Andrew stepped forward. “I know you did. Because you’re a caring person. I need you to keep being that way, because this animal is endangering my family.”
Charlie looked up from the counter and made eye-contact with him. Her eyes were blue and seemed to shimmer with sadness. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know really. How do you know Frankie?”
“Went to school with him.”
“And?”
Charlie shrugged. “And he was a nightmare. Beating other kids up, vandalising anything he could get his hands on, stealing, drinking, shagging. You name it and Frankie Walker did it. Eventually he went down for something or other. Assault I think.”
“He went to a young offender’s home?”
“Yeah, he was only a kid at the time.”
Andrew huffed. “That’s all he is now. They should have kept him locked up.”
“I agree.”
“So what is he doing around here? I’ve never seen him before recently.”
“He lives around here,” said Charlie.
Andrew shook his head. “No way. This is a nice area.”
“Used to be. Council brought some of the property around here for social housing. I remember my dad kicking up a big fuss about it at the time; got a petition going and everything.”
Andrew leant forward onto the counter and let the weight off his legs. “I can’t believe they would put someone like Frankie in a nice part of town.”
“Where else should they put him? Keep the poor with the poor, right?”
Andrew straightened back up again. “No, of course not. I…I don’t know what I think at the moment, t tell you the truth. I guess I just thought all council houses were grouped together.”
“I think that’s how it used to be. My dad said the Government wanted to space out council properties to avoid creating ghettos. That’s the right word, yeah?”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah, ghetto is right. Except now it seems that we’re all getting a little slice of ghetto to call our own.”
The shop’s door opened behind Andrew. Charlie performed her greeting smile as a new customer walked in.
Guess everyone gets the smile. Not just me.
“Look,” said Charlie, leaning forwards conspiratorially. “Like I said, I don’t want to get involved. But I can tell you that Frankie lives somewhere on Tanner’s Avenue. I know because a girl who used to be my best friend is now a drugged-up skank, all thanks to him. I haven’t spoken to her in months, but that’s where she used to go see him when we were still friends.”
Andrew nodded and said thanks, but the girl was already serving the new customer, acting as though the conversation had never even happened. Probably for the best, thought Andrew as he left the shop and headed home.
So Frankie lives nearby, then? Perhaps he has parents? He’s still just a kid so someone should be in charge of him. Maybe someone that has a little bit of control over him.
Andrew didn’t hold up much hope, but it was a possibility. Perhaps Frankie would leave him alone if his own family knew of his behaviour. Andrew considered making the journey to Tanner’s lane later that evening.
Maybe I can put a stop to this before anything else happens.
Andrew turned the corner feeling like a weight was slightly lifted. Knowing some personal details about Frankie made him feel less helpless. There were things he could now do to try and take some control of the situation. Hopefully this would be the end of the whole horrible situation.
But that was not to be. Andrew lost his breath at the sight which met him around the bend. His bright red Mercedes had been modified. The expensive bodywork was emblazoned by coarse black gloss-paint, spelling out words in several places.
The words read: pedo.
Pedo, Pedo, Pedo.
***
Andrew fell back into his armchair in the lounge and stared into space. The sound of his family’s voices was a distant droning, buzzing in the distance like anxious wasps. He was hearing their words but was unable to assemble them into cognitive meanings. Eventually he had to actively force his mind to return back to reality and make sense of what they were saying.
“…ell are they playing at?”
Andrew looked up at his wife who was standing before him and shaking like a leaf. “Huh?”
“I said what the hell are they playing at? Who behaves like this? Animals!”
Andrew leant his head back against the armchair’s headrest and examined the ceiling. The wind in his lungs seemed to stick in his throat as he let out a breath. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I still can’t believe any of this has happened.”
“Why you, though, dad?” Bex asked him from the sofa. She was holding up well, better than this morning, but Andrew knew that deep down she was just as unnerved as her mother.
Andrew lowered his head and shrugged at his daughter. “Don’t know, sweetie. If it wasn’t me then it would have just been someone else.”
“I still don’t understand why you won’t call the police again,” said Pen.
“Because it won’t do any good. Unless someone saw it happen, the police will have nothing to go on.”
Pen clicked her fingers at him and motioned for him to get up. “Well, bloody go find out if anyone did see it. Ask the neighbours.”
Andrew took another moment to stare into space then nodded his head. “Okay. Maybe someone did see something.”
Andrew stood up and left the room. He was already wearing his shoes – not something he usually did indoors but the carpet was already ruined with chip fat anyway – so he stepped through into the porch and opened the front door. Outside, his eyes again came to rest upon his vandalised vehicle and the disgusting words written all over it. There was no way he could drive to work until it was repainted. That led Andrew to think what exactly he would say when he dropped it off at the garage.
Oh, I’m not a pedo. It’s just some of the local kids having fun. Yeah right!
The street was deserted – the vandals come and gone without any remnant of their presence. It seemed unlikely that anyone would have witnessed the crime. It was a Tuesday morning and Andrew knew that most of the people on his road had day jobs. The lack of parked cars during the day only reinforced that assumption.
