ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror(60)

Andrew sneered at the boy. “You put my entire family in hospital. Where the hell did you think I’d be, you moron?”

“Man, you must be outta your mind, frontin’ on me!”

“You almost killed my family, yet you can flirt with the f*cking nurse like nothing happened. You think I’m the one who’s out of my mind?”

“That shit was Frankie’s deal. I was just along for the ride, blud.”

“Well you won’t have a problem telling the police what happened then?”

Jordan’s sickly face turned sour. “I ain’t saying shit to no one – especially the pigs. Frankie’s my boy and I don’t know what you’re talking about anyway. I ain’t seen him in weeks. If someone took it to your family then they must’ve had it coming.”

Before Andrew had any chance to realise what he was doing, he’d thrown a punch at Jordan, hard enough to knock him off right off the bed. He hit the floor and clutched at his already wounded cheek. Andrew’s blow had spread open the bite mark and creamy pus trickled down onto Jordan’s chin. The boy lay there for a moment, dazed, but then seemed to become possessed by a rage of his own. “Motherf*cker!” He sprang up at Andrew, lashing out, not with his fists, but with a blade he had produced from somewhere on his person.

Andrew stepped forward to meet the boy and managed to get both hands around Jordan’s knife-arm. A struggle ensued that sent the pair of them stumbling against the gurney. Andrew had the advantage of leverage. He managed to bear down on top of Jordan, forcing his back against the bed. The knife pointed straight at Andrew’s face but it got no closer as Andrew fought against it. In fact, the knife was beginning to move away from Andrew. The tip of the blade twisted, gradually pointing back towards the opposite direction.

Andrew felt Jordan’s grip falter – perhaps due to the weakness of his infection – and the knife began to travel away. Andrew realised the weapon was now under his control and that it would head wherever he wanted it to.

But where do I want it to head? What the hell am I doing?

Despite his weakening struggles Jordan still found the gall to spit in Andrew’s face. “Fuckin’ white-boy! You and your family are dead.” Perhaps he thought the threat would get him back the advantage. It didn’t.

Andrew leant down on the knife, pushing with all of his remaining strength and adding his weight behind it.

The tip entered Jordan just below his bottom rib.

All of the gangster-like aggression was suddenly gone, draining away and replaced by the whimpers of a child. “P-please man…please don’t.”

Andrew pushed the knife further.

And twisted it.

Andrew leaned closer to Jordan and watched the life drain from the boy’s eyes. If Jordan had a soul it would be extinguished within the next few seconds, but Andrew was sure that the boy had none to lose. Despite the mortal terror and child-like pleading, there was nothing on Jordan’s face that expressed the slightest bit of remorse or regret – no understanding of pain or loss. The only thing his expression showed was the selfish desire to hold onto his worthless life. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Pen deserves to live a thousand times more than you do.

Andrew twisted the knife again and the final ethereal glimmers left Jordan’s eyes. His body fell limp against the bed, knife jutting out of his ribs like a blood-soaked lever.

Andrew peered down at the blood on his hands and could barely acknowledge what he’d just done. To murder a man was something impossible, yet it had just happened. Even more disturbing was that he didn’t care one bit. In fact he felt good about it: not exactly happy at what he’d done, but certainly positive.

Andrew felt the hairs prick up on the back of his neck. There was a presence behind him.

He spun around to find the nurse standing behind him. She’d returned with Jordan’s bandages and was now frozen in place. Her mouth hung wide open while her eyes fixed on the dead youth laying on the gurney.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew said to her, “but he deserved it.”

Then he ran.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Andrew managed to sprint right through the hospital and into the car park without anyone stopping him. Other than a few funny looks and people jumping out of his way, no one even seemed to notice him. Now that he was outside he decided to slow down, though; to disappear casually into the night.

Just as the male nurse had informed him, there was a small taxi rank on one side of the car park. It consisted of only two cars and Andrew wasted no time in heading for the one parked in front, but he stopped before he got there. He realised that he was covered in blood. Most of it was on his hands, but a small amount had spattered his shirt. Andrew wondered how he would explain it to the taxi driver. Would they be used to such things, picking up passengers from a hospital? He couldn’t count on it.