When Dean lifted the dead boy again, George shook his head and opened his truck. Getting in, he slammed the door. Once more, he became the focus of most of the gang’s attention. Staring straight at Dean, who returned his gesture, the hammer down by his side, he flashed a facetious grin, put the key in the ignition and twisted. The powerful engine shook the car as it came to life.
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When the well-manicured Ravi came over and rapped his knuckles against the window, George wound it down and stared at him.
Unable to make eye contact, Ravi looked at the floor. “Dean wants to know what you’re doing.”
The boy still stank like the perfume section of a department store. “Warming up.” When Ravi didn’t move, George nodded at Freddie. “He knows you, doesn’t he?” George wound the window back up again before Ravi had time to answer.
The fans were up full, the loud whirring preventing George from hearing anything outside the car. Resting his hand over one, he let the heat from it run up his sleeve and stared straight ahead.
It was easier to watch Dean when he couldn’t hear him. The arsehole dropped the boy and walked over to his truck. While this was happening, Naps and Jules pulled the fat man up so he was kneeling again. They made him bow his head.
A cold chill ran through George when he saw Dean produce a sword. “Fucking hell.”
Throwing practice swings through the air as he walked over to his prisoner, George flinched and looked away.
After a few minutes, George looked back, expecting to see a beheaded man. But he was still kneeling, and Dean was shouting at Freddie.
At first, Freddie backed away. That was until Dean’s body snapped tight, his mouth flapping as he became more irate. The powerful fans and closed windows made it impossible for George to hear what he was saying.
Freddie stepped forwards.
When the boy was close enough, Dean held the sword out to him, handle first.
Popping the door open, the bitter air rushing in, George got out of the car. “Dean!”
Dean looked over.
“Leave the boy alone. You should be doing this, not him, you spineless cunt.”
A huge grin spread across Dean’s face, and he turned to Freddie again. “It’s time for you to do your bit, son.”
Shaking his head, Freddie then stared at the weapon. “I can’t do that. I can’t kill someone.”
Looking at all of the other gang members, Dean laughed. “Is poor Freddie too sensitive to take a man’s life?” The humor left his voice when he stepped into the boy’s personal space. “It’s kill or be killed, sunshine. Those are the only two choices you have.”
Taking the sword, the long weapon wobbling in his grip, Freddie looked at Dean.
“If you don’t do it, I’ll put you next to this fat cunt and make you watch him lose his head first, just so you can see how much you’re going to suffer.”
The fat man cried, and George noticed a small puddle gathering around his knees.
It looked like it took all of Freddie’s effort to move towards the doomed man. When he got close enough, he lifted the sword above his head, his arms still trembling.
“Don’t do it,” George whispered.
Both Freddie and the fat man screamed as the blade swung in a fast arc through the air. The glistening steel sparkled in the winter sunshine. Turning away, George went weak when he heard the dull thud.
When the expected silence was filled with the fat man’s scream, George spun around and covered his mouth. It didn’t take his fucking head off?
Crying, Freddie wound up for another swing.
It ended with the same damp thud.
The man screamed.
Roaring through clenched teeth, Freddie hacked at the man again and again.
Shunk!
Shunk!
Shunk!
Each swing ended in a damp squelch and another scream from the victim. Blood spilled from the wound and ran around the front of the man’s neck before spilling on the floor. Dean bounced on the spot, giggling and rubbing his hands together.
Each of Freddie’s cries sounded more exhausted than the last.
Shaking his head, George flinched with every hack.
Shunk!
Shunk!
Shunk!
It felt like it had gone on forever, but the next shunk reduced the two screaming voices to one. In that time, George still hadn’t looked up. Despite hearing the fat man’s suffering come to an end, George’s heart wasn’t any lighter. Listening to a boy being reduced to a quivering mess was as upsetting as any murder he’d witnessed. Even the one that still stained his hands.
George was just about to lift his head when he heard Dean say, “Keep going. Take his fucking head off, you pussy.”
With slumped shoulders, George continued to look at his feet. When he blinked, a tear fell to the floor. Another family destroyed by the vile excuse of a man. Another life extinguished to make a point. Innocent people were dying because of a chip Dean had on his shoulder from a capitalist system that was now defunct.
Wailing like he was being skinned alive, Freddie grunted, and George had to listen to it all over again.
Shunk!
Shunk!
Shunk!
Dean’s shrill cackle filled the space in between each wet squelch.
At least fifteen minutes of throat-tearing screams, Dean’s maniacal laugh, and shunks passed before there was a heavy thud. A medicine ball hitting concrete followed by silence. Looking over at Liz, George tapped his temple. Like she didn’t know Dean was mental. When he looked up and saw Si was watching them, his stomach twisted.
A subtle smile lifted Si’s mouth. Nodding first at Liz, he then winked at George.
Freddie remained on his knees, crying and vomiting.
Standing over him and tapping his foot, Dean waited for the boy to stop. “That was fun now, wasn’t it?”
Freddie didn’t respond.
“I’m guessing that was your first kill? You did well.” Covering his mouth, he then laughed through his nose, “Considering I gave you a blunt katana.”
George gasped as the men surrounding the pair erupted in laughter.
Looking up at Dean, Freddie’s eyebrows pinched in the middle. “Blunt?”
“I know. Stroke of genius, huh? I mean, the effort it must have taken you to cut that fat cunt’s head off with an ornament. It must have felt like trying to cut a tree down with a brick.” Winking, Dean then lowered his tone. “Just in case you hadn’t worked it out, I did it to fuck with you.”
The boy dropped his head and didn’t reply.
“Did you seriously think that I was going to let you into this gang? No fucking way.” Pointing, he shook his head. “You broke into my home and tried to rob me.”
Jules and Naps stepped forward and pushed Freddie over. He fell without resistance. They used cable ties to secure his hands behind his back. The way he’d been restrained forced his face into the pool of the fat man’s blood on the floor. The scarlet liquid sprayed up from his heavy breaths, but Freddie didn’t even seem to notice. He looked lost inside his own head.
Spinning around, Dean stopped and pointed at his truck. “Throw him on the back.”
As Dean walked towards him, George stared, and his whole upper body tensed. In his peripheral vision, he saw Freddie launched into the truck. He hit the metal floor face first with a thud and a squeal.