The Hitnan: A Tale of Blood and Canes

by Wez Wallie

  "Look, dearies, it is possible you may have come across my image on the local news or possibly the internet," she said, stroking her hair back with a feigned modesty.

  Phil clicked his fingers and pointed at her excitedly: "Pornohub! Golden Oldies, Ep 69?!"

  Dotty looked shocked but intrigued.

  "Nah, that's not Curly Shirley, Phil. Not Filthy Gilfy either."

  "You sure, Baz? Remember we watched that mucky movie the other night, The Opening of Misty Beethoven? Could'a sworn it was her in the seventh orgy scene?"

  Dotty's thigh grip on the plastic sheet tightened. Baz grabbed his mate's collar and stood on his tippy toes to square up to his face with an aggressive whisper. "I told you never to talk about that night, Phil!" He was looking around nervously as he eventually let go.

  "Nah, I got it, Baz - she's off the money and that!"

  "Sorry what, the fackin' money?!" Dotty caught herself and regained her composure. "Ahem, I mean, are you implying I look like Her Majesty, dear boy?"

  "Yeeah... cor, I didn't know the Royals were allowed to dress down, Phil."

  "Must be a different set of protocols on weekends, Baz."

  Dotty was fuming. "Sorry, is there a point to all this?"

  "Not particularly," said Baz. "I think it's just Panspermia in the end. That's what Big Dave on the Fruity's reckons anyway. A meteor 'n that."

  "What?"

  "What?"

  "I mean to this interaction!"

  "Oh, yeah sorry love," he clarified, "some rando gave us a Nando's voucher to come over and tell you to get into that black Vauxhall Corsa over there. Guess we got distracted, really."

  Dotty looked over at the small car with blacked out windows parked between Greggs and KFC.

  "What, who is it?"

  Phil shrugged. "Who knows, but they said they were taking you on a nice trip to Butlins or something."

  "...Bognor?" she asked with a sigh.

  "No thanks, I'm married. 'Ere listen, can we get your autograph? We're big fans of your work, like knighting tax-dodging millionaires, and the Empire and stuff."

  "Wait, Phil, we ain't got anything for her to sign!"

  "Spunkballs - you're right, Baz! Can we have that, Mrs Windsor?" he asked excitedly, pointing to the giant parachute between her legs.

  "Remember your P's and Q's, Pip!"

  "Oh yeah. Please can you sign whatever that is between your legs and let us sell it on e-bay - URGH I MEAN - keep it for posterity's sake to hand it down to the grandchildren and that?"

  The Corsa was tooting now.

  "Yeah fine, whatever." She turned around, pretended to scribble her name on the chute and then flung the whole multi-coloured tarp on top of them, leaving them looking like a rainbow ghost at an LGBT Pride event as she walked over to the car.

  "You know, I think that was actually the bird off that Youtube thing we watch, come to think of it," they continued from under the canopy.

  "Bloody hell, you're right, Baz. Cor, Zoella's let herself go!"

  Dotty flung herself in the back of the vehicle and it began driving around the town centre. The masked passenger threw a blindfold into the back and told her to put it on. The last thing she saw was an old and faded Finding Nemo air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror, no longer able to cover the intense scent of something bitter, yet almost chocolate-y. She fixed the cloth over her eyes and sat there miffed.

  "I didn't think Bognor made house calls."

  There was no response and only silence for the next two minutes. "Look, if this is about the job last night, it got done and that's all that matters."

  All she could hear was the 1.2 litre petrol engine straining up a few steepy slopes.

  "For fack's sake, it was me who won the competition anyway; I killed the mark just as you lot assigned us to!"

  A deep female voice retorted her assertion: "We see everything. Your Handler assassinated the mark. You did nothing. Not only is that a violation of the Handler-Agent Code of Practice, but intervention from a third party means you invalidated the test."

  "Oh, bleedin' hell - look, this is all Tilda's fault! If she hadn't come back from galivanting all over the world to nick jobs on my patch none of this would have even happened! We only took her dockside job 'cos she stole my Bingo contract - she even tried to kill me along with all the other poor saps! Which, by the way were totally unnecessary deaths - are you not going to punish that? And speaking of, where do I put in a complaint for that shit? One of my colleagues tried to murder me so I want some bleedin' compo, or an apology at least. Something public and fittingly humiliating for the old broad."

