ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(38)

Andrew huffed. “Can you blame her?”

“Maybe not,” Frankie allowed. “But there’s a war going on. Survival of the fittest. You might have your nice house and your Mercedes, but when it comes right down to it, you’re weak. When it comes down to you and me, face to face, you’re the one shitting himself – not me. I’m the one with the control.”

“We’re not cavemen, Frankie. Life isn’t decided by who has the biggest club anymore.”

“If prison taught me anything, it’s that we’re as much like cavemen as we’ve ever been.”

Andrew looked at the boy – for that was all he was – and couldn’t figure out what was going on behind those narrow, bloodshot eyes. Did he really believe he was vindicated in doing this? That he was just fighting a war against people like Andrew? A war against the middle-classes.

“Look,” said Andrew. “I can help you. Whatever’s made you this way, we can sort it out. There’s no need for any of this.”

Frankie’s lip quivered, not because of his usual twitch, but as if he were about to break into tears. “Really? You can help me?”

Andrew nodded.

Frankie released a sudden gout of laughter. “You f*ckin’ nonce. Is that what you say to little kids right before you snatch ‘em up in your van?” He drove a fist into Andrew’s stomach and made him gasp, then leaned forward, closer. “You f*ckin’ pedo!”

Bex finally managed to catch her breath and started whining in pain again, writhing back and forth on the carpet. She was trying to keep her agony as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw any further reprisals from Frankie, but was failing to do so. Andrew wished more than anything that he could help his daughter; take her to the hospital and fix her pain.

But he couldn’t. Frankie now had total control over the suffering of Andrew’s family and would decide what happened to them. Knowing that chilled Andrew to his core.

The 10pm news came on the television and, for a moment, Andrew had the crazy notion that he would appear on it. Family man found dead in home. Wife and daughter also murdered.

Andrew’s skin seemed to vibrate at the thought; the fear and panic threatening to burst through his skin. He needed to get free. He needed to save his family.

Frankie grabbed Rebecca by the hair and hoisted her up to her feet. Then he examined her up and down. She was wearing her night-dress and was totally bare from just above the knee downwards. Andrew wished she’d listened to him about covering up.

“You going to give the bitch a haircut like her old lady?” Michelle asked, thick dollops of spite in her voice. Andrew bet the girl was jealous of his daughter. In a beauty contest, Bex would win hands-down. In a situation like this, however, her beauty could be a danger.

Nothing worse than a jealous woman.

Or a horny thug.

“Come on,” Michelle urged. “Shave the slut.”

Frankie shook his head. “Be quiet, Shell. I make the decisions here.” He turned Bex to face him and smiled at her almost tenderly. That didn’t stop her looking terrified. “What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Rebecca.”

“Okay, Rebecca. I’m going to do you a favour because you’re so goddamn fine. If you promise to sit by your mum and behave, I won’t hurt you or even tape you up. Agreed?”

Bex whimpered slightly, likely due to the pain she was in, but managed to nod.

“Good girl,” said Frankie. He kissed her on the cheek before pushing her down onto the sofa. “Davie, you watch the both of ‘em, okay? No f*ck-ups, you get me?”

Michelle screeched. “What! You’re just going to leave her alone? Why?”

“Because that’s what I decided to do,” said Frankie. “Now shut the hell up before I bounce your ass.”

Michelle shut up but did not look happy. Andrew sat and enjoyed the relief that Bex might not be in any immediate danger. Frankie’s apparent attraction to her had ensured her safety for now.

I just hope that attraction doesn’t lead to anything else…

Andrew shook the thought away and tried to retain his focus on the situation. If an opportunity to help his family came up he could not afford to miss it.

“So, what we going to do instead, Frankie?” Jordan asked.

“We’re going to do some more blow. Except I don’t want to do it on that coffee table anymore. It looks dirty.”