The Hitnan: A Tale of Blood and Canes

by Wez Wallie

  They both fell back on their bums and faced each other in the sand. Dotty picked up the wire and began speaking to it whilst dabbing her grazes with a hanky.

  "Hello? Is this fing on?"

  "That's just a wire, Dorothy. You need to speak into the mic, which is up here, hang on..." Tilda pulled a long wiry device out from her top and handed it to Dotty.

  "Yuck."

  "AGENT COFFIN DODGER! Sit up and listen!"

  "Okay, okay, I'm listening for fack's sake, what d'ya want? I'm in the middle of killing me archnemesis here!"

  "There will be no killing of colleagues, at least not without our say so." The monotone anonymous voice rang cold and stern.

  "By the way, we really need to discuss these codenames. Can't I be PG Tips or something warm and gentle at least?"

  "It's got to describe you without revealing your identity. Personally, I'd go with 'Cruella'."

  "Shut it, Maffews!"

  "Ladies, please! Now, Agent Coffin Dodger - we were very impressed as to how you took initiative to hack into communications and swipe the Widowmaker's assignment, completing it in record time and without being spotted…"

  "Thank you!" Dotty said into the mic, whilst smugly making a smirking face and rubbing it well in Tilda's cringing face.

  "...I mean, it's totally against the rules to hack Agency communications and steal the contracts of other assets, and it would usually be grounds for immediate termination of course, but you two have caught our interest."

  Tilda snatched the wire back. "Listen, she should totally be terminated - she hacked into the comms and stole my contract! That's against the code of the Agency Handbook Schedule 1, Paragraph 4, Subsection 3 point 2 point 7!

  "Yes... and you not only allowed her take it from you, but you let her expose you to the target to take the fall for it. Do you know how many Rubles it cost us to buy you back from those shipyard goons? Enough to deeply disappoint Top Bass. Deeply disappoint her indeed."

  "Seduced your way out, yeah?" Dotty mocked, pulling the mic back toward her as Tilda cringed even more in embarrassment with a hand to her head. "Right, who is this Top Brass you keep banging on about? And who are you, come to think of it?"

  "Not Brass - Bass! And I'm just the operator. I usually only converse with Handlers. Speaking of, where are yours, ladies? They should be the ones representing, really."

  Tilda scrambled to grab the earpiece again. "I work alone, and hers is currently stuck to the back of a wheelchair, cased in cement and with a giant erection for some reason."

  "Right… be that as it may, Top Bass wants to know which of you is the superior agent - and which one shall take on the forfeit of termination."

  "Sorry, can I just clarify: by termination, do you mean unemployment from work or unemployment from life?"

  "Yes."

  The pair looked at each other with alarm.

  "Now there's a particularly tricky target whom we've been tracking for months who a very wealthy client wishes to no longer be in the picture, so to speak. We shall send full details relating to the job via your Agency sanctioned communications hub - WHICH we have taken further measures to secure, so there shall be no more incidents of hacking; Coffin Dodger, you shall have to play this one fair and square."

  "To be fair we didn't even hack you, we just listened in, but fine. I can beat this bleating bovine bitch any day of the week."

  "Well, we shall see, Agent Coffin Dodger. Only one can get back into the good books of Top Bass and avoid the coming storm. The other will have disappointed her twice. And disappointment is not something we tolerate here at Bognor."

  "Really? Then how come Butlins is still open?"

  "GOOD DAY, LADIES."

  Tilda stared daggers as she got to her knees: "Game on, Dorothy." She threw another handful of sand into The Hitnan's eyes and ran off into the twilight dusk.

  "Fack sake, that was totally unnecessary, woman!"

  Dotty rubbed her eyes and rinsed them out with a wet wipe from her inside pocket. "Bloody woman. I've got to beat her."

  She made her way back to the chair and slapped Peader back to consciousness. "You been asleep all this time, Peter?"

  "Peader, ma'am," he instinctually retorted through a sleepy yawn. "Ah, good mornin', Ms Walker. Naw, well I did wake up at one point but ye were rubbin’ Ms Matt'ews chest dere and den I must have needed more sleep as I don't remember anyting after dat. Gosh, I'm very achey and stiff all over!"

  "Bleedin' typical. The one time I needed you. Well, come on, let's get home and hopefully Robert the Builder has left his Black and Dekker so we can drill ya toes out."

