ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror

by Wright, Iain Rob

  Davie thought of an answer. “I think it was err…my dad.”

  The man nodded. “What was he in for?”

  Davie continued the fabrication, seeing no other course of action. “He had an accident at the factory where he worked. That’s why his face was injured.”

  The man took another drag on his cigarette and this time blew the smoke right into Davie’s face. “Really? You see that’s funny, because he told me he’d been in a car accident.”

  Davie was stuck for an answer. Making stuff up had never been one of his talents and he’d obviously blown it this time. Before he even had chance to attempt another bluff the hospital employee had heard enough.

  “Just get out of here, kid. I don’t know what’s going on tonight, but I’m not getting involved. Piss off out of here, now.”

  Davie couldn’t afford to let the man go back inside and close the door. The hospital was currently deserted and would be the perfect time to reach his brother – if Frankie was indeed inside. It would also be the perfect time for his brother to kill Andrew and his family. Davie had to get through and keep that possibility from happening.

  He pulled out the revolver stuffed down his trousers and pointed it at the man. “Move out the fuckin’ way.”

  The man looked at Davie and laughed. “You a proper gangster, yeah? What is that, a water pistol?”

  Davie laughed back. “Yeah man, I’m a regular OG.” Then he smashed the gun against the man’s face and knocked him out cold. His body sprawled back into the doorway and Davie wasted no time in stepping over him.

  He would have to find his way around the hospital without having a clue where he was going, but there were no other choices. Currently he stood by a cafeteria, but that didn’t help much. The hospital had three floors and a dozen departments. It wouldn’t be easy to find his brother in this maze. In fact it could turn out to be nigh-impossible.

  But when a gunshot rang out, things got a whole lot easier.

  The short explosion had come from the same floor that Davie was already on; somewhere down the end of the long corridor in which he now stood. The signs above him pointing in that direction read WARDS 4-7. Davie ran as fast as his battered body would allow. He was still nowhere near recovered from his car accident, but he tried to put the discomfort aside. His trainers squeaked on the floor as he picked up speed.

  Davie didn’t know what the gunshot meant for certain, but he knew it couldn’t be anything good. The odds that someone had just been shot were high and the odds that it was Frankie behind the trigger were even higher.

  Either that or the police have just gunned down my crazy brother.

  Davie didn’t think that was true, though. The police didn’t carry guns as far as he knew. They used pepper sprays and batons and stuff. The only time Davie had seen Police with guns was when they shot some sick nutcase on TV a couple years ago. Raul something-or-other. Other than that, the pigs in this country were harmless – nothing like the American cops he watched in the movies. Now they were badass.

  Davie reached the end of the corridor and found himself lost again as he faced several options to choose from. He could go left, right, or straight on. He chose to stand still and listen, hoping to hear something that would make the decision easier. While he was not absolutely certain, he thought he could hear faint voices coming from a ward on the left: WARD 7.

  Davie headed there immediately and was relieved when he heard the voices again, more clearly. He soon reached a wide-open nurse’s station and Davie clearly identified one of the voices as his brother’s. What was worrying, however, was that all the other voices he could hear were ones of pleading.

  Davie turned a full circle of the room, trying to hone in on where the voices were coming from. Eventually he settled on a room to the left. He could not see inside the room’s windows because a curtain was pulled across them, but, as he approached the door, Davie was certain that it was where his brother was.

  “Frankie?” he shouted at the closed door.

  The voices inside the room stopped abruptly. Then Davie heard his brother’s voice reply from inside.

  “Davie? Is that you? Get your ass in here, little bro. You’re just in time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The bullet had hit only centremetres above Bex’s head. Andrew’s heart leapt into his throat and stayed there. Now, as he tried to speak, his vocal chords were so restricted that his words came out choked. “I can’t…b-believe you just…did that! You’re insane.”

  Frankie blew the end of the smoking revolver and then winked at Andrew. “Chill out, man. I was just making a point, innit?”

