Feral!

By D.C. Brockwell

How far would you go to protect your loved ones?

When mild-mannered parking enforcement officer, Nigel Platt, meets his new neighbour, Callum Bowman, he smells trouble. After an altercation, during which Nigel is forced to issue a parking fine to Callum, he realises just how much trouble the head of the Bowman clan can be.

Larger than life, Callum and his sons deal drugs openly in front of their house, making life miserable for the local residents. When Nigel's wife asks him to call the police, they do nothing.

After his wife and daughter are threatened by the Bowmans, Nigel decides to take matters into his own hands. And street vengeance is a recipe he knows only too well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: May 11, 2022

Book preview

1

T hat’s time, please. If you’d kindly finish your drinks, I’d appreciate it. Edward Eddie Russell’s booming voice drowned out the music, chatter, and laughter for a couple of seconds.

Nigel Platt smiled at the inevitable groans from the regulars sitting around tables in front of the bar. Every Friday was the same: groans and complaints at kicking-out time. The regulars at his local, The White Hart, were creatures of habit, if nothing else. Same again, please, Tara. He handed his empty pint glass to the bubbly bar girl he’d talked to for most of the night. Cheers.

Hiding behind a pillar, like he did every Friday night, he had a clear view of his neighbour, Callum Bowman, the guy who’d spent the last year and a half making his life a living hell. After five beers, about to tuck into his sixth, Nigel vacated his stool and joined everyone in the main bar. He sat on a stool facing Callum’s table, the alcohol giving him courage, especially as his next-door neighbour’s friends were almost as bad as Callum himself.

Hey, it’s Jobsworth. Where’d you come from? Haven’t seen you all night. Callum stood and saluted him with his near-empty pint glass. Wearing a white shirt, dark blue jeans, and black shoes, Callum was dressed for a night on the town.

He hides behind that pillar every Friday night. Callum’s best friend laughed at him with the rest of his brain-dead mates. Finally plucked up the courage, huh?

Come and join us, Jobsworth. Callum beckoned him over.

Waving the invite away, Nigel grinned. You’re alright. Thanks anyway.

He turned back to the bar, watching Tara wipe the bar down. Behind him, Callum talked about him with his lackeys, who laughed at him. When Tara rolled her eyes, he rolled his eyes with her.

At twenty-five past midnight, Eddie the landlord started pestering the locals to leave, including Callum and his guests. Tara, a well-built brunette, helped her boss evacuate Callum’s mates, leaving only the mountain himself to get rid of. Nigel checked the toilets for stragglers, giving Eddie the thumbs-up. All clear.

You can go now, Tara. Thanks for your help. Eddie opened the side door for her. When she asked if he needed help kicking out Callum, he shook his head. Nah, we’ve got it. Thanks. I’ll see you next Friday.

Back on his stool, Nigel took a large gulp of his lager. Right on cue, Callum stood next to him at the bar. He turned his head, nodded, and smiled. Alright?

Nigel had never hated a person as much as he hated his next-door neighbour. This guy, this muscular white shirt standing to his right, had waged a campaign of terror against his family the likes of which no one should have to endure. Why was Callum smiling at him and saying Alright?

Nigel’s smile wasn’t in greeting; he knew what was coming.

He turned on his stool to look at Eddie. You locking us in, then, mate?

Looks like it. You two are always the last to leave. Eddie walked behind the bar and poured them a pint of lager each. We’ll have to go upstairs, though. The cozzers love doing surprise visits on the weekends. They see lights on past half-twelve, they start knocking. Let me close the pub down.

The last thing Nigel wanted to do was chat with a pissed Callum. As planned, his neighbour started talking to him about football. Nigel was a huge Pompey fan, to Callum’s Scummers (Southampton). Portsmouth lost last Saturday to the MK Dons, which pleased Southampton-born Callum no end.

Nigel laughed along with it, cringing inside, wanting nothing more than to smash the base of the empty bottle on the bar top and stick it in Callum’s ugly face. What he’d give to be a thug.

Feeling the effects of the lager, he joined Eddie and Callum behind the bar, through the glass-wash room, and upstairs to the flat above the pub. He and Eddie entertained Callum, plying him with cans of Stella into the early hours. The more his neighbour drank, the nicer he became, apologizing to Nigel for calling him Jobsworth and all the other nasty shit he’d done. Nigel almost laughed in his face when Callum held his hand out.

About time you two buried the hatchet. Eddie passed Callum another can.

I am sorry, Jobs…I mean Nige. Callum’s words slurred. You’re alright.

Nigel had to listen to Callum’s bullshit until he’d drained the can. Callum’s face was redder than normal.

