ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror

by Wright, Iain Rob

  ***An SG THRILLERS release***

  Part of the SALGAD PUBLISHING GROUP

  www.SALGADPUBLISHING.com

  ASBO copyright 2012 by Iain Rob Wright

  www.IAINROBWRIGHT.com

  Cover Art Copyright 2012 by WRIGHT IDEAS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Acknowledgements

  The biggest thanks for the creation of this novel must go to my friends, Nicola Rees, Laurie Steward, and Ashley Davis. Without their constant support and excellent proofreading this book would not be what it is. I thank them from the bottom of my heart.

  I’m also obligated to give mention to James Newman, an author without rivals. His mind-blowing novel, Animosity, is what inspired me to write this book. While they are similar in tone and themes, the story is entirely different, so James don’t try to sue me!

  My personal thanks must go to the woman I love, Sally Stote. For all of the moods and eccentricities she puts up with on a daily basis, she truly deserves a medal – but all I have to give her is my heart. I love her from the depths of my soul and it is a well that will never run dry. With her in my life, I am always winning. Thank you, God, for giving her to me.

  And last of all, thank you, reader, for giving me a chance to tell you this story. I hope you enjoy it.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chhapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  WHEN FRANKIE MET

  PLEA FROM THE AUTHOR

  Also by Iain Rob Wright

  PREVIEW OF THE THE FINAL WINTER

  Anti-Social Behaviour Order (ASBO): issued in response to "conduct which caused or was likely to cause harm, harassment, alarm, or distress, to one or more persons not of the same household as him or herself and where an ASBO is seen as necessary to protect relevant persons from further anti-social acts by the Defendant.

  It is the failing of youth not to be able to restrain its own violence.

  - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

  Violence isn't always evil. What's evil is the infatuation with violence.

  -Jim Morrison

  ASBO

  By Iain Rob Wright

  Chapter One

  “Those kids are outside again. Must be a dozen of them now. Should we call the police?”

  Andrew turned to Penelope, his wife, and chuckled. She was peeking through a gap in the living room’s curtains. “They’re just harmless kids,” he told her. “We were young, too, once upon a time. Not that I can remember that far back anymore.”

  She dragged herself away from the curtain and allowed herself to crack a smile. It was a rarity these days, which made the gesture all the more attractive. “You’re thirty-eight years old, Andrew.” She inflected her words with a sarcastic tone. “I don’t think your memory is going just yet.”

  “Exactly, and I can remember being a sixteen-year-old with nothing to do. Me and my brother used to get up to all kinds of mischief – him especially. Didn’t mean we were out to hurt anyone, though. Just ignore them, Pen, and they’ll ignore you.”

  “Isn’t that what they say about wasps?” She spoke without turning around, too busy spying through the curtains again to pay him direct attention. She’d been peeking now, on and off, for the last ten minutes, unable to pry herself away. The streetlamps outside had recently switched on with the arrival of dusk and now cast angular shadows across her face. She looked like a private detective in one of those old American Film Noir movies.

  Andrew couldn’t help but smile. “Wasps, snakes, rabid-dogs, whatever. I think it makes pretty good sense in most situations. In other words, stop being a nosey-parker.”

  Pen let go of the curtain and let it sweep back into place. She padded, barefoot, across the beige carpet of the living room and let out a deep sigh. “I know, I know. They just make me uncomfortable. Where’ve they come from all a sudden? Why do they have to be right outside my house?”

  Andrew wrapped his arms around his wife, enjoying the warmth of her hips through her blouse. The flesh there was softer now than it had been ten years ago when they’d married, but still trim for a woman of forty. Pen worked the rowing machine every Wednesday and Friday, and it showed. Andrew was a lucky man. He kissed her forehead.

  “I think you mean our house,” he told her. “Anyway, will you stop worrying? The kids outside haven’t done anything wrong, have they?”

  Pen shook her head against his chest. “You’re right, I’m just being silly.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Now what’s for dinner, woman?”

