by Wez Wallie
"Exactly, Ms Walker, well said, dere."
Dotty's claw-like hand was reaching out to the back of the deceiver's head, like it operated beyond her control, and she wanted to rip the wig off the old fraud and expose her in front of the whole hall. But a hunched over witch-like wench sitting beside the mark caught her and smacked her hand away with a huff. Ooh, you git! she thought, before making her way to the bathroom to calm down and prepare a subtle take-out.
Her stomach was rumbling again as she dumped her handbag in the sink and began loading up three more poison darts that she had got from the library into a slot in her cane. They were small and fiddly, and she ended up dropping two down the plughole as her stomach kept churning.
"Fack it!!" Oh, just kill me now... she thought, as her jelly belly began making groaning noises.
"Ooh, what are those, dearie, insulin shots?" asked some rando bag lady, who looked like she smelled like a toilet naturally. "Ooh, I know all about them, dear. Tricky things, do you need a hand, my sweet?"
Dotty whacked her paw away from the fragile plastic pellets filled with lethal venom.
"No, no I've got it but thank you random woman in a Bingo lavatory."
The Hitnan had no time for the usual nicey-nice act as she began to sweat through her clenching arse cheeks. The problem was her rectum muscles were not as strong as they used to be...
She had finally threaded the dart into the tiny side-socket Peader had carved into the cane’s internal cartridge system when she looked up in the mirror with wide bulging eyes.
Uh oh, she thought. The brown Rubicon had been passed, and the Day of Judgement was here.
She started ushering the little bag lady out with an increasingly forceful shoving motion. "Go on, you better get orff, love: I need to take a steaming dump and it's about to get looser than a liberal's morals in here!"
She leant into the left stall which was locked and occupied:
"Oi, what's your game?!" cried an elderly voice from behind the door.
"Sorry - it's an emergency!"
She threw herself into the adjoining stall and without even looking at the state of the seat she smacked down hard on the bog and let more missiles loose than Kim Jong-Un at a 4th of July celebration.
"Knew I shouldn't have let Marion cook!" she moaned between the splashdowns. "What the frig even is Kale anyway?"
"It's a leafy green plant-based veg with antioxidants. Cabbage-y, Ms Walker, very good fer ye, like."
"Get off the line, Peter, I'm having a big shite!"
"Aw, sorry Ms Walker - enjoy."
The botty-fumes released were so bad she almost gassed herself, but luckily she always came prepared on Bingo night and remembered to bring an oxygen mask - usually reserved for when the stench of old fogey gets too much to bear. Unfortunately, the lady in the stall beside her was not so lucky, and Dotty watched her from underneath the crack gasping for air as she began crawling on the floor toward the door, knickerless and clutching at her throat.
Sorry! Dotty thought, breathing through her mask as the old woman passed out and went limp.
"Bloody 'ell - Kale is facking lethal! Marion's sure got a lot to answer for!"
She rolled up some tissue and almost knocked herself out again at the sight of ground zero - the bowl looking like a terrorist bomb had gone off and had caused a devastating mudslide, with an ash cloud so steaming it had petrified little bodies into quiet brown lumps, forever calked and staring up into a savage sky and cursing the volcanic gods; like Mount Vesuvius once buried Pompeii, her mounted butt now buried her whey.
"Cor, I needed that, son."
Some of the shite was so green around the edges it seemed borderline radioactive, emitting a strange emerald glow and a smouldering rising heat you could end up roasting smores on. She spent ten minutes hosing herself down with wet wipes before pulling the chain, and legends say one dollop even achieved momentary sentience as it drowned in the flush - screaming "goodbye, cruel world!" - as it was washed away to be food for the fishes.
She stepped out from the scene of the crime and over the still limp figure of the old timer she had just gassed.
"Bloody hell love, it weren't that bad!" She removed her oxygen mask, but quickly fixed it back into place. "Fack me, alright, I'll give you that one."
Better let her sleep it off, then.
She washed her hands and moved the persistent lump with her foot so she could get the door open, the body seeming very stiff and strangely cold.
She got her cane out and ready. Right, let's get back in the game; I'm gonna enjoy doing this one in!
As she went back out into the main hall, a bizarre visage filled her sight: all hundred or so silver tops were all slumped in their seats, mouths agape but unsnoring, and the room was cold and quiet.
Sweet Jemima’s Vagina!!
She walked between the tables and felt for some pulses. Nothing. They were all dead!
How did this happen?! she thought in horror. It was only Kale!
Even the bag lady had croaked, and all her possessions had spilled out onto the floor in front of her, which just seemed to be piles and piles of more scrunched-up bags for some reason.
She looked back at the table where the mark was - she was as dead as the rest of them. Suspiciously, however, she found the seat next to her was the only one in the whole room that was now empty.
"Peter! We've got a real problem on our hands, boy!" she said into her wrist-wire, breathing heavy through the mask.
"Me too, Ms Walker - me bowels exploded in de cab, here! I'm sittin' in a mountain of squelch!" cried Peader’s panicked voice, coming back over the line. "I knew I shouldn't have secretly added habanero chilli oil ta Miss Mal's Kale broth!"
"Never mind that, Peter - the old folks, they're... they're all facking dead, son!"
"What! But Ms Walker! Ye were only meant ta blow de bloody fraud up!
"Yes, fanks Michael friggin' Caine!"
"I mean dat figuratively! It was supposed ta be a quiet stick, discreet like usual."
"I didn't do this, Peter! I like a bit of fun, but I wouldn't kill a bunch of innocent people who were not the target! You know that, boy. I don't know what's happened here!"
"It's everywhere, Ms Walker! It's drippin' from de ceiling... aww, it's even in de bleedin' vents here!"
"Turn on the air conditioning then, get the smell out."
"Good idea, Ms Walker."
A moment passed.
"NAW MS WALKER - DAT WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA!
ARGH, IT'S IN ME EYES! IT BUUUURRRRRNNNNSSSS!!"
Suddenly, she spotted a flash of movement in her periphery by the door. A hunched old woman stood by the entrance, half in shadow and staring straight at her with a smirk.
"I've got eyes on the killer, Peter," she whispered into her wrist. "She's a fellow fogey who's topped everyone somehow and -"
The Hitnan gasped as the figure stood up straight, removed her wig and mask and casually threw down her crutch. Standing in the open doorway and half lit by the pale moon and golden streetlight, was a tall and slender slightly younger woman, with a silver pink-streaked pixie cut that Dotty instantly recognised: her archenemy!
"TILDA COONTIN’ MAFFEWS!"
Tilda let out a satisfied cackle as she waved mockingly and blew her a kiss: "Enjoy your crime-scene, Dorothy-boo!"
And with a balletic pirouette, she disappeared into the evening rain, leaving Dotty once again in the middle of big shit, (with not enough wet wipes to clean it up).
Peader's coarse and strained voice came back over the radio: "Ma’am? Ms Walker ma'am, what's going on dere? Oh, dat's funny - a bunch of police vans just pulled up outside de gaff..."
"We're in a little spot of bother, Peter," she said, staring ahead in stunned whisper, "and this time, I may not have enough Youtube money to bail us out."
Chapter 6
"Yep," she heard the officers talking, "the initial reports from the fire service confirmed your suspicions, Sarge - carbon monoxide
leak, poor saps."
"Thought so. Seen it a few times before. Gosh, the press are gonna have a field day with this. Anyway, what do they reckon - accidental, or have we got something sinister going on, lad?"
"Sinister, Sarge? Who'd want to top a load of Bingo cronies? I think they're still working on that but there's nothing to suggest foul play at this stage."
"Good work, lad."
The copper walked over to Dotty in the back of the ambulance, who was wrapped up warm in a foil blanket with Peader's grimy arm around her rubbing her chilly back, his shitty pants stuffed inside one of the bag lady's 10p Asda bags-for-life splodged on his lap.
"Well now," said the tall black chap peering down at his notepad, and then further down to the pair. "You are a very lucky lady, Mrs Walker."
"Ms. My husband sadly passed away."
"Apologies, madam. Your fellow peers however were not so lucky, I'm afraid. You are the only survivor tonight."
She cried into her hanky and blew snot to make it appear wet. "Oh dear, that's awful!"
"Oh, Mr Policeman! Say it ain't so!"
Peader had to seriously work on his acting skills. He also had a serious case of bloodshot eyes going on from the earlier air-vent incident, but he just told the handsome officer it was due to all the soppy crying he did after seeing all the bodies and that.
"My colleague states your boy found you in the hall, ma’am, sitting amongst the stiffs with an oxygen mask fixed to your face?"
"Yes, I have difficulty breathing sometimes, dear..."
"It's totally not suspicious at all!" Peader cried out in panic, as Dotty glared around from behind her hanky.
The youthful copper turned to Peader. "You call the police, did you, boy?"
"Oh um, yes I did. I came ta pick up me granny here, but den I came in ta find dem all snoozin', like. It's only when I noticed de complimentary wine gums were still on de table at de end of de night I t'ought, 'someting ain't right here', y'know?"
"That's strange," replied the puzzled officer, flipping back through his notes. "Dispatch said it was a woman who phoned it in..."
Peader sat up and responded in a higher feminine tone: "I have a very girly voice when I am a wee bit frightened, it has been said..."
"Ah, makes sense," said the Policeman.
Dotty just cringed and fake cried some more.
"Did you notice anything strange before people began passing out, Ms Walker?"
"No, officer. I just thought they were all falling asleep as most of them tend to do every week... actually, now you mention it, there was a chap who seemed to be hallucinating before the incident - the Caller himself it was, Colin something or other. Yes, he was also clearly deeply depressed and upset - one could almost say suicidal - before he made an early exit!"
Dotty had to think quick to pass the buck. Luckily, this Colin fella was a perfect stooge to take the fall.
"Really? How interesting - he was deeply depressed and left early you say...?"
"Yes sir, but not necessarily left but was thrown out. He actually had a bit of a meltdown on stage when calling the numbers and the boss made him leave - it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he had set himself up to die tonight by sabotaging the gas lines and taking us all with him."
"Depressed people can be very cowardly, yer Honour!" Dotty elbowed Peader to shut up.
"Blimey, okay, well that is very good information, thank you both. We shall follow this up tomorrow morning."
The officer made some remaining touches to his notes.
Dotty tried to increase the stooge's level of guilt: "His wife took his tadpoles in the divorce apparently."
"She never?!"
"Yep."
"Tadpoles?!"
"I know, I know."
The Sergeant paused sorrowfully a moment. "Imagine depriving a man of seeing his fresh-water spawn flourish to fully grown-uppy frogs. Gosh, no wonder he went nuts and tried to top himself in a Bingo hall."
They all looked away in pensive silence for a moment.
"Well anyway, it's been a long night and I am sure you both just want to get home and tucked up in bed. The EMTs say your lungs are fine so you are free to go, Ms Walker. Oh, my name's Sergeant Jones, by the way. You've got my number if you remember anything else at all."
She studied the card he handed her. “You’re a bit young to be a Sergeant, aren’t you, dear?”
“Oh, um, thank you? I’m 45, though.”
“Cor, you look half your age! What’s your secret for such a youthful visage?”
“Ye can’t ask him dat, Ms Walker! Besides, it’s like dat Prince fella said: ‘ye know de black don’t crack, but de beige ages.’ Or someting like dat…”
“Is that why you keep doing blackface, Peter? To look younger?”
“Naw, Ms Walker! Dose are just unfortunate misunderstandings!”
The Sergeant just giggled, whilst stroking his smooth chin. “He’s right you know. Anyway, I’ll be getting off, now.”
Dotty smiled and raised her oxygen mask to the sky gratefully. Peader's lap was getting damp which reminded him:
"Speakin’ of crack, t'anks again fer lendin' me yer pants, officer sergeant."
"No problem, sir. I did exactly what you did the day I saw my first dead body at a crime scene. So I always carry extras."
"...Couldn't you have given him the spare ones then?" asked Dotty, bemusedly.
He just stared. "But then they wouldn't be warm, Ms Walker..." The Sergeant just chuckled to himself like she had asked a stupid question and waltzed off back under the cordon tape.
Peader turned to Dotty: "He's right ye know."
"Shut up and bring the cab around, fool, you almost got us busted there."
"I'm sorry Ms Walker, I don't do too well under pressure, like. Dat's why I'm just de Handler!" She shook her head and sparked up a smokey. "Naw Ms Walker - ye were doing so well, like!"
"Peter. I just had a near death experience, my flabby friend. Me life flashed before my eyes. The least you can let me do is have a nice ciggie to burn away the crushing disappointment that was those five seconds.”
Across the road, paps had arrived and were taking shots of Dotty with their long lenses.
*
The pair were driving back and Dotty had her oxygen mask on again, though Peader himself was close to passing out in the lingering stench of his own muck.
Even with the windows down it was deadly, and the night air chilled their bones as they drove.
"Cor, you weren't joking about the ceiling..." she said quietly from the back seat, trying to avoid the fast-forming stalactites of shite freezing in the cold and drooping down toward her head.
"Sorry, Ms Walker. Hey, it was lucky I moved de cab so quick, or dat would have been embarrassing having ta explain all dis to de coppahs, dere! Speaking of, dese pants are well itchy. Must be 'cos I'm not used ta boxer shorts, eh."
Dotty just stared out of the window.
"So are ye gonna tell me what de situation was back dere?" he asked, trying to catch her eye in the rear-view mirror.
Dotty was quiet, possibly deep in thought.
"Ms Walker?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Peter."
"I kinda need ta know who dis Tilda Matt'ews lady is doe, Ms Walker, if we are ta be workin' tagedder, like."
Peader's tone was becoming serious, which only made Dotty more defensive.
"It's not your concern, Peter."
Peader slammed on the brakes and pulled over on the side of a quiet road.
He got out and climbed into the back with Dotty, who just shook her head in impatience.
"Now listen, Ms Walker. What happened back dere affects both of us, y'understand? So at de very least as yer Handler, I have a right ta know if somebody is targeting us so I can do me job, as well as quite frankly protectin' meself. But as a friend, Ms Walker... I'd hope ye'd confide in me fer support if nuttin' else."
Dotty took a moment to think; sighed and nodded.
; "Her name is Tilda Matthews. Like me, she was an assassin, and a damn fine one too given I taught her everything she knows. She was once my best friend and protégée, turned archrival when she shagged my husband and betrayed me."
"Gosh, dat's terrible."
"Oh, she'll play the nicey-nicey act but make no mistake - she's a cold-hearted witch of a woman. Decades ago, the apprentice grew cocky and began to believe I was holding her back and left my first Handler for dead whilst trying to beat me to a target."
Peader gulped.
"Single, ambitious and unrestrained by responsibilities, she was eventually awarded with big CIA contracts in America. She was off doing high profile gigs for the Yanks as I retired to raise a family, which gave her a monopoly on the industry and an insufferable ego to boot. But now she's returned to London and invading my turf."
"Blimey. Who's her Handler den?"
"She's never had one. She thought she was above the system. She's a fierce and independent woman who makes her own tools and plays by her own rules."
Peader's cap was coming down and edging toward his crotch again.
"She tried to destroy my life and was rewarded by top brass for it, so it's been war between us ever since. I hate her. I hate her guts and I hate the microbes within her guts, and I hate her gut-microbes microbes’ guts."
"I bet. So how come I've never heard of her, den? I been wit ye almost 18 months now, Ms Walker. Dis would'a been important info ta know, like. A Handler and Agent are not supposed ta keep secrets from each odder - dat's liderally page 1 of de Agency handbook, see!"
He held up a copy of the Bognor guidebook that he received upon graduation, but it was caked in excrement, so Dotty chucked the rule book out the window and leant in close: "Listen Peter, it's no coincidence she's here just as I'm getting back in the game. She tried to kill me tonight, along with the mark. She's trying to take out the competition, lad. This ain't no game and she ain't playing around, so neither can we. We have to fight fire with fire. We can't afford to do things by the book; we can't be predictable. Don't underestimate Tilda Maffews. I trained her after all."