by Wez Wallie
"Turkish."
"So not a lot?"
"A little. Gus taught me some key basic phrases to keep him in line. Like, 'Hi. Benim adım Shonny,' and, 'Birleşik Krallık'ta sincaplar kahvaltı için değildir.' That one I have to use quite a lot unfortunately."
"Sometimes I forget you are eight years old."
"I just like learning languages. I'm doing French, German, Spanish, English, Latin and now Turkish!"
"Well, you're in luck then 'cos you're gonna be staying with Uncle Gus for a little while longer. The house is still blown up and mummy is still dressed up like a proper Mummy in bandages!"
"Okay, nanna. I can learn more phrases in Turkish! Like, "Just because you can make a bow and arrow from twigs doesn't mean you should," and "That's not a Squirrel, it's a Terrier puppy so please spit it out before they call the cops."
"You know, the more I talk to you Shonny, the more I am reminded of the end of the movie Orphan. It ain'alf make my bum clench."
"Haha, nanna, you are silly."
Dotty stared into the eyes of the girl for a brief moment, wondering how much could be an act given she is a language prodigy yet seems to play dumb more often than her grandmother was comfortable with…
"Alrightey, well, Nanna has to shoot orff now, but here's some new felt tips for your colourings and make-up practising."
The young Turkish lad looked up from the tea-towel and spotted the pens, before running out the back screaming "Fockedy me!"
Apparently, that was the same in Turkish as well.
*
Back at the house, Peader had been secretly working on a new gadget, which was able to track certain energy signatures when properly calibrated. He had programmed it to search for a specific tracking device he had shot into Tilda's skin back at the café and it had worked a treat! Given it hadn't actually taken too long to find the general location of the Widowmaker, he then spent the rest of the day watching an adult version of Countdown that Robert the Builder had brought over, and like two naughty schoolboys they had spent hours trying to work out the celebrity’s name for the anagram "PERIODIC ANAL ODOR." (Matt Damon was somehow their first guess.)
Dotty arrived home and slammed the door behind her, causing a pile of dust to fall over the lad's heads on the couch, leaving baldy-builder Robert looking like he was wearing a white skullcap on the top of his noggin.
"Shalom," said Dotty sarcastically, as she walked into the rubble of the living room.
"Nah can't be," replied Robert, confused. "It's got a 'P' in it."
"Hey now, Ms Walker. D'ye see we put de couch back upright and fixed de TV - doesn't it feel good as new now?"
"Not really, Peter, I don't remember having a brick collection in the centre of the room. Oh Robert, aren't you supposed to be fixing up the kitchen, dearie?"
"Yeah, calm ya sprouts luv, was just on a break when Peady-boy here asked me to solve this anagram, and for the life of us we just can't work it out! Gawd, it's getting right on my jubblies! (tits)"
Dotty took one look at the dusty screen: "Leonardo DiCaprio."
"Aww of course, Ms Walker! Doe I t'ought fer shure it was gonna be Benny Affleck, like!"
"You've been inhaling too much ceiling dust, my friend."
"Sit here, Mrs Walker, I'll pop back in the kitchen and finish the tiling," said Robert, itching his scalp and walking out.
"Ms Walker. And yes, thank you ever so much, dearie."
Dotty fell back into the scorched sofa and rested her legs on the pile of bricks.
"Please tell me you found my archnemesis who tried to kill me, and haven't just been chatting shite with a rando builder all day?"
"Naw, Ms Walker. I found her easy. I fergot ta tell ye, like, but remember when she came ta see ye in Gus's café a few weeks ago? Well, I took de opportunity ta shoot a tracking device inta her neck before she left!"
"I wondered what you were doing with that straw. Wow. I'm impressed."
"Heh hey. Not as gormless as I look, am I, ma'am!"
"Well, I wouldn't go that far; you did choke on a flump."
Dotty slapped her palm to her forehead: "Balls. I knew there was something I forgot."
"Was it Shonny? I don't see her anywhere come ta tink of it."
"No. She wanted to stay with Gus for a bit longer as she wants to learn more turkey language from Gus's cousin. I tried to get her to come home, but you know how stubborn she can be."
"Aye, I know dat, like. Gets it from her modder. Ah. I'll give Miss Mal a call later dis afternoon, see how's she's geddin' on."
"We just saw her this morning."