  The voice did not respond.

  "Oh, come on!"

  The voice did not respond.

  "Fine. I'll sue you for workplace discrimination then 'cos you're clearly letting rogue agents do what the hell they want and treating good agents like me differently, and with contempt! I mean, you sat us out last month because ‘there was too much heat’ on us just because I did a few Youtube videos and then ended up on the news for surviving a failed assassination attempt by one of our own agents. So, the question becomes why are you not sanctioning Maffews when she goes around gassing fifty silver tops in a Bingo hall? Do you really want an agent drawing that much attention to fings?!"

  The voice returned:

  "Agent Widowmaker has a policy of collateral which means two things: making target deaths look like an accident as well as ensuring no survivors remain to identify or testify. It's... unconventional, perhaps, but it has always gotten results. Thus, we have left her to her own devices."

  "My method's much better: only killing the bleedin' mark!! Maybe I am a traditionalist but if you are contracted and paid to kill one man, I don't see why you should get away with topping a whole room of people just to feed your bloodlust and cover your own ass. I'm telling you, that Tilda woman's an utter psychopath - she blew up me house for fack's sake! How she passes your Psych evaluations I'll never know."

  "Agency assets and their performance reviews are strictly confidential, Agent Coffin Dodger. You know this."

  "That's anuvver fing, about these fackin' codenames -"

  The vehicle stopped with a sharp brake and smoking tyres. The voice leaned into the back with pomposity.

  "We are giving you one last chance to earn back our trust. You have a complaint regarding a colleague's conduct in the field? You wish to redress grievances with a fellow agent? Well, here's your last offer of contract: if you take out the competition, we will restore your position at the top of the Agency's preferred asset list, just like back in the day. You'll be number one and get first refusal on all the jobs in the whole of London."

  "Now that's more like it!"

  "According to our records, Agent Widowmaker has attempted to kill you on two separate occasions now. Perhaps it is time to even the score. Your last competitive match against her ended in a stalemate because the stakes were not high enough. Now, it's kill or be killed. Either way, we win."

  "Well, I have been wanting her guts for garters ever since she shagged my husband and even more so now she's tried to kill me twice and also blown me family up…"

  She raised her hands to mime weighing scales.

  "…Buuut I do try to preserve the sanctity of life where I can… though I suppose at the end of the day, if it's a contract job that's been delivered to me for a purpose then I guess I'll be doing the Lord's work after all…"

  "He works in mysterious ways."

  "He does indeed. Okay, I'll do it. But can you drop me off back at the flat 'cos I fink those baldy blokes pinched me Oyster card when I had me back turned."

  *

  Later that afternoon, Peader was spreading paint rolls up and down the freshly replastered kitchen walls, dancing beside Robert in their mucky overalls to the Village People's '90s belter of a banger, blaring over the radio waves:

  ♫"YOUNG MAN! PASS ME THAT BRUSH OVER THERE, I SAID, YOUNG MAN!" ♫

  (Robert stood on the spot poi
nting at the toolbox and shaking his hips in time to the rhythm. Peader was boogying just the same)

  ♫"D’YE MEAN DIS BRUSH OVER HERE?"♫

  (Robert moved closer and poked his fingers playfully into Peader’s chest)

  ♫"YEAH, THERE'S NO NEED-TO-BE-IN-DOUBT -"♫

  (The music built up to the iconic swell of the chorus:)

  ♫"IT'S FUN TA PAINT UP DE -"♫

  ♫"...YYYY, EM, CEE, AY..." ♫

  (They sang in unison, linking arms at the elbow and spinning around each other)

  ♫"...YYYY, EM, CEE, AY-AYY..." ♫

  ♫"WE HAVE ALL DE RIGHT TOOLS; JUS' TAKE A LOOK AT OUR TOYS -"♫

  ♫"YOUR KITCHEN'S SAFE UNDER OUR EMPLOY -"♫

  ♫"IT'S A CRAIC TO PAINT AT DE -"♫

  ♫"...YYY, EM CEE, AY..." ♫

  (They linked up and circled around each other again)

  ♫"...YYY, EM, CEE, AY-AYY..." ♫

  ♫"YOU GO GRAB THAT CLEAN BRUSH, AND WE'LL JUST FINISH THIS WALL -"♫

  ♫"DEN WE'LL HAVE SUM CHIPPIES AND WATCH FOOTBALL!" ♫

  (They leaned in nose to nose and sang into each other's faces)

  ♫"IT'S FUN TO PAINT AT THE -"♫

  "What the fack is going on here?!" yelled Dotty impatiently, yet drowned out by the sheer volume of the music, whilst dropping her bag on the hallway table and peering through the kitchen door.

