The Hitnan: A Tale of Blood and Canes

by Wez Wallie

  Robert grabbed Tilda's hand and leapt off the sofa. "Here, you sit down here mate, we're gonna go um, make some... milk - uh, I mean tea. Milk and tea..."

  Tilda ran off down the kitchen to make preparations whilst Robert grabbed his arm in the doorway and whispered: "Remember pal: don't let her bully you."

  Peader nodded and sat down beside Dotty.

  "We gotta get your 'ead sorted out, son. Can't be having this filth brought into me good Catholic home. I mean, look at this one:"

  "LICKMESIR - Outrageous, boy! I mean, this stuff's an insult to the Good Lord - 'rickets', no, 'keshmir', ah balls no, erm, 'Mick-lesir’ ...Mick the Lezza?!?"

  "It's clearly 'Limericks', Ms Walker."

  "Wot, dammit! I'm usually well good at these. Must be that wench putting me off," she said, irritated that everyone seems to be better at unscrambling rudey words than she was today, before realizing how good he was at these, (despite the dyslexia). "Oi, how many times you seen this episode? Ooh, we need to wean you off 'em boy."

  He was a little quiet today and said softly: "I went to see Miss Mal at de hozzie, Ms Walker. I tink she might be strugglin' a bit, like."

  "Well, we all struggle, lad," said The Hitnan, not taking her eyes off the TV.

  "She seems a bit... addicted, Ms Walker. To a certain substance in dere, like."

  "Yeah, jizz most likely! I bet she's had all the doctors in there every which way from Sunday."

  "Naw, she's not like dat, least not anymore. It's just dat she is using someting she shouldn't be ta take de pain away, if ye get me drift."

  "Yeah. I'd be watching Love Island all day to cheer me up 'n all. All them rippling 'unks - ooh!"

  "Naw, Ms Walker, please, look I prob'ly shouldn't be saying it but I'm worried about Miss Mal, and what I'm trying ta say is -"

  Tilda and Robert fell back into the room, stinking the place out with shirt buttons ripped and love bites all up the shaft of her never-ending neck, (and beret blasted back to front).

  Peader slipped from the sofa with frustration and sat in the opposite corner beside the door.

  The pair lunged back on the couch in exhaustion. "Sorry, did we interrupt?

  "Naw, yer grand, Robz," he said with a sulk.

  Dotty strained to see the TV. "Muslims... Blemonge..."

  "The word's BUMSINGE - where's the 'L'?" asked Robert, bemused.

  "BEMUSING! Yep, I've definitely seen this one before."

  "Screw you, Maffews."

  Dotty fell back into the sofa in a strop. She looked over at Peader who was mirroring her mood. "Oi, wat'chu over there like a misog for?"

  "Nuttin'. Jus' a bit down taday."

  "Know what'll cheer you up? Building me another Jet-Fuelled Walker. Can't believe it ran out of gas over Southwark.”

  She suddenly remembered Robert and clarified. “Or cleanin' up me wheelchair, I mean. Another fing you ain't got 'round to; full of cementy-specks still."

  Peader just frowned and was about to take it like a right cuck when Robert caught his eye and started giving him head signals and facial cues not to take her shit. He soon cottoned on.

  "Yeh... yeh, yer right!" Peader turned to his boss: "Sorry, Ms Walker, I'm actually all booked up taday. Very busy man I am."

  "Eh, all booked up? Doing what - you work for me!"

  "Oh yeh..." his face fell in disappointment. Until he got more encouraging facial signs from Robert: "Ah naw! Naw, actually I am busy taday doing... doing Shonny..."

  "Eh, doing Shonny?! I always knew you were a wrong'un! Tilda, chuck us me cane and call the Fuzz!"

  Tilda and Robert both exchanged looks and thought “sod this”, before escaping to the kitchen for a third round of naughty play time, leaving Dotty alone in the front room with a suspected nonce.

  "Naw, Ms Walker, I mean I promised Shon-Shon I'd pick her up from school and hang out wid her, do sum drawings an' dat. Apparently, she has some new foundation shades she'd like ta try on me, whatever dat means."