"I know Ms Walker, but she might need more grapes or someting. And I don't want her ta be too lonely."
"You could take her a few bricks next time you go. Should keep her occupied for a few hours... honestly, you coulda cleaned these up today!"
"Honestly, I was tinkin' it could be a centrepiece, like. A trendy artwork, like all de kids have in dere studio flats nowdays."
"Did Robert put that idea in your head?"
"Naw. Well, he jus' mentioned his nephew was doing Art at Uni and all de kids were havin' dem. I t'ought maybe we could be cool as well. But fine, I'll get rid of dem when we get back from ripping Ms Tilda a new arsehole, like."
"Good point. Grab your shit and let's go fack this bitch up."
He shot up: "Right ye are, Ms Walker! Vengeance shall be served ice cold an' on a plate dis very evening! Naw seriously, it's gonna be very chilly tanight so here, let's get dis 'round yer..." Peader helped her into her warm snood and black-furred coat.
"Ta, love. Right - it's payback time!"
Chapter 12
Peader was hanging off the back of Dotty's wheelchair whilst staring down at his brand-new tracking device, which he had cobbled together using Shonny's old Etchersketch and a T-Mobile SIM card, which was somehow able to uplink to the Russian MIR satellite station and triangulate Tilda's position on Google Maps. (Apparently that meant the orbiter was still up there!)
"Blimey," Dotty called behind her, "did they teach you all that at the Agency training school, Peter?"
"Peader ma’am, and naw, Ms Walker, I used ta watch a lot of McGuyver as a kid and I swear ye can make an Etchersketch do pretty much anyting if ye stuff enough SIM cards in its slots."
The black dot that marked their position seemed to be closing in on the red dot of Tilda's energy signature on the Etchersketch’s pimped-up HUD display. Pips of rain splashed down onto the screen as he tried to wipe it with his sleeve.
"Right, well are we nearly there, boy, 'cos it's starting to piddle.”
Peader looked up at the greying clouds. "Almost, Ms Walker. Sorry about all dis, I feel awful - I can walk if it helps?"
"You walk at a snail's pace on a good day, and whilst you're staring at that fing you'd only be slowing us both down. Besides, gotta keep me knuckles in tip-top condition for when I use 'em to spin Tilda's jaw!"
Dotty continued wheeling them both down the lane, her powerful wrists thundering across the metal rims as the rubber burned into the pavement.
"It's a shame we didn't bring Wheely McWheelface - it has a thruster engine in de rear so it could get us dere in no time!"
"Well you got this standard one out of the cab, ya silly git!"
"- 5000. Sorry, I jus' get confused sometimes as ta which is de regular council-provided equipment, and which is de upgraded Peader Seamus-Manus-Dreyfus’ jobbie-buggy. I should probably at least paint dem a different colour or put a wee sticker on dem... Anyway, we need ta go slow enough ta get a good signal, so de cab was outta de question."
"You don't go past 26mph in that fing anyway."
Suddenly, the Etchersketch made a 'Binging' noise as the flashing dots were almost atop each other. "STOP MS WALKER - Here we are, now!"
Dotty slammed her leathery palms against the wheels 'til steam erupted and she drift-skidded around the bendy corner of Wellfield Lane.
Drizzle was spitting lightly as they sat opposite a building
site. The Hitnan put on her plastic rain bonnet and Peader realised too late he had brought along a roll of black bin bags in place of his Kagool. (He slung one over his head anyway.)
Most of the labourers had gone home for the day as Dotty wheeled them across the "MEN AT WORK" cordon and over the rocky terrain.
"Well, well," echoed a posh voice from within the second level of the partially built five-storey concrete frame. "If it isn't Rain Bonnet and portly Clyde, ridin' to save the day in their spaz chariot. What the chardonnay are you two doing here?"
Peader recognised the voice and gaining his balance, he raised himself up on the back of the wheelchair to look at where he thought the sound was coming from:
"We came fer a bloody revenge!"
"I'm up here, you cinnamon crêpe."
Peader pulled back the bin bag from blowing all over his face in the wind until it eventually blew away completely, leaving him bare to the blowy elements and a light piddle. He squinted through the wetting air to see Tilda standing tall and proud in her leopard-print trench coat and signature red beret, hands on hip about 20ft above them. "Ah, dere ye are, so."
Dotty began wheeling them further toward the building, but the wheels punctured across the rocks, sending Peader arse over tit and into the freshly lain concrete pool in front of them.
"Aw, feck."
The Hitnan went red and leaned forward in the chair: "Peter! Oi, Peter! Stop mucking about in that swimmy pool - you're making me look a right twat!"
"Sorry, Ms Walker!"
He ran back over with a squelch and hopped on the rear again with his sopping clothes. Dotty's tongue was fixed to her cheek as she determinedly tried to force the wheels over the sand and stony detritus.
Tilda waited and watched them for nine solid minutes as her nemeses tried to clamber their chair over to exact their exalted revenge.
"Shall... shall I come down to you, dears? Would that make things easier?" she asked at last, and rather earnestly.
"Yes, if you could, fackface," The Hitnan called back up, "otherwise we'll be here all bleedin' afternoon."
Tilda let out a patronising chuckle and did a totally unnecessary pirouette in self-satisfied glee, before making her way down the new-born staircase.
Dotty was struggling to get out of the seat. She called behind her: "You gonna stand back there all day or are ya gonna get me up, boy?"
"I'm sorry, Ms Walker, I tink de concrete has begun ta set - I can't move me arms or legs, like!"
"WHAT?!"
Dotty turned in the seat. Sure enough, Peader was stood up on the back of Dotty's wheelchair, frozen and stuck in place with his arms extended out, like a cross between a Celtic scarecrow and a hairy Kate Winslet off Titanic.
"Why did you have your arms out??"
"I t'ought it would be de best way ta dry off!"
"You don't want it to dry - it's fackin' concrete, ya tool!"
"It's gettin' pretty chilly out here now, Ms Walker... me nips are getting particularly stiff again..."
Dotty whipped back around. "Shut it - she's coming."
Tilda approached with a smug smirk as she flicked a button under her trusty beret and out popped a small thin column that suddenly sprung out some tarp, until it eventually became one of them comically ridiculous umbrella hats.
"Hehe," Dotty laughed. "I thought you were supposed to be the classy one!"
"Unfortunately for you, one can't buy class, Dorothy. But one can purchase sensible head gear for conditions of sudden precipitation." She then noticed Peader and his... situation. "Ooh, what's this - your boy offering free hugs now, Dorothy?"
"Don't be stupid, woman. He - we - you see - actually, I can't explain it. Honestly, you could see us struggling down here yet you just stand and watch like we're mugs or sumfing! Come on, get me up, me hip's killing me."
"What was that, Dorothy-boo? Must suck to be so old and crippled... oh, how the mighty hath fallen." replied Tilda, bending down with a smirk.
"Yes, so very old and frail these days, Maffews..." she lied, luring her prey in with the classic trust act. "Just get me up; go on, grab me arms there, watch the 'ip, that's it."
Tilda's stringy limbs heaved up her foe as Dotty patted the sandy dust particles off her coat and suddenly reached up at her enemy's throat:
"Right, listen 'ere ya little scrote! You're gonna pay for blowing up me gaff, as well as for putting my daughter in the hospital."
Peader called over from the back of the wheelchair: "Oh, and tell her another criteria fer why she is also going ta pay, is because she also blew off yer feckin' eyebrows, like!"
Tilda looked down bemused at the small hairs growing back. "Did I? Those look plucked to me."
"Look, shut it, the pair of ya! What you did Tilda crossed a line! I would never bring family into it."
Tilda merely scoffed.
"Not that you would ever know anything about family or having loved ones to lose."
"There's literally a reason for that. Because strong people like me exploit weak people like you. The less liabilities one has, the less vulnerable one is to one's enemies. It's really very simple, darling."
"I ain't weak!"
"Do you want to just lower your hands to clutch my shoulders instead, sweetie, it's just your arms do look rather tired stretching all the way up here like that."
Dotty guffawed in disbelief. "You're a piece of work, Tilda coontin' Maffews! Curse your mum for porking them giraffes! You - you're..." Dotty's fingers went lax and slid down the neck and across the clavicle to rest on Tilda's bony shoulders. "...Yes actually I will, but only because I've made my point now."
"Of course, dearie."
"Well, you're gonna see how weak I am when I open a can of whoop-ass on you right here, right now! Wait, that didn't come out quite right."
"You know what? I rather think it did." Tilda threw a lanky arm into Dotty's belly, pushing her back into the seat of the wheelchair, her legs flying up into the air and almost kicking poor Peader in the goolies behind.
She tried to catch her breath and looked up to see Peader's gormless upside-down face standing over her. "It's okey, Ms Walker, yer just a bit winded, dere. Breathe wit me now: iiin and oout, iiin and -"
Tilda lobbed a small, discarded cone at his face and he went straight to sleep, still in the upright Titanic pose.
The Hitnan heaved herself up this time and lunged at Tilda, knocking her down to the sandy pit and employing a good few thwacks of a leathery backhand to the botoxed cheeks of her rival.
"Shouldn't you be doing that to my face rather than my bottom?!"
"Shut it, you twonk - I'll smack a bitch up however I please!"
Dotty continued spanking Tilda Matthews within the sand pit when Peader woke up, developed a raging lob-on and passed out again in the blood rush.
Tilda flipped over and grabbed Dotty by her neckcloth, The Hitnan now being strangled by her cosy Primark snood. ("Not me snood, not me snood!") But then a well-placed elbow to the rib released the noose's grip. They stood opposite, circling each other.
"You can't win, Tilda. I taught ya everyfing you know!"
"You think? Well here's something new!"
Tilda grabbed a handful of grit and threw it in Dotty's eyes. "Ooh, you rotten thing!" Tilda gave her a sharp kick for good measure and dusted herself down as she got back up.
The Hitnan rubbed her red eyes as she parried more blows from Tilda's stretch-armstrong-ian figure, before they regrouped and began to circle each other again.
"What are you even doing here on a building site, Tilda Maffews?"
Tilda shrugged. "Maybe I was lining up a target a few blocks over. Maybe I was admiring the men at work. None of your business, Dorothy-boo."
"Great. So you saying we found your perv-palace?"
Tilda just gave her the longest middle finger you've ever seen. "Guessing you found me with some sort of tracing agent, eh? A pheromone booster poured into my café tea when I was fixing my make-up? A tiny chip slipped in
to my pocket from under the table, perhaps?"
"Nah. Peter spat a locator into your neck through a straw at the caffy."
She touched the red and still itchy side of her neck. "Ah. I thought that was from an insect nip, or just from being around plebs too long."
"Bet you got a lotta red marks after that boat crew had their way with you, heh, heh. Not bad for a couple of unwashed deplorables, eh?"
"Yes, well played," she said. "But I can just use a localized EMP to disarm the tracker. You won't find me again."
"I won't need to - you're going in that concrete in a mo. But right now, I'm more interested in how you got outta that boat situation?"
"Used my wits and womanly charms, Dorothy. By dawn, the lads were like putty in my hands, and I simply waltzed out the front plank. Yes, talents of seduction, Dorothy-boo. You wouldn't know anything about that."
"Bullshit. I taught you everyfing you know."
"Well then, that certainly worked out well for your husband, didn't it."
"Ooh you evil -" The Hitnan whipped off her coat and began unclipping her hearing aids from her ears, like a bitch from the Bronx preserving her earrings: "HOLD ME BACK, PETER! HOOOLD ME BACK, SON, I'M GON' KILL THIS WENCH!!"
"I'm afraid I can't quite do dat, Ms Walker - I'm encased in concrete, kindly!"
Tilda charged at her on spindly legs and Dotty spun on the spot, allowing her enemy's own momentum to carry her to the ground.
The Hitnan threw herself on top of Tilda, grabbed a jagged rock and raised it high above her head. "This one's for my Marion!"
Tilda had screwed her eyes shut, waiting for a blow which never came. When she opened them, Dotty was just sat above her with a look of bemusement as she fondled Tilda's tiddies.
"Sorry, do you mind not sexually assaulting me before I die?"
"Who said that?!"
"Who said what?"
"Coffin Dodger..."
"Tilda, ya tits are talking mate. And I fink they're insulting me."
"Coffin Dodger - kindly unmount The Widowmaker and stand to attention!"
Dotty put a hand to her head. "I'm actually having a stroke here!"
"I know. You're taking the piss," said Tilda, smacking her other hand away from her petite and pointy boobies whilst wiping the blood from her lip. "Now get your grubby mitts off me Dorothy, you've pulled the wire from my ear. It's Bognor. Now listen to them."