Chapter 4

As Caleb reached into the pile of rubble on the corner to find a decent-sized stone, he noticed Dylan picking up a brick.

He turned to the lad with a grin. "You wanna smash the windows in or what?"

"That is the aim, right?" Dylan asked.

"I dunno," Caleb shrugged. "I figured you just wanted to scare her."

"Yes, and smashing in her windows will do that," Dylan pointed out.

"I guess so," Caleb shrugged. He got a strange sense of satisfaction from destroyed the posh kids' perfect houses, safe in the knowledge they wouldn't dare do the same to his shithole. Even if they did dare to incur his wrath and damage his house it wouldn't matter. The best thing about having nothing to begin with was having nothing to lose. 

As he raised his arm, preparing to belt the rock into the top window of the Ryder household, Caleb felt a vibration in his pocket.

Seeing it was from Andy Simmons, his heart fuzzed with little tingles of excitement, accompanied shortly after by the cold fingers of dread. 

Could he honestly go through with torturing the poor lad to get at his bitch of a mum? He was raised by the dragon, so Caleb figured he'd suffered enough already.

As he turned to Dylan, it must have shown on his face, because Dylan was smiling like the cat who'd got the cream.

"It's him?" he asked.

Caleb nodded. 

"Do we really have to do this? I mean, I feel like the poor guy's suffered enough having that bitch for a mother."

"Trust me, we are going to destroy everything in her life. If we skip the first step in my plan, none of the rest works," Dylan explained.

"I can't cut his fingers off though," Caleb admitted.

"We'll think of something else," Dylan said, patting his back gently.

Dylan followed as Caleb walked towards Andy's flat, making conversation in a blatant attempt to distract from the dire task ahead of them.

It wasn't working, because unlike most people, Caleb could hold a decent conversation and keep up an entirely separate dialogue in his head at the same time. 

As he exchanged sex stories with Dylan, he imagined what he would say to Andy and worried about him not taking the bait. He arranged his bag with the bag of powder on top. If he left it gaping open, the drugs would be on display and with any luck, impossible to resist.

The block of flats sat overlooking the southern estate park. The pair walked past a row of small terrace houses and fences marked with the words, 'Do Not Park Here' in white spray paint as well as various graffiti tags, some of which were Caleb's handiwork. 

As usual, the main entrance to the block was held open with a brick. 

Inside, a black metal railing wobbled under Caleb's weight as he made his way up the concrete steps to the second floor.

"What if he has mates round?" Caleb thought out loud. 

"Any mates he has will probably be druggies and let's face it, they're all talk and no action," Dylan shrugged.

He had a valid point. Aside from the roid-heads, drug users aren't exactly known for their physical prowess. That didn't stop them talking like badmen to Caleb on the phone but they rarely had the same attitude face to face.

Caleb knocked gently. He felt a flash of guilt when Andy smiled warmly, inviting him into his home. He even apologised for the mess.

"Do you want a cup of tea or something?" he offered. It was a reflex for British people, offering tea to anyone who popped over, whether they be stranger or foe, flying visit or extended stay. 

Caleb took him up on the offer, asking for milk and two sugars. He watched as Andy cleaned up one of the cups from the pile by the sink. It was hard not to stare at the mountain of cutlery and pots stacked up like a round of Jenga gone wrong, and the used dishes that lined the arms of the sofa, caked with dried-on dirt and cigarette ash.

Pretty much everything in the vicinity of the coffee table was a make-shift ashtray; old bottles, coffee lined mugs, empty pie foils and even crisp packets. When Caleb spotted the real ashtray underneath a pile of magazines he saw why; the thing looked like it was last emptied in the arse end of the naughties. 

He took the tea and moved toward the sofa, shoving aside the papers and guitar that currently occupied the seat space. Just being in this flat made him feel like his skin was crawling with some disease or parasite. 

'How can anyone live like this?' he wondered. He knew the guy was an addict, but this was ridiculous.

He took the smaller bag of drugs he'd preprepared and dropped the bag beside the coffee table, letting it fall open. From the corner of his eye, he watched Andy, hoping he would spot the enormous baggie sitting on the top in plane view. He spotted Andy doing a slight double-take, both his eyes and mouth widening for just a second.

"Want some?" Andy offered. He laughed when Caleb turned up his nose. "You're the only dealer I know who don't do drugs himself."

"Seeing you mum do it kinda puts you off," Caleb told him.

Dylan shook his head and let out a humourless laugh. 

"Mum's," he muttered. "Mine reckons she kicked me out for my own good, but I know it was coz I embarrassed her in front of the precious neighbours."

The pangs of guilt returned, making him question the plan. 

If anything, Andy was more of a victim of that vile cow than Caleb. He didn't deserve to suffer because of her more than he already had.

'I'll just tell Dylan I don't want to do it anymore,' he decided.

"Just gonna take a piss and I'll be off," Caleb declared, making his way around the minefield of trash and ashtrays.

When he returned, he leaned over the table to grab his bag and let himself out, telling Andy, "See ya later, mate."

It must have been boiling in that flat because the air outside seemed freezing in comparison. Caleb shivered, watching the white mist of his breath rise to join the clouds in the inky night sky.