Next door, though, no 16, was home to an elderly couple. Most likely they would be his best bet as they were both retired. The chance of them being home during the day was a healthy possibility. Andrew pressed their doorbell and waited for them to answer.
It was a full minute later when he pressed the bell again.
Oh well. There goes my best shot.
Andrew started to turn away from the door and noticed a twitch in the living room curtains. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though there had been someone looking out the window at him. Now they had slunk away.
“Hello,” Andrew yelled, stepping back to try and get a better view of the window. The shifting silhouette behind the glass confirmed to him that someone was indeed inside. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to talk to you, if that’s okay?”
Nothing.
Andrew stood motionless, at a loss for what to do. Why wouldn’t they talk to him? Why would a nice elderly couple that had lived next to him for years not want to open the door? When he turned around he realised the reason why: the words written on his car.
Pedo, pedo, pedo.
It was becoming clear that whatever happened from now on, no one was going to help him. The panic-inducing power of the words on his car was enough to turn his neighbours against him. Innocent or not, he would be seen as a deviant in their eyes. “No smoke without fire,” they would say.
They’re all going to think I’m a bloody paedophile.
I need to put a stop to this.
***
Tanner’s Avenue was a quiet cul-de-sac of terraced houses, lined on either side by leafless trees, which now towered over Andrew like judgemental skeletons. One of the homes should belong to Frankie, if what Charli
e had told him was correct, but as for which one, Andrew had no clue. There were at least twenty identical properties, each with the same drab lawns and featureless facades.
Andrew decided the best thing to do would be to just pick a house at random and ask the occupants if they knew which house was Frankie’s, so he chose a house with a green-painted door and a brass number plate that read: no 17.
Upon knocking it took around fifteen seconds for the door to be opened. A diminutive gentleman, at least in his early sixties, appeared in the doorway. His hair was thinned above his delicate round spectacles and he seemed withered and stressed-out.
“Can I help you?” the man asked in a tone that was in no way friendly.
“Hello there,” said Andrew. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I was hoping you could tell me if you know where a young man named Frankie lives.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed and he took a half-step backwards.
“You know him?” asked Andrew.
“Who’s asking?”
“I am. He’s been causing problems outside my house and I wanted to speak to his parents.”
“Ha!” The man laughed so hard it sounded like something tore loose in his throat. “Good luck! There’s only his mother to talk to and she’s just as bad as him. Ruined this street that bloody family have. A plague on all our houses.”
“The family?” asked Andrew. “The whole family is a problem?”
The man nodded. “That Frankie is an evil little bleeder, no argument about it, but you’ll hardly blame him when you meet his degenerate mother. Never seen the woman sober the whole time she’s lived here. Even passed out in the middle of the road once; pissed herself like a six year old. Lucky someone didn’t run her over…more’s the pity.”
Andrew shrugged his shoulders and already felt like the whole thing was a bad idea. It was still the only option he had, though. “Can you point me to Frankie’s house anyway? I have to at least try to speak some sense to them.”
The man sighed. “Like I said, good luck. They live at number 8.”
Andrew thanked the man and moved away from his door. Number 8 was directly opposite and he turned to make his way over to it. Reaching the house a moment later, Andrew was surprised not to have realised sooner that it belonged to Frankie’s family. The front door was chipped and dented, the paint peeling away in great chunks, whilst the path leading up to it was overgrown with weeds and discarded beer cans. One of the upper windows of the house was boarded-up while another was emblazoned with a faded England flag. If it were not for the tight bushes that concealed the property, it would have stuck out like a sore thumb; a dilapidated slum amongst a row of better-kept properties.
Here goes nothing, Andrew told himself as he made his way up the cement path, stepping over what looked like a rotting condom half way up. There was no buzzer on the wooden door – no knocker either – so he was forced to rap his knuckles against the sharp splinters of the rotting wood.
No one came to answer, but Andrew could hear commotion from somewhere inside of the house. It was the sound of someone clumsily making their way through the reception hallway, bumping into furniture. Andrew held his breath. His stomach was deeply unsettled. It was a full minute later when the door finally opened.
A dishevelled woman appeared. Her hair was wild on one side, but matted and damp on the other, as if she had been lying in a puddle.
“Wahya wan?” she asked him with swollen, chapped lips.
Andrew smiled at the woman who, he now noticed, was wearing nothing but a flimsy nightgown that was a size too small. “Are you Frankie’s mother?”
She gave Andrew a drilling stare and her bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Who are ya? Don’t look like yer from the social.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“So wahya wan then?” The woman was shouting now, her words coming out in aggressive slurs and bad breath – alcohol and smoke. “Wahya wan with my Frankie?”
“So you are his mother? I was hoping you could have a word with him for me?”
“About wah?”
Andrew took a deep breath and tried not to let the woman’s inability to have a polite conversation deter him. He still believed that everyone had the capacity for rationality – it was just deeply buried in some people. Especially when they’re legless.
