Crash II: Highrise Hell (16 page)

Every time George coughed, it was worse than the last. It made his throat burn like he was hacking up glass.
 

When it finally passed, George got out of his truck and did his coat up to his neck. Burying his hands in his pockets, he tensed against the cold air. The smell of smoke was richer out here, and he was sure it carried the tinge of burning flesh. Or maybe he was imagining it. The scent was so embedded in his psyche that he would have smelt it in a rose garden.
 

Looking over at the cage, his eyes found the lump of meat on the filthy floor. There were more bite marks in it.
 

Turning away from it, he watched Dean look past his group of men to his truck. "Come on, Freddie."
 

When the meek Freddie slipped out of the cab, George could see the reluctance with which he walked towards Dean. The boy still wouldn't take his eyes off Ravi, and Ravi did everything to avoid looking back at him.

Pointing at the building and shouting loud enough for the people inside to hear, Dean called, "We're going to smash the door in and take everything!"

Freddie might have thought the orders were for his benefit, but George knew better. The mind games had begun. This was phase one of Dean's systematic destruction of those he was hunting. It was like an art form for the man.

Looking at the large windows, George couldn't see any signs of life. There were no twitching curtains. No silhouettes stirring in the darkness. No sounds from inside. Maybe Dean was wrong? Although it would be a first if he was. Besides, the houses rarely buzzed with activity when this motley crew were on their doorstep.
 

With his innards twisting, George imagined the family inside rushing around as they frantically tried to find a way to avoid the promised nightmare that was about to kick their front door in. Looking down at his dirty hands, George's head spun as he thought of the scared boy in the cupboard. Grabbing his truck to support his weak legs, he imagined the dad and the boy must have gone through something similar before they were caught.
 

Turning to his men and winking at them, Dean then shouted so loud his red face turned purple, and spittle shot from his mouth. "If there's anyone inside, we're going to fuck them up. We'll take the women, but we're killing everyone else." The full-bellied laugh exploded from Dean's body before he turned to Freddie. "This is how we roll, kid. This is how we get shit done."

The pale boy nodded.

Throwing the keys at Si, Dean pointed at their vehicles. "Make sure the trucks are open." With Freddie, Ravi, and Warren on one side and Jules and Naps on the other, Dean looked at the house and sang in his deepest voice, "Swing lo, sweet chariot."

A shudder wobbled George when the men's booming reply bounced off the walls of the house. "Coming forth to carry me home."

They moved forwards. "Swing lo, sweet chariot."

"Coming forth to carry me home."

Walking up the three marble steps that led to the black front door, Dean pounded his hammer against it.
 

Whack
!

When it didn't yield, he hit it again.

Whack
!

Other than two dents, the door held fast.
 

Dean screamed as he drove the hammer into it again.

Whack
!

And again.

Whack
!
 

And again.
 

Whack
!
 

Each sharp whack snapped through George and made him blink.

Expecting it to take some time, George turned away from the lunatic and looked at the pig in his truck. The poor animal had been fucked for days. It didn't help that it was being buried beneath the looted food. It was a wonder its lungs hadn't been crushed already. While stroking its dry and cracked nose, he listened to its shallow breathing. The pause between inhale and exhale was growing to the point where he wouldn't be surprised if it stopped completely. Should he just kill the thing and put it out of its misery? Laying his large hand on its hairy face, he whispered, "There, there. Don't worry, mate, this will all be over soon."
 

The half-closed black eyes looked up at him, and the pig sighed.

Whack
!

Whack
!

Whack
!

There was a movement in the corner of George's eye. When he looked up, he saw it was Liz. She had her arms spread wide as if to say, "What the fuck?"

Returning to the animal, George suddenly realized he was showing it more kindness than he had to her. Pulling his hand from the cage, he dropped his eyes to the floor.

The loud crack and rip of splintering wood tore through the air. They were in.
 

