Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Fuck, Frankie, is that you?”

  “Yeah, Damien, it’s me. I need to lay low for a couple days. Some shit went down that’s pretty heavy.”

  Damien glanced at a glinting watch on his wrist and narrowed his eyes beneath the glaring porch light. “Two-o-clock in the morning, man. You pick your goddamn times, you know that? I ought to whoop your ass for waking me.”

  “I know, man. If I wasn’t desperate, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Damien opened the door wider and let them all in. “You’ll make this up to me, Frankie. We’ll discuss it later.”

  They all entered and Damien closed and locked the door behind them. He ushered them through into the lounge where Davie peered around in awe. A plasma screen TV as big as any he’d seen hung from the far wall, while opposite was a huge wraparound sofa deep enough to bury ten bodies in. Everything was expensive, and the fact that it belonged to someone only a few years older than Davie made it even more unbelievable. He could see why Frankie had allowed himself to get dragged down the path of dealing drugs if these were the rewards.

  “Take a seat,” Damien told everyone. “I’ll get some beers and put the heating on. They say it’s going to snow this year, and it’s already getting too cold for my liking. Frankie you come with me and we’ll talk business.”

  Davie watched his brother leave and sat himself down on the extravagant sofa. The twins and Michelle did the same.

  “What a fucking trip,” said Dom. “Never seen nothing like what happened tonight.”

  “We’re all screwed,” Davie said glumly.

  “Stop stressing, D,” said Michelle. “Frankie will sort everything out.”

  Davie didn’t want to talk to any of them. They understood what they’d all been party to, and they didn’t care—monsters. Davie, on the other hand, couldn’t help but recall the images of Rebecca hitting the floor with the scissors poking out of her guts. She hadn’t hurt anyone and neither had her mother. Now they were both probably dead.

  What was it about Andrew that had consumed all of Frankie’s focus? The torture of that poor family had been like an obsession once he’d gotten into their house. Davie thought about Andrew now and considered the pain the man must be feeling after watching his family get destroyed like that. Maybe it was the worst pain imaginable. It certainly seemed like it at the time as Davie had watched the man bellow.

  “You think Frankie will let us score some more?” Jordan asked the group.

  “I hope so,” his twin added. “I’m starting to come down big-style. My face is killing me. Can you believe that crazy fucker bit a chunk out of my cheek? It’s still bleeding now, and I feel well-sick.”

  “I just wanna sleep,” said Michelle. “I’m knackered, and my face is mashed-up. Think I lost a tooth.”

  “You ain’t getting no sleep tonight, sweetheart,” said Damien, re-entering the lounge. “You and me are going upstairs.”

  Michelle frowned at him. “The fuck you talking about? I’m Frankie’s girl.”

  “Exactly,” said Damien, “and Frankie owes me. Consider yourself rent for the bunch of you staying here tonight. You may be a bit of a bruised-up mess, but you’ll do, I suppose.”

  “No fucking way. Frankie wouldn’t let anyone else have me.”

  Frankie entered the room and Damien winked at him. “Is that right Frankie? Seems your girl is playing hard to get.”

  “Just get your ass upstairs,” Frankie told Michelle, clicking his fingers at her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Michelle glanced around the room looking for rescue, but the twins just shrugged and Davie wasn’t about to offer her any assistance either. Far as he was concerned, Michelle deserved everything she got. Maybe it was time for her to learn a lesson.

  Michelle stood up, looking confused but unable to find an argument, so she turned to Damien. “You serious? You want me to go upstairs and fuck you?”

  Damien laughed. “I’m going to be the one fucking you.” He offered out his hand and Michelle took it reluctantly. Damien turned to Frankie and winked on his way out of the room. “I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and that other favour you needed from me… you’ll find it in a box beneath the sofa. Have fun, kids.”

  “You too,” said Frankie, although he didn’t seem to mean it. His face twitched several times as he watched Michelle be led away.

