Although Dean moved on, something had changed between the pair. George had pushed too far.
Naps was next in line, and Dean handed him his apple and beans. After just a moment's silence, he said, "Fucking hell, you piss-taking cunt. I give you food, and you don't even thank me. What's fucking wrong with you, you Egyptian streak of piss?"
Frowning, Naps opened his mouth.
"Well?" The red skin on Dean's face glowed.
Clearing his throat, Naps said, "Thank you. I was trying to say—"
Wham! Dean cracked Naps around the side of the head with a tin of beans, and Naps' legs buckled beneath him.
As he watched him hit the floor, George's stomach dropped.
Before he'd completed his fall, Naps' eyes had rolled back in his head.
No one made a move to help him.
After watching him crumple, Dean handed the can he'd just used to Warren. Waiting for a thank you, he then moved on.
Warren looked down at the blood on the can.
Stopping, Dean looked at him. "Everything okay?"
Warren nodded.
Jules accepted his rations. "Thank you."
Despite being Dean's favorite, even Ginge shifted from one foot to the other as the nutter approached him. Someone was getting it today. What he'd just done to Naps was simply an appetizer. After giving him the food, Dean leant forwards and whispered something.
When Dean stepped aside, Ginge walked over to Dean's truck. Flipping the back down, he grabbed Freddie's heels. Pulling him off the truck by his feet, the boy hit the floor chin first with a sharp yelp.
As Ginge dragged him, the boy's face scraped along the ground. The jagged surface made his teeth chatter. Every few meters, he spat mouthfuls of thick blood.
Watching this stimulated a rush of hot saliva that George swallowed. It had a metallic quality to it as if his own mouth was bleeding.
The first genuine smile since they'd returned lit Dean's face. It turned his dark eyes bright as he watched the boy getting taken to the tower block. Waiting for Ginge and Freddie to vanish into the building, he then turned around and clapped his hands together. "Right lads, you're free until tomorrow." Looking over at George, he said, "You'd best get some rest though, big man. You're on guard duty tonight, and I think our routine is taking its toll on you. Something seems to have got stuck in your thick head, and it's making you cranky. Maybe some time alone will calm you down. Ravi, Naps, you're both on too."
Looking down at the unconscious Naps, his trousers soaked with piss, George then glared at Dean as he followed Ginge into the tower block. Squeezing the can to the point where his hand hurt, he watched the swing door close behind him and muttered, "Cunt."
Final Straw
"Cunt!" George spat as he paced the length of his flat with his fists balled and his large shoulders locked tight. "Cunt! Cunt! Cunt!"
Walking into the kitchen, he shouted, "Cunt!" There was a hint of an echo as the edges of his accusation slipped out into the communal hallway.
Staring at the front door, George shrugged. "Let him fucking hear." Opening it, the smell of bleach rushing in, George screamed so loud his throat hurt. "Cunt!"
Slamming the door shut afterwards, he stood behind it and waited.
After what must have been about fifteen minutes of standing and staring at the door, George leant his back against the wall and slid down it. Dropping his head into his hands, he looked at the floor. What was he doing here? What did staying with this bunch of degenerates achieve? He needed a plan.
Standing up again, he pulled one of the kitchen drawers open. Despite the night creeping in, there was still enough light to catch the glint of the blade. It may have only been a bread knife, but it was long and sharp and would make light work of a soft stomach. He placed it next to the sink.
Returning to the drawer, he pulled out every sharp implement he could find and stacked them on the side. A bottle of water sat next to the pile he was creating. Looking at it made him aware of the film of dirt on his hands. Other than the occasional splash of urine, they hadn't seen liquid since he'd taken the man's life over a week ago. Holding his hands out in front of him, the nails filthy, he carried on. He would only clean them when he knew the killing was done.
Grabbing the broom from next to the front door, he stood on the head and yanked hard. The handle came free. Fishing through his pile of knives, he picked one with a small and straight blade and started whittling the end into a point.
