ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror

by Wright, Iain Rob

  The plush carpet of the landing felt good beneath Andrew’s feet. He padded towards the stairs and started down them carefully. As he neared the bottom, he could hear the loud blaring of the television from the living room as the movie started. For some reason, Bex was unable to enjoy anything that didn’t carry the risk of at least moderate hearing damage.

  Andrew reached the downstairs hallway and was just about to enter the living room.

  When there was a knock at the door.

  The Chinese is here.

  Andrew changed direction and headed for the porch. He tried to make out the figure through the glass door-pane, but it was too dark outside to see anything more than a silhouette.

  Andrew reached into his pocket to grab his wallet and cursed when he dropped it onto the floor. He bent down instinctively and hissed as his ribs cried out in pain. He was forced to take a deep breath before he was able to open the front door.

  When he did, nobody was there.

  Andrew stared out into the darkness, straining his eyes for shapes in the shadows. All of the light was behind him, inside the porch, making the darkness in front of him deep and unending. He leant forward and focused his eye, but still could see no one. He started to think for a moment that he’d just imagined the knock at the door.

  “Alright, mate?”

  Andrew jumped back as a red-hatted figure appeared from behind the left side-wall of the porch and entered the bleeding patch of light from the hallway. It was Frankie.

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Chill out,” Frankie replied, face twitching, scarred mouth grinning. “No need to shit your pants. I came to apologise, innit.”

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed further. “What?”

  Frankie moved forward and placed a foot onto the step of the front door. Andrew moved forward to meet him.

  “I said I’ve come to apologise.” Frankie lifted the brow of his red beanie hat in a way that was almost gentlemanly. “You know, about tonight’s earlier…misunderstanding.”

  Andrew laughed. “You mean when you assaulted me for no good reason?”

  Frankie laughed back. “Yeah, I guess you could put it like that. No reason we can’t be friends, though. You and me, we can be bros, innit.”

  “We’ll never be friends,” said Andrew, “and I already have a brother somewhere in this world, so get the hell away from my property and clear off.”

  Frankie’s smile left his face and his twitch seemed to get worse for a moment. “Careful, mate. I don’t appreciate being told what to do, you get me?”

  Andrew shook his head. “Look, what do you want? I’ve done nothing to you.”

  “I know,” Frankie agreed. “Which is why I’m going to allow you to make peace.”

  “Make peace! I didn’t do anything to breach the peace.”

  Frankie sighed. “You going to fuckin’ listen to me, mate, or am I going to have to drop you again?”

  “How dare you threaten me in my own home.”

  “Fuck your home. This whole fuckin’ neighbourhood is mine. You want to be left alone; you do what the fuck I tell you. Give me your trainers.”

  Andrew was taken aback. “Sorry?”

  Give me them sweet-ass Nikes and you’ll be left alone.”

  “Get lost!”

  Frankie grabbed Andrew around the throat and sneered. Andrew struggled back and managed to escape the grip, but his heart was racing and the pain in his ribs was in full force.

  “Do you want to die?” asked Frankie.

  Andrew shook his head in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

  “Damn straight. I’ll cut you up and snort your fucking remains if I feel like it. Question is: are you going to behave and do as you’re told, or do I have to show you just how fuckin’ crazy I am?”

  Andrew went to reply but was interrupted.

  “Who’s at the door, Andrew?” It was Pen shouting from the living room.

  Frankie smirked. He pulled something from his pocket. The object glinted in the light of the porch and Andrew knew it was a knife.

  “No one,” Andrew shouted back over his shoulder. “I-I’ll just be a minute.”

  Frankie put the knife back in his pocket.

  “I thought maybe it was the Chinese.”

  “No,” Andrew shouted back. “I’ll let you know when it’s here.”

  “Going to have a nice dinner with the missus?” Frankie asked. “You go off the idea of chips then?” He took another step forward, half-inside the doorway now. “Maybe I should join you all? Always nice to know the neighbours. Say, don’t you have a fine-ass daughter I’ve seen around here?”