Where are you going, mate? Nigel picked up the can and rattled it. You want another one? Eddie’s got more in the fridge.

Nah, I think I’ve had enough. Callum almost toppled over and he steadied himself. I’m going home to my bitch of a wife for some nookie. He laughed, staggered away from the sofa, almost collapsing into the TV.

Eddie glanced at Nigel. The landlord, a huge twenty-stone monster of a man, waited for his assistance in getting Callum downstairs to the pub area. Come on, Callum, we’ll get you home, mate. I’m sorry I’ve never had you for a lock-in before. You’re alright, mate.

Having sobered up since the pub was open, Nigel took Callum’s muscular right arm and put it around his neck. I see who’s eaten all the pies. How much do you weigh?

Oi, you cheeky fucker! Callum took his arms back, waved Nigel and Eddie off, and stood on his own two feet at the top of the stairs. It’s okay. I got this.

Nigel had waited for this for too long. When Callum took his first step towards the stairs, Nigel hooked his foot around Callum’s right ankle so he couldn’t put his right foot out in front of him. Instead, Callum lurched forward, falling down the steep stairs.

With a whistle, Nigel made a point of stepping on each stair on the way down. That looked like quite the tumble. His neighbour was either dead, or unconscious, or so he thought until he heard Callum’s groan. He saw the blood seeping through his neighbour’s jeans. His left leg was broken. Nigel could see a lump in the material, meaning bone had punctured tissue.

You’re fucking dead! You hear me? Dead! Callum grimaced in both pain and anger.

Eddie grabbed Nigel’s shoulder when he was on the fifth from bottom stair. That’s just great! What the fuck are we going to do now? He was supposed to die in the fall, mate. That’s how we planned it. Get him shit-faced and throw him down the stairs, you said. Now his boys are going to come after both of us.

Staring down at Callum’s angry face, Nigel took his mobile out of his jeans pocket. Relax, will you, Eddie? For Christ’s sake, this was factored into. He grinned at his neighbour, who had no idea what was coming.

What the hell are you talking about? What was factored in? You said he’ll take a tumble, die in the fall, we’ll call the ambulance, chat to the cops, and that’s that. What the fuck are we going to do now?

Nigel put his hand up to shush Eddie while he spoke on his phone. Yeah, it’s me. We’re going to need your help after all. Yeah, like we spoke about. Is he dead? He grinned down at Callum. Not yet, but he will be in about five minutes.

Putting his mobile on speakerphone, Nigel watched Callum’s eyes grow wide. Someone wants a word with you, mate.

The voice told Callum how he’d warned him to stay away from Nigel, and now he was off the leash. Nigel cherished the fear in Callum’s eyes. He switched off his phone.

Who the fuck are you? You’re not just a traffic warden, are you? Callum grimaced at the pain in his broken leg.

You’re about to find out, aren’t you? Nigel squatted beside his broken neighbour. You and your whole feral fucking family. You’re all going to find out.

Callum matched his stare, his eyes narrow slits of hatred. I knew I should’ve dealt with you sooner, you piece of shit.

With a sly smile, Nigel stood and regarded his victim. Eddie, grab his legs, yeah? We’ll do this down in the cellar.

He bent down, took hold of Callum’s arms, and carried the big guy to the cellar door. Start as we mean to go on. He rolled Callum off the top stair, and watched his neighbour fall down twenty concrete steps.

Surprised, but glad that Callum was still conscious, Nigel pulled him into the center of the dingy beer cellar. He was surrounded by kegs of lager, cider, and ale. He loved the dank, stale beer smell; it beat the farm smell he’d grown accustomed to a lifetime ago.

Here we are. Now what? Eddie studied Callum’s bloody face.

Towering over his physically superior neighbour, Nigel saw only a man who’d tormented him for months. Now we do what we came here to do. He noted the fear in Eddie’s eyes. See ya, Callum.

You don’t have to do this, Nige, please. Callum stared at him with pleading eyes. We can go our separate ways, please.

Nigel lifted his right foot up, and brought it down, smashing into his neighbour’s face. It’s a bit late for all that, don’t you think? His rubber sole broke Callum’s nose, which was now flat and covered in crimson. The second stomp broke Callum’s two central incisors. Blood covered his face. Callum groaned.

Stop! Stop! This is your fucking plan? Kick him to death in my cellar? You’re going to get blood everywhere, for Christ’s sake.

What do you suggest? He’ll be here in about ten minutes, mate, and he’s expecting a dead body. Either help, or back off.

I know. Wait here! Don’t keep stamping on his face.