As he chipped away at the broom handle, flakes of wood falling to the floor, George thought about the cupboard in the hall. It had previously held no interest for him, but now a toolbox was exactly what he needed. He set the broom handle down.
Dropping the heavy metal box on the kitchen floor with a crash, he flipped the lid open. It stank of oil. Pulling a hammer out, he then retrieved a hacksaw, pliers, and a long screwdriver. Each one was weighted just right for their particular job. Stabbing, cracking, smashing, cutting. All he needed now was a sledgehammer to knock the cunt's door in.
Lifting the pliers again, George stretched them as wide as they would open. The pivot was gritty from lack of use, but they still worked. Fingers would fit in easily. Dean's big toes would be the only things that were too large. The hacksaw would have to deal with them. Unless he found some bolt cutters, that is. The thought made the muscles in George's hands weak, but he would do whatever it took to get his sister back. When he snapped the pliers shut, they made a satisfying click.
Stopping suddenly, George looked up. There was a creaking sound from outside. Someone was leaving their flat. Tiptoeing over to his front door, he pressed his ear to the cold wood and listened.
"What are you doing, dear?" It was Ravi's mum.
The pause seemed to last a lifetime. "Um, I'm going out, Mum. I want to see if I can get us some more food."
Shaking his head, George whispered, "Lying little shit."
It had nothing to do with timing and everything to do with luck when George popped his door open at exactly the same time as Ravi clicked his shut. The silent hallway would have given him away for sure if it wasn't for that stroke of fortune.
When the bleach hit him again, George stumbled backwards and rubbed his nose to try and counter the burn. Having not noticed the first time he looked out, George saw the floor was glistening again. The line of blood left from dragging Freddie up the stairs was just a memory now.
Thinking of the stacks of bleach in the downstairs cleaning cupboard, George made a mental note to take some. Plonking Dean in a vat of the stuff would surely loosen his tongue.
Standing in the thick aroma, George listened to the slap of Ravi's feet against the stairs. When he felt the rush of wind that signalled the outside door being opened, George pulled his own door closed and followed the boy.
Ravi was already out of sight by the time George got outside. The sky was dark blue as the night closed in, but it was still too light for George to tail the boy. He would have to go to the supermarket and hope for the best.
As George slipped out of the complex, he caught Liz's eye. Swallowing against the smoky air, George turned his back on her and rushed out into the city. There wasn't long left before nightfall.
* * *
Nestled between the kid's toys and the audio visual section gave George plenty of things to hide behind. He was close enough to hear their conversation but far enough away to be able to escape quickly should he need to. As George listened to the pair, he kept an eye on the fading light. London was a different beast in the evening, and they had to be back for their night shift.
Throwing a flippant arm in the air, the hoodie stepped forwards into Ravi's personal space. "What's happened to him?"
"I don't know, bruv. He's fine." He paused. "I'm sure he's fine."
"You don't sound very fucking sure."
Running a hand through his hair, Ravi looked up at the taller boy. "They tied him up."
"They what?!"
"They tied him up and threw him i
n the truck. Then they dragged him into the tower block when we got back."
Leaning down so their foreheads were touching, the hoodie growled, "You weren't supposed to take him, bruv."
George's heart exploded at the loud crash from Ravi stepping back into the shelves behind him.
After looking around, Ravi dropped his voice to a near whisper, "What do you want me to do? Fight Dean? Besides, we wouldn't have taken him if he wasn't so stupid to have been caught."
George didn't see the hoodie move, but he saw the knife now pressed against Ravi's throat. "Say that again. I fucking dare ya."
Raising his hands, ever the submissive, Ravi said, "I'm on your side, man. Don't you think that if I wasn't then I would have led Dean straight to you by now?"
Pulling away, the hoodie slipped his knife back inside his coat. "This is fucked, bruv. We need to get Freddie back."