  Andrew pushed Frankie back out the door. “You leave my family the-fuck alone.”

  Frankie said nothing. He just smiled, standing on the path as if waiting for something.

  Andrew realised what Frankie was waiting for. “You seriously expect me to give you my trainers?”

  “It would be easier than the alternative. Give ‘em to me and wel can call it even. I’ll forget that you hurt my feelings this evening.”

  Andrew sighed, picked up the Nike trainers from the shoe rack, and tossed them out of the door. “Here!” he snarled. “Now just leave me the fuck alone, you jackal.”

  Frankie grinned and then shook his head. “You think I’m going to pick ‘em up off the floor, mate? Go get them and hand them to me properly.”

  Andrew huffed. “Are you serious?”

  Frankie stared at Andrew. His hand slowly reached for his pocket again.

  Andrew threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! It would be my goddamn pleasure.” He stepped outside and gathered up the shoes from the pavement. Then he returned to Frankie and thrust the trainers into the lad’s arms. “Now leave me alone.”

  Frankie nodded as he examined the new possessions in his hands. “Deal’s a deal, mate. Have a nice life.”

  Frankie swaggered away, down the path, just as another figure walked up it in the opposite direction. When the new person reached the porch, he held a brown paper bag out to Andrew. “Chinese delivery?”

  Andrew took the bag from the man and tried his best to smile. But it was impossible, so he just paid for the food and gave a good tip instead. The last thing he felt right now was hungry. In fact he felt downright sick.

  Chapter Three

  Getting to sleep was a long and lonely struggle. Pen had commenced her gentle snoring as soon as her head had hit the pillow, but Andrew had lay next to her for what seemed like hours, staring up at the ceiling, his head swirling with unwanted thoughts.

  The movie Bex made him watch had been disturbing, full of monsters and giant insects feasting on the flesh of the living. The ending had been bleak and depressing, but Bex seemed to enjoy it, grinning between each mouthful of egg foo yung.

  It wasn’t the film wasn’t that was keeping Andrew awake, though. Frankie haunted his mind like a relentless boogieman, terrorising his thoughts and creating nightmares. Every time sleep came close, Frankie’s scarred and twitching face would jar Andrew awake. It was now 4:00AM according to the LED clock on the bedside table.

  Four hours till work. God knows how I’m going to get through the day on zero sleep.

  Andrew’s job as an Ad Exec wasn’t physically taxing, but it did require concentration. The project he was working on at the moment for a Soda company was especially important – the rebranding of a nationally-recognised product. The stress of last night’s events was a concern he could do without. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If there was any chance of getting an iota of sleep, he would need to clear his mind. He needed to forget that he had allowed an adolescent bully to take his trainers as if he was some helpless child in the playground and not the successful family man that he in fact was. The humiliation weighed down so heavily on Andrew that it felt like his skull might split open, spilling the memories of his cowardice all over the pillow.

  4:40AM.

  The minutes flew by and Andrew’s
mind flittered between numb consciousness and troubled sleep. His waking thoughts were so vivid that they merged seamlessly with his dreams, to the point that he had no idea whether he was asleep or awake.

  5:01AM

  Noise. From downstairs.

  Andrew’s eyes snapped open.

  He was sure the noises had been real, that he had been awake to hear them and not simply imagining things in his sleep. It sounded like a door opening.

  5:13AM.

  Another sound.

  Somehow, Andrew had snoozed another ten minutes, the beckoning embrace of sleep managing to override his grasp on reality. But now he was fully awake, sat up in bed as he listened to yet more sounds from downstairs.

  Footsteps.

  Someone was inside the house.

  Andrew heard another sound, this one closer. He realised it was just Pen snoring, but it was no relief. There was definitely someone inside his home.

  Someone rifling through our things.