  "Phew... that's a relief! I was two seconds away from smacking a bitch up there. What did I tell you in the interview for this gig - I can't abide Savile types, Peter!"

  "Dere was naw interview fer dis gig - Bognor put us tagedder based on our intelligence scores and aptitude tests."

  "Really?! I thought I chose me partner... Wait, does this mean they fink we're as smart as each ovver??"

  "I guess so. As brainy as two short planks, Ms Walker!"

  "That phrase doesn't mean what you think it means, my chubby friend." She sank back arm crossed. "So you doin' me wheelchair or not?"

  He stood his ground, (whilst sitting down): "Well, I guess I'll add it on my ta do list, like. I'll get around to it when I get time."

  He raised his chins in the air and fixed his eyes staunchly to the TV in defiance, summoning all the courage he could not to back down and relent.

  Dotty found herself at a loss, not used to defiance and push backs.

  "Wait a minute now," said Peader with a pleasantly surprising look on his face as something dawned upon him: "Does dat mean ye chose me, Ms Walker? When ye t'ought it was up ta youse, like?"

  Dotty was squirming, embarrassed at revealing her vulnerable side. "Uh, well... um... let me go check on the ovver two; they've been ages and that builder-guy's probably screwed her through the wall at this rate."

  She hopped out and down the hallway, as a smile crept onto the corner of his face.

  Dotty leaned back against the passage wall, taking time to gather herself and having no intention of going anywhere near a potential orgy in the kitchen, at least that was until she started overhearing some faint whispering coming from the couple at the end of the hall.

  She moved close to the slightly ajar kitchen door and listened in, turning up her drying-out hearing aids as she focused on the chatter.

  "...What do you want from me, woman - I was sent here to garner intel but all they kept talking about was dumplings and Countdown. I told you this was risky from the get-go!"

  "Shut it, Bobby, this was your plan all along and it's hardly my fault you went full native."

  "Well, can you blame me? Better to be here undercover doing some plain building work than having to go home and try to placate that demon child all day!"

  "Are you saying this was respite from your own kid??"

  "She's a nutter Tild, that's why her mum dumped her on me and ran off!"

  "Well, you've almost finished here, so what's gonna be your excuse to keep coming back?"

  "Well, I can't anymore. I gotta top the old gal..."

  Dotty's eyes widened. What the fudge-nuggets is going on here?!

  She pulled out her prized antique gun which Peader had kindly replaced earlier in her old jacket pocket that was hanging in the hallway, cocked it and prepared to bust the door down: "No facker's gonna try 'n top me in me own bleedin' 'ouse! (Again...)"

  3...2....1...

  She booted the newly-repaired door wide open to the shock and horror of Tilda and Robert, who were now facing a wild white-haired loon and the barrel of a gun.

  "Well, well, well, what have we got 'ere then. Two dipsticks with one brain cell between 'em. Okay, twonknozzles, you got firty seconds to spill ya guts before I do it for ya! I knew I shouldn't have trusted you, ya two-faced coot."

  Tilda looked genuinely hurt.

  "Guess the jig's up, Tild," said Robert.

  He put his hands in the air and let his worn-out copy of "My First Big Book of Cockney Rhyming Slang" fall to the ground. (He bent down to pick it up, but then his other copy of "So You Fink You're A Cockerny?" fell out the other sleeve and he gave up and stood back in surrender.)

  "So you two been togevver all along, then is it? You've been working me from behind for weeks!"

  "Look, Dot-Dot, just put the gun down and we can talk about this like sensible adults!" said Robert, in a far posher and more natural middle-class accent.

  "Eh, Dot-Dot?! I should shoot you just for that!" Robert quickly shut up. "I can't bel
ieve this. It wasn't enough to blow me gaff up, you then had to plant a spy to sow discord between me and.... and... wozzizname..."

  "Peader..."

  "Yeah, Peter."

  "Peader, Dorothy."