  Peader was happily rolling his arms and pointing to the left and then rolling his arms and pointing to the right in time to the music when he spotted The Hitnan staring bemusedly at the pair. "ACK, MS WALKER!"

  Robert panicked and rushed to turn off the radio.

  "Not a lot of work going on in here!" Dotty couldn't be bothered to summon the energy to put on the usual act. She was too tired and already resigned to being herself around Robert today. "Has the new oven come yet?"

  Peader waved at her. "Yeah corse, luv. Right propa and sturdy. Speaking of, you're back early, Ms Walker - everyfing all fine and dandy, sunshine?"

  Dotty was still processing. "Peter. Why are you talking like a poncy Del Boy?"

  "Am I, my treacle? I wouldn't have fought so..."

  "Blinkin' 'ell Robert, I leave him alone with you for one afternoon and he's already imprinted on you like a duck to a dog's arse."

  Robert put his paint-stained arms behind his back like a naughty schoolboy. "Sorry, Mrs Walker, I had no idea he would take on me accent so quickly, you know what I mean?"

  "Yeah, you know what he means?" parroted Peader, with his arms crossed.

  Dotty shook her head with a sigh. "Right. I'm going upstairs for a bit. I've had a strange day and got lots to fink about."

  "Would ya like me to come up the apples and pears (stairs), and massage ya loaf of bread, Ms Walker, there?"

  "Eh, massage me what?!"

  Robert intervened. "Means 'head'. I guess he's picked up on me cockney rhyming slang."

  "Gawd no, not with them dingy digits. I'll be back down for tea though, and when I am, I expect him to be done for the day and you to be talking normal! Well, Irish, at least."

  "Not to worry your schweet little 'eart darling, I'll be right as rain in no time - luverly jubberly!"

  She just stared daggers at Robert. "You've got a lot to answer for, builder-boy."

  Robert took it personal. "We were just havin' a laugh, Ms Walker!"

  "Shut it - you do too much laughing and poncing about. You're the only bloke I know who has wrinkles on ya temples!" She stomped off and up the stairs to her bedroom.

  "Blimey," said Robert, sipping his cold tea. "The old bird's in a mood, today, boyo."

  Peader put his leg up on the chair with a gurn. "Tell me about it, you schlaaag."

  Robert just stared. "Yeah, maybe it's time to call it a day for now..."

  "Yeh, dat's prob’ly a good idea, Mr Robert," said Peader, almost instantly reverting to his old speech pattern. "Y'know, I tink I got more paint on me, den I've got on de feckin' walls, dere."

  "Yeah, me too!"

  "Too right - dere's lots of paint splodges all over yer boncy-bonnet dere..." Peader licked his finger and attempted to wipe his head clean, and whilst it seemed to move all over the place, the stains didn't come off very easily. "Ye got a bit of a wobbly head dere, but dose sploshes are quite stubborn."

  "Yeah, I have a slidey-scalp. It's a propa disability. Makes hat-hunting a nightmare."

  "Well," said Peader, looking around at the tarpy-floored, mat-messed state of the kitchen, "I'd better get dis all cleaned up and put Ms Walker's tea on."

  "Well, just remember, don't let her walk all over you. You're her carer, not her kid. She should be a little more grateful to have you around, mate."

  Peader looked up in ponderance, taking his words in.

  "Sometimes you got to do things for you, 'n all."

  "Yer right. I tink I'll have de last dumpling tanight. Ms Walker always takes de last dumpling when dere's leftovers, like."

  "Well, that's a start."

  An hour or so later, Peader had made the evening's dinner and called up the stairs to Dotty.

  "Din-Dins is ready, Ms Walker!"

  "Yum!" she called back from her bedroom. "Did you do dumplings?"

  "Yes," he said firmly. "But dere's none leftover taday."

  "Wot!!" she cried, from the depths of her room. "This day just gets worse and worse!"

  "Okey, well I'm jus' off ta visit yer gal Miss Mal before closing time at de hozzie. D'youse want ta come along?"

