Crash II: Highrise Hell (5 page)

* * *

Once they were close to the block, Ravi pointed out of the front window. "What do they hope that shitty fencing will do? A Ford Fiesta could blast a hole in it. Actually, a granny on a mobility scooter could probably knock it down."

George laughed. "It's easy to put up."

"It's easy to take down too. That's my point."

"But it would make one hell of a noise. That and the fact there's always someone on guard."

Sighing, Ravi looked out of the side window. "I fucking hate pulling night watch. Especially in winter."

A shiver ran through George's body. "Tell me about it. No matter how many layers I put on, I always end up fucking freezing."

Rolling to a stop behind Si as they waited to enter, George looked at the fences. They were a criss-cross of thin metal rods that gave the top a line of deadly, needle-like spikes. "They're also a fucking nightmare to climb over. Remember that kiddie a few weeks back?"

"The one that Dean killed?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Watching Ginge open the front gate, George tapped his impatience on the wheel and then glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of the motorbike gang yet. "That kiddie was Dean's first kill. He went fucking mental after that."

Ravi pointed at the women in front. "Wasn't he looking for his sister? She's one of the women in there I think."

"Was he? I don't know," George lied. Being black certainly made it easier to hide a flushing face. Liz stared at George from the cage.

"Yeah, he was. Dean waited until morning and then caved his skull in right in front of her. He then set fire to him on the floor. That was when he got the idea for the skip."

A weakness spread through George's muscles as he relived the memory. Liz screaming. The crunch of the hammer. The smell of charred pork.
 

No matter how many bodies Dean burned, George would never get used to the experience. Chewing the sick back that lifted in his throat, he then drove through the gate, stopping on the other side so Ravi could get out and close it.
 

* * *

After parking his truck, George got out and lined up with the other men. It was something Dean liked them to do, and it wasn't worth the grief to fight it.
 

Returning from closing the gate, Ravi strolled over and stood next to George.
 

Doing his thick jacket up to his neck, George then buried his hands in his pockets and frowned against the biting cold as he waited for the inevitable bullshit.
 

Pacing up and down like a sergeant major, Dean called in a loud and tight-throated voice, "If you're working for me, you have a right to stay here." Condensation billowed from his mouth with every breath, and he waved his bloody hammer around. "If you have loved ones that you want to protect, then they have a right to stay here too. If they contribute, they get fed. If they don't, they only get a bed."

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Ravi sag.
 

The pig squealed when Dean opened the cage on the back of George's truck. It made the suited lunatic jump, and George nearly laughed until Dean punched it on the nose. It squealed again. Raising his hammer, Dean looked like he was considering using it. After a pause, he lowered his arm and shook his head. "Mother fucker."

Staring at the scrawny bully, George then looked at the hammer in his grip. How easy would it be to take the cunt by surprise and relieve him of his weapon? Looking away from the man, he stared at the floor. It wasn't worth fucking everything up for the sake of a pig.
Be patient, George, your time will come
.

Having retrieved a loaf of sliced bread, Dean walked down the line of men with it in his hands and a bounce in his step. "Two slices each, boys. It's been a good day. Well done!"

When Dean got closer, George was hit with the stench of blood and rotting fabric. Breathing through his mouth, he tried to ignore his writhing stomach and looked at the slice of bread being offered to him.
 

It was tempting to leave the prick hanging. What the fuck did George want with that stale lump of shit? But this wasn't the time to make a stand. That moment would come. Forcing a smile, he took the bread. "Thanks."
 

Grinning, Dean moved on.

After dishing out the bread, Dean walked down the line again and handed out small pieces of cheese. Each piece was individually wrapped in clear plastic.
 

"I would imagine these still taste fine, boys. The basement they were in was pretty fucking cold. Make the most of this dairy. It's running out fast." Pausing, he looked along the line of men and laughed. "Unless any of you lot are good with cows?"