“He’s been causing me some problems,” said Andrew. “He broke into my home last night and today he vandalised my car.”
The woman snorted back a nose full of snot. “Got proof?”
“Do I need it?” asked Andrew. “I’m simply asking you to talk to him. I don’t wish to cause any trouble for you, ma’am. I just want Frankie to leave my family and me alone.”
The woman huffed. “He don’t listen to me, mate. Does wah he wans, that boy.”
“But you’re his mother.”
“Don’t mean a thing. Speak to im ya’self.”
Before Andrew had chance to stop her, the drunken woman was shouting up the stairs, yelling for Frankie to come down. Andrew felt his skin get tighter as he anticipated another encounter with the young thug.
Sure enough, Frankie appeared behind his mother only a moment later, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. She turned to look at him as he arrived. “Man says you been bovverin’ ‘im.”
Frankie looked at Andrew and his face lit up with recognition. Then he started to smirk. “Dunno what the bloke’s on about. Never seen him before.”
Frankie’s mother shrugged her shoulders at Andrew. The motion made her night dress ride inappropriately up her thighs. “Never seen ya in his life, he sez.”
“With all due respect,” said Andrew, “but that’s a lie.”
Frankie pushed past his mother and stood in the doorway. “Who you calling a liar, mate?”
Andrew sighed. He wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument. “Frankie, can we please just stop this? I have done nothing to you.”
Frankie’s smirk widened. “I think you need a lie down, mate, cus I ain’t got a clue what you’re on about. Like I said, never seen you before.”
Andrew clenched his fists, but then willed them to open again. Losing his cool would not help the situation. “Frankie, the police know all about you and what you’ve been doing. If you don’t stop now you’ll end up in trouble.”
“I don’t see how,” said a young girl suddenly appearing in the doorway. It was the same one who had been in Frankie’s group the night it all began – the one who had called Andrew a pedo. She was wearing a skimpy pair of pink shorts and a bra.
“Frankie’s been with me last couple of days,” she said, “and we ain’t left the bedroom, except to eat.”
“See, yer wrong!” Frankie’s mother slurred at Andrew. “Want to watch who ya start accusin’, mate.”
“I am not wrong,” Andrew firmly stated. “This young lady has been just as much involved in what’s going on as your son.”
The girl laughed at him. “You must be high. I would remember an old perv like you if I met one. You’re talking a load of shit, mate.”
“You’re Charlie’s friend, aren’t you?”
A spark of confusion flitted through the girl’s eyes and, for a brief moment, her mocking contempt was diluted. Two seconds later it was back in full force as she pulled a face at him. “Don’t know a Charlie, mate. Who is he?”
Andrew finally lost his temper. “Look, you little shits. If you come near my family again, you’ll regret it, okay? You’ve had your fun, but now it’s time to move on. No more games.”
Frankie leapt out of the doorway and shoved Andrew back along the path. “You think you can come down my manor and threaten me? You must be trippin’.”
“Yeah,” added Frankie’s mother. “Get away from my house before I call the police.”
“You’ll call the police. That’s rich.” Andrew was about to say more, but realised it was pointless. He put his palms in the air and backed away. “Fine,” he said. “Have it your way, but this is going to stop on
e way or another.”
“Dead man!” Frankie shouted. “You come here again and you’re a dead man.”
Andrew sneered. “Same goes for you, my friend. Stay away from my house.”
“He ain’t your fuckin’ friend,” said the girl, screeching an endless stream of obscenities as he retreated. Andrew couldn’t help wondering if he had just made things worse, but somehow he didn’t care. He was furious.
If he wants to play games, so be it.
The walk home was a long one.
Chapter Six
Davie had watched his brother’s argument from the top of the stairs. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his brother in a doorstep altercation and it would doubtlessly not be the last. His mum getting involved and making things worse wasn’t particularly unusual either.
The man at the door had been middle-aged, older than the usual type of person Frankie had misdealings with. Davie assumed it was the same man his brother had delivered a beat down to recently. Frankie hadn’t mentioned it directly, but Dom and Jordan had been laughing about it at last night’s party. The man at the door had seemed angry and aggressive, but more desperate than anything else – as if all he really wanted was to call a truce.
Good luck, mate. You obviously don’t know my brother.
Frankie was coming up the stairs now, casually, as if nothing had happened. He was flanked by his girlfriend, Michelle, and both of them were laughing.
“Hey,” Davie said to them. “Who was that?”
“Fuck knows,” said Frankie. “But the guy has a death wish to get all up in my face like he did.”
Davie shook his head. “Don’t shit me. Who was he?”
“Just some perv,” Michelle answered. “Don’t worry about it, D.”
“My name is Davie. How did he know where we live?”
Frankie shrugged. Michelle was the one who answered. “That tramp , Charlie, must have told him. He knew I used to be friends with her so she obviously spoke to him at the chippy or summin.”
ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror Page 5
