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Authors: Michael Robertson

Crash (6 page)

BOOK: Crash
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Calling after his secretary, Dick said, "Thanks, Maxine love. Thanks, honey." It was Dick's way of being overly friendly with women. He'd do it to anyone female--the girls in the bakery, the post woman, even his employees' wives directly in front of his employees. Chris had once spent an evening at a dinner party watching Diane giggling at all of Dick's pathetic jokes. He didn't really care; the only downside for him was that they hadn't run off together afterwards. Chris had seen this kind of behavior before with fat men like Dick; they'd behave in a way that pushed the boundaries, playing on the fact that they were unattractive to the opposite sex. He posed no threat, so he thought he could say whatever he liked. Chris could see that the deluded man genuinely thought all his smarmy comments were making the women feel good, but the fact was, most of them looked like they wanted to run a mile when he verbally pinned them down. They looked like they'd crawl free of their own skin to be away from him.

Stood in the lavish office, the smell of mahogany and cheap meat throwing off a contradictory aroma, Chris watched the fat man tilt his head sideways and continue to stare at his secretary with rapist's eyes. He chewed furiously as if this would suppress his urges--as if his mastication were masturbation.

Once she was out of the room, he heaved a heavy sigh and took another bite from one of the ribs on the tray in front of him. "What a woman, eh?"

Chris thought about Maxine. She was pretty, there was no doubt about that, but she was stupid, and Chris had spent too much of his life around pretty, yet stupid women. He shrugged.

Dick sneered and said, "I'd just like to bend her over this desk right here." He then thrust himself forwards, his wheeled chair aiding his pelvic smash.

Well and truly put off eating for the rest of the day, if not the entire week, Chris shivered as the sharp air-conditioning bit into him. Having noticed Maxine's pert nipples as she left the room, he suddenly realized why it was so cold in here. Keen to be out of the office as soon as possible, Chris said, "So what's up, Dick? You said you wanted to see me."

Stroking some barbecue sauce from his newly cultivated goatee, and using the same napkin to dab his sweating neck, Dick looked at his lap, his chin disappearing into rolls of fat. He then released a hissing belch that sounded like it burned on the way out. When he looked back at Chris, barbecue sauce still clinging to the corners of his mouth, he said, "I'm sorry to say this, but we're going to have to let you go."

Burnt out from working fourteen-hour days for the last six months, Chris' already jangly nerves started to wobble. When combined with the frosty air, he began to shiver, his stomach clenching like a fist. Scowling with such force that it hurt, he said, "You're letting me go?"

Lifting his pudgy hands, Dick replied, "I'm sorry, Chris, I truly am." Taking another bite of his ribs, he spoke with his mouth full, a piece of pork falling onto the leather desk. "These rogue countries leaving the Euro Zone have totally fucked us. Spain, Italy, and Greece are bankrupt economies now, and we're too interconnected with the world for it
not
to have an impact. Germany has gone into recession, and the smaller countries are descending into total anarchy. The civil unrest is barbaric, and we need to do what we can to prevent that from happening here."

Frowning like he was battling a migraine, Chris said, "So to prevent civil unrest here, you make people unemployed?"

"I'm sorry. I don't even know if I'll have a job at the end of this."

Looking at the picture on the desk of Dick with his fat wife and fat son, Chris' lip lifted in a snarl, and he said, "You'll be okay. You'll do what you've always done..." Clearly expecting a compliment, Dick's heavy face fell limp when Chris said, "You'll live off Daddy."

Slapping his chubby hands onto his desk, Dick pushed himself to his feet, his chair scuttling out behind him. He then leant forwards, his little blue eyes boring into his worker.

Clenching his jaw, Chris' eyes narrowed. "You don't intimidate me, fat man. Especially as I no longer work for you. You're a sad man that sits in here with your finger up your arse all day thinking that you do something important. You don't. You're a puppet for your daddy and the rest of the board. They employed you to do their dirty work. That's it. It's not because they think you have something to offer. You follow their instructions to the letter because you're not capable of making your own decisions. I wouldn't mind betting that you don't even understand half of the things you say to people."

"How dare you?"