"So?" Dylan cried, grabbing the bag from his hands. "Let's see if it worked."

He was about to tell Dylan about his decision to call it off when Dylan let out a whoop and cheer.

"It worked," he declared with glee, holding open the now empty backpack.

Caleb's heart dropped.

"Why don't you look happy?" Dylan frowned. "Come on, let's go back."

'That prick really stole from me?' Caleb thought. He knew better than to trust an addict. Even his own mother would swear blind she hadn't stolen any money after he'd watched her lift it from his wallet. He wasn't disappointed in the lad, just annoyed that he was going to have to fill him in... and worse.

He didn't relish kicking the crap out of his own people. The downtrodden and scummy delinquents of the world. Beating the tar out of the posh twats who looked down on him, however, was a different story. He'd happily stomp on their faces until they begged him to stop, and even then he wouldn't.

He knocked lightly on the door, not wanting to scare Andy. It wasn't the kind of door that you could easily kick in, and the only other point of access was the window, which would mean climbing. That was too much effort for Caleb.

"Did you forget something?" Andy frowned, opening the door just a tad. The clinking sound indicated it was on the latch, so Caleb took the opportunity to wedge his foot in the door and used his weight to shove it open, snapping the chain. 

As he strode forward, mindfully stepping over the piles of boxes in the hallway, Andy stumbled backwards, eyes wide in fear. 

"I didn't do nuffin'," he muttered, backing into the living room, but his eyes couldn't seem to stop flitting in the direction of the kitchen.

A quick poke around the door and he found what he was looking for, sitting inside a pink set of old-style weighing scales. 

"Yeah, you kinda did though," Caleb tutted. He wasn't even angry, not really. The drugs weren't his to steal in the first place. If anything, he was in the wrong for setting the guy up.

"It just fell out of your bag," Andy lied. "I was about to ring you, I swear down, Man."

"Hold him still," Dylan said. 

Andy turned his attention to Dylan, looking at him like he'd appeared out of nowhere. 

"Who are you?" he asked, staring at Dylan's posh shoes and coat. He wasn't the sort of person you'd expect to be hanging about with Caleb.

"Get him in a Kimura," Dylan advised, ignoring Andy's question. Caleb had mentioned knowing Jujutsu, but Dylan had never said he knew the moves. 

"Okay," Caleb said. In one swift motion, he took the guy down, pulling him down on top of him before wrapping both his legs around his waist and shoving his head down while pulling his arm back. He was vaguely aware that Andy was babbling apologies at him, but was concentrating on pinning him so hard it all went in one ear and out of the other.

He looked up to see Dylan pull a pair of secateurs out of his coat pocket.

"Hey," Caleb hissed. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to cut his fingers off."

"No," Andy cried, overhearing what he'd intended to whisper. "No, please, no."

"We agreed you wouldn't," Dylan smirked. He leaned in and whispered so close that Caleb could feel the warm condensation of his breath. "It has to be brutal or else the plan won't work."

"Wait," Caleb said as Dylan grabbed the finger. "Shouldn't we gag him or something?"

"No way," Dylan said, screwing up his face like the idea was borderline insane.

"What if someone hears him scream?" Caleb asked.

To remedy this, Dylan leaned down, face to face with Andy and said he would cut off an extra finger if he screamed.

"Please, please, don't do this, I'm sorry," Andy babbled at him. He doubted the poor lad had even registered the warning, let alone had the capability to hold in a scream of pain.

"Just... do it quickly," Caleb said, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes as though it was his finger about to be chopped off. 

He winced as Andy cried out in pain, hoping Dylan wasn't serious about his threat.

He briefly opened his eyes, saw the mess of blood and bone and closed them again. 

"Nurrr, nurrrrrrr, hur hurr," Andy was babbling.

"Aww, you screamed. Let's see if you can follow instructions better this time," Dylan said in an eerily calm voice. How was he possibly not freaked out by all this blood?

"No," Andy cried. "Please. I beg you. Please. I beg you, don't."

The begging became sobbing as Dylan gripped the next finger in between his own. 

"Just don't scream this time, okay?" Dylan advised.

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut again as Dylan raised the secateurs, praying that Andy would heed the warning this time. 

He heard a high pitched moaning, but it couldn't technically be described as a scream... not quite.

"Oh, well now I'm just unsure," Dylan laughed. "Caleb, what do you think? Was that a scream or not?"

"Naa," Caleb said, trying not to sound as horrified as he felt on the inside. He wanted people to see him as some hardman, but he wasn't, not on the inside. He had anger issues and trouble controlling impulses, but he wasn't a stone-cold psychopath. Still, it was best if he kept up the pretence. For now, at least.

Relaxing from the hold, he let the guy's mangled arm drop to the floor. It lay there, limp and seeping blood into the dirty cream carpet as Andy cried softly, unwilling or unable to move.

"Oh pull yourself together," Dylan tutted, kicking him lightly in the side. "You can get them stitched back on if you hurry."

"Come on," Caleb said, grabbing Dylan by the collar and dragging him away from the scene of the crime. He made a quick stop in the kitchen to retrieve the white goods before leaving.

After fumbling to light up a cigarette, Caleb had to shove his hands in his pockets so Dylan wouldn't see how much they were shaking.