ASBO: A Thriller Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  ASBO

  By Iain Rob Wright

  Also available from Iain Rob Wright

  Thrillobytes: bite-sized horror

  (2011, Silk Raven Associates)

  The Final Winter

  (2011, Silk Raven Associates)

  Animal Kingdom

  (2011, Grand Mal Press)

  Originally published, February 2011, by:

  Silk Raven Associates

  ASBO © 2011 by Iain Rob Wright

  Cover Artwork © 2011 by Wright Ideas

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

  Published author, Iain Rob Wright, was born in 1984 and lives in Redditch, a small town in the West Midlands, UK, with his loopy cocker spaniels, Daisy and Oscar, his fat old cat, Jess, his many tropical fish, and the love of his life, Sally. Writing is the passion that fills his life during the small periods of time when he isn't cleaning up after his pets.

  Horror is his beloved genre, and his many inspirations range from Stephen King and Richard Laymon to J A Konrath and Brian Keene, as well as a whole host of other twisted minds.

  Check out his official website for freebies, news, and updates at: http://www.iainrobwright.com

  For unsung heroes,

  And the sacrifices they make

  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.

  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

  -----------------------------

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Those trouble-makers are hanging around outside again. Should we call the police?”

  Andrew turned to his wife, Penelope. She was peeking out of the living room window again through a gap in the 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.”

  Pen 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, Andrew. I don’t think your memory is going just yet.”

  “Exactly, and I can remember being a sixteen-year-old with nothing to do. My older brother used to get me into all kinds of mischief when I was a kid. Didn’t mean we were out to hurt anyone though. Just ignore them and they’ll ignore you.”

  She turned back around and resumed her spying. She’d been doing it now, on and off, for the last ten minutes and didn’t seem able to pry herself away from the living room’s front window. The streetlamps outside had just switched on with the arrival of dusk and were now casting angular shadows across her face. She looked like a private detective out of one of those old Film Noirs from America.

  “Isn’t that what they say about wasps?”

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

  Pen let the curtain sweep back into place, then padded towards him, barefoot, across the beige carpet of the living room. She shook her head and sighed. “I know, I know. They just make me uncomfortable. There must be about ten of them out there now. Where’ve they all come from? Why do they have to be right outside my house?”

  Andrew wrapped his arms around her and enjoyed the throbbing warmth of her skin beneath 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 corrected. “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 arm with a stinging backhand, making him yelp. “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 saw his daughter prancing down the stairs in nothing but a plump, white towel. Her shoulder-length brown hair – the same as her mother’s – was a wet and tangled mess around her glistening shoulders.

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

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

  “Sit down, Sweetheart.” Pen plopped herself down on the room’s bulbous 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 seemed to like the comparison and walked across the living room with her arms outstretched like a badly-acted mummy. Then she sprawled out on the sofa as if a make-believe bullet had hit her in the forehead. Finally she sat still long enough for her mother to start running her fingers through the tangled bunches of her hair. She winced every time a knot was yanked.

  Andrew glanced at his daughter’s bare legs and wished once more that she would cover up. She doesn’t realise how much of a woman she’s becoming.

  Bex caught his stares and frowned at him, then pulled down the hem of the towel so that it was closer to her knees. She obviously knew him well enough by now to recognise a look of disapproval. Her eyebrows rose at him. “Can we have chippy?”

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

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

  Bex clapped her hands. “Great! 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 it to 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, drama-queen. I’ll get going right
away; don’t want you to starve. I’m going to 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 said, pulling away from her mother’s hair-straightening 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 any time for me anymore.”

  “It’s because you smell so bad.”

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

  Pen interrupted the exchange. “Can we save the banter for after we’ve all eaten? 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, stepped into the chillier hallway, and headed to the right. His shoes were in the front porch and he went to retrieve them, whistling a made-up tune as he went. As he approached, he could see the group of teenagers through the triangle of frosted glass at the top of the PVC front door. Pen had been right, there were about ten of them in total – mostly boys, but not all. Andrew counted at least two young girls about Rebecca’s age.

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

  Kick a dog and it’ll bite.

  Andrew pushed aside his black loafers and decided on 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. He tied the yellow laces loosely to reduce the pinching on his toes, then stood up and pulled his brown-suede wallet from his jeans to check he had cash. He did – just over twenty-pounds in notes and change. The final thing Andrew did was pull on his long, woollen overcoat from the stand in the corner. Even from inside the porch, it was clear that the weather outside was nippy. There was a tough winter on the way and Andrew wouldn’t be surprised to see snow this year.

  With the final button on his jacket fastened, he was ready to leave. He unlocked the front door and stepped out into the bitter, grey dusk. The frosty air enveloped him immediately, and he gave his shoulders a quick, vigorous rub. Then he started down the pathway, steaming up the air with his breath.

  The dozen-or-so teenagers across the road noticed Andrew as soon as he left his property, but they paid him little attention. Too consumed with their mobile phones and iPods, probably. Just like he’d told Pen, there was nothing to worry about – just a bunch of bored kids. In fact, Andrew was going to walk right by them on his way to the local shops and was willing to bet that they wouldn’t make so much as a peep at him.