  Pen slapped him on the chest a stinging backhand. “You’ll get put to bed on an empty stomach if you call me woman again, cheeky sod.”

  “Did I hear someone mention dinner?”

  Andrew spotted his daughter coming down the stairs in a plump white towel. Her shoulder-length brown hair was a wet and tangled mess around her glistening, naked shoulders.

  Andrew sighed. “You’re not a little girl anymore, Bex. I really wish you wouldn’t walk around half-naked.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I just got out the shower. Anyway, back to my earlier question: did I hear someone mention dinner?”

  “Sit down, Sweetheart.” Pen dumped herself down on the room’s bulbous, cream sofa and patted the cushion beside her. “Let me get those knots out of your hair. You look like something out of a horror movie.”

  Bex walked across the living room with her arms outstretched like a badly-acted mummy. Then she collapsed on the sofa like a make-believe bullet had hit her in the forehead. Finally, she sat still long enough for her mother to run her fingers through the tangled bunches of hair. She winced every time a knot was yanked.

  Andrew glanced at his fourteen-year old daughter’s naked legs and wished once more that she would cover up. She doesn’t realise how much of a woman she’s becoming. Time she started being a little more aware of herself.

  Bex caught her father’s stares and frowned. She pulled down the hem of the towel so that it was closer to her knees. “Happy now?” she asked him. “So, can we have chippy?”

  Andrew looked at Pen for approval, not particularly fussed himself. He wasn’t a big eater on the hungriest of nights.

  Pen shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t mind chips.”

  Bex clapped her hands excitedly. “Cod and chips, please, Dad. Salt, no vinegar.”

  Andrew laughed. “Don’t you think I know that? Been feeding you fourteen-bloody-years.”

  “And if you don’t feed me again soon, I might not make fifteen.” Becky
sucked in her cheeks so that she looked like a starving ghoul. Add the chaotic mess of her hair and the impression was quite convincing.

  Andrew let his breath out in a whistle. “Alright, little Miss Drama Queen. I’ll get going right away; wouldn’t want you to starve. I think I’ll walk, though – save the petrol – but then the three of us can settle down and watch a movie together. Isn’t there a Stephen King film on tonight, Bex?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, pulling away from her mother’s combing fingers and flopping back on the sofa. Her hair was now sufficiently straightened to pass for human. “Don’t think it’s for you, though, Dad; has monsters and stuff. You don’t like blood and violence.”

  “Perhaps I’ll make an exception if it means spending some time with my increasingly-absent daughter. You never have time for your old dad anymore.”

  “It’s because you smell so bad.”

  “Charming. I suppose you’re too good for a bit of B.O. now that you’re a teenager.

  Pen interrupted the exchange. “Can we save the banter for after we’ve all eaten, please? You’re as bad as she is sometimes, Andrew.”

  Andrew put his hands up in defence. “I’m going.”

  He left the warmth of the living room and stepped into the chillier hallway. His shoes were in the front porch and he went to retrieve them, whistling a made-up tune as he went. He could see the group of youths outside through the glass of the PVC front door. Pen had been right: there were ten or more of them now; mostly boys. Andrew counted at least two young girls, though, about Rebecca’s age.

  I wouldn’t let my daughter hang around the streets with a bunch of boys. Their parents must be mad.

  Andrew still stood by what he had said earlier: they were just bored kids with nothing better to do. It wasn’t like there was a decent cinema or bowling alley in tow. In fact there wasn’t anything for the kids to do in Redditch during the evenings. They would have to venture into Birmingham or Bromsgrove for anything beyond a scrappy game of football. The kids outside were just trying to entertain themselves. There was no reason to be frightened of them; in fact, it would likely just make things worse. If you treated young people like thugs all of the time then that’s exactly how they’d end up behaving.

  Kick a dog and it’ll bite.