  "Don't ya play mind games wiv me, Tilda coontin' Maffews! I knew you were not to be trusted!"

  Robert had his steel eyes fixed on hers, perchance waiting for an opening.

  "Were you even shagging out here or were you just plotting and scheming whilst me back was turned, eh?"

  "Oh no, we were definitely shagging, yes," said Robert, making a point of doing his flies up. "So hard in fact I've had to replaster a few cracks we made with my own cement, if you will…" She looked over at where he was pointing, now feeling sick again. When she looked back to scold them, they were both aiming their own guns at her!

  "Fack."

  Tilda grinned. "Oh Dorothy, you are getting slow in your old age, aren't you!"

  "Well, I guess this isn't necessary anymore..." Robert snatched off his own scalp to let loose a cascade of scraggly red hair from under the bald cap. "Ah, that's better!"

  "Mick 'Ucknall!" Dotty blurted out in surprise.

  She looked over at Tilda, waiting for her to pull off a mask or hairpiece as well - "Sod off you cheeky bitch!"

  All three stood in the kitchen in a kind of Mexican stand-off, although this version featured two points of the triangle aiming a gun at her, so it was more like an English "they've got you outnumbered and you're buggered" sorta stand-off.

  "So this is why you wanted to come over then, Maffews? To see Simply Red live in concert, eh?"

  "Yes!"

  "And what a performance it was!" squealed Robert in giddy excitement. "Told you mother," he exclaimed into the sky. "5 years minoring in performance art was not wasted!"

  Dotty just stared at him. "You just spent five years watching Only Fools and Horses repeats, didn't ya?"

  "...Yeah. But I also took a bricklaying apprentice course before I came out."

  Dotty shook her head in genuine disappointment toward Tilda. "I can't believe you came over just for this melt. I thought you were genuinely interested in turning over a new leaf."

  Tilda grabbed his arm lovingly. "Well, ever since he gave himself this assignment, I haven't seen him for over a month, and well, a girl has needs."

  "Couldn't you just have got a buzzy rabbit?"

  "Ew, gross Dorothy! No, I meant needs, as in bloody respite from that demon child!" She turned to face Robert, pulling away from his arm: "Imagine leaving me alone with that spawn of Satan!"

  Robert looked back at her. "Well, someone had to look after her whilst I was at work trying to pay the bills!"

  "I didn't know you'd be gone so long! What were you even doing over here? I mean, look at this place - why has it taken you so long to do a bit of plastering? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were shagging her!"

  "Nonsense!" Robert moaned in contention. "I liked the company, didn't I."

  "I knew it!" Tilda exclaimed, lowering her gun and crossing her arms in fury. "You're totally poking her, admit it!"

  "No babe, it's not like that. I just liked hanging out with the Irish lad is all. We had a lot in common.” His voice cracked into a whisper: “You know I ain’t got many friends." He turned back to Dotty. "And for the record, I think how you treat that bloke is scandalous."

  "Fanks for your opinion, gingerpube. Top level acting by the way. Next time though, go easy on the 'luvly jubblies'. Dead giveaway. I mean, all these clichés - it's like you've never been around real working-class people before."

  "Nonsense. I used to be a manager in Marks and Spencers!"

  Dotty rolled her eyes. "Well, I'd just like to say that I would have totally porked you if you'd offered. Not 'cos I was desperate to shag a pound shop Del Boy, but just so I could get me revenge on when this harlotting whore did it wiv my 'usband back in the day."

  Robert then lowered his gun and turned to face Tilda with arm-crossed indignation. "Oh, so you're the one sleeping around, is it? No wonder you're on my case, woman - it's sheer projection!"

  "It was way before I met you! Like, forty years ago, Bobby!"

  With both foes distracted and facing each other, Dotty saw her opportunity and was about to take her shot when the back door swung open: "Hey now Ms Walker, I tink I got all de cementy-specks off de spokes dere but -"

  *BANG!*

  Peader had barely stepped foot into the kitchen when he started leaking some Vimto all over the floor.

