Crash II: Highrise Hell (14 page)

Holding his stare for a few more seconds, Dean let go of Ginge's wrist and fell onto his back in hysterics.

After stepping back a few more paces so he could be closer to his truck, George watched Dean laugh until he had nothing left. Laying in the puddle of blood, Dean stared up at the sky with glazed eyes and a docile grin.
 

Leaning into Ginge, Si whispered something George couldn't hear. When Ginge nodded, the two of them lifted Marie from the ground, both men checking for Dean's reaction.
 

When there was none, they carried on, making sure to skirt around their insane leader.
 

As they walked away, Marie's head hanging out of the end of the sheets, George stared at the dark holes in her face. Looking down at Dean's thumbs again, George watched the man run his hands through the red pool like he was making a blood angel.
 

Once they'd climbed the ladder to the skip, they tossed her in with the same final thud.
 

Dean then jumped to his feet and stood to attention. Drips fell from his greasy hair, and the back of his suit was darker than the front. With a stony expression, Dean watched his men descend the metal stairs.
 

When the suited lunatic turned around, George saw the blood was already drying against his skin. Focused on the cage with the women, Dean swaggered over and blew them a kiss. They all looked away. He then lifted a small can of petrol from the huge supply behind them.
 

Focusing solely on the skip as he walked towards it, Dean's eyes glowed.

The sound of his loafers on the metal stairs had the finality of an executioner walking up to the chopping block. It was hard getting the air he needed into his lungs, and George couldn't settle his pulse as he stared at the red, metal can in Dean's hand.
 

When Dean got to the top, he smiled, undid the lid on the can, and poured the petrol in. The scars on George's ribs ached as the wet splash echoed through the huge container.

Cracking up again, Dean giggled as he waved into the skip. "Bye bye, losers." Dropping the can and then resting both of his hands on the side, he laughed so hard he could barely breathe.
 

Everyone else watched on in silence.
 

When Dean lit the match, George's guts swelled, and he was overcome with the need to shit. The rushing wind of instant ignition boomed through the skip, and Dean quickly pulled his head back.
 

George was nowhere near it, but he could imagine the hot blast. The choking smoke. His dying son.
 

When the acrid smell filled the air, George heaved. It tasted like burning plastic. Fatty, burning plastic.
 

Tears blurred George's vision as he watched Dean. Since they'd lived in the block, George had lost count of the bodies that had been burned. It was worse a few weeks back when they were taking over the place. The residents that refused to leave their homes ended up in the bottom of the skip. The stench had come close to driving George's sanity away. The screams still haunted him at night. Smelling the tang of charred pork now made his head spin.
 

Whenever he looked out of the window of his flat, the skip was there. It fought for his attention, but he never looked at it. He didn't need anything else fuelling his nightmares.
 

Where had it all gone wrong? Dean's manifesto was brutal, but the twisted logic had kind of made sense. The wealthy had had their time, and strength was no longer measured with money. But once he started taking the women, it moved on to something else.
 

The cruel game that Dean was acting out wasn't about surviving anymore.

Charred Pork

Having been in his dark room for the past few hours, George had to squint against the low winter sun as he watched Dean pace up and down in front of him. Lined up with the other men for the address, George zoned out, their maniacal leader's monologue turning into white noise in his mind.

Having spent the past few hours in his flat, George's sinuses were clogged again, and the taste of moss lined his throat.
 

The sharp breeze, which was normally so invasive, felt good against his face. Breathing it in, George used it as a natural decongestant.
 

After several deep breaths, the cold burning his nostrils, George's head felt clearer. The reward was to be hit with the too-familiar stench of charred pork. It was one of those smells that, once settled in, grew roots that stretched to the deepest parts of both his senses and psyche. It drove his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and it felt like his stomach was trying to crawl from his body.
 

Once his guts had settled, George reconnected with his surroundings. With the exception of Ravi, all of his fellow gang members stood in awe. They seemed to love Dean's voice nearly as much as the egotistical prick loved it himself.
 