  Andrew pushed aside his shoes and decided upon a pair of trainers instead. The Nike running shoes were new and a little uncomfortable, but he wanted to try and wear them in quickly – the local squash league began again soon and he didn’t want blisters. He tied the laces loosely to reduce the pinching on his toes, then stood up and pulled his brown-leather wallet from his jeans, checking for cash. He had just over twenty-pounds in notes and change – more than enough to cover dinner. The final thing he did was pull on his long black overcoat from the pegs in the corner. Even from inside the porch, it was clear that the weather outside was nippy.

  Tough winter ahead, Andrew thought to himself as he fastened the final button on his jacket.

  Once he was ready, Andrew unlocked the front door and stepped out into the bitter, grey dusk of the autumn evening. The frosty air immediately gravitated towards him as though he was a cold-weather magnet. Andrew gave his shoulders a quick, vigorous rub and then started down the pathway.

  The teenagers across the road seemed to notice Andrew’s presence as he left his property, but they paid him little attention, seemingly content to chat amongst themselves.

  Too consumed with their smartphones and iPods, probably, Andrew wondered.

  Just like he had told Pen, there was nothing to worry about – just a bunch of bored kids hanging around. In fact, he was going to walk right by them just to prove a point. He was willing to bet that they wouldn’t make so much as a peep at him; probably wouldn’t even notice him.

  “Oi, mate?”

  Andrew stopped in his tracks. Or maybe not.

  “Oi, mate, you fucking 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 Andrew, scrutinising him from beneath the harsh glow of the streetlamps.

  Andrew cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “Ex-excuse me?”

  One of the teenagers stepped away from the group: a tightly-muscled teenager in a red woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. The lad possessed an odd facial tic and a thin scar that bisected his lower lip danced and twitched to invisible music.

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

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

  The lad 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 if the lad had heard him. “I don’t have a cigarette to give you, I’m afraid.”

  The lad didn’t break his stare. His nervous twitch seemed to increase in intensity, the scar on his lip changing from a waltz to a tango.

  “Okay,” the lad said finally. “Sound, mate. No worries.”

  Andrew nodded and started to resume his journey to the local shops. He was confused by the encounter, a little unnerved, but not particularly upset. See? No problem at all. A slight lack of manners, admittedly, but no worse than that. Certainly no reason to be frightened.

  “You can get us some fags from the shop, mate.”

  Andrew stopped still and wondered if he’d just heard the lad 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 simple rudeness.

  “Okay,” Andrew said, turning to face the gang of teenagers. “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 seem to find anything amusing. Aside from the facial tic that plagued the nerves of 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 as he spoke. “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 as an asphyxiated splutter. “I-I…I don’t think so, son. 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. It was a feeling he had not felt before and it made his entire body feel hollow. Such threats and brutish behaviour were well beyond Andrew’s comprehension and experience. Yet it was happening to him 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. So, 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. It made him wince in the same way as a dig to the ribs would. 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 diaphragm.

  What the hell just happened?

  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 destinat
ion. Mickey’s chip shop was just up ahead. He 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’re 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 had already. Inside was a member of staff he recognised: a young blonde girl that had served him several times in the past. 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.

  At least not all teenagers are bad. Some still have manners. This girl and my daughter for instance. I’d go mad if Bex behaved like those thugs.

  He quickly placed an order for his and Penelope’s food, as well as Bex’s – salt, no vinegar – before standing aside and warming himself on the shop’s hot, metal counter. His entire body seemed to unload its weight onto his elbows as he leaned, like he’d been fighting off the urge to fall down this whole time without realising it. The amount of anger he felt threatened to take over him, yet he felt strangely vacant at the same time. It was as if the encounter with the gang of teenagers had sent him into some sort of a daze.

  You still have to walk back past them again to get home…

  The thought caused another wave of nausea to crash through Andrew’s system. What the hell should I do? I’m not going to let them scare me into not walking the street outside my own bloody home. Andrew sighed and rubbed at his eyes. I should have said something at the time – stood up to them then and there. Bet they’re a bunch of flippin’ cowards against anyone who gives as good as they get.

  Andrew made a decision. That’s it! That’s what I’ll do. I’m going to stand up to that little swine and his gawking buddies. See how big he is then. I’m not going to let the little git frighten me.