  "Grand."

  Chapter 13

  The night sky was calm and sleek, and the lights below glistened as jewels. The cold air washed in as the plane's door was thrust open.

  "HONESTLY, MS WALKER, IS DIS NOT A BIT OVERKILL, LIKE?!?"

  The Hitnan heaved her head back into the small blue Twin Otter.

  "WE'RE ALMOST OVER THE LZ – UNDER TWO KLICKS OUT."

  "WHAT'S DAT NOW, MS WALKER?!?"

  "YES, I'M READY."

  "WATTY?!?"

  "DO YOUR STRAPS TIGHTER - YOUR BALLS SHOULD BE PUSHED BACK INTO YOUR STERNUM FOR THIS."

  Peader looked down at his crotch. He had loosened the leg straps as they were cutting off his circulation, and he needed circulation to be able to use his throat and eyes to scream and cry after Dotty had somehow convinced him to throw on a parachute and skydive with her down onto the mark's compound.

  He sat squishing himself into the rear corner as far away from the door as possible. His WW2 green parachute helmet she had sourced off e-bay for a tenner was fopping about all over his head in the turbulence, due to the strap not fitting adequately as a result of his weak chin. (Luckily, he had two more underneath it to keep it well enough in place to get the job done).

  Dotty flung the door shut, and the startling silence returned with a bit of warmth.

  "You alright, Peter, you look a bit pale?"

  "PEADER, MA'AM. AN' YE WANT ME TA FLING MESELF OUT A BLEEDIN' PLANE, MS WALKER!"

  "Alright, no need to shout boy, I ain't deaf," she said whilst fiddling with her whistling hearing aids and radio earpiece.

  "Sorry, me ears are still adjustin'." He began trying to equalise pressure in his ears by holding his nose and blowing, but it just made him pass out for a few seconds. "Is it strictly necessary fer me ta come down wit ye, Ms Walker? I mean, couldn't I just do sum door hacking from up here? Dat way, dey'll nedder see me, like!"

  She scooched over on her haunches. The sound of the rumbling engine groaned under bum.

  "The range on that new gadget ain't gonna cut it from 2000ft above the Penthouse, Peter. And besides, I need you on the ground in case I hit any obstacles."

  "Do we really have ta kill dis guy? What's so important we have ta go ta all dis effort?"

  "I told ya. Bognor wants to see who the better agent is - and whoever kills this bloke first don't get terminated. Okay?"

  "Y'know, I'm gonna need ta phone up Sergeant Jones ta meet me on de ground and hand me sum clean kecks by de end of dis! Dis is madness! I'm just a wee lad from Limerick - Limerick, Ms Walker!"

  "Stop overfinkin' fings - just remember, if you do this, I'll finally be able to say, 'I'll buy the kid!'"

  "It's 'aboy de kid,' Ms Walker. Means ye did someting brave. So would'je really be proud'a me if I did dis?"

  "Yeah, corse."

  A deep smile summoned to his face. She could tell by the sudden sulfur smell pervading the cabin that he was still anxious, however. "Look, just gimme anuvver quick rundown of the target to get your mind off it."

  "Okey. Well, de mark is Rocco Sinclair, t'irty-four wit no kiddies but married wit a sausage dog. He's son of a rich oil tycoon, ye know de playboy type so he's going ta have a fleet of cool cars, a hottub full of blonde models and of course, high-tech alarm systems, top of de range and dat. Luckily I've invented a localized disruptor ta sort dat out nicely."

&nbs
p; "Exactly why I need you along."

  "Aye. I guess I bring dis on meself, really."

  He peered down at the approaching Penthouse and gulped. His hands were still slightly greyed by the remnants of concrete dust of the day before, which now seemed to have seeped into his skin.

  "Listen, I'm sorry I'm not de best Handler, ma'am. I can be quite cowardly and fearful at times I know. I'm sorry if I keep leddin' ye down, like."

  She stopped looking out of the window and turned to him:

  "Look, no-one gets good at these things overnight, son. And you're not an agent, you're a backseat support type."

  "I know. I jus' seem ta keep messin' tings up!"

  She put a gloved hand on his quivering knee.

