‘Well, what am I supposed to do?’ Muzzi said.
‘Laugh?’
‘Please, Wolfy …’ he implored.
‘Alright, Muzzi, don’t worry. I’m only playing.’ I was feeling a tad guilty. Although I’d agreed to help, I really just wanted to run off with Tabatha and do something else; anything else. ‘Here, Muzzi. Call these guys they do scaffolding. They'll get it down.’
‘Cheers, Wolfy.’
‘No worries. Okay, hand me some gloves.’
He got me some gloves and the scrubbing began, we worked hard all morning, working our way from room to room. We reached the downstairs lounge. We’d left the worst till last.
‘Look at that. What’s wrong with people?’ One of Muzzi’s fancy armchairs was wedged solidly in the fireplace. And I do mean in the fireplace.
Boom-Boom and Curtis grabbed it and started to pull it out, with me supervising. As they wrenched it from the enclosure, from behind the chair a screeching ball of soot and hell fury came flying towards me, raging through the air like some hellish banshee.
Reaching into my pocket, and with uncharacteristic coolness, I pulled out the tranq gun and shot the beast clean out of the air. Seriously, no bollocks. Pop! One of those moments of sheer ice-cool calmness, which you had no idea you could do.
Everyone was impressed. Even Curtis knew right then and there I was the coolest man in the room.
Muzzi was the only one who wasn’t impressed which, frankly, was rather unfair. All I needed to do was spin the gun and I was Wyatt Earp. He had figured out what it was that I had pop-shot straight out the air. A cat. I would have been happy to leave it as some kind of demonic hell spawn. The shot was worthy of it being some minion of Satan, not some mangy cat covered in soot.
Muzzi instantly recognised the crumpled fur as Cholera, the beloved cat of his — let’s not beat around the bush — nutty-as-a-fruit cake neighbour, Mrs Milkie.
Cholera was her cat and named ‘Cholera’ as he, the cat, was the reincarnation of Marigold Milkie’s dead husband, and cholera was the disease that killed him.
So far so clear. Now Muzzi was quite annoyed with the state of Cholera.
‘Wolfy, what have you done? You've killed Cholera.’
‘I think you mean cured,’ Curtis butted in.
‘Did I? I'm a hero!’ I said, playing along.
‘Nobel Prize for you, babes,’ Tabatha jumped in quickly.
‘This is no laughing matter.’ Muzzi had his serious hat on.
‘It's a tranq gun, Muzzi. It's just asleep. It’ll be fine when it wakes up.’
‘I don't know, Wolfy. He fell from quite high.’
‘I know. Did you see?’ I mimicked my classic moves once more.
‘Enough, Wolfy. It was only good once,’ Tabatha said, giving me a dirty look.
‘Sorry, babe,’ I replied.
This whole married couple thing had really started. She was giving me orders, true wifey style. It didn't announce itself with a klaxon or anything but it had definitely arrived. We hadn't gone for curtains, but it was coming. And to be honest I was looking forward to it.
‘C’est la vie.’ Yes, French. I was on a roll.
‘I better clean him up and take him back.’ Muzzi said apologetically.
‘It's a girl by the way.’ Tabatha flung out indiscriminately.
‘How do you know? Are you sure?’ Muzzi responded, more worried than I think he should have been, if you ask me.
‘Takes one to know one,’ Tabatha replied haughtily.
We carried on with our cleaning, with me feeling happy I’d shot the bugger, until I saw the soot she'd left over my newly cleaned carpet.
Not as enjoyably as before, I re-vacuumed the carpet. During which time Muzzi had washed Cholera, who had recovered consciousness enough to recognise me and start hissing hysterically.
‘I’m going to take him ... her next door,’ Muzzi fumbled.
‘Woof!’ I replied unhelpfully at the cat. ‘I hate cats.’ I said to no one in particular once Muzzi and Cholera had left the house.
‘That's ‘cos you’re a wolf,’ Curtis quipped.
‘Oh yeah. I never thought of that ... it would explain the odd bit if I'm a wolf.’
‘Like what?’ Tabatha challenged mockingly.
‘I don't know. The fact I like hot women in red dresses off to see grandma,’ I said giving her the eye.
‘I better be careful before I get eaten,’ Tabatha returned huskily.
‘Getting eaten is just the beginning,’ I flipped back.
