ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(12)

“Don’t you ever keep something like that from me again, Andrew,” Pen ordered him.

“Yeah, never,” Bex added.

Andrew reached over so he could hug them both at the same time. “I promise. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. What’s done is done, though. You should go to work as normal, Pen. Don’t worry about me.”

Pen nodded then looked over at Bex. “I’ll give you a lift to school, hun.”

Bex frowned. “I don’t even get to have the day off school? Sucks!”

Before there were any arguments on the subject, the police officers re-entered the room and halted the conversation. Dalton was smiling politely, but Andrew could tell by her weary eyes that she didn’t have good news for them.

“Mr Goodman,” she said. “Would you like to step outside for a mument?”

“Why?”

“Because we have information that you may wish to share with your family separately.”

Andrew didn’t like the sound of that at all. He stood up and moved away from the sofa, following the officers out into the hallway. “What is it?” he asked once they were out of earshot of his family.

Wardsley looked down at his notepad and began reciting what he’d written. “We weren’t personally aware of this individual, Frankie, when you first mentioned him, but then PC Dalton and I recently exchanged from the Stratford branch. As it turns out, this ‘Frankie’ is well known to the local branch.”

“Who the hell is he?” Andrew asked.

“A scumbag,” Dalton replied bluntly. “We shouldn’t comment on such things, but Francis Walker was put in a young offender’s institute at fifteen-years-old after stamping a fellow school pupil into a coma. When the police caught up to him, he had a grand’s worth of cocaine on his person.”

Andrew couldn’t believe it. “What the hell was a kid doing with all that coke on him?”

Wardsley shrugged. “Most likely he was selling it for a supplier. It’s common practise to get kids to move it – less suspicious. He obviously fell in with criminals at an early age and he’s only gotten worse since being released.”

“Why the hell is he back on the streets, then?”

“Because he was convicted as a child,” said Dalton. “The courts take sympathy in such cases.”

Andrew shook his head. “He should still be locked up. He’s a thug.”

“We agree,” said Dalton. “Frankie Walker may well have been misled as an innocent child, but that doesn’t change the fact that since an early age all he’s been exposed to is crime and violence. There’s nothing else he knows and it’s doubtful he’ll ever reform.”

“So get him back inside,” said Andrew.

The officers looked apologetic. Wardsley spoke first. “We intend to do just that, Mr Goodman, but I’m afraid we can only do that with sufficient evidence.”

“Well, what do I do till then? How do I protect my family?”

Dalton handed him a contact card. “By locking up safe and calling us if anything else happens.”

“We suggest keeping a diary,” said Wardsley, “of any further incidents. You could also install CCTV cameras.”

“Cameras? A diary? Are you kidding me?”

Wardsley shrugged. “May sound silly, but it will help support any cases we bring towards him in the future. Everything helps.”

Andrew put a hand against his forehead. It was clammy. “I can’t believe this. It’s just a bunch of kids. Am I really in danger here?”

“Probably not,” said Wardsley, “but Frankie is a dangerous individual. It won’t hurt to be over-precautious. Just take care and call us if anything happens. Anything at all.”

Andrew let the police officers out of the house, locking the porch door behind them. Then he watched them drive off, the whole time thinking: a dangerous individual, a dangerous individual…

Just how dangerous are we talking?





Chapter Four


Davie Walker awoke on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar house. His back ached from the neck all the way down to his tailbone, and it took several, confused minutes before he could remember where he even was.

There was a party...

How much did I drink? I feel like a lorry parked on my head.

Several other people lay sprawled across the room, all semi-conscience and moaning in the same hung-over way that he was. Crumpled beer cans and quarter-full bottles of unbranded vodka littered the floor, making it look more like a landfill than a home.