  “Oi, mate?”

  Andrew stopped in his tracks. Obviously I was wrong.

  “Oi, mate, you fucking deaf?”

  Andrew turned to face the group of teenagers and several sets of gleaming eyeballs stared right back at him, scrutinising him from beneath the glow of the streetlights. He cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. “Excuse me?”

  One of the teenagers stepped away from the others and approached Andrew: a tightly-muscled teenager in a red woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. The lad had a facial twitch and a thin scar across his lower lip.

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

  “I’m afraid I don’t smoke.” Andrew was being honest.

  The teenager just stared at him, almost as if he recognised Andrew, a spark of familiarity glinting in his eyes. It wasn’t possible though. Andrew had never seen on the young man before, he was sure of it.

  “I said I don’t smoke. I don’t have a cigarette to give you...sorry.”

  The lad continued staring. His nervous twitch seemed to increase its frequency, and his eyes started flickering, too, along with his mouth. “Okay,” he said. “No worries then.”

  Andrew nodded, a little confused, but resumed his journey towards the shops. See, no problem at all. A slight lack of manners, admittedly, but no worse than that.

  “Get us some from the shop then.”

  Andrew stopped again and wondered if he’d just heard correctly. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking what to say in reply to such an audacious request. It was probably best not let it get to him, Andrew decided. Showing a reaction is exactly what the lad wants. He turned back around and gave the teenager a smile. “Okay, then. 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 at this, like a pack of hyenas, but the teenager in the red woollen hat did not find anything amusing. Aside from the intermittent facial tic that plagued the nerves of his face, the lad’s expression was entirely serious. A look of indifference carved in twitching granite.

  The teenager took another step forward, closing in enough that he was almost nose-to-nose with Andrew – although the lad towered over him by at least a half-foot. The stench of stale beer permeated his every breath. “Don’t think you understand, 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 a laugh, but it came out as an asphyxiated splutter. “I-I…I don’t think so, pal. Get your own bloody cigarettes.”

  The lad took another step and this time snarled right in Andrew’s face. The stench of beer was nauseating now. “Listen, you stupid cunt. If you get back from that shop without my cigarettes, your head is going to hit this cement. You get me?”

  Andrew stumbled backwards, hit by what he would only have been able to describe as utter shock. Such threats and brutish behaviour were well beyond his comprehension and experience. Yet it was happening to him right now. He was furious. He was livid. That this wretched little thug felt he had any right to threaten him this way...

  But all Andrew did was walk away, his head down, his mouth closed. He heard the word ‘prick’ muttered by a female voice behind him, but he did not 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 ribs.

  It was a good five minutes before he regained control over his thoughts enough that he could begin to process what had just happened. By that time, he was already several hundred yards away from the gang, almost at the small row of shops that marked his destination. The chip shop was just up ahead.

  He shook his head in disbelief. I can’t believe that…that thug…spoke to me like that. How dare he threaten me! Who 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 cursed into the night. Pen was right. They are all a bunch of troublemakers.

  Andrew crossed the road and headed into the chip shop, determined not to let the unsettling exchange affect him a minute more than it already had. Inside was a member of staff he recognised – a young, blonde girl who 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. 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.

  At least not all teenagers are bad. A few still have manners. My daughter, for instance. I’d go mad if Bex behaved like those thugs.

  He approached the cash register and placed an order for his and Penelope’s food, as well as Bex’s – salt, no vinegar –
then stood aside and warmed his hands on the shop’s heated, steel counter while the girl got busy with the fryers. His entire body seemed to unload its weight onto his palms as he leaned, like he’d been fighting off the urge to fall down this whole time without realising it. The amount of anger Andrew felt was worrying, yet he felt strangely vacant at the same time. It was as if the encounter with the gang had sent him into some sort of daze.

  You’ll have to walk past them again to get home…

  What the hell should I do? I’m not going to let them scare me into avoiding the street outside my house. Andrew sighed and rubbed at his eyes. I should have said something at the time – stood up to them. Bet they’re a bunch of cowards against anyone who gives as good as they get.

  That’s it! That’s what I’ll do. I’m going to stand up to the little swine and his gawking buddies on my way back. See how big he is then. He’s just a kid. I’m not going to let him scare me.

  “-ful they’re hot.”

  Andrew looked up from the counter. “Huh?”

  The blond girl nodded to a plastic bag in front of him. “I said, careful they’re hot.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  Andrew took the bagful of food from the girl, thanked her, and paid her. Then he wandered towards the door. But before he got there, the girl called after him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Andrew turned back around, wondering what it was about him that had caused the girl concern. Was it so obvious he was rattled? “I’m fine,” he told her. “Just had a run in with some kids. Haven’t quite calmed down about it yet.”

  The girl’s face dropped. “You don’t mean Frankie Walker, do you?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Don’t know their names.”