"And we will."
"When?"
"Soon. Trust me."
Shaking his head, the hoodie pointed at Ravi. "I'm not very comfortable trusting you."
"Look, I have a plan."
"What is it?"
"You need to storm the tower block."
"Again?"
"Yeah. This time with more of the boys. Overrun the place and take your pick of whatever you want. We have a huge supply of food."
Wanting to get up and smash the boy's face in, George clenched his jaw and remained where he was.
"If you do it in the next day or two, I'm sure Freddie will be fine."
The hoodie rubbed his chin. "I can't get the boys together straight away. We need a little bit of time."
"Okay, man. Well how about we meet back here in two days to plan it?"
The boy nodded. "You'd best make sure that Freddie's okay in the meantime. I'll hold you personally responsible if he's not."
"I can't keep him safe forever."
George shook his head. You can't keep him safe at all, you delusional prick.
"If you want to make sure he's going to be all right, you need to be ready to take the block sooner rather than later."
The knife was out again, the six-inch blade levelled at Ravi's face. "Don't put this on me. This is fucked because you took the wrong fucking guy."
Ravi didn't respond, and after a few seconds of staring at one another, the hoodie walked away.
As George watched Ravi follow him, he knew two things. One: In two days, he would have to be ready to leave the tower block. Two: He wouldn't have to do a thing about Ravi. There was no way Freddie would still be alive by the time they stormed the block. The hoodie would deal with the little prick himself.
Another Cold Night
When George stepped out of the building, Naps was already waiting outside. Walking over to him, George clapped his hands together and rubbed them. Cupping his mouth, he blew hard, his warm breath turning to steam as it spilled from the gaps in his hands. "It's fucking freezing."
When Naps didn't reply, George sniffed the air. The smell of smoke had died down. Maybe there were less fires in the city? Thinking about Zach, George blinked against the slight sting that spread over his eyeballs and stared into the night. "It's fucking dark too."
Naps finally spoke, slurring his word as if his tongue were too big for his mouth. "Torch?"
Stepping closer, George balked at how swollen Naps' face was. The man was also swaying slightly. Looking first at his glazed eyes and then the torch that he was holding out, George shook his head. "I'd try to avoid using that if I were you. Not only will it light you up like a fucking Christmas tree, but you won't be able to see fuck all after you've used it. If those pricks come back again, you need your night vision working so you can see exactly where they are."
Staring at him as if he'd just spoken in another language, Naps reverted to silence.
"Still feeling that whack from earlier, eh?"
There was no light in his droopy eyes.
Looking past the man, George then pointed at the deck chair by the tower block. "Why don't you take a seat, mate? Rest up a while."
Watching him stumble over to it on unsteady feet, Naps then flopped into the chair, and George shook his head again. Hopefully, a rest was all he needed. There was little compassion in George's heart for any of his fellow gang members, but Naps was one of the least offensive of the bunch. It would have been much nicer to see Ginge in this state.
After about ten minutes, the door to the block flew open, and Ravi stepped outside. Glancing at his imaginary watch, George then looked up at the boy.
Either oblivious to George's irritation or choosing to ignore it, Ravi dug his hands into his armpits. "Fucking hell, bruv, it's brass monkeys out here." Stopping to look at Naps, he pulled his hands out again and clapped twice at him. "Oi, wake up."
"Leave him be."
Shrugging, Ravi walked away from the drowsy man with a grin spread across his stupid face. Throwing a hooked thumb over his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow. "Has he pissed himself yet?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Naps! You know why they call him Naps, right?"
George stared at him.
"Give him a pint or two, and he'll piss the bed the second he falls asleep."
George still didn't respond.
The smile fell from Ravi's face. "Suit yourself." Continuing past George, he walked over to the gate.
Within ten paces, the night had enveloped him, and he was no more than a silhouette.