Eddie ran upstairs, in as much as Nigel could call it running. His best friend came back down carrying a plastic Tesco carrier bag and a power cord from a laptop. Here, this is much cleaner. We won’t have to spend hours mopping his shit up, will we?

Taking the bag and cord, Nigel sat behind Callum, lifted his head, and wrapped the plastic bag around it. He pulled it tight, Callum’s mouth sucking in the plastic. He took the cord, wrapped it around his neighbour’s throat twice, and pulled it as hard as he could, straining with the force, remembering the day Callum and Sarah Bowman moved in next door like it was yesterday.

17 MONTHS EARLIER

JANUARY

2

It was a chilly but clear day in mid-January. His old neighbours had moved the weekend before, leaving the four-story, three-bedroom, terraced house vacant for little under a week.

The removal van pulled up outside Nigel's driveway first, followed closely by two cars, Callum's Jaguar XJ6, and his eldest son Philip's metallic blue Nissan Skyline.

Nigel's first impression of his new neighbours wasn't favourable. Laura, come take a look at this. They're here. He waited for his wife to join him in watching from their daughter Hannah's bedroom window on the first floor. Look, they parked outside our drive.

With a sigh, Laura shrugged. Cut them some slack, would you! It's their moving-in day. I'm sure they're just getting ready to start. I bet the van will park on their drive in a minute. If not, we'll give them a few hours. It's not like you need the driveway for anything; it's Saturday morning. She put her arm around his shoulder, kissed his temple. Don't make this one of your little crusades, please? It'd be nice to get on with at least one of our neighbours.

What do you mean by that? I get on with our neighbours. He turned as she went to walk out of the room. Honey! I do. I get on with everyone on this bit of street.

Laura scoffed. If you say so. You don't like any of them. You thought George was a weirdo before he and Janice moved. Now you've got a bee in your bonnet about this lot, and you've not even met them yet.

There was no skating around the fact his wife was right. Since moving to the west side of Sultan Road, Buckland five years ago, Nigel could count on one hand how many of his neighbours he liked. Four, and one of those had died last spring.

Laura asked him to reserve judgment until he'd at least met them. As she walked out of Hannah's bedroom, he replied that he would. It'll be good. You'll see. They'll be the best damn neighbours we've ever had. He only wished he believed it.

What's all the yelling about? Hannah, his seventeen-year-old daughter, strolled in, plonking her elbows on the windowsill next to him. Ooh, are they our new neighbours?

Hannah took after her mum, thankfully, with long ginger hair, a pale complexion, freckles, and the daintiest little button nose. Even with a stud in her right nostril, she was still pretty, or at least he thought so. He hated the tattoo she'd had done last summer, but what could he do? She was nearly eighteen, almost an adult. They sure are.

When the father opened the door to his Jaguar and stood up, Nigel saw how big the guy was. Colossal. He had to be six feet two, or three. When he did finally meet his neighbour, Nigel was sure his five feet nine would feel inferior next to that.

The wife / mum exited the car next. Nigel watched the tall, leggy blonde stand up. He thought she would be a looker if she hadn’t sprayed the makeup on. Even from up on the first floor, he could see she was too made up. He didn't think they went well as a couple. She was obviously his trophy wife.

Both rear doors of the Jaguar opened. Nigel watched as a young girl appeared. She had long dark hair, hoop earrings, and chewing gum. Chewers were one of Nigel's biggest hang-ups, not the least because gum got everywhere, especially in parking meters. The first thing he thought when looking at her was that her face looked like a dog chewing a wasp. She didn’t look happy.

Her brother of a similar age seemed to take great delight in annoying her. Nigel noticed Hannah's attention spike when he got out of the Jaguar and stood there brooding, with short dark hair, sharp eyes, and cheekbones he could hang things off.

Nigel didn't like the way Hannah stared at him. He especially didn't like the way she asked, Who's that?

Parked behind the Jaguar, two lads in their twenties sat listening to music. Nigel heard it through triple-strength glazing. He could feel the bass, dreading to think how it would feel outside or even in the car itself. When their father beckoned them, the music went quiet and both doors opened in unison.

How many of them are there? He didn't expect an answer from his apparently smitten Hannah. It's only a three-bedroom place.

The two elder lads were in their early to mid- twenties, Nigel estimated, not that he was great at guessing ages. If anyone ever asked him to gauge their age, he played it safe every time: Oh, not a day over twenty-one. It always made them laugh, which pleased him.

Are we going to introduce ourselves? Hannah asked with enthusiasm.

What are we, the welcoming committee? Not a chance. We'll let them unpack, then go and say hello. We don't want to look like nosey neighbours, do we?