  "Nah, fack that, I've got some shit to work out."

  "...Oh, okey den. Make shure ye spray after, I guess... I'll be back soon doe, Ms Walker. Feel free ta have yer tea without me. I'm not dat hungry right now."

  He unhooked his old lime puffer jacket from the rack and slung it in the dustbin as he left the house, smirking with a heightened sense of self confidence as he munched on the spare dumpling and shut the front door behind him with a thud.

  *

  Peader entered the ward and found Mal in a comatose state. He panicked and grabbed a nurse, who proceeded to calm him down and simply switched off Mrs Brown's Boys from the TV set behind.

  "Oh hi, P!" said Mal excitedly, instantly reviving from the condition of a vegetable and wiping the dribble from the corner of her mouth.

  "Oh, me Lordy, Miss Mal! Yer on course ta gimme a feckin' heart attack, don’t ye know!" He put a bouquet of roses on the side as he approached the bed again.

  "Aww, poor bubba," she said, taking his hand and leading him down to the seat beside her. "Has it been hard looking after mother on your own the past few weeks or so?"

  "Oh uh, yeh, ye know she's quite a handful. Always on de go like, heh, and dere's me racin' about de gaff an’ all." His smile faded a little. "I'm quite tired actually. I'm doing me best, but I just wanna do right by her, y'know?"

  "You are doing right. Being a carer is one of the hardest but most honourable career's I can imagine. It takes a special soul to be able to do that."

  Peader felt guilty being showered with praise for a job he didn't technically do, and for qualities he was unsure he really possessed.

  Mal suddenly noticed the new leather biker jacket he was wearing, (that said "Heaven's Angle" on the back). "Oh, I like the slick new jacket, P. Very cool for school!

  "T'anks! I just popped inta one of dem fancy new shoppies on de way over and dey let youse print anyting yer want on de back'a dem now!"

  He noticed that her thin brunette hair was growing longer, down to her armpits now.

  "How's the pain?" he asked, with a tinge of guilt.

  "Saying anything other than bad would be a lie. But I'm covered for now," she said, motioning up to the IV drip feeding down into her arm.

  Peader was a little jealous of the pain drugs filling Mal's veins. "Me back's still a bit sore, tell de truth, Miss Mal. I was hanging upside down fer a few hours dis week and I tink I must'a twanged it or someting."

  "Oh, what were you hanging off of," she enquired nonchalantly,
and roughly clearing her throat multiple times.

  "Uh, just, erm..." he desperately wanted to tell her everything, if just to have someone to talk to but also so as not to have to lie. "I was cleaning out de bottom of de cabbie, nuttin' ta worry about, Miss Mal."

  "You know, my therapist is coming for a session tomorrow after my physio. He says baring your soul is the key to true freedom... is there something you want to tell me, Peader?" she asked, through eyes that seemed to be watering heavily.

  "Dere is, Miss Mal. Dere's a lot I want ta be able ta tell ye, in all honesty. But dere's reasons... reasons dat don't just affect me, like... just reasons I can't."

  "It's okay. I guess we all have our secrets, and some are easier to let go of than others. We can give it time. But I'm here if you need to talk, honey," she said with a heavy exhale and a fan of the hand.

  "T'anks, Mal. Hopefully one day, one day soon we can talk real well. I jus' want ta be honest."

  "I know, baby, I know..." she replied, looking all around the room but at him. She kept shuffling restlessly in the bed.

  "Hey, it's great all de plaster is off yer limbs now. Yer lookin' much better - ye feelin' it too?"

  She kept making a swallowing motion like she was thirsty. "Yeah, yeah much better thanks babe." Peader took a sip of water as she began lowering his hand down under the covers.

  "You know, you remind me of one of my favourite popstars from back in the day - ooh, what I wouldn't do to the boys of Take That! I'd stuff a garibaldi up that Gary Barlow - anyday!"

  Peader choked on his drink and then coughed up his lungs when he felt where she had rested his hand. (He had never felt a coral reef up close before, let alone petted one, but this is not how he imagined it would feel.)

  "Miss Maalll..." he whispered, like a moose in headlights. He was frozen in place, praying the nurses didn't walk in to see him with his hand down the sheets.

  "Oh, Gazza..." she moaned, eyes closed and sweating profusely. "I don't know about your fire, but I'd relight your prostate for sure!"