Hugging himself for warmth, George shook his head. He then spun in a slow circle, the arctic wind burning his exposed face. Stopping to look at Naps, the steam coming from his nose showing that he was still alive, George fished the truck keys from his pocket. The truck unlocked, and the blinking hazard lights momentarily lit up the night like magnesium.
Blinded by the sudden illumination, George stumbled in the direction of his truck. By the time he was next to it, the bright spots in his vision had cleared. When he opened the door, he was dazzled again, this time by the interior light. Fumbling around, he fished out a thick blanket and some crackers.
Wrapping the blanket around Naps, the strong smell of piss coming off the guy, George tucked him in tight.
Turning away from the injured man, George stepped towards the caged women with the crackers and stopped dead when a scream cut through the night. Looking at the gate, George saw there were no intruders. Ravi wasn't moving other than to look up. It was Freddie that screamed. The light might have been poor, but George could see the unease in Ravi's twitchy figure.
The boy had made a promise that he had no fucking hope of keeping.
* * *
After a few hours of walking the perimeter fence, George checked where Ravi was before moving close to the cage and sliding the crackers through the bars to Liz. "Here, have these."
Taking the packet, Liz stared at him but didn't reply, the whites beneath her eyes shining bright on her drawn face, her wavy, auburn hair lank with grease.
Looking down, he stared at the leg on the floor. There were more teeth marks in it. Chewing back the sour sick that lifted into his throat, he looked at Liz again.
Opening the packet, she wore a sneer on her face. "Well, aren't you the fucking hero? One fucking cracker each! We could have done with your chivalry the other day." Moving forwards, she pressed her face against the bars. "You could have killed that arsehole and put an end to this."
With a furrowed brow, he continued to hold eye contact with her. "We've been over this already. I'm sorry." Looking at all of the other women, their mouths working on the crackers, their eyes blank, he bit his bottom lip. "I'm so sorry."
Shaking her head, Liz pointed at the charred, yet undercooked leg on the floor. "Tell that to Marie."
Turning away, George saw that Ravi's silhouette was still staring out into the city. "Please be quieter, Liz." He then looked up at the tower block's windows. Si had caught them staring at one another. Was he wise to their situation now? Was he watching them?
When
he turned back to Liz, his heart hurt at seeing the hatred in her features. "I know me apologizing won't bring Marie back." Addressing the two young girls, both of their faces heavy with torment, "But I'm truly sorry."
Sniffing, the stench of ammonia and excrement hitting both the back of his nose and throat simultaneously, George coughed. Breathing through his mouth, he avoided looking down at the rancid floor again. In the past month, the cage hadn't been cleaned out once. It was a wonder that more of them hadn't died from infection.
"Sorry's just a word, George. It ain't going to get us out of here." Liz pointed at the two girls. "It ain't going to undo the fact that these two have been brutalized." The younger girl flinched. When she blinked, a tear ran down her face. "Look at them, George. You need to get us the fuck out of here."
"You need to lower your voice, Liz. Dean's a sick fuck. If he sees me talking to you ..." The lump that lifted into his throat cut his words short.
"Why didn't you do something the other day? I don't understand. You had the perfect opportunity to take that arsehole out and rescue us all. Why didn't you?"
Although he was replying to Liz, it was hard to ignore the fact that nearly every woman was awaiting his answer. "You know he has my sister."
"You think he does."
"Are you saying I should give up on her? You lost your brother recently. You know what it feels like to lose a sibling. There was nothing that you could have done about that, but I have a chance to save her life."
For the first time, Liz's frown lifted, and the soft voice of the woman he'd fallen for came through. "What if she's already dead though, George? I've seen you with Dean over the past few days. You don't think he has her either."
"I lost Zach years ago. I can't give up hope while there's a chance. I can't afford to lose another person I love."
"But what about me?" She shivered as she stared at him. "I don't know how long I can hold on for."
Crash II: Highrise Hell Page 14