‘Really? What a big appetite you have,’ she stepped closer to me.
‘It's not the only big thing I've got for you.’
‘Oh, I know that I know you got ...’
‘ME IS ’ERE!’ Curtis blasted across in full Patois. ‘Me is ’ere, me nah need to say nah more. Me not explain it. It not need explaining. Me is ’ere!’ he proclaimed standing between us. ‘Me is ’ere! And you two need to be somewhere else. Me nah watch you.’
‘Yes, sorry, Curtis mate,’ I said, still looking lustfully at Tabatha.
‘Yes, sorry Curtis,’ Tabatha agreed, while staring at me.
‘I think we should go.’
‘Yes.’ It was all she said and all I needed to hear.
‘Let's go.’ I said grabbing her arm and leading her out of the house and towards Betsy.
As we were about to come out the front door filled with carnal lust, Muzzi burst back in with that mangy moggy, which on seeing me started spitting and struggling, desperately trying to lays claws upon me.
‘Woof!’ I growled.
‘Wolfy, stop it!’ Muzzi chastised.
‘He started it.’ I replied with mock indignation. ‘Why is he still here?’
‘That's why I came back. She's gone! Something's wrong with Mrs Milkie.’
‘I know. She's bonkers.’
‘She’s not bonkers she's ... um ... different.’
‘Yeah, differently bonkers. Nutty crackpot. Lovely woman, very polite, but mad mental.’
‘She's in trouble.’ Muzzi implored. ‘She's wrote a note.’
‘It's probably to the cat.’
‘It is.’ Muzzi returned not detecting my scorn.
‘What?’ Tabatha stated bemused. She didn't know Mrs Milkie and was unsure whether I was just teasing Muzzi.
‘She wrote this note to Mr Milkie,’ he said, waving an expensive looking piece of paper above his head. As he did his grip on the cat loosened and the crazy beast made a lunge, narrowly missing me.
‘Look,’ Muzzi uttered excitedly. ‘It's to her husband.’
‘The cat.’ I interjected scornfully.
‘What?’ Tabatha and Curtis simultaneously replied.
‘The cat, isn't it, Muzzi?’
‘Um … yes.’
‘She wrote a letter to the cat?’ Tabatha asked, confused.
‘No, no,’ Muzzi hurried. ‘It's to her husband.’
‘Who she thinks is the cat,’ I emphasised.
‘What?’ Curtis and Tabatha exclaimed again.
‘She thinks the cat’s her husband. Like I said … bonkers, absolutely bonkers.’ Making sure the emphasis was directly at Muzzi, who looked down in embarrassment.
‘Anyway, Muzzi, carry on. What does it say, this letter to the cat?’
‘Okay.’ Muzzi was excited. He was involved in a mystery. ‘Ahem,’ he cleared his throat. Muzzi was getting far too carried away.
‘Dear Mr Milkie …’
‘She calls her husband Mr Milkie?’ Tabatha enquired.
‘Bonkers! Why is nobody listening? I keep saying it; the woman is bonkers, b-o-n-k-e-r-s! Bonkeeeeerrrrrrrs!’
‘We get you.’ Tabatha said calming me.
‘Are you sure, ’cos I can say it again if you want.’
‘No, we get it. Bonkers.’
‘Okay, cool.’
‘Please continue, Muzzi,’ Tabatha directed.
‘Okay … um … okay, sorry. It says:
Dear Mr Milkie
I write this letter to you in the chance you have escaped, as you did in Burma; should be easier now with claws.’
‘Bonkers.’
‘Wolfy, shut up!’
‘Sorry, bab.’
‘If you have escaped, your dinner’s in the tray and I will be back soon. If not, I have seen your kidnapper in a large green lorry. I have borrowed Mr Murphy's skip lorry and will come and get you. I heard the scoundrel tell Mrs Dotter that he was heading towards Bath. I will catch him and I will save you, Mr Milkie. yours sincerely Mrs Milkie’
‘Alright bonkers,’ Tabatha said. ‘What skip lorry?’
‘Mr Murphy who lives in the squat down the road; the one that's always trying to sell carpets. He's got a skip lorry.’
‘I saw a skip lorry about fifteen minutes ago, when I was emptying the bins,’ Curtis added unhelpfully.
‘That must have been her,’ Muzzi stammered. ‘If we go now we can still catch her.’