  "The only reason I ask you to do these fings is coz I fink you can do 'em. You have your place on this team, and I need to win this. If I thought you were a liability I would put in for a transfer to Bognor."

  "Replace me, like?"

  "Yep. But you're still here. Which means I must have a soft spot for ya."

  Peader smiled and raised his fists out in front of him. "Yeh. Okey. I can do dis. I can totally jump out a plane on me own fer de first time ever in de dark of de night, wit no idea whatsoever as ta how ta steer a parachute... it's all about confidence, Ms Walker!"

  "Exactly. And the best part is you don't even need to do any work - the cord will pull as you exit the plane and then gravity does it all for you. You just have to lean forward and let nature take its course!"

  "Fallin' wit style? Sounds like a jobbie fer me, like!"

  "Great. Now stick your goggles on and get your arse in the door."

  She shuffled him forward with a prod of the cane and opened the side, and the rush of wind splattered multiple bugs into Peader's face, (which made him itchy again), as he flung his legs out into the buffeting slipstream. The freezing night air roared into the cabin once more.

  "Y'KNOW, TWO MONTHS AGO WE WERE TAKING OUT POSTMEN WIT A WALKIN' STICK. NOW I'M SITTIN' 2000FT ABOVE GOD'S GREEN EART' WIT A SHEET'A PLASTIC STRAPPED TO ME BACK, HOPIN' IT INFLATES... WHAT A TIME TA BE ALIVE!"

  "YEAH WELL YOU BETTER HOPE IT CAN TAKE YA WEIGHT, LET ALONE INFLATES."

  "WHAT?! YE DIDN'T CHECK DE WEIGHTS, MS WALKER?!?"

  "NO, THAT WAS YOUR JOB..."

  "FECK MEEEEEE!"

  Dotty watched him go and pulled the door to. She heaved up her chute in place on her back and began to get into the exit position.

  "What on Marx's socialist farm are you doing here again, Dorothy?!"

  Dotty looked up to her left, flinging her goggles back up in anger.

  "Tilda coontin' Maffews?! You bleedin' copycat!"

  They both shouted in unison:

  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON MY PLANE?!"

  Again in unison:

  "YOUR PLANE?!?"

  "Yes, my plane!" Tilda fumed, as she threw her spindly legs into the parachute straps and tightened them around her pin-sharp hips. "I'm the pilot so it's my plane! Why are you here?? Didn't think this was particularly your style?"

  "I'm switching fings up, ain’t I. Being unpredictable, innit. Anyway, I would say ‘Great Minds Think Alike’ but it seems a superior mind thought outside the box on this one and a phoney champaign intellectual copied the same tactic."

  "No way," responded Tilda, tightening the arm holders and checking her flaps for sabotage. "Anyone who reconned the landscape and geography of his place knows infiltration by air is the only possible way to get in undetected, given the chap effectively has a giant fudging moat around his OWN PRIVATE ISLAND!"

  "Hang about, we chartered this plane totally legit - it was the only one available and we got the last one of the night! That's why you followed us and snuck onboard!"

  "Again - It's my bloody plane! I said I would take two passengers so they could fly it back to the airfield once I make the drop - hence why it specifically said on the rider they had to have piloting experiencing!"

  "Oh. I thought that said 'PILATING' experience. As in Pilates. Mal tried to get me to do a few classes last year to keep me spry but I fink that's what did me piles in as it goes."

  "Why would I need you to have Pilates experience for a plane trip?"

  "Don't ask me - you wrote it!" Tilda threw her hands up and grunted in frustration. Dotty looked around the small cabin: "Maybe because it gets so cramped in here, I'd imagine."

  Tilda pulled her chest strap tight. "Great. So now my plane is going to fall into the poxy sea 'cos there'll be no-one here to fly it back. Not even your gimp boy is here! And to think we're not even getting paid for this job either."

  Dotty flung the side door open with a smirk. The wind was so intense on her mug it was making her wrinkles metamorphose into full on elastic skin folds, and if her chute didn't open she had every possibility of floating down to the ground on the sole grace of her cheek flaps.

  They both sat budged in the doorway; legs out and googles on.

  "SO, ONE FING: HOW ON EARTH DID YOU AFFORD A PLANE IN THE FIRST PLACE?"