"Shut up, Dick, you fat loser! Sit your fat arse down and listen to what I have to say--you may learn something."

For a moment, Chris was surprised that Dick did as he was ordered to. Then he remembered that he spent his whole life following orders.

"The way you speak to women isn't okay. It's cringe-worthy. You hide behind the façade of being fat as if that makes you a non-threat, but you clearly have the libido of a rapist. The only thing I've seen you slobber over more is food!"

Looking like he wanted to lash out but not feeling brave enough, Dick remained still, his mouth hanging slightly open, a lump of pork sitting on his thick tongue.

"You call the unfortunate countries PIGS--"

"Portugal, Ireland, Greece, and Spain--"

"I know why you call them that, you fucking idiot, but take a long hard look in the mirror. You're trotters away from being porcine yourself."

"Hang on, Chris, they're destroying Europe's economy."

"A select few have. That's my point. You condemn a whole country because of some bad decisions made in government or in the banks. The only thing stopping us being like them is that we have a more robust economy."

Looking at the chair on the opposite side of the desk to Dick, the chair that was never offered to him when he went into the fat man's room, Chris kicked it as hard as he could. It scooted across the room before toppling and crashing to the floor.

Opening and closing his mouth, Dick then sputtered, "Y... you'll pay, pay for th... that. It'll come out of your wages."

Running his arm along the desk, hurling everything from computer, to phone, to the tray of ribs to the floor, Chris moved his face so close to Dick's that he could feel his body heat and taste his lunch. With malice seething through him and his face on fire, Chris saw fear in Dick's recoiling body. It felt good to see. He then growled, "Fuck you. Get a fucking life. I hope you end up out on your ear, you fat fucking waste of space!"

Lingering for a moment and enjoying the fact that the huge man was flinching from his wrath, despite the smell of meat he had to endure, Chris then turned and walked out of his room.

The fear of the future would come, but Chris chose to enjoy the moment. With a smile on his face, he listened to Dick shout after him, "Don't ask me for a reference!"

Flipping the fat man the bird without even turning around to look at him, he walked away with a bounce in his step. For the first time in years, he felt like he was the master of his life. For the first time in years, his permanent headache lifted.

Action

"I should have seen it coming, Michael." Chris dragged a heavy hand through his hair that left a residue of grease on his palm like he'd just stroked a dirty dog. His breathing ran away from him and his frantic blue eyes looked at the floor as if searching for bugs. He blurted out random statements. "I'm such an idiot. We shouldn't have stayed here. I'm so sorry. I should have acted on my fears." He froze and his eyes glazed, filling with water that sent a solitary tear down each cheek when he blinked. The small amount of light in their dingy room glistened off the trails left behind.

The wide eyes of his little boy stared back at his manic father like he didn't recognize him. His small mouth hung half-open and he stood still, a confused snapshot of himself.

"I've condemned this family with my actions." His heart felt like it would pop, and his mind spiraled. "What have I done? Why was I such an idiot?" His thoughts were a runaway train. "I could have acted. I could have got us away at any point. We could have taken to the road. Why did I just sit around and wait?"

It took Michael speaking to break through the chaos in Chris' mind. "I'm scared, Dad."

Parental responsibility took over and shone a light through his mental fog. When he bent down and held his little boy's cold face, he could feel him trembling. Looking around their perpetually twilit room, Chris' eyes settled on one of his jumpers, and he picked it up from the floor. Handing it to Michael, he then stared into his eyes.

"I'm scared too." The silence consumed the pair, and Chris spoke, more because he had to rather than because he believed in what he was saying. "But don't worry, we'll make something happen, I promise. Now put this on, you're freezing."

Turning his back on the messy room, Chris looked out of the window again and Michael asked, "What's happening? Where are the men?"

"They're scavenging. They've all rushed into the house."

"Tommy's house?"

"Yep. They're stealing everything they can." The curtain moved next to him, changing the direction of the cold breeze. "Be careful not to move the curtain too much, mate. We can't afford for them to notice you."