  Andrew summoned the courage to get out of bed, reinforcing himself with indignant anger that someone was invading his family’s privacy. Greasy Chinese food worked its way up his gullet as a thick, syrupy mixture of fear and loathing took a hold of his body. His legs wobbled as he set them down on the soft carpet. The sounds downstairs had now stopped, but Andrew was sure there had been a break-in. His thoughts now turned to what the result of that would be.

  Have they cleared us out? Taken everything?

  Andrew’s mouth filled with saliva. He had to swallow several times as he exited the bedroom through to the unlit landing. Bex’s door was open, as usual, and he could not fight the urge to look inside and check on her as he passed by. Thankfully, his daughter was still asleep, snoring softly in the identical way that her mother did. She was tucked up beneath her plush duvet and had not been woken by the noises downstairs.

  Good. Maybe I can get everything cleaned before she wakes up. I can reduce some of the shock.

  Andrew reached the end of the hallway and looked down the stairs, cocking his head to listen for more sounds. He could detect nothing. A slither of hope told him that maybe he’d imagined it all, and that the scary movie – and his altercation with Frankie – had just spooked his anxious mind into creating yet more scenes of danger.

  He jabbed the switch at the bottom of the stairs and blinked as the light filled his adjusting pupils. The downstairs hallway was undisturbed. The photos on the wall were still in place and his grandmother’s bureau was still locked tight.

  So far so good.

  Andrew moved over to the living room door and paused outside of it. This was the room with the television, DVD player, and most other things worth stealing in the house. If anything was missing, it would be from this room.

  And if anybody is still inside, then they’re most likely to be in this room, too.

  Andrew took a deep breath and pushed open the door, clutching the handle tightly as he turned it. A smell hit him as he entered the darkness of the room: a bitter, salty odour along with something more acrid. Andrew wrinkled his nose and tried to identify it.

  Bleach…vinegar?

  He caressed the wall and found the light switch, familiar enough with his own home to find it without the use of sight. His finger lingered over the switch. His stomach somersaulted. As much as Andrew needed to see the state of the living room, he also wanted to delay things for as long as possible. Once the lights were on, ready or not, he would be forced to deal with the situation. Right now he was safe in the dark, oblivious.

  Can’t put things off forever...

  Andrew switched on the light.

  The room came into view and at first presented too much visual information for his brain to interpret all at once. As his aching eyes adjusted, though, one thing slowly became clear: nothing was missing. Nothing had been stolen.

  Thank god!

  But a few moments later it became clear that, instead, something had been added. All over the room was a mulched-up mess of what looked like…

  Is that…Is that fish and chips?

  A battered cod fillet had been stamped into the carpet whilst dozens of individual chips had been mashed against the sofa’s upholstery. Even the walls were smeared with deep-fried potato. The smell of salt and vinegar enveloped the room, pungent to the point of making Andrew’s eyes water. It wasn’t long before he put two and two together – that he realised the fish and chips were a message from the person responsible. The person whom had knocked fish and chips out of Andrew’s hands only several hours before.

  Frankie did this.

  ***

  The police arrived within the hour, just as the sun rose and the birds began to sing. The glow coming through the window bathed the living room in a pleasant orange which seemed unsuitable considering the mess that had been made. Pen and Bex sat, huddled together, on the sofa in their night gowns. Andrew sat at the dining room table with two police officers – a strong-looking man and a petit young woman; PC Wardsley and PC Dalton. Both looked tired, yet concerned.

  “What time did you hear the noises, Mr …?”

  “Goodman. Andrew Goodman. And I don’t know exactly, but it was around 5AM, I think.”

  “Okay,” said the female police officer, PC Dalton, whilst PC Wardsley took notes on his pad. “What exactly did you hear?”

  Andrew felt like he was going to have a breakdown, so sleep-deprived was he, but did his best to answer as calmly as he could. “I’m pretty sure I heard doors opening and closing, and somebody creeping around.”

  “Did it sound like just one person?”