  Frankie collapsed down onto the sofa and kicked off his trainers, letting out a loud sigh. Davie waited for him to say something, but it appeared he was quite content to close his eyes and go right to sleep. Apparently murder and mayhem wasn’t enough to keep Frankie awake.

  Davie asked him a question, before he had a chance to drop off. “You okay with Damien banging Michelle?”

  Frankie didn’t move or even open his eyelids as he spoke. “I was the one that suggested it, bro. Easy way to settle a debt, innit?”

  “She’s your bird, though.”

  “Fuck Shell. She’s happy as long as she’s got coke in her nose and a cock up her ass. Who gives a damn?”

  “Didn’t look like she wanted to go,” said Dom. “Look on her face was classic.”

  The sound of frantic fucking suddenly emanated from above them. The ceiling began to vibrate and the light fixtures swung back and forth. Two voices could be heard moaning in ecstasy–both Damien and Michelle’s.

  “She sounds alright to me,” said Frankie. “Now, everyone get their head down for a few hours. I can’t be doing with anymore thinking right now. We’ll sort shit out in the morning. I’ll make some calls and get a few ears to the ground–see what’s happening.”

  Everyone seemed more than happy to oblige. It had been a long and frantic night for all of them, and no one wanted to get shuteye more than Davie. Before he did, though, he had one last question for his big brother.

  “What’s in a box under the sofa, Frankie?”

  Frankie’s voice was dreamy, already half-asleep. “You’ll find out in the morning, little bro.” Then he was fast asleep and snoring. It was almost an hour before Davie managed to join him—the sound of Michelle getting fucked upstairs kept him awake.

  20

  The nurses made Andrew wait outside, and he’d been forced to wait in an empty corridor while Pen and Bex were rushed into separate operating theatres. Nurses now rushed back and forth between the two rooms, glancing apprehensively at Andrew each time they passed him. Their expressions were always grim and pitying—a bad sign.

  Andrew’s own wounds–serious in their own right–needed looking at, too, but he refused anyone who tried to take him away. He was unwilling to move until he knew the fate of his family. If only he could take their place. If he died, Pen and Bex would still have each other, but if they died, then he would have nothing–his life would remain an empty husk forever, containing nothing more than memories of the things taken away from him.

  Frankie would pay for this, one way or another.

  “Mr Goodman?”

  Andrew looked up to see a pair of familiar faces. He smiled at them as best he could, but it felt like an obscene gesture considering what had happened. “Officers, what are you doing here?”

  “Are you okay?” asked Dalton. “We’ve had reports of multiple stabbings. A man, his daughter, and wife.”

  “We were really hoping it wasn’t you,” said Wardsley, shaking his head solemnly, “but we had a bad feeling.”

  Andrew huffed with exasperation but it came out more like a hiss. “Looks like your feeling was right.”

  The two officers took a seat on the bench beside him and leant forward so that they could both see him and each other. For the first time since Andrew had seen them, neither was taking notes. They weren’t there to take his statement—at least not right now.

  “Was this all down to Frankie?” Dalton asked.

  Andrew ran a hand across his forehead and rubbed at his tired eyes that had began to itch. It must have been close to dawn by now. “Frankie and his mates did this, yes.”

  “You hav
e names for any of them?”

  “I got their first names, but no surnames. One of the kids was Frankie’s younger brother, though. I know because I admitted the lad here at the hospital last night after I hit him with my car.”

  Wardsley was wide-eyed. “You ran him over?”

  “Not on purpose. It was an accident. A coincidence, if you can believe that. I rushed the boy here straight away and gave him a lift home afterwards. Frankie found out about it.”

  “He probably thought you did it intentionally,” Dalton suggested.

  Andrew nodded. “Didn’t matter that his little brother tried telling him the truth. Frankie wanted his fun. Now my girls are in surgery, maybe dying… maybe already dead.”

  Wardsley growled. “We’ll get him for this, Mr Goodman, I promise you.”

  “You think so? I mean, honestly, do you think you’ll put him away and keep him there? What if he has twenty people giving him an alibi?”

  The look on the officer’s faces told Andrew all he needed to know. “Don’t worry about it,” he told them with a wave of his hand. “I know it’s not your fault.”

  Wardsley sighed. “We will do all that we can. He won’t get away with this.”

  “But what made him this way?” Andrew asked them, unable to fathom the answer. “Lots of kids grow up with a bad upbringing, but it’s more than that with Frankie. He’s rotten to the core. There’s nothing there where his heart should be.”

  Dalton shook her head. “I wish there were an answer that made some sense, but there’s not. We made some calls to the borstal that he was kept at. One of the guards who knew him told us that during his first year he was bullied severely by the other inmates–maybe that has something to do with it. He certainly changed during those following years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wardsley took over from his partner. “This guard told us that by the time he left, Frankie was running the show. Top dog. A complete turnaround. He also told us… I shouldn’t really say.”

  “What?” demanded Andrew. “Tell me.”

  “Well,” Wardsley continued, “all of the other youth offenders who had bullied Frankie in his first year were badly injured–one by one throughout the course of a few months. Every one of them was… impaled.”

  “Impaled?”

  Wardsley nodded. “Violated by a blunt object–typically pool cues from the Rec Room. None of them would talk about what happened afterwards. One boy died of a perforated rectum.”

  Andrew grimaced. “Jesus.”

  “We think that perhaps these other residents of the offender’s home abused Frankie during his first year, and he took a fitting revenge on them. To say it left him with some severe emotional problems is an understatement to say the least.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Andrew, “but it doesn’t make what he’s done okay. He’s still a monster, whatever he’s been through.”

  “I agree,” said Wardsley. “He’ll never change now.”

  “But chances are he’ll be back on the streets to hurt other people.”

  “We’ll get him,” said Dalton. “We’ll charge him with attempted murder and do everything we can for you and your family. You need to trust us.”

  Andrew sighed. “But even if he goes away, it won’t be forever, right?”

  “I can’t say,” Dalton admitted.

  Andrew had heard enough. “I don’t need to hear it.”

  Wardsley and Dalton both put their hands up to calm him. “I know, Andrew. We wanted to check on you, to see if you need anything.”

  Andrew looked at the officers, examined the concern on their faces and looked for gaps. It seemed genuine, and he was left with little doubt that these two police officers were just people like anybody else. They empathised with Andrew’s pain and despised the fact that demons like Frankie could walk the earth almost unobstructed. Their offer of assistance was real, but right now Andrew had no clues what to ask for–or if he even needed anything from them at all.

  Before he had a chance to reply, a fully-scrubbed surgeon stepped out of one of the operating theatres and approached him with caution. “Mr Goodman?”

  Andrew stood up, his knees shaking uncontrollably. “Yes, that’s me.”

  The surgeon nodded and smiled. “Your daughter has been stabilised for now. There is some damage to the digestive tract that could possibly cause complications later or some lasting damage, but we’ve managed to stem any internal bleeding, and she’s no longer in critical condition.”

  Andrew didn’t absorb a single word. None of what the doctor said had informed him with absolute certainty what he really needed to know. “Is she going to make it?”

  The surgeon nodded. “Barring anything unexpected complications, your daughter should make a full recovery. As I said, the damage to her large intestine could cause some issues, but nothing that can’t be managed. You’ll be able to see her in a few hours when we move her somewhere more comfortable.”

  Andrew let out a sigh of relief that seemed to go on forever. He heard similar sounds from the police officers behind him. “What about my wife?” he asked the surgeon, moving on to his next concern now that the previous one was over.

  The surgeon shook his head and seemed apologetic. Andrew fought away the overwhelming urge to vomit as the man spoke the words he didn’t want to hear. “I’m afraid Dr Killarney is the attending surgeon for your wife, so I can’t give you much information. From my cursory examination of her wounds, however, I would not be optimistic. I’m sorry, Mr Goodman, but I doubt she’ll pull through.”

  Andrew felt all the blood in his body drop to his feet, and he collapsed backwards. Officer Wardsley caught him, directing his fall towards the bench and setting him down on it.

  Andrew looked the man dead in the eyes and said, “I need a favour.”

  21

  Sunshine crept into the room and bathed Davie’s face. His eyelids fluttered as his pupils reacted to the light, and it took him a few minutes to open them fully. Once a little more awake, he looked around himself to get his bearings. The living room was foreign and bizarre, but after a few moments, he recalled the memories of last night. This was Damien’s place; the current location of his on-going nightmare.

  No one else inhabited the room, and Davie had the entire sofa to himself. He was alone in someone else’s house and suddenly felt very vulnerable.

  “Everyone has gone back to their own gaffs,” said Frankie from behind him, standing in the doorway.

  “Didn’t you want us all to stick together?”

  Frankie walked into the room and sat on the futon opposite the sofa. “At first, yeah, but Damien told me that if the police come and find us in a group matching the exact description that a victim gave, it would corroborate their evidence. I gave everyone their stories and sent them on their way. They know what to say, so don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” said Davie. “I don’t know what I feel. Last night was fucked up, bro.”

  Frankie nodded in agreement, seeming to reminisce about the events unfavourably. “Should never have gone down that way, man. Way too messy, leaving things like that. Jordan’s face was messed up this morning–think it’s infected or something. My fault. Should have dealt with things better… more neatly.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Davie. “You should have killed them?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Maybe. Too late now. We just need to be ready.”

  “Ready how?”

  Frankie smiled and tilted his body forward, sliding off the futon and onto his knees. He slipped an arm beneath the sofa and retrieved a flat wooden box, then placed it carefully onto his lap.

  Davie frowned. “What’s in it?”

  “Our insurance policy.” Frankie unfastened the pair of brass clips on either end of the box and popped the lid.

  Davie couldn’t believe what was inside. “Guns? Are you crazy?”

  “Chill the fuck out. They’re just in case that nutcase comes after us. I ain’t going
to play with this guy no more.”

  “Nutcase?” Davie was dumbfounded. “We held him hostage and stabbed his family. I think he has good reason to be a little nutty.”

  “Whatever,” said Frankie dismissively. “If he comes at me, he’s going to taste lead… or whatever the stuff is they make bullets out of nowadays. Quit your bitching and take this.”

  Frankie thrust one of the revolvers at Davie who immediately shoved it right back. “I will not. I don’t want a gun.”

  Frankie pushed harder until he had no choice but to take ownership of the weapon. “Just keep it in your waistband,” he asked. “You don’t have to go looking for trouble, but I want to know you’re safe if that prick comes after you.”

  “Andrew.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Andrew.”

  Frankie shook his head in confusion. “Does it look like I give a monkey’s nuts?”

  “No,” said Davie. “No it doesn’t. Fine, I’ll take the gun, but only for protection. What about the twins? Did you give them guns?”

  “Fuck them. They can fend for themselves. Only person I care about is you.”

  “Hope I’m not breaking up a Hallmark moment.” Damien entered the room and stood in front of them. Everything he was wearing was emblazoned with a logo of some kind.

  Frankie looked up at him from the sofa. “Nah, man, everything’s cool. Was just getting my little bro strapped.”

  Damien nodded. “What’s your next move?”

  “Don’t know. Either the police will turn up at my door or this guy that has a beef with me will. I’ll be ready for whatever happens, though, thanks to you.” He waved the gun as though it were a toy and not a deadly weapon.

  “You get caught with that, you leave my name out of it, you hear me? They belong to my old man and he’d go ape if he knew I was lending ‘em out. Can’t have you dead, though, can I? Need you out on the street. What you do to this dude anyway? You can’t have just fucked up his car and house.”

  “We stabbed his wife and daughter,” Davie blurted out. The sudden confession made him feel better.