Hannah stared at her feet. I guess not, but what about friendly neighbours? Can we look like friendly neighbours?

Oh, really? It's not because you fancy that lad, no? He despaired of his second-born. She was always after boys. They were all she and her friends ever talked about. She worried him, and a lot. He didn't remember spending every moment he had talking to his mates at school about girls, certainly not like Hannah talked about boys anyway.

Huh? Him? Pssht, she replied, the noise she made dismissive. He's alright, I guess, if you like that strong, chiselled cheek look. He's not my cup of tea.

His daughter was a terrible liar. Yeah, well, he's too old for you. You're better off looking at boys your own age. I'm not letting you out with the likes of him.

Hannah pouted. What? That's not fair. You don't know anything about him.

What does it matter? You said yourself he's not your type.

When his daughter stormed out of her bedroom to complain to her mum, Nigel grinned. Going back to the window, he watched the removals guys open the back of their van, using the winch to bring boxes to ground level.

I don't believe it! They're unpacking. He knew it! Laura thought they would reverse into the neighbours' drive, but no, they just blocked his drive instead. His promise to Laura was the only thing stopping him from marching out there.

Watching the father from the first floor of his terraced house, Nigel noticed the respect he commanded from his boys, but not the girl. She stropped and strutted about. The boys, however, did as they were told. Even the eldest, who was nearly as tall, but skinny, skipped to it whenever his old man barked an order. Nigel couldn't tell if it was out of respect or fear.

Just when the negativity almost took over, he remembered his promise to Laura. Don't judge them until he'd at least met them. He might be doing the family a grave disservice; they might be lovely people, but he doubted it.

3

Laura Platt couldn't believe how judgmental her husband was sometimes; he was awful. He'd not met the new neighbours yet, and already he was convinced they were out to cause trouble.

That wasn't how she viewed them. While Nigel was in the lounge listening to records through his headphones, she'd watched the comings and goings next door, too. Hannah had joined her, as it was her bedroom.

I don't understand your dad sometimes, love. They seem like perfectly ordinary people to me.

Oh, I don't know. He looks anything but. She grinned, gesturing to the youngest lad, who was helping to carry boxes from the removals van.

Ignoring her daughter's overactive hormones, and fully aware of her meaning, Laura ignored her comment and studied the husband / dad. He was muscular, strong of body and facially attractive in a Neanderthal, massive-jaw kind of way. If history had taught her anything, it was that she wasn't suited to these kinds of guys. But there was something about this one.

Oh shit! He suddenly looked up at her from his driveway.

Turning and dropping to the carpet, her head below the windowsill, she and Hannah laughed, hoping and praying he hadn’t seen them fall to the floor. Once their laughter abated, she sat up. Right, enough of this. Let's go and introduce ourselves, yeah? This is silly. I feel like a naughty schoolgirl.

It's dad's fault. He was all like, 'We're not going to be nosey neighbours.' Her impression of Nigel was spot-on. She made the same funny noise in her throat, too.

The best impersonation of him yet. You've found your calling, honey, Laura said with a giggle.

Getting up, she walked out of Hannah's bedroom into the lounge, where her husband sat listening to his vinyl. She tapped the top of his headphones, surprising him. Come on, we're going to introduce ourselves. Are you coming?

You what? No, we're not. Forget it. We'll say hello when we actually bump into them, alright? He put his headset back on.

Standing with hands on her hips, Laura tapped her foot, waiting for him to see the impatience on her face. Irritably, she whipped his headphones off. Come on, you're joining us, too, Nigel. You can come back to your music later. Frank Sinatra will still be here when you get back.

Her husband's love of the crooners tickled her, especially as he couldn't hold a note himself if his life depended on it. Come on! Up you get. She held her hands out.

With a grumble, Nigel got up. Fine. But if we're going out there, at least let me go out first and act like I'm going to the garage or something. It'll look more natural.

It was all about appearances to her husband, always had been. Since she’d met him at college, he'd always been into labels, decent cars, the latest gadgets, even jewellery. She loved the way he’d looked back then. He'd since filled out, had a slight paunch. It suited him, the extra weight. Fine! If you must.

Downstairs in the hallway, she put her shoes on while Nigel ventured outside to the garage for some tools. Waiting in the porch with Hannah, she heard him talking to someone. When no signal came, she nodded at her daughter. Come on!

On their driveway, Nigel was speaking to the father. Honey, did you find the hammer? she asked her husband. She smiled at her new neighbour. He was taller in person, towering over her and her husband. Oh hi! Laura Platt. Pleased to meet you. She held her hand out.

