ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(3)

“Oi, mate?”

Andrew stopped in his tracks.

“Oi, mate, you f*cking deaf, or what?”

Andrew turned to the group of teenagers. They were gathered just a few feet down the road and were strolling towards him. Several sets of gleaming eyeballs bore into him, scrutinising him from beneath the harsh glow of the streetlamps.

Andrew cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. “Excuse me?”

One of the youths stepped away from the others: a tightly-muscled teenager in a red, woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. The lad seemed to have a facial twitch and a thin scar bisected his lower lip.

“Got a cigarette, mate?” the lad asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t smoke,” Andrew replied honestly.

The lad just stared at him, almost as if he recognised Andrew somehow, a spark of familiarity glinting in his eyes. It wasn’t possible though; Andrew had never set eyes on the lad before.

“I said I don’t smoke,” Andrew repeated, wondering why he was still being stared at. “I don’t have a cigarette to give you.”

The lad didn’t break his stare. His nervous twitch seemed to increase in intensity.

“Okay,” the lad finally answered. “No worries then.”

Andrew nodded and resumed his journey to the local shops. He was confused by the encounter, but not particularly upset. See? No problem at all. A slight lack of manners, admittedly, but no worse than that.

“Get us some fags from the shop then, mate.”

Andrew stopped still and wondered if he’d just heard the youth correctly. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, considering what he should say in reply to such an audacious request. It was probably best not let it get to him and just be polite. No point getting into an argument over a bit of rudeness.

“Okay,” Andrew said, turning to face the youths. “I’m on my way to the shops anyway. You want to give me the money now, or when I get back?”

The whole gang laughed like a pack of hyenas, but the lad in the red, woollen hat did not find anything amusing. Aside from the facial tic that plagued every nerve on his face, the lad’s expression was completely serious – a look of indifference carved into a twitching slab of granite.

The lad took another step forward, closing-in tight enough that he was almost nose to nose with Andrew. The stench of stale beer permeated the young man’s breath. “Don’t think you understand me, mate. You’re going to buy me some fags because you like me.”

Andrew took a step backwards, reclaiming some of his personal space. He attempted to laugh, but it came out an asphyxiated splutter. “I-I…I don’t think so, mate. Get your own bloody cigarettes, okay?”

The lad took another step forward. This time he snarled right in Andrew’s face. “Listen, you cunt. If you get back from that shop without my cigarettes, your head is going to hit this cement. You get me?”

Andrew tumbled backwards under what could only have been utter shock. Such threats and brutish behaviour were well beyond his comprehension and experience. Yet it was happening to him right now. He was furious, livid, that this wretched little thug felt he had any right to threaten him this way...

But he also felt sick. His body trembled and his knees felt weak. Instead of standing up for himself, all Andrew did was walk away, his head down, his mouth closed, his pride shattered. The word ‘prick’ floated after him as he retreated, uttered by a female voice. He continued walking and didn’t turn back. A numb kind of disbelief had washed over him and the feeling in his stomach was like a white-hot poker thudding against his ribs.

It was a good five minutes before Andrew regained any sort of control over his senses, but by that time he was already several hundred yards away from the gang of teenagers. In fact he was almost at the small row of shops that marked his destination. Mickey’s chip shop was just up ahead.

Andrew shook his head in disbelief. I can’t believe that thug spoke to me like that. How dare he threaten me! Who the hell does he think he is? To think I was sticking up for those bloody kids not thirty minutes ago… Andrew scratched at the stubble on his chin and hissed at the night. Pen was right. They are all a bunch of troublemakers.

Andrew crossed the road and headed into the chip shop, determined not to let the nasty exchange affect him a minute longer than it already had. Inside was a member of staff that he recognised: a young, blond girl that had served him several times before. They’d never spoken in a personal way but she always had a warm smile for him whenever he brought food there. Tonight was no exception and he felt a little less angry as the girl showed her usual politeness by welcoming him in from the cold with a smile.