What am I doing here
?

* * *

After about ten minutes, the red-faced Dean was still going. Stopping in front of Ravi, he stared. Heavy breaths lifted and dropped his slim shoulders. When he jabbed his finger into the boy's chest, Ravi stumbled backwards.
 

"What the fuck were you doing last night?"

Ravi's mouth hung loose. "Huh?"

When Dean stepped closer into Ravi's personal space, the boy pulled his head back. He looked too scared to step away.
 

"What the fuck were you doing last night?"

The smell of burnt hair hit George, and he scrunched his nose up. When it found the back of his throat, he coughed. Dean threw him an angry glare, which George returned with interest.
 

Once Dean had turned his attention back on Ravi, George swallowed to banish the bitter aftertaste. It didn't help.
 

There was a loud crack as Dean cuffed Ravi across his ear. "You were fucking sleeping, that's what you were doing."

With a flushed face, Ravi shook his head. "No. I wasn't sleeping, Dean. Honest. I was—"

Wham! Dean cuffed him again. "Don't answer me back, boy. You were fucking sleeping."

Sleeping was better than the truth. George watched on. Ravi should take that charge.
 

Looking up at the window to Ravi's flat, George saw Mrs. Vadher staring down. The kind woman was glaring straight at him. What did she expect him to do? Her son was a turncoat wanker who didn't deserve rescuing. Sighing, George turned away.
 

When Dean pointed his hammer at George, the big man lifted his shoulders and clenched his fists. His heart pounded, and he frowned hard.

"If it wasn't for George waking the whole fucking block up, we would have been fucked. You owe him big time."

Although Ravi looked sideways, he didn't lift his eyes high enough to meet George's strong glare.
 

Looking at George, Dean said, "What do you think about it?"

When the boy still wouldn't look at him, George looked over at the women in the cage. They'd nearly lost everything. The women, the food. George's eyes narrowed. "I think you're right, Dean. I reckon he was asleep."
 

Snapping his head up, Ravi's wide eyes searched George's face.
 

Stepping forwards, George threw his arms wide. "Well, what do you expect me to say? You fucked up." Pointing up at the window to his flat, he added, "I noticed them from up there, so how the fuck did you miss them when you were outside?"

Despite opening and closing his mouth, Ravi didn't say anything.
 

When Dean pointed at George, a dusting of dried blood kicked away from his suit, caught the sharp wind, and rode the breeze. "See, you should have fucking noticed them." He pointed his hammer at the floor. "On your knees."

Raising his eyebrows, Ravi looked from Dean to George and back to Dean. "What?"

The glare of Ravi's mum burned into the side of George's face. When he looked up, she pushed her hands together as if in prayer. If only she knew what a slippery little shit her son was.
 

With his eyes closed, Dean pulled a long breath into his body. A shudder ran through him as he slowly exhaled. When he opened his eyes again, Ravi was still on his feet. "Don't make me repeat myself, boy."

Falling as if his legs had given way beneath him, Ravi hit the floor and started crying.
 

The slightest smile tickled the sides of Dean's mouth.

Looking up at Ravi's window again, George saw Mrs. Vadher was also crying.
 

"Apologize."

"Sorry."

"And now thank George."
 

Shifting around on his knees, Ravi looked up, the light catching his glistening cheeks. "Thank you, George."

"What are you thanking him for?" Speaking in a whiny tone, Dean mocked the boy. "Thank you, George." With his face on fire, he shook as he shouted, "Thank you for what?"

Ravi tutted.

By the time George had winced at Ravi's mistake, the boy was wrapped around Dean's steel-toe-capped boot.
 

Hunched over on all fours, Ravi's mouth spread wide as he pulled air into his body.
 

Winding his leg back again, Dean then lifted the boy from the ground with another kick. It flipped him over.
 