While the other men were in the house, Dean walked over to the pick-up with the women in. The way he walked, his slow and measured steps, showed just how drunk he was on the power of his new existence. Every pair of eyes in the back of the truck watched him like animals scared of their tyrannical master. The fear in their faces seemed to be based on memory rather than fabrication, their glazed eyes showing they'd been to places they were desperately trying not to think about. A cold chill ran through Chris.

Michael said, "I hope they don't find Mum and Matilda while they're out looting."

Every time Michael spoke about his mum and sister, Chris' heart twisted with guilt. He should have done more. He should have seen it coming. After closing his eyes and drawing a heavy sigh, he placed his hand on his son's head and said, "I'm sure they won't."

Stood next to the truck, Dean shouted at the men in the house, "Don't forget candles, can openers, and anything that can start a fire!" He then turned his attention back to the women and licked his lips as a leering grin opened up on his bloodstained face. He continued to stare at them as he added, "Sex toys would be good too!"

Some of the women balked at his comment, but most of them didn't seem to hear it through the chaos of their own distress. Some of them looked like you could put an active grenade in their hand and they wouldn't notice.

Looking at the suited lunatic's face, his matted beard and blood-covered cheeks, Chris saw dead eyes loaded with a sociopathic detachment. This man was beyond reason and could not be appealed to. Seeing George, who was the only other man still outside, and the way he was looking at Dean, the mistrust emanating from him reinforced Chris' hope that this man's empathy would provide their salvation. That was if Chris couldn't get them away before they needed to rely on assistance.

The curtain shimmered again from Michael's movement, and Chris was about to tell him off until he realized he was doing it to get closer to him. The pressure of his boy leaning into his legs nearly threw him off balance, and he was now shivering more than before. Michael then said, "What will he do?"

With a rapidly drying throat, Chris looked at the hammer in Dean's hand, which was sticky with blood, and said, "I really don't know." He then added, "But you should look away."

Dropping to the floor, Michael leant against the cold radiator and pulled his knees into his chest as Chris watched.

Waving the hammer at the women didn't seem to get much of a reaction, and the only one showing any sign of lucidity was Marie, who was sobbing heavily.

When Dean ran the hammer along the cage, throwing an angry rattle around the quiet cul-de-sac, some of the women recoiled, but their blank stares didn't register where the noise was coming from. The smile fell from Dean's face because he clearly wasn't getting the reaction he desired. "Come on!" he shouted and smashed his hammer against the cage, denting some of the sturdy bars. "Wake up for fuck's sake!"

Taking it further, Dean poked the handle through the bars, jabbing some of the women with it. He used enough force to break ribs if the connection was right, which on a couple of pokes it looked like it was. Each one jumped, but only one or two of them made a sound, as most of them were beyond that. It was like they shared one broken mind.

Feeling a tug on his trouser leg, Chris looked down again to see his son's wide blue eyes staring up at him, and his little voice asked, "What are we going to do? I don't want to die."

Dropping away from the window, Chris slid down next to his son and hugged him. He wanted to tell him that he wouldn't die. He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. He wanted to... A plan then came to mind and he asked, "Where does Mummy keep rope?"

"Rope?"

"Yep."

"Why do we need rope?"

"I have a plan. It will stop them doing anything horrible to either of us."

Looking from one of his dad's eyes to the other, searching for the meaning of his unspoken plan, Michael raised an eyebrow and offered, "Maybe under the stairs?"

"Right, let's go." Standing up, Chris took his son's hand and led him out of the room. On the way out, one of the duvets on the floor wrapped around Michael's feet and he fell over. Lifting him up again, Chris said, "Let's go, mate, we haven't got much time."

It was so cold in the rest of the house that they could see their own breath. When Chris turned to check that his son had put the jumper on, he nearly tripped over the discarded vacuum cleaner directly outside the room. To Chris and Michael, this was the clearest sign of chaos.

Michael stared at it for a moment, and when he looked up, his cheeks were damp with tears. "Why did she try and hoover yesterday? We haven't had electricity for months."

Diane had spent all of the previous day pushing the vacuum cleaner up and down the house while sobbing. She even tried to replicate the sound it made. It had scared the children, especially when they found her outside the bedroom covering the same square foot of carpet for over an hour.

BOOK: Crash
3.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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