  Bex had gone the colour of wet chalk. The gunshot had been so close to her face that the plaster behind her had fallen away and crumbled into her hair. The smell of cordite filled the room and mingled with the odour of blood.

  Frankie strolled over to Andrew and crouched in front of him. “Hopefully I’ve got your full respect and attention now? I didn’t want to have to do that but you gave me no choice.”

  Andrew was feeling weaker by the minute. His mind must have been shutting off to relieve some of the pain pulsing through his kneecap and ribs. “Just…please…enough. Enough.”

  “Begging again, Andrew? I thought you’d grown bigger balls than that.”

  “Frankie?”

  Everyone in the room looked towards the door. Someone was outside. If Andrew wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like Davie.

  Frankie edged over to the doorway and tilted his head next to the wood. “Davie? Is that you? Get your ass in here, little bro. You’re just in time.”

  To Andrew’s surprise, it was indeed Davie that entered the room cautiously. He’d thought Davie had wanted no part of his brother’s insanity, but the fact that he was here now suggested different. When it came right down to it, they were typical brothers – they stuck together till the end.

  “Little bro, I thought you’d given up on me.”

  Davie shook his head. “I was wrong to say what I said. You’re my brother and I’m sorry.”

  Andrew shook his weary head. I had hopes for you, Davie, but it turns out that you’re no better than Frankie. To hell with the both of you.

  A whispered voice snapped Andrew away from his thoughts. He turned his head sideways and saw that Dalton was trying to say something to him. She’d lost every hint of colour from her cheeks and now resembled an ivory statue more than she did a young woman.

  She placed a hand on his forearm. “Grab…my belt. The…canister.”

  Andrew tried to figure out what she meant. He looked down at her belt and saw a collection of evenly placed pouches. The one on the furthest-most right was open and contained a small aluminium spray can with a bunch of writing on the side.

  Dalton nodded at him. “Grab…it.”

  Andrew nodded back, looked at Frankie, and saw that he was distracted by his conversation with Davie. He started to creep his hand towards the canister. Inch by inch, his fingers stretched towards it, until…

  Got it.

  Andrew managed to get his hand around the can and started to pull it away from its pouch. But it was stuck on something and would not move. Andrew quickly realised that there was a popper-button attaching a tongue across the top of the can. With his thumb, Andrew unfastened it and started to pull again. The can slid out easily now and Andrew’s heart beat rapidly as he eyed Frankie. One false move and the psychopath would shoot him. He would have to keep his movements slow, gradual.

  Very, very careful.

  Inch by inch.

  Frankie turned to face Andrew, eyebrows raised.

  Andrew thanked God that he managed to slide the canister into the space beneath his armpit one second before anybody noticed. He’d gotten away with it and now had a slither of hope to hold onto.

  “What you looking at?” Frankie asked him. “If your eyes were any wider they would fall on the floor.”

  Andrew didn’t reply. What the hell did Frankie expect him to say? Instead h
e looked down at the mangled wreck of his knee and thought about the small metal cylinder concealed beneath his armpit and whether he would get the chance to use it.

  “So what’s your plan?” Davie asked his brother. “You know there’s a bunch of coppers outside?”

  Frankie shrugged. “What the hell they gonna do? I already popped one of ‘em. They want to be the ones concerned about me.”

  “We should really get out of here.”

  Frankie put a hand on Davie’s shoulder. “No way, little bro. This is my moment. The day the whole world learns not to fuck with Frankie Walker. The fact that my little brother is here to share it all makes things even more perfect.”

  Davie looked confused. “Your moment? What are you talking about?”

  “Going to whack these bitches, just as soon as everyone comes back in from outside. No point doing it without an audience. Then I’m going to go out in a blaze of glory. Take a few more pigs with me if I can. People will remember my name forever. People will have nightmares about me for years.”

  “You’re crazy,” Bex hissed from her bed. Andrew wished she would be quiet, but he assumed at this point it wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference.

