They continued to stare at one another as Dean retrieved the keys from George’s top pocket. He smelt like an abattoir. He then walked around to the back of the truck and locked the cage.
When he came back around, George having watched him the entire way, Dean spread his arms wide. “Have you still got a problem?”
Staring at the man, George didn’t reply. He had a huge fucking problem, but now wasn’t the time.
Shaking his head, Dean spat on the floor between them. “Pussy.” Walking over to Si’s truck, he locked the cage before returning to his own vehicle. Leaning inside the cab, he pulled out a Molotov cocktail, lit it, and threw it through a downstairs window with a loud crash.
After watching the flames grow for about thirty seconds, Dean jumped into the cab of the truck, tooted the horn, and started his engine.
George got back into his truck too, and Ravi slid in beside him. The chemical stench of bad aftershave filled the confined space. For once, the Indian boy had no words. All he did was stare directly ahead.
Before he pulled away, George looked at the three dead bodies and burning house. He had to end this. There was no way that Sally was still with Dean, and the longer George spent with him, the harder she would be to find.
Capitalist Pig
Standing by the trucks, the fresh air biting into his exposed face and the smell of charred pork hanging in the air, George gulped to stop himself coughing and watched Dean pace up and down in front of them.
The sky had clouded over, and it felt like the first time in days that George didn’t have to squint because of the sharp sun. It was well into the afternoon, and the air around them was thickening with the onset of night. It wouldn’t be long before complete darkness descended on them.
All George had to look forward to was another evening of lying in his bed, wide-eyed with his senses turned up full as he listened to his surroundings. In the quiet dark, the shadows came to life, and the voices in his head roared.
The extra layers that everyone wore made their arms, chests, and legs puffy. Dean was the only exception, parading about in a suit and trench coat as if it were April.
When the rant started, George cringed. Here we fucking go again.
“If you’re working for me, you have a right to stay here.”
The words came out before George could stop them. “Fucking hell.”
Stopping in his tracks, Dean turned on him. “Problem?”
“No, Dean, not at all. I love listening to the same fucking speech every fucking night. Please carry on delivering your manifesto.” Levelling a dead stare, George snorted air from his nose. “It’s so fucking enlightening.”
A pulse twitched beneath Dean’s right eye.
George glared at him.
Setting off again, Dean marched up and down, staring at each gang member, clearly looking for an excuse to kick off. None of them rose to the challenge. When he returned to George, his entire body was wound tight.
Leaning ever so slightly forwards, George clenched his jaw and looked into Dean’s dark eyes.
Holding his stare, Dean addressed the group, “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.” He then moved on to Ravi. “I’m talking about the two old cunts you have living with you.”
When George cleared his throat, Dean stopped again, his shoulders pulling tight to his neck.
“You do realize, Dean, that your looting has created abundance, right?”
Dipping a sharp nod, Dean smiled. “Too fucking right.” Looking around at the gang, he continued to grin. “I want to make sure that the people who roll with me get looked after.”
“Yet, despite this abundance, you’re denying people like Ravi’s parents?”
“They don’t fucking contribute.”
George had him. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Isn’t that what people said about you when you couldn’t find a job? Aren’t you creating your own capitalist society with exactly the same problems you complained about? Does that make you the oppressor now?”
Straightening his back, Dean’s dark eyes shifted in their hollow sockets. “No. This ain’t a democracy. It’s my way, or fuck off. Simple. I ain’t selling any illusion.”
Turning his back on George, Dean retrieved a box from the food cage. While walking back down the line, he dished the food out. “Apples again, boys. Make the most of it because it won’t be long until everything we eat comes out of a tin.” When he got to Ravi, instead of giving him a tin of beans with his apple, he gave him a tin of dog food. “Feed this to your scrounging parents. You’re a fucking drain to me, boy.”
George scoffed, but Dean ignored it.
Looking down at his reward, Ravi kept his head bowed.
That wasn’t good enough for Dean. “Well?”
The boy looked close to tears when he looked up. “Thank you.”
Throwing his head back, Dean threw a laugh at the sky. Some of the other gang members joined in.
When Dean got to George, he had a bounce in his step. Taking the offered apple and beans, George said nothing.
Raising an eyebrow, Dean stopped. “You okay, big man?”
The rich smell of blood coming from Dean’s suit made George scrunch his nose up. Wrapping his hand around the can, he looked at Dean’s temple. A hard blow would turn the cunt’s lights off.
The space between the pair grew thick with tension. The hairs on the back of George’s neck lifted. At that moment, it was just Dean and him. Drawing deep breaths to keep him focused, George squeezed the can harder.
Although Dean laughed, his face didn’t. The smile then vanished. “George, I know we’re related, man, but you’re taking the piss out of me now. I can’t let this insolence continue.”
“That’s a big word for you.”
Biting down on his bloody bottom lip, Dean’s nostrils flared.
Staring at the crusty claret that spiderwebbed through Dean’s stubble, George swallowed. Hopefully, his face was infected. A slow and toxic death was exactly what this nasty cunt needed.
Although Dean moved on, something had changed between the pair. George had pushed too far.
Naps was next in line, and Dean handed him his apple and beans. After just a moment’s silence, he said, “Fucking hell, you piss-taking cunt. I give you food, and you don’t even thank me. What’s fucking wrong with you, you Egyptian streak of piss?”
Frowning, Naps opened his mouth.
“Well?” The red skin on Dean’s face glowed.
Clearing his throat, Naps said, “Thank you. I was trying to say—”
Wham! Dean cracked Naps around the side of the head with a tin of beans, and Naps’ legs buckled beneath him.
As he watched him hit the floor, George’s stomach dropped.
Before he’d completed his fall, Naps’ eyes had rolled back in his head.
No one made a move to help him.
After watching him crumple, Dean handed the can he’d just used to Warren. Waiting for a thank you, he then moved on.
Warren looked down at the blood on the can.
Stopping, Dean looked at him. “Everything okay?”
Warren nodded.
Jules accepted his rations. “Thank you.”
Despite being Dean’s favorite, even Ginge shifted from one foot to the other as the nutter approached him. Someone was getting it today. What he’d just done to Naps was simply an appetizer. After giving him the food, Dean leant forwards and whispered something.
When Dean stepped aside, Ginge walked over to Dean’s truck. Flipping the back down, he grabbed Freddie’s heels. Pulling him off the truck by his feet, the boy hit the floor chin first with a sharp yelp.