  "BECAUSE DOROTHY, I RAKE IN MILLIONS TAKING OUT BAD GUYS INTERNATIONALLY, AND YOU GET PAID TOFFEES TO SNUFF LOCAL WEATHER PRESENTERS FROM THE '80S. IT'S HARDLY ROCKET SCIENCE."

  Tilda flashed her a goggled wink and threw herself out backwards, giving The Hitnan a two fingered salute as she fell.

  Dotty pounded her fist on the floor with a huff and pushed off into the night air with a moan.

  Following her rival's trajectory, she made sure to land on top of her fucking head with a thump. "That's for flipping me off back there, twatface."

  Tilda crawled out from under The Hitnan's knickers and threw her red helmet down with a thud. "Screw you, Dorothy. I am going to kill this ponce first, and then I'm going to do you in and your little pet leprechaun too!"

  "We'll see. There's two of us and one of you. My partner is already up there neutralizing the alarms and scoping the place out as we speak. That's why it's good to have support." She loosened her straps and whipped out her cane.

  "I don't need that rubbish," said Tilda defensively, replacing her helmet with her red beret. "I got all the support I need right here!" She pulled down her large and fancy thermal goggles which covered half her gaunt face, leaving her looking like a cross between a pound shop Tom Clancy character and Ray from Ghostbusters when he donned the Ectogoggles to see spooks and frighty things.

  "Let me guess," mocked Dotty, "you see dead people?"

  "Yeah, and she's still giving me lip!"

  Dotty gave her two middle fingers and blew a raspberry. Tilda looked up at the Penthouse. "Actually, I see multiple hostiles. Not telling you where or how many. This game's mine! Good luck, peasant!"

  Tilda ripped the chute from her chassis and cartwheeled around the west side of the complex.

  Dotty snarled in frustration as she looked up at the Penthouse before her. A white sheeny palace, with various garages and multiple levels. Who knew something like this was hidden away on the Isle of Man?

  This chunk of land was very narrow, and the sea formed a moat of sorts thirty feet below the eroding cliff edge. The bathing light of the crescent moon shone like a spotlight on the premises, as she threw off her rainbow canopy and made her way up past the Helicopter parked on the pad on the sleeping lawn.

  She almost tripped over what she thought was a stray gun and a stone but just turned out to be Peader's newly invented localized disruptor and his helmet, which was slightly worrying.

  "It's almost midnight – psst, Peter, are you there, boy?" There was no response from her earpiece. "Are the alarms sorted? Peter, you better not have fallen asleep again!"

  Radio silence continued. "Faaack it." The Hitnan nipped under the CCTV cameras and used the crook of her cane to haul herself up the side of the 1st level. She sneaked past the showroom garages full of fast and colourful cars. She had no idea what make they were, but instinctively knew that one of the wing mirrors alone probably cost more than her entire house. Bodies of two unconscious private security guar
ds lay poolside, and Tilda was sneaking up behind a third over the other side of the balcony.

  Dotty used the distraction to focus on breaking inside the house. She had to get to the mark first. She whipped out the disruptor and aimed it at the electronic keypad on the double doors. She had no idea how it worked as she had zoned out when Peader had tried to explain earlier in the day, and instead found herself thinking about that "proper sort" Nick Hewer off Countdown and The Apprentice. (The things she'd let him do to her Dictionary corner!)

  Nothing happened when she pulled the trigger. "Fack nuggets!" She took another look at the device and flipped all the buttons she could find on it and then drew the trigger again. The keypad went up in smoke but then changed from red to green and the doors creaked open. (“Aboya kids, Petey!”) Dotty grabbed them, whipped them shut and headed up the staircase to the second floor, where she slipped into the master bedroom and slowly stalked the steps up to the bed. A game of Fifa was paused on the TV; she was tempted to have a go to see what all the fuss was about but remembered to stay professional. (There would be time for Xboxing later).

  The balcony doors were ajar, and the curtains still drawn and wafting in the breeze. The blue moon shimmered to the sound of lapping waves, and the darkness covered most of the Queen-sized bed. A lump stirred restless under sheet, and Dotty raised up her cane over her head as she approached the headboard.

  "I've got'chu now; I'm the best agent Bognor ever had - and tonight I prove it!"

  The light flickered onto the pillows and a red sticky substance was all over the pillows - bugger, has she got here before me?!