  Frankie pointed the gun at Bex again but she didn’t flinch. In fact she seemed more composed and defiant than she had been since the whole thing began. “Don’t be a hater,” Frankie told her, “just because you can’t understand my greatness. You just don’t see the big picture like I do.”

  Bex cackled at him. It was a cruel expression and Andrew never knew his daughter was capable of such a sound. “You think a spree-killing is the big picture? I thought the point of you being here was to get rid of the witnesses, but now you’re talking about having an audience. You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

  “Plan changed. No shame in it. I figure that if I can’t get away with shit, I might as well make shit count. Going to go down like a man – a gen-u-ine pig-killing hero. You think anyone will ever forget those kids in America that shot up that school? Or that dude last year that blinded that cop? No, they make films about people like that. People will make films about me one day and the whole world will be sorry it ever got in my way.”

  “Who are you so angry at?” Andrew managed to ask from the floor, fighting hard not to pass out.

  Surprisingly, Davie seemed to want to know the answer as well. “Yeah. What’s this really all about, Frankie? What happened to you, man?”

  “Nothing happened to me, little bro. I’m on top of the world.”

  “No,” said Davie. “You’re not. You’re talking about killing innocent people just so people respect you. When did respect get so goddamn important?”

  Frankie pointed the gun at Andrew but faced his brother dead on. “Respect is the only thing that matters. If people don’t respect you then you’re nothing but their bitch…”

  Frankie trailed off slightly and Davie seemed to sense something. “This is all because of what happened in the youth offender’s home, isn’t it? What the hell did they do to you?”

  “He got buggered by the bigger boys,” said Andrew, enjoying the sight of Frankie flinch at the comment. The words hit him like the bullet’s he had fired into other people.

  Frankie’s face twisted. He looked like a madman. “Shut the hell up, or I swear I’m going to make your death so slow it will feel like an eternity.”

  “He’s right though, isn’t he?” said Davie. “Is that what this is all about? Did someone…hurt you?”

  Frankie still held the gun at Andrew, but his arm had begun to shake visibly. “You’re chatting shit, little bro. You don’t know nuffin, so just leave it, okay?”

  “I know that this whole situation is fruit loops,” said Davie. “Something happened to you inside that made you lose the plot, big time. Did Andrew have something to do with it?”

  “No way,” Andrew said immediately. “I never even met Frankie before all this.”

  Davie shrugged. “So, what then? What is it about Andrew that made you lose it?”

  Frankie turned the gun on his little brother. “I actually thought you were here to support me, Davie. Stupid me, huh?”

  “Support you? This isn’t a job interview or a football match. I can’t support you murdering people.”

  “Then get the fuck out!”

  Davie folded his arms and shook his head. “Not going anywhere. You want me to leave you’ll have to shoot me too.”

  Frankie cocked the gun. “Don’t think I won’t. I’m not afraid to kill anyone. Sick fuckers in the nick learned that shit soon enough. I showed ‘em all. Fuckin’ nonces.”

  “Who?” asked Davie.

  Frankie pointed the gun back at Andrew and cocked the hammer. “This fucker! That’s who.”

  Davie looked at Andrew and seemed confused. “Andrew abused you?”

  “Yeah,” Frankie said, nodding his head adamantly, tears forming in his eyes.

  “What the hell are you talking about,” Andrew cried out. “You’re talking complete nonsense. I never met you before.”

  “I don’t buy it,” said Davie. “Andrew doesn’t even work at a prison.”

  Frankie’s twitch went into overdrive and a nauseated expression took over his face. He leant forward slightly as though he was going to be sick. “Well…not him exactly. It was McMillan.”

  Andrew was stunned. “James McMillan? My half-brother?”

  Davie looked at Andrew, obviously confused. “What?”

  “My half-brother is called McMillan. I haven’t seen him in years – not since I was teenager – but his surname is McMillan. Is that who you’re talking about, Frankie?”