‘That's lovely,’ I said. ‘Okay, Tabs, you ready? I think it's time to go.’
‘You can't leave,’ Muzzi implored. ‘We’ve got to go and get her.’
‘No, we don't.’
‘We do, Wolfy. We’re responsible. If it wasn't for us trapping the cat she wouldn't have gone off.’
‘No. She wouldn't have gone off if she wasn't bonkers. She says she's stolen a skip lorry. I don't need to explain why I'm not getting involved. It's a batty old woman and a cat. It’s your show, Muzzi. See you later.’
‘Wolfy, please. Tabatha, please. Come on, Wolfy. You shot Cholera. You have a responsibility to this innocent creature.’
‘I have a responsibility to put it in a sack and fling it in the river.’
‘Oh my god, Wolfy. I can't believe you just said that. It's an innocent creature.’
‘Hell Spawn.’
‘Wolfy ... are you going to help this dear old woman who has lost her cat?’
‘No. Muzzi. I am not going to help the dear old woman who’s lost her cat, because she's bonkers.’
‘Fine then. I'll do it alone,’ Muzzi huffed, snatching my car keys from Tabatha’s hand and, running out, slamming the door behind him.
By the time I'd realised what had happened, Muzzi had already opened the car door and was climbing in, cat in one hand, my keys in the other.
‘Oi, Muzzi! Don't you dare! Don't you dare start that engine.’
He started the engine.
‘Don't put it into gear.’
He put it in gear.
‘Don't move it, Muzzi. I'm not joking. Don't move my car.’
He moved … he bloody moved.
Muzzi drove off in search of Marigold Milkie, in my car, with an evil cat smiling at me from the passenger seat.
‘Curtis, get your car.’
‘Are you mad? I’m not chasing them.’
‘You’re the big mouth with ‘I saw a skip lorry’, and if you want your cut of the rocks you’ll start the engine.’
‘Wolfy, that's not funny.’
‘Start the engine and follow my car.’
Curtis mumbled something evil and started his car, an old battered Fiesta. We piled in and followed Betsy.
‘I'm going to kill, Muzzi. I'm a bad man now you know.’ Nobody really took this seriously.
‘It's okay, bab. We'll get Betsy back.’
‘Oh I know.’ I pronounced with mock confidence. ‘And when we do, I'm going to kill Muzzi.’
This was a serious thing; my car is my pride and joy I love my car, I've named my car. Turtle wax, regular vacuum out. I love my car. I built that car. Muzzi knew all this and stole my car.
‘I'll kill him.’
‘Calm down, bab. It's Muzzi. He's on a crusade. It’s okay. We'll sort it.’
We followed down towards Hammersmith and into Twickenham, heading towards Bath, trailing Muzzi and that mangy cat.
‘If that cat pisses on my seats, no joke, I’m getting a sack,’ I said to no one in particular.
‘What’s happening with the rocks, Wolfy, now that you’ve threatened me with them?’
‘Yeah, sorry about that, Curt. They’re meant to be moving tomorrow. We have to nick the donkeys when they’re delivered. Now catch up to Betsy.’
‘That’s the plan?’
‘Well, you can always try getting them from the warehouse, where the police are surrounding them. Drive faster.’
‘Fair enough. Is that the skip lorry?’
Marigold Milkie was indeed in a skip lorry, following a green HGV. Muzzi was behind her. apologising to me through the window of my car, while I was doing much swearing at Muzzi through the window of Curtis’ car.
This nonsense continued for about fifteen miles until the green HGV pulled in at a service station, followed by Mrs Milkie in the skip lorry, Muzzi in Betsy and then us.
As the driver of the lorry climbed out of his cab, oblivious to the chaos surrounding him, Marigold Milkie leapt — and I do mean leapt — out of the skip lorry. Wielding a brown and green tartan pattern carpet bag, she charged at the lorry driver screaming.
‘Give back my Cholera! Give back my husband.’
His reflexes were better then you would've expected as he dodged the first swing. It did take him off balance though, sending him tumbling to the ground.
‘No! Mrs Milkie, stop!’ wailed Muzzi, dashing towards her and running from us simultaneously.
‘I have Cholera,’ he uttered, which I can't deny got him some funny looks in the service station. A lot of people took a couple of steps back.
‘What?’ she doddered. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Muzzi.’ She did her best old granny voice; sweet little granny about to murder a lorry driver outside the Happy Chef … because of a cat.
Bonkers!
‘Mrs Milkie, I've found your cat.’
‘Oh thank you, Mr Muzzi. I was sure this ruffian had taken Mr Milkie.’
‘What?’ stammered the dumbfounded driver. ‘What's going on?’
By now we had caught up. Muzzi was deliberately putting Mrs Milkie between him and me. Curtis helped up the driver.
Mrs Milkie grabbed the mangy beast from Muzzi.
‘I think it's time I took you home,’ Muzzi took Mrs Milkie's hand and led her back to my car. Just as I realised what was happening my phone rang.
I was going to ignore it. Muzzi was trying to drive off in my car again and he was hoping that the old woman he was hiding behind was going to stop me shooting him.
The phone was still ringing, it was persistent. I couldn't ignore it no more and flipped it out. It was Tommy.
‘Tommy?’ I panicked.
‘Finally, Wolfy! They’re moving.’
‘What? You said three days. They should be moving tomorrow.’
‘You said to tell you when they moved the piñatas. They’re moving them now. If you want, I can call back tomorrow.’
‘Now’s great, Tommy.’
‘I've got the manifest. You need a pen.’
‘Tabatha, Curtis, you got a pen?’
Neither of them did, nor did the driver who was still hanging around confused by the old granny madness.
‘Send it to my phone, Tommy.’
‘As you wish. I’ll add it to your bill.’ Tommy really was a mean bugger.
‘Cheers, Tommy.’
As I had been talking, Muzzi had bundled Marigold Milkie and that ratty cat back into my car again and was preparing to drive off.
‘Oi!’ I said, ready to give chase.
‘Later, Wolfy.’ Tabatha grabbed my arm and gave me a scary look. ‘Leave it till later. Right now we have to get to the donkeys.’
‘Damn right!’ Curtis concurred.
‘Fine ... fine,’ I said.
The phone beeped to signal Tommy's manifest list.
‘Bollocks!’ I said once I’d read it. ‘They’re on three different vans.’
‘We need to split up. Curtis, you take one, I’ll take one and you take one,’ Tabatha ordered.
‘How? We’ve
only got one car and the deliveries are all over the city.’
‘Curtis takes his car, I’ll take the skip lorry, and you go with this guy.’ She pointed at the lorry driver.
‘Eh?’ he said.
‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ I said to him. ‘Curt, take Wembley. Tabs, take Stockwell, and I’ll do Poplar.’ I gave them the addresses. ‘Can you drive a skip lorry?’
‘I can drive anything.’ She smiled.
‘We’re going to Poplar,’ I told the driver.
‘But I’ve got a delivery in Bath.’
‘You want the granny to come back?’
He shook his head. I was going to bribe him but when I realised how scared of Marigold Milkie he was, I thought it best just to threaten him.
We jumped in the cab and headed to Poplar. It was on … again!
The driver’s name was Marion and he was a genuinely nice bloke. I realised why Marigold Milkie had presumed he’d stolen her cat the second I got in the cab. On the dash staring straight at me was a large stuffed toy cat; Bagpuss, the cat from the TV show.
I explained about Mrs Milkie, refraining from the ‘bonkers’ talk as Marion said she reminded him of his mother. Considering how she tried to kill him with a carpet bag I let that one slide.
He bombed through London like his life depended on it, which was even more impressive when you consider he had no idea why he was going to Poplar.
We’d just reached Camberwell when the phone rang. It was Curtis. He’d recovered a piñata. He explained miserably the efforts he’d gone to, to retrieve it. The piñata had already been delivered by the time he reached and was hanging up in the restaurant above the diners’ heads preparing to be smashed.
He ran into the restaurant screaming like some mad man.
‘You've stole my blurtclart donkey!’ The whole place panicked, so shocked by his crazy man act that, by the time they realised that he’d ripped the donkey from the ceiling and run off with it, he was already driving away.
‘My one’s empty.’ He grumbled over the phone.
‘Never mind. That means it’s either me or Tabs. Catch us up.’ I wasn't overly disappointed really. I wanted to find them. There's no honour among thieves, even lovers, and that many pretty rocks can change a person.
It was really on now. It was between me and Tabatha and I desperately wanted to win.
The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series) Page 12