  Andrew nodded.

  Dalton smiled and nodded, performing gestures she’d no doubt learned through regular sensitivity training. “Do you have any ideas how someone could have entered your home?” she asked. “Were all the doors locked?”

  Andrew shrugged. He looked down at the table, not wanting to make eye-contact with the officer. He somehow felt ashamed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Before this, I never worried about locking everything up at night. It’s a nice neighbourhood. The front and back doors were locked, I remember, but I could have left a window or two unlocked.”

  “You won’t be doing that again.” Pen scolded him from the sofa before returning to the dazed silence she had displayed since waking up to the bad news.

  “No,” said Andrew. “I won’t.”

  PC Dalton asked her next question. “Do you know anyone that would want to do this to you? Nothing was taken, so it seems that causing upset was the main motive for the break-in.”

  Andrew listened to the sound of his own breathing for a few seconds, wishing the whole thing would go away – but it wasn’t going to, no matter how much he wanted it to. So he gave a firm answer: “Frankie Walker.”

  The male police officer, PC Wardsley, raised a bushy black eyebrow. “Frankie?”

  Andrew nodded. “There’s a gang that’s been hanging around the last few days. I think their leader is a guy named Frankie?”

  Wardsley scribbled down notes eagerly whilst his partner took over questioning. “Why do you think this…Frankie…would want to target you?”

  Andrew looked over at his wife and daughter and chewed at his lower lip. They both looked back at him with great interest. He turned back to the female officer and let out a defeated sigh before he answered her question. “I know, because the sod assaulted me yesterday evening – punched me in the ribs. I was carrying fish and chips at the time and he knocked them all over the road. This was a message that only I would get.”

  “What?” Penelope started shouting. “Why on earth did you not tell me about this? You sat with us all night and didn’t think to tell us that you’d been attacked?”

  Andrew looked down at his lap and tried to cope with all of the emotions running through his head. He had never felt so small. Bex had started to cry now, which only made the feeling worse. “I’m sorry,” he said to his family. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  Pen folded her arms and r
olled her eyes. “Worry me? What do you think all this is doing?”

  “Okay,” Dalton butted in. “Can you describe this man, Mr Goodman?”

  “Teenager,” Andrew corrected. “Barely past being a kid.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “He’s muscly – like he works out a lot. Red beanie hat. Has a scar across his lip and a weird facial tic thing.”

  “He has a twitch?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew confirmed.

  “Anything else?”

  “The girl that served me at the chip shop said that Frankie had just gotten out of a kid’s prison; warned me he was dangerous.”

  “God!” Pen covered her mouth with one of her hands. “How did you get mixed up in all this, Andrew?”

  Andrew felt a pinch of aggression, but managed to stop it going further. “I didn’t have much choice,” he almost spat. “I had to walk past him on the way to the chip shop. Apparently that’s all it takes to wind this guy up.”

  “None of this is your fault, sir,” said Dalton who looked at Pen as if trying to get that particular message directly to her. “I’m afraid this is just the way some of today’s youths get their kicks.”

  “So what do we do?” Bex asked. She sounded frightened. “How do we get this Frankie to leave us alone?”

  “I take it you’re going to arrest him?” Pen asked the officers.

  Dalton said, “We will question him of course, but without evidence we can’t arrest him. Forensics will be here this afternoon to search for fingerprints, so please try to avoid touching anything unnecessarily.”

  “But if they find nothing, if he was wearing gloves…” Andrew couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “You can’t do anything?”

  “I didn’t say that. We’ll see what the forensic team brings up when they perform their search. If we find his prints then, yes, we can certainly arrest him. Did anyone else see him assault you?”

  Andrew shook his head.

  “Okay, well, let me make a call to see what I can find out about this Frankie character. You said his surname was Walker?” Andrew nodded. “Great, well, in the meantime pop the kettle on and calm your nerves. Things can all seem very overwhelming at this point, but the worst has already happened.”