  "Oh shit, I'm sorry, he startled me!" said Robert, as hot smoke simmered silently from his gun.

  "Peter!" Dotty cried, as Peader collapsed into Tilda's arms. Robert nervously raised his gun back at Dotty and got himself into a highly agitated state, his weapon now shaking in his hand and pointing squarely into The Hitnan's chest.

  She tightened her grip and aimed straight at his forehead. "You're gonna pay for that, builder-boy."

  Peader leaned into Tilda's arms, turning her blue dress mauve. "Sorry, Ms Walker... I was jus' tryin' ta make it up ta ye...like."

  Chapter 18

  *BANG*

  "Jesus Christ, you almost shot me!"

  *BANG*

  "What the hell, woman, stop!"

  "Don't take the Lord's name in vain. And don't shoot up my family!"

  She traced his dodging and ducking figure with the muzzle of her pistol, a rare Colt she affectionately dubbed "Mr Snub-Snub," as Robert cowered behind Tilda's shocked frame as she tried to hold Peader's portly body against the yellow-wallpapered wall and from flopping to the ground.

  "Argh, me feckin' collarbone! Ye shot me, Robbie - I t'ought we were buddies, like. I don't bare me boogie moves to jus' anyone!"

  "Uhhh, I'm sorry mate, I didn't mean to! We were in a tense stand-off, then the next thing I know some bad-arse biker comes bustin' through the door and I panicked, you know how it is."

  "I jus’ can't believe ye shot me, man! Ye got me right in de clavicle - de clavicle, Robbie!" Peader was struggling to hold his head up due to the pain in his neck muscles, but he did so long enough to get a brief look at his shooter; his eyes focused for a few seconds: "Oh wait now, have ye done someting wit yer hair?"

  Before he could answer, Peader was already in Robert's grip, a forearm choking his throat and the other raising the gun back across at Dotty. "That's it! You all stay where you are! Nobody moves. I don't know what's going on anymore and I just want to go home."

  "I knew you were a lazy amateur bum from the beginning - and not just from the five tea breaks a day you kept insisting on!" Dotty tried to line up her shot as he hid his head behind Peader's massive melon. "So, go then. Gimme Peter and you can fack orff out the back door. And take ya cheating traitor skivvy wiv ya." Tilda now looked equally disappointed.

  "Sorry. No can do. Gotta complete the mission first - gotta finish you off like Bognor has contracted me to."

  "Wait, what?!" shouted Peader and The Hitnan in unison. "You're working for Bognor too? Cor, is there anyone these days not secretly tied to that bleedin' Agency?"

  "He's my Handler, Dorothy."

  "What?" she replied to her rather sheepish foe.

  "Robert... he was the Handler assigned to me when I came back to London last year. We grew close and fell in love. That's why I wanted to come back with you today, I... I just missed him I suppose."

  Tilda peered over at Robert with a tinge of winsome regret. (Peader smiled back at her to be polite but couldn't help but feel like an awkward third wheel as he writhed in the grip as Robert's personal human shield.)

  "But you never have a Handler," said Dotty, trying to make sense of it all in her brain. "You always work alone... make your own gadgets... I was always so envious of your ability to do that."

  "What can I say... guess I'm a fraud."

  The Hitnan was so deflated she dropped her guard for a moment, allowing Robert to get a shot off, which whizzed off the edge of her leathery cheek and up into the roof, causing some static f
eedback within her still-damp hearing aids.

  "Ooh, you little git!" she cried, diving behind a chair and trying to reset her plugs. (“Knew I was fackin’ bulletproof!”)

  "Dat's not nice Robert, what's got inta ye, man?!" Peader shouted into the air, still wrapped in the armlock.

  "Sorry mate, it's just business, you understand."

  "Ms Matt’ews, ye wanna have a word wit yer man here - he's takin' pops at liddle old ladies, like!"

  Dotty sprung up and aimed her gun back at him. "Old?! Cheeky git, keep talking like that and I'll give you a matching hole on the ