your coat, bro.  We’re going out.”

Davie frowned.  “Where to?”

Frankie smirked, his twitch turning the expression into an alternating grimace.  “To go and have some fun, man.”

Great,
thought Davie, heading to fetch his coat. 
More fun…

 Chapter Seven

Andrew was upset, frightened, angry, and a multitude of other unwanted states of mind.  The amount of adrenaline in his body had at one point almost driven him to full-blown panic.  It was only thanks to a combination of deep breathing and the brisk walk home that he managed to keep his anxiety under control.  Now that he was rounding the final corner to his house, Andrew’s predominant emotion had become anger.

Frankie’s attitude had been aggressive just like Andrew expected it to be. What he’d not expected was the boy’s mother to be just as confrontational as her son.  In many ways, it explained a lot – almost made the monster that was Frankie understandable and, perhaps, even forgivable.  It didn’t make things right, though.

Andrew decided enough was enough.

Frankie was just a teenage boy, living with his mother and dating a school girl.  Andrew was willing to bet his watch that the lad was all front and little substance.  He’d only had the guts to throw a punch at Andrew the previous night because of a gang backing him up.  People were only afraid of Frankie because of the reputation he worked so hard to cultivate.  Things would be different if people fought back instead of buying into it. 

Andrew was an averaged-sized guy, healthy enough to throw a punch if he had to.  If Frankie wanted to try and victimise him then he was welcome to try.  Andrew knew where the lad lived now, and who his family were.  They were on an equal playing field.

Andrew reached the path to his house and started up it.  He could see the shape of Pen and Bex through the net curtains of the front window and smiled at the thought of seeing them.  He hadn’t expected them both to be home.

Is it dinnertime time already?

Andrew checked his wristwatch and saw that it was getting on for six-o-clock.  As if in affirmation of the late hour his stomach began to grumble.  Food was something he hadn’t thought about all day, but perhaps his appetite returning was a good sign – a sign that things were no longer getting to him quite so much.

Andrew unlocked his front door and stepped into the porch.  Then he kicked off his shoes, removed his jacket, and passed through into the hallway.  Pen and Bex were on the sofa in the living room.  The carpets were still a mess, but the smell was mostly gone now.  They gawped at him as he entered.

“Where you been?” Pen demanded.  “Have you seen what they’ve done to your car?”

Andrew set himself down in his armchair and released a long, weary sigh.  “I know.  I went to that lad’s home to try and put a stop to things.”

Pen’s eyes widened.  “Really?  What happened?”

Andrew leaned back into the chair’s cushion and shrugged his shoulders.  “Not a fat-lot.  The kid’s whole family is as bad as he is.  Was like banging my head against a brick wall.”

“So this isn’t over, then?” Bex asked, sat beside her mother and still wearing her school blazer.

Andrew shrugged again.  “I’m hoping so, honey.  The little git knows I know where he lives now and that I’m not afraid to confront him.  Hopefully that will be enough to make him think twice.  Either way, don’t let it worry you.  Things will be okay.”

Bex seemed unconvinced.  “How do you know?”

“I just do, okay?  I’m not going to let anything bad happen to us.”

“Okay,” said Pen.  “Let’s just move on, then.  We should put it all behind us.”  She looked at Andrew and grinned.  “I think we’re still owed an evening of fish and chips, though, so I think I’ll walk over to the shops.”

Andrew stood up from the armchair.  “Don’t be silly.  I’ll go.”

“You sure?”

Andrew nodded emphatically.  “Yes, of course.  There’s nothing to worry about.  Last thing I thought you’d fancy is fish and chips, though, after last night.”

“Like I said, we should just move on.  Besides, I don’t feel like cooking tonight.  You sure you don’t want me to go fetch them.”

Andrew nodded.  “Certain as can be.” 

He left the living room and went to get his jacket from the porch.  It was chillier now, with night falling, so he decided on a scarf also.  Once he checked for his wallet and keys, Andrew left the porch and started down the front path.

The sight of the empty road ahead was comforting, the soft buzzing of the streetlights the only sound he could hear.  Right now, the memory of being attacked by a gang of bloody-minded yobbos seemed impossible – a nightmare he had woken from long ago.  Still, it would be smart to remain alert and Andrew wasn’t entirely confident as he ambled down the street.  At least for now it seemed like things would be okay, that events would soon blow over.

What a day.  Just when life seems to be routine and unexciting, something crazy can happen and turn everything on its head.  It’s over now, though.  A little grovelling at work and things will soon be back to normal.

Andrew didn’t notice the ambulance straight away.  He saw the flashing lights at the edge of his vision, but was too lost in his own thoughts to recognise their immediate connotation.  When he came to realise that someone was injured, Andrew hastened his steps towards the gathering crowd.