  Frankie said nothing, but Davie nodded as if something was making sense. “Let me guess: you two look alike?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I guess. We’re not twins, though. Like I said, I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “You look close enough,” said Frankie, marching towards him and grabbing both sides of his bloodied shirt, yanking him to his feet on his ruined knee. “Soon as I seen ya, I thought you was him. Was only when I saw you up close that I realised you weren’t – that the piece of shit must have been your brother or something.”

  Andrew shook his head and pleaded. “I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager. He lived with his father while my mum remarried to mine. He was already eight years old when I was born. I barely knew him.”

  Frankie slammed Andrew back against the wall. Pain exploded from his knee. “You share that perv’s blood, though, don’t ya? You probably have the same sick shit running through your veins as he did.”

  “Did?”

  Frankie smiled. “That’s right. Slit that fucker’s throat one night when he came into my cell. When the guards realised why he was in there at three in the morning, they covered it up. Didn’t want anyone to know what a sadistic hellhole they were running.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Andrew. “I’m sorry for what my brother did to you. I’m glad you killed him.”

  Frankie released his grip slightly. Then he laughed. “You know I actually believe you.”

  “Good,” said Andrew, “because I mean it.”

  Frankie nodded. “You know I can’t let you go, though, right? It’s too late not to follow this shit through to the end.”

  “I know that,” Andrew replied. “You killed my wife. There’s no quitting now for either of us.”

  Andrew reached for the can under his armpit and pulled it free. His index-finger gripped the release and pressed down hard. A pungent jet of liquid exploded from the can’s nozzle and hit Frankie in the eyes and nose. The excess vapour flew back and entered Andrew’s airways. Both of them fell to the floor in a choking, spluttering mess.

  Andrew’s vision was like being under water; all blurs and wet squiggles. His whole face filled with a rising sensation of fire that worsened with every breath he allowed himself to take. While he couldn’t see the room clearly, the sound of Frankie cursing was as clear as day. This was it. It would all end
now, one way or another.

  Andrew placed his palms down on the floor and tried to get to his feet, but it was impossible. The dizziness, twinned with the uselessness of his knee, was too much to overcome. Andrew knew that his daughter was bed ridden and that Officer Dalton was injured too badly to help. The only person able-bodied enough to help was Davie.

  But where the hell do that kid’s loyalties lie?

  “Come on, man, get up,” Andrew heard Davie say to his brother. “We need to get out of here fast.”

  “Okay,” said Frankie. “You’re right, little bro. You’re always right.”

  Andrew sighed. Thank you, thank you, God. Finally this whole thing is over.

  “But I need you to shoot them first,” said Frankie. “I can’t do it myself. I can’t fuckin’ see. Do you still have your gun?”

  “No way,” said Davie. “I’m not shooting anybody.”

  “Do. You. Still. Have. Your. Gun?”

  “Yes,” said Davie. “I have it, but I’ not using it.”

  “Then I’ll go down forever, is that what you want? But if you get rid of the witnesses then we can sort out some alibis and get through this as brothers. I’ll owe you, man – for life. Please, Davie. I need you to do this for me.”

  There was silence in the room. Andrew lay on the floor, terrified and blind, waiting for the next turn of events in the hellish nightmare that had become his life.

  “Okay,” said Davie. “I’ll do it. It’s time to put an end to all of this once and for all.”

  “Thank you, brother. I love you. You know that, right?”

  “I know, Frankie. I love you, too, and that’s the only reason I’m about to do this for you.”

  There was more silence; interrupted only by what must have been Davie fumbling for the gun he had hidden in his clothing.

  Davie cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about all this, Andrew. I truly wish none of this had ever happened to you.”

  Andrew said nothing. He just closed his eyes, replacing the blurriness with full-blown darkness, and waited for the end. He tried not to hear his daughter screams – he didn’t want that to be the last thing he thought about. So he thought of a time long ago – to the day that Bex’s was born and they had been a family full of hope and joy. Perhaps in the next life they would be again.