The huge mountain of a man took hold of her hand in his massive slab and shook it for a bit longer than was necessary. Callum Bowman, and the pleasure's mine. He winked at her so fleetingly, she almost didn’t see it. Let me introduce you to my lot.

She stood next to Nigel as Hannah ventured out and joined them on the other side of her. When her neighbour bellowed at his family to come out, the whole street seemed to take note. Callum was a very charismatic man. She could tell from shaking his hand. While waiting for his rabble to come out, Laura introduced her daughter.

Wow! Such striking women. You're a lucky guy, Nige. Callum put his arm around his wife. This blond beauty is Sarah. These are the Platts, honey. This is Nigel, Laura, and their beautiful daughter, Hannah.

I adore your hair, both of you. That ginger, it's so natural. Quite stunning. Sarah Bowman shook Laura's hand, smiled, and stood back as if she was on display.

Her new neighbour was pretty, except she wore too much makeup, which detracted from her beauty. Up close, though, using her imagination, Laura could see a stunning woman beneath the cosmetics. Sarah, you have such a beautiful smile. Doesn't she, Nige?

Maybe she was overdoing the sickly sweet, but to hell with it, she wanted to get on with them. They'd had a rather lacklustre relationship with the previous tenants of the house. Her husband smiled, agreeing with her.

And this tall streak of piss here, is our oldest, Pip. It's Philip, but don't ever call him it or he'll smash your teeth in. Callum laughed hard. No, but seriously, don't, or he will beat the shit out of you. The last bloke who called him Philip was in hospital for two weeks drinking his dinner through a straw.

Laura chuckled with him, wondering if Callum was joking. She assumed he was, although she had a problem understanding people's sense of humour sometimes, even Nigel's, and she'd known him since she was sixteen. Hi! Pleased to meet you.

The eldest sort of smiled, then strolled over to the van and took another box before going back inside. He was another six-footer, Laura guessed. No charisma, though, not like his dad.

Here he comes! Rob, get your arse over here, boy. Callum grabbed his son and presented him. Our second oldest, Robert. He goes by Rob, but hates Bob.

Callum's second eldest followed his brother's lead, grabbing a box and heading indoors.

It was nice meeting you. Laura received no reply.

And finally, we have the twins. They're not really twins, obviously, but we call them that—they've always been put together. This is my youngest son Ben, or Benji. He's about Hannah's age, I think. You're seventeen, right, my love?

Her daughter nodded. Eighteen next month.

Benji's eighteen in May, so you're a few months older.

Hi! Hannah hid half her face behind her long ginger hair.

Laura almost said something when Benji wandered over to the van to pick up a box. She thought it rude he didn’t acknowledge Hannah’s greeting. She felt bad for her daughter, who was being polite. And who might this be?

Laura, meet Katie, our youngest. Katie's fifteen, going through her GCSEs. She's been predicted sevens, eights, and nines. We're expecting big things from you, aren't we, Katie?

The affection in Callum's face showed Laura everything she needed to know. Here was a good man. He might be a little rough, talking about his eldest beating people up, but beneath that gruff facade was a genuine man. Hi Katie. Hannah finished her GCSEs a couple of years ago, didn't you, honey? Like you, she came away with eights and nines.

Nothing. Callum's darling daughter continued chewing her gum while looking her up and down like she was a piece of shit on her shoe. Katie gave Hannah the same treatment before her dad let her go and retrieve a small box from the van.

You have a beautiful family. Laura smiled as best she could.

As do you. Is Hannah your one and only? Callum put his arm around Sarah's shoulder, then turned his attention to Katie. Don't pick up a heavy one, honey. Leave those for the boys. And tell them to get a move on, will you? He turned back to Laura.

Oh no. Anthony, our eldest, he's at work until lunchtime. She turned when a car beeped its horn. Speak of the devil. Here he is now. Nige, would you tell him to find a space further down until the van moves, please.

It would have been common courtesy for Callum or Sarah to apologise for their removal van covering the entrance to their drive, but they didn't. Callum smiled at her, to which she reciprocated, while Nigel ran over to their son's old Fiesta, leaned in the passenger window, and asked him to park elsewhere.

Where does Anthony work? Callum appeared interested.

Laura felt funny about telling him. It's just an in-between job while he's considering his options. He works shifts at the Tesco Express over by Guildhall Square.

The one by the station?

That's the one.

She noticed a smug look of satisfaction on Callum's face.

4

Anthony Tony Platt found the tiniest of spaces up the road from his house on the other side of the street, in front of one of his neighbours' houses. The old couple living there didn't own a car and he was on friendly terms with them, often stopping to have a chat to them about their garden or whatever they felt like talking about. Looking out of the rear window, he saw his new