When George looked up again, he saw Dean stood hunched on the doorstep, panting as the gang filed past him. With his greasy, black hair, his wild beard, his blood-stained suit and his exhausted stance, he looked more like a lunatic now than ever.

Watching Dean enter the house, George looked up at the windows again. "Please be empty. Please."

The bright sun bouncing off the white walls turned the open doorway into a black hole. A dark mouth that belched the sounds of breaking crockery and tearing furniture as the gang worked the place over.
 

Flinching from every sound, George cringed when the first inevitable scream came. It didn't take long. It belonged to a woman, and it sounded like she was being ripped in two. That was about the only thing Dean hadn't done to someone. Yet.
 

Before George's mind could run away with the thought, Freddie emerged from the house with her. She looked about forty and had the lithe body of someone who worked out a lot.
 

When Freddie shoved her forwards, she fell down the marble stairs. The knock of her knees crashing against the stone floor made her cry louder, "You killed my little boy, you fucking arseholes."
 

Within a few seconds, Dean was outside, his suit damp with blood as he shouted, "Yeehaw!" With his dark eyes stretched wide, he laughed and then spat at the woman as he passed her. "He went down like a sack of shit, love."

The phlegmy saliva hung from her nose. "He was three years old!" Spraying a mixture of tears, snot and spit, she repeated, "Three!"

With tension clamping his large shoulders, George looked around for a weapon. He had to end this. Now.
 

Frowning, Freddie lifted her to her feet and restrained her as Dean laughed in her face. When he received Dean's nod of approval, Freddie started smiling too. "Fuck you!" he shouted at the woman. "Fuck you, you fucking whore!"

"That's exactly what we're going to do, son." A dark laugh bubbled from Dean.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, George couldn't see anything to attack Dean with.
 

Spitting at her again, Dean then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. It left a line of blood across his face. "He wasn't a very tough three."

A week. If he didn't see Sally within the next week, then George was gone. Grinding his teeth, he stared at Dean. In one week's time, it would all be resolved. Even if that resolution meant George kicking Dean's door down and smashing the fuck out of the horrible cunt. Use his own fucking weapon against him. He'd take the keys, free the women, and get the fuck out of the complex. This had to stop.
 

Staring at his hammer with glazed eyes, Dean grinned. "Weak little skull. It cracked like a chicken's egg."

The woman's scream made George jump.
 

One sharp twist, and she was free of Freddie's grasp. While running at Dean, she wailed and slashed at the air.
 

Stepping aside to dodge her attack, Dean brought his hammer round. There was a hollow crack when he caught her left temple.

Turning bandy mid-run, her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell face-first to the floor. Skidding along on her cheek, she finally came to a stop as a limp corpse. Taking a life was effortless for Dean now. Breaking a door down seemed harder.

Staring at the woman with her cheek pressed against the floor, the bloody bruise on her temple, her wide eyes stark on her loose face, George then looked back up at Dean.

Jabbing his hammer at Freddie, Dean raised an eyebrow. "You've got to hold on tighter, sunshine. She could have fucked me up."

Even from this distance, George could see Freddie trembling. The boy watched the hammer as his grey tracksuit bottoms darkened around his groin.
 

As Dean focused on the boy pissing himself, his usual maniacal smile returned and his eyes glazed. "Don't worry, son."
 

Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, Dean struck a match, used it to light his smoke, and shrugged as he flicked it away. "We live and learn." A sneer lifted his top lip, and the warmth left his face. "Now go back in the house and find some clean trousers. You look a fucking state."

When Freddie emerged from the house in a pair of what where clearly the owner's tracksuit bottoms, Dean pointed at him. "Wooowee! Easy, MC Hammer." With his cigarette in his hand, he started doing the running man while humming, "U Can't Touch This".

Jules and Naps then stepped outside with who George assumed was the owner of both the tracksuit bottoms and the house.
 

Tugging on Freddie's baggie slacks as he walked past, Jules winked at him. "Looking good there, boy."