The bitter wind picked up, so George pulled his exposed face further into his coat. If Dean didn't hurry the fuck up, he was out of there. There was no way he was prepared to stand like a mug in the freezing cold all night.
 

Turning away from his vile brother-in-law, George suddenly found more patience when he looked at the women. All of them shivered as they stood in their own waste. They were so underdressed for the current weather conditions it was ridiculous, especially as they were left outside all night. Standing downwind from the truck, George could smell the rich tang of excrement. Half of the women didn't even lower their trousers before they went to the toilet now. Fortunately, Liz wasn't that bad yet.
 

"And finally," Dean called out as he pulled a bag from the truck, "an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Well, it best do because we don't have any fucking doctors, and I can't see many signing up for our campaign any time soon. We've probably robbed half of the cunts already."

Some of the men laughed. Most of them stared at their paltry rations with furrowed brows.

Please Sir, Can I Have Some More?

Pausing at the entrance to the tower block, George turned around to see Ravi hadn't moved. What was he doing? Standing aside, he let the other men file into the building.
 

The cold evening air cut through George's clothes and sent a shiver down his back as he stood by and watched.
 

Leaning so close to Ravi that their noses were close to touching, Dean's face glowed. "Is there a problem, boy?"

Despite being over twenty metres away, George still saw Ravi's Adam's apple bob. "Um, I don't mean to disrespect you, Dean."

Shadows from Dean's heavy frown darkened his face. Gripping his hammer, he tilted his head to one side. "Well don't then."
 

What was Ravi playing at? The last thing George wanted was to get involved in a row with Dean, but if he left them alone, the boy would be a smouldering husk in the skip by morning. Stepping forwards a pace, George got ready to intervene.
 

"It's just, my mum and dad are starving to death in my flat. I need to give them more food."

"Do they contribute?"

Dropping his head, Ravi didn't respond.
 

Leaning next to the boy's ear, Dean shook as he shouted, "Well what do you expect then?" The livid skin on his face crawled, and he pulled his shoulders back. Turning to face George, he pointed at the boy. "Did you put him up to this?"

"Why the fuck would I put him up to it?" Glaring at Dean, George curled his hands into fists and refused to look away. There was no way he was losing face in front of him.
 

The suited psychopath looked at George's large hands, and his eyes sparkled. The man got drunk on conflict.
 

Returning his attention to Ravi, his tone softened to the point where there was no trace of the rage that had preceded it. "Your parents are useless to me. I'm not going to waste good food on them." Dean smiled. "How you choose to share your rations is entirely up to you, but I ain't the welfare state."

Stepping forwards, George watched on.
 

Grinding his jaw, Ravi continued to stare at Dean.

"Are you deaf or something, boy?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to keep them alive? If I snuck food in, you'd kill me. If I stole food, you'd kill me. I can't do any more than I'm doing, so I can't earn any more food."

The hammer twitched again in Dean's grip. Moving forwards more, George's muscles tensed in anticipation of leaping to the boy's defense.
 

Smirking at George, Dean then stepped so close to Ravi he pushed him back a step. "Rules are rules. Fuck off if you want to live outside the complex." Twitching as if trying to contain his rage, Dean ran a heavy hand through his hair. "Although at this rate, you won't be walking away from this conversation."
 

George took another step forwards. The distance between him and Dean had halved.
 

"I'm not sure what you fucking do anyway. I only ever see you in that truck with George. Are you sucking him off in there or something?" Turning to George, Dean flicked his head in Ravi's direction. "Is he your little bitch?"
 

Refusing to look away, George eyeballed Dean.
 

Spittle rode Dean's words when he said to Ravi, "You're lucky I feed you at all."

Ravi still didn't move.
 

Lifting his hammer, Dean bit down on his bottom lip and pressed the bloody head of it against Ravi's swollen nose.
 

Although Ravi gasped as his loose nose slid around on his face, he remained where he was.
 