When the smell of flatulence hit George, he pinched his nose. Once it had passed, he looked at Dean leaning over the boy, hammer in one hand, a clenched fist made with the other. Ravi's mum was still at her window.
 

"Did you just fucking tut at me?"
 

Crying, Ravi didn't reply.
 

Kicking him in the side of his ribs, Dean leant over him. "Talk to me, you little fuckwit. I said, 'Did you just fucking tut at me?'"

Ravi's mouth was stretched so wide it looked like it would rip. Snot dripped from his nose as he fought for breath.

"Well?!"

"Yes, I tutted." Shaking, Ravi continued, "I'm sorry, Dean."

The next kick flipped Ravi onto his front. "First you tell me I don't give you enough food for you and your lazy family ..."

George looked up and saw that Ravi's dad was now at the window, holding hands with his mum.
 

"Then you let those stupid little cunts in. Now you're tutting at me. Do you have a fucking death wish or something?" Lifting the hammer up, Dean said, "Well?"

Looking up at Ravi's window again, George shook his head.
For fuck's sake
. Stepping forward, he grabbed Dean's wrist.

Pink Lightning Bolts

Clamping Dean's thin wrist, George stared into the man's dark eyes.
 

"What the fuck are you doing, George?"

Trying to keep his tone level was hard when he could feel his pulse in his neck, but George managed it. "He made a mistake. That's all."

"So you're running this gang now, are you?"

George's bicep shook as he held Dean's arm in place. "No, but I don't want to see the boy die for a mistake."

"That's exactly why he should die."

Looking at the other gang members, George then turned back to Dean. "People fuck up sometimes." It was hard to look at Ravi with what he knew, but he did it all the same. "But that doesn't mean they should always be punished for it. Let the boy learn."

"Learn how to be more of an incompetent prick?"

"Give him a chance, Dean."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I'm not. I'm asking."

A huge grin tore a slit in Dean's face that turned into a booming laugh. Looking down at Ravi on the floor, he nudged him with his foot. "Get up."

Although he was wobbly as he stood up, Ravi managed to obey the order.
 

"I don't normally give second chances, let alone third, but George is right. You're one of us."
 

Staring at the boy, George nodded. "Yeah, you're here for the gang. Looking after the gang's interest like the rest of us." After a pause, he added, "Your loyalty isn't in question."

The smile fell from Dean's face, and he pushed the bloody hammer into Ravi's cheek. "You're on your last warning though. If you fuck up again, I swear I'll kill you myself." His red face twisted as he added, "I'll pull your fucking fingernails out."
 

Ravi didn't reply.
 

As Dean walked away and started addressing the assembled men again, George continued to stare at the boy.
 

Ravi didn't look up.

Turning to the tower block, George looked at Ravi's mum. She was still crying, but she wore a tight-lipped smile.
 

As the adrenaline left George's system, the smell of burning bodies crept back into his consciousness. Pinching his nose again, he focused on Dean in time to hear him say, "... three men a night now."

Suddenly, George wasn't the only one pissed at Ravi. The entire line of men stared at the boy.
 

Continuing, Dean pointed at three of the men. "Si, Ginge, and Jason—you're on tonight."

Contrary to the looks on faces, there wasn't a word of complaint from the men. All three nodded.
 

Throwing his bunch of keys to Jason, Dean pointed in the direction of the vehicles. "Get the boy. He's coming with us."

After glancing at the boy in the cage, George looked at the women's truck, and his blood ran cold. How had he not seen it before? Sitting in the piss and shit was a long, thick lump of meat. It was greasy and charred on the outside with lightning bolts of pink running through it where the skin had split. It was someone's thigh. He looked over at the industrial skip.
How the fuck did they get it out of there
?

As he stared at the meat for a little longer, he noticed there was a small chunk missing from the side of it and heaved.
 

The chunk was the size of a human mouth.

Hi-ho

When Jason led the skinny lad over, Dean's face lit up.