Not offering a reply, Freddie turned beet red as they pushed past with their porcine prisoner. The fat man was obedient to the gang's direction as they led him over to Dean.
 

The rest of the crew exited one by one with boxes and bags filled with food. Each one of them smirked at Freddie's trousers.
 

Dean watched the containers of food pass him, his smile subsiding. Then he turned to George. "They had a fucking banquet on the go in there." Nodding at the fat man, he shrugged. "Although I'd imagine it takes a lot of food for this cunt to feel full."

George didn't reply.
 

Holding his open palm out to Si, Dean caught the keys that were thrown at him and then tossed them to George.
 

Catching them, George opened the back of the truck so the men could fill it up. Each new load of food crushed more air from the pig's lungs.
 

Turning back to the house owner, Dean pointed the hammer at him. "You, on the floor."

All it took was a moment's hesitation for Jules to kick the back of his knees and Naps to shove down on his shoulder.
 

Wincing when he hit the ground, the fat man looked at his wife and then back up at Dean. "P... please don't kill me. I'll give you anything you want."

Dean's shrill laugh skipped over the city's silent rooftops and hurt George's ears. "What makes you think I'm going to kill you, fat man?" Without taking his eyes off him, he flipped the hammer and caught it again. "Besides, we're already taking what we want, so it's not like you have anything to offer me."

The man started crying.
 

"Although …" Dean said.

The man stopped and looked up.

"What are your blow jobs like?"

After sighing, George looked at Liz. As always, her eyes were on him.

At first, the house owner's face creased. Then he said, "I'll do anything you want, just don't kill me. Please."

Driving his right fist across the guy's chin, Dean leant over him as he fell to the floor. "Have some fucking dignity! Your boy and wife are dead, and you're prepared to suck a guy off to survive! What's fucking wrong with you, you fat cunt?!"

As Warren walked past them with food, Dean pulled an apple from the box. He looked at it for a moment, tossing it in the air and catching it again. He looked back down at the man. "Where did you get fresh fruit from?"

The man was hyperventilating.
 

"Come on, fat man, spit it out."

There was still no reply.
 

At that moment, Ravi emerged from the house. He looked at Freddie, and Freddie glared back. He then looked at the dead woman. It was the first time Ravi had been so close to the action. For a dark-skinned boy, George was surprised at how pale he currently was.
 

Flicking his head up at him, Dean said, "Go and get the boy."

It snapped Ravi from his daze. "But the boy's dead, Dean."

"I know he's dead, you fucking arsehole. Now go and get him."

Opening his mouth, Ravi then looked at the hammer in Dean's grip. Closing it again, he turned around and went back into the house.

Broken Britain

The air left George's lungs when Ravi emerged from the house with the tiny form of the little boy sprawled across his arms. His small mouth lolled open, his eyes extinguished like they'd never been ignited with the exuberance of youth.
 

Before Ravi could walk down the steps, Dean raised his hand to halt him. "Throw him."

When Ravi looked up, his face was as drawn as the boy's.
 

George tutted. "Fucking hell, Dean, what's wrong with you?"

With his face locked in a deep frown, Dean turned around. Bouncing on his toes, he ran the tip of his tongue out over his thin lips. "What?"

"I said, 'What the fuck's wrong with you?' It's a fucking kid. Another fucking child! Jesus, Dean, pick on someone that can actually fight back." Gritting his teeth, George stared straight into Dean's black eyes. "You're sick in the fucking head."

The rest of the gang fell silent. Even the sobbing man on the floor stopped.
 

Instead of answering, Dean turned to Ravi. "Throw him to me. Now!"

Ravi's face buckled.

"You're fucking mental." George tapped his temple with his right index finger. "You need to get checked out, mate."

Lifting the hammer, Dean stayed focused on Ravi. "If you take another step forwards, I'll cave your fucking head in, boy. Throw me the fucking kid. Now!"

It looked like Ravi was fighting against a body that refused to cooperate. Releasing a primal scream as if he were drawing on all of his energy reserves, he launched the dead boy.