"Hurts, does it? What the fuck happened to your nose anyway?"

"I hit the brakes too hard."
 

A jack-o-lantern grin spread across Dean's angular face when he turned to George. "You did this to him?"

"Si broke hard when you stopped for the gang. I was miles away. I was thinking about the lunatic I saw beat an innocent girl to death."
 

"The same lunatic that takes care of pregnant women, you mean?"

The air between them seemed to thicken and crackle.

When George didn't reply, Dean said, "So this dickhead's broken nose is all my fault? Is that what you're saying?"
 

"Not unless you're responsible for fastening that dipshit's seatbelt?"

Laughing, Dean turned back to Ravi. "Well, it sounds like you've already been punished today. If you ever question me again, boy, I'll skin you alive and dip you in vinegar." Taking the apple from Ravi's meagre pile of food, Dean bit down on it and then pointed his thumb at the tower block. "Now fuck off."
 

With rounded shoulders and heavy feet, Ravi skulked past George.
 

George stayed put.
 

After fishing some supplies from the back of the truck, Dean looked over. "You're still here then?" Holding up a pot, he said, "I'm trying to find all of the food that's off. This Greek yogurt's been bad for two months." Lifting a pack of sausages, he grinned. "These went rancid three weeks ago." A packet of bacon. "These rashers have got so sweaty they'll turn to snot if I leave them in here any longer."
 

When George looked at the sealed packet of bacon and the clear liquid swilling around inside of it, his stomach tensed. "What are you going to do with them?"

Dean looked at the women in the cage.

A hard frown darkened George's view. "But that shit might kill them. You can't do that."

"Don't be precious, George." The suited psycho slammed the cage shut. The sharp clatter jabbed George's ears. "Waste not, want not. This isn't the old days where we could simply throw food away because of a date on a packet."

"But you might kill them, Dean."

Pausing, Dean then cupped his ear with his hand. "Is there a fucking echo or something?"
 

"What's happened to you? You're behaving like a right cunt at the moment."

"It's the pressure of bringing a newborn into the world, George. It's a lot of responsibility to make sure your little niece or nephew is going to be safe." Giggling like a child, Dean walked over to the cage with the women in it and slipped one item of food after another through the bars.
 

Some of the prisoners were frenzied, swiping at their fellow captives with their long and dirty nails. One of the women picked the bacon up, curled her body around it and bit into the plastic wrapping as if it was edible. The women had turned feral in just a few weeks, and the lump in George's throat was ready to burst.

Two of the prisoners who didn't look long for this world sat on the floor amongst the piss and shit and stared at the melee with their usual vacant glaze.
 

Liz and the more recent additions from the cul-de-sac turned their noses up at the food.

The rattle of Dean's hammer against the cage pulled George's shoulders up to his neck. The lunatic then addressed the more reserved women. "That's the best you'll get. The only other way to get food is to earn it." His eyes settled on the two girls taken from the close. Pointing at the one who looked slightly older, he said, "You, what's your name?"

The same glare of silent hatred came from Liz and burned into George.
 

Placing a hand on her ample chest, the girl's face buckled. "Do you mean me?"

Nodding, Dean licked his bloodied lips.
 

After dropping her head, she pouted. "Sarah."

"Well, Sarah, it looks like it's your lucky day." Thrusting his hips forward, an oily laugh then bubbled from his throat. "You've just hit the jackpot, sweetheart. You're going to find out just how generous Uncle Dean can be."
 

Looking at the hammer in Dean's hand, George's eyes narrowed. Why didn't he just end this now?

The girl's accent spoke of her private education. "No, thank you. I'm fine as I am."

The smile remained, but the rest of Dean's face sagged. "It isn't a choice, love."

The tears that she was clearly holding back rushed forwards.
 

When George looked at Liz again, her hazel eyes dared him to do something.
 

Before he could move, Dean turned to him. "I was with Sally earlier today. She told me to send you her love."