Gripping Thrillers

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Just do it,” Davie ordered. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

  Frankie’s face contorted, the veins in his neck bulged like worms beneath his skin. Davie had never seen his brother like this–so close to freaking out. After a few tense seconds, Frankie chose to lower the weapon. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he did not speak.

  Davie had nothing to say either. He started walking away again.

  Frankie shouted after him. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Davie.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he replied over his shoulder. “You gave me a gun. If I’m in danger I’ll take a leaf out of your book and start killing people.”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  Davie thought about it. Then said: “Home.”

  Frankie followed after him, footsteps keeping time with his own. “That’s the first place Andrew will look for us.”

  Davie turned back around and shrugged. “Then I’ll have to deal with the consequences. It’s not as though we didn’t cause trouble at his house, is it? We deserve whatever we get.”

  “Why the hell you care so much about this guy?”

  “Because if I didn’t care, then I would be the same as you, and I never want that. Never.” Davie could tell he had hurt Frankie with those final words–the silence told him so–but no way did he fucking care.

  “Do what the fuck you want,” Frankie said finally. “But if I go down, I’m taking you with me–and you won’t last ten minutes inside.”

  Davie laughed. “I think that’s actually something to be proud of. I’m glad I’m not cut out for prison–means I’m still a human being and not an animal.”

  For the first time in his life, Davie turned his back on his big brother.

  25

  Andrew had no clue what he planned on doing, but he had lost none of his motivation that he would do something. For all he knew, he could be walking towards a house full of druggies, carrying knives even nastier than the one he currently had hidden on his person. The house was large, posh even, and certainly not what Andrew had been expecting.

  I guess crime really does pay.

  Before he even had a chance to complete his walk along the path, the front door opened, and a topless young man stood in the opening.

  “The hell are you?” the youth demanded.

  “I’m looking for Frankie.”

  “Join the club.”

  Andrew didn’t understand. “Do you know where I can find him?”

  The youth, that Andrew surmised must be Damien, stepped out onto the pavement to meet him. “You’re the guy that has a beef with him, ain’t ya?”

  Andrew raised his arm slightly ready to grab the knife stuffed in his waistband at the slightest hint of a threat. “I guess you could say that.”

  Damien grinned. “Well, I hope you fuck him up. He has it coming.”

  Andrew frowned. “Huh?”

  “Frankie jacked some of my shit earlier. He ain’t a friend of mine anymore.”

  Andrew attempted a nervous smile. It seemed appropriate in the moment to show friendliness. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. “T-that’s… good to hear. So do you know where I can find him?”

  Damien shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t, mate. If I knew, I would tell you, honestly. What he done to your family is messed up. How are they?”

  “My wife is dead.” Andrew would allow no emotion into his voice as he spoke. He could not afford to be weak right now.

  Damien shook his head and seemed genuinely disgusted. “That prick has a goddamn screw loose.”

  Andrew sensed an opportunity to get answers. “Is that why he did this to me? Because he’s crazy?”

  “Dunno. Maybe. Knowing Frankie, it could just be because he don’t like your face…” Damien’s words trailed off for a minute, and a realisation seemed to dawn on his face. “You know, now that I’m looking at you…”

  “What?” Andrew asked. “Do I look like someone?”

  Damien huffed and shook his head. “Damn, no wonder the guy hates you.”

  Andrew sensed that Damien was about to say more, but then someone appeared in the doorway behind him.

  Anger welled up inside of Andrew, and his eyes narrowed. “Michelle?”

  Michelle stared out at Andrew and was obviously surprised to see him, her badly bruised jaw hanging agape. Then she turned angry. Running at Andrew, she screamed, “You killed Jordan, you bastard!”

  Andrew sidestepped and shoved out at her. The girl went flying into the grass on her hands and knees.

  “I assume you two have met, then?” Damien quipped from the doorway.

  Andrew turned to him. “You going to get involved in this?”

  “She made her own bed. She can fucking well lie in it.” Damien started to close the door, but halfway he stopped and gave Andrew some parting advice. “Hey, man, watch yourself with Frankie, okay? The stuff he jacked from me, it was a pair of shooters.”

  “Guns?” Andrew attempted to clarify, but Damien had already closed the door and turned off the hallway light.

  “You fucker.” Michelle cursed more obscenities at him as she clambered to her feet. She was half-naked and muddy, covered only by a pair of linen shorts and a strappy top. Her nakedness didn’t seem to bother her, though, and she launched another attack. Striking out like a seasoned pugilist, Andrew struck her ribs. She fell back to the ground, sucking in air.

  “How’s that feel, sweetheart? I got a blade in my ribs, so you still have a ways to go before you know about real pain.” He kicked her, striking her ribs again in the same exact spot. Her cheeks turned bright red, and she struggled to catch a single breath.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it? Now imagine if I put you through this for hours on end, or made you watch while I tortured your family.” He kicked her again, this time in her rump. He felt his foot impact with the pointed tip of her tailbone, and she squealed in agony.

  “I’m sorry,” she screamed at him, finally managing to find her breath. “Just leave me alone… please.”

  Andrew looked down at the pathetic, mud-covered girl and felt no remorse. She was as twisted and as evil as Frankie. In fact, she had delighted in his family’s misery more than anyone else. “Seriously?” he asked her. “You’re going to beg me? Did I not beg you? Did you listen when I pleaded?”

  Michelle shook her head. Tears smudged her makeup in the same way Penelope’s had the evening before. Andrew struck out again, kicking her face as hard as he could and enjoying the feeling of several of her teeth cracking in her jaw as he knocked her cold. But as much as the hatred filled his heart and encased his grieving soul, Andrew did not possess the ability to beat a young girl to death–regardless of how much she might deserve it.

  So Andrew knocked on Damien’s door and waited for it to open again. When it did, he nodded to the lad and said, “I need to borrow something.”

  It took only minutes to carry Michelle into a nearby wood. Luckily Damien’s street was upmarket and lined with small outcroppings of woodland. It was frightening that nobody noticed Andrew abduct the girl, but it wasn’t something he was going to complain about right now.

  Andrew knelt beside the girl as she lay propped up against a gnarled oak tree. She was an unconscious mess. While she’d been sleeping, Andrew used the scissors he’d borrowed from Damien to completely remove her hair, humiliating her in the same way she and her friends had done to Pen. It still wasn’t sufficient punishment for what she’d done, but Andrew hoped it was enough to teach her a lesson.

  He slapped at her cheeks to wake her up, harder than he needed to because the act itself felt so satisfying. After half-a-dozen blows, it finally worked. Her lids fluttered, and her eyeballs rolled forward from the back of her head. She looked content, like coming out of a pleasant dream, but then her consciousness returned to reality, and she saw Andrew leaning over her. She panicked.

  “Help me. Please, somebody.”

  Andrew slapped her face again, harder than he had done to wake her. Instantl
y, she stopped screaming. “Shut up, girl. I won’t hurt you if you tell me what I want.”

  Michelle’s eyes were round and white like a frightened animal’s. Her words came out hurried and short of breath. “Tell you… what?”

  Andrew leant closer to her, their noses almost touching. “Where’s Frankie?” he growled.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  Andrew pulled the knife from his belt and held it to her face, pressing it beneath her left eye. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

  “Please… please… I really don’t know. Damien said Frankie left his place a few hours ago, before I even got there. Frankie doesn’t know I was with Damien.”

  Andrew huffed. “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

  “Please don’t tell him.”

  Andrew couldn’t believe it. The girl’s level of self-importance was astounding. “Do you think I give a damn about your love life? You can screw half of England for all I care. I just want Frankie. Besides, I don’t think he’d like you now that you’ve cut your hair.”

  Michelle slapped both hands to her head and squealed when she felt nothing but scalp and random thickets of hair. Before she had time to lose herself to hysteria, Andrew slapped her again. He didn’t have time to watch her self-pity.

  “Tell me where Frankie is, or you’ll lose more than just your hair.”

  “I-I don’t know where he is.” She was pleading now, and regrettably, Andrew was inclined to believe her. He was confident that he’d rattled her enough that she wouldn’t dare lie to him. She had no idea where Frankie was.

  He removed the knife from beneath her eye, dragging it downwards so that it bit slightly at her flesh and drew blood. He ignored her flinches of pain and made his next demand. “Tell me where you think Frankie would go. Home, maybe?”

  Michelle laughed. “That’s the last place you’ll find him. He’s never there if he can help it. I know where you can find Dom, though.”

  Andrew took a breath and held it. He hadn’t thought as much about the rest of Frankie’s crew, but they were due just as much punishment as he was. He had already dealt with Jordan, so why not pay his brother a visit too? At the very least there was a good chance that Dom could lead him closer to Frankie.

  “Okay,” said Andrew. “Tell me where to find Dom.”

  26

  Davie stood at his front door not wanting to go in. The thought of facing his mother after the previous night’s events was more than he could handle. There would be a lecture about staying out at all hours just waiting for him. It was the very least of what he deserved, but his soul felt so brittle right now that the slightest knock could shatter him like a pane of glass. He needed sleep and nothing else.

  Davie turned the handle. The door was not locked because his mother never left the house. As long as she had beer–and sons to fetch it for her–then there was no reason to ever face the outside world. He stepped inside, and the smell of that very same beer filled his nostrils.

  His mother heard the door open and shouted out from the living room. “Davie, is that you? Get in here.”

  Davie sighed and passed from the hallway into the next room. His mother was sprawled on the couch in her nightshirt and slippers, trying to pull herself up to a sitting position but failing pathetically. Davie moved over to help her up. She declined his hand and continued to struggle. Eventually she made it upright and immediately began to glower at him.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I was out with Frankie.”

  His mother spat. The drool landed on her nightshirt. “Frankie? I told you to stay away from that wretch.”

  “I know,” Davie admitted. “I will from now on, mum, I promise.”

  His mother stared at him some more, trying to focus her eyes as she swayed to and fro, she seemed totally unaware that a bandage adorned his head. “Lies.” She slurred in his face. “Don’t you lie to me, boy.”

  “I’m not. I saw what he’s really like last night. I want no more to do with him.”

  “Why? What happened? What did you boys do? I best not have the police around here. I have enough to cope with.”

  “Nothing happened, mum. I just found out that he wasn’t a very nice person.”

  She took a swig of beer and laughed. “He’s been no good since the day I shat him out.”

  Davie was weary, and his usual tolerance for his mother’s bile was absent. He said, “Maybe Frankie wouldn’t have turned out so bad if you’d been a better mother.”

  Predictably, his drunken mother went nuclear. She threw her empty beer can at Davie, hitting his face above the eyebrow. “How dare you, you little swine. I give you a home and feed you, and this is how you repay me? Twenty years of my life down the pan for you boys. I’ve a right mind to kick you both out.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” Davie said calmly.

  “Oh, wouldn’t I? We’ll see about that, you ungrateful brat.”

  “You won’t throw us out, because you’d lose all your benefits and won’t be able to drink yourself stupid every day. As for putting a roof over your head, the government only gives it to you because of me. You’d be in a flat somewhere if I were to ever leave here, so I don’t want to hear any more of your selfish complaining. The only person to blame for your terrible life is you, so deal with it.” He reached down to the floor and picked up the empty beer can that she had thrown at him. He tossed it back onto her lap. “And you can get your own beer from now on. Go outside and let the whole world see what you are.”

  Davie’s mother unleashed a tirade of abuse, but he was already out the door and halfway up the stairs before she managed to complete her first slurred sentence. It was just background noise. Standing up to her should’ve left him elated, but it didn’t. There was too much on his mind to enjoy a pointless victory over his mother. After what he and his brother had put Andrew and his family through, there was no room for any emotion aside from shame and regret.

  Nothing will ever make up for what they did.

  Davie entered the cramped space of his bedroom and hopped up onto his unmade bed. What chance had he and Frankie growing up with their mother as their moral guardian? Ending up in a young offender’s home had probably been inevitable from the moment Frankie was born, and Davie was heading the same way. He thought about what Damien had said about his brother’s time in prison and felt sick. Frankie was strong. The thought of him being… being helplessly abused did not mesh with the image that Davie held of him. It made his heart hurt just trying to consider it.

  Even if it was true, what difference did it make? Frankie was broken, and there was no way to fix him. Understanding a monster doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a monster. Davie had looked into his brother’s eyes and saw something missing. Was it compassion?

  Did that mean Frankie was evil?

  No, Davie told himself, he’s my brother, and he doesn’t deserve the existence he’s been given. His whole life he’s looked out for me. Now it’s my turn to look out for him.

  Davie hopped off his bed and took a deep breath, reached into his pocket and pulled out the revolver Frankie had given him.

  27

  The Trumpet bar and lounge was located in a rough housing estate opposite a rundown supermarket and failing video store. Andrew had never been here before but had heard enough stories to suggest that drinking here was only for a certain kind of individual.

  He took the first of the crumbling stone steps leading up to the pub’s entrance and prepared himself to go inside. The lights were on, and a flickering glow gave away the presence of a natural fire. The thought of all that warmth welcomed Andrew in from the evening’s icy rain and hastened his approach. Once inside, he saw that the pub was almost empty, and it took several seconds to even spot a single soul. There was a slender brunette restocking crisps behind the bar and a dishevelled old man sitting opposite with a half-empty pint of bitter in front of him.

  Andrew moved up beside the old man and took the stool ne
xt to him.

  “A new face,” said the barmaid. “Don’t get many of those around here. I’m Steph, and this wrinkly fart we call Old Graham.”

  “You cheeky mare,” the old man replied but was laughing.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Andrew. He slid a ten-pound note across the counter. “Top the fella up and one for yourself. Mine’s a lager.”

  Steph smiled. “Very generous of you.”

  “Yes,” said Old Graham. “You’re my kind of man.”

  “Then perhaps you could help me with something.”

  The old man received his pint from the barmaid and took a sip of it. Then, as the barmaid went off to pour the next one, he turned to Andrew. “Okay. What do you need?”

  “Kid called Dom.”

  The old man raised his greying eyebrows in a look of understanding. “Black guy. A twin, yeah?”

  “Not anymore,” Andrew replied, “but, yeah. Do you know him?”

  “Not really, but I’ve seen him and his brother in here on the few odd occasions. Played a game of pool with him once before the old table got smashed up in a bar fight.

  “Has he been here tonight?”

  The old man shrugged. “I’ve only just got here, pal.”

  “He left about ten minutes ago,” said Steph, coming back with the second pint Andrew had ordered from her. “Hit the booze pretty hard for an hour or so, then went on his way.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  Steph shook her head. “Never said more than a couple words to me the whole time he was here. What you want with him anyway?”

  “I’m going to kill him.” He let the words linger in the air for a moment and realised that he had shocked the others into silence. Maybe they didn’t think he was serious, so he elaborated. “And I’m going to do it tonight.”

  “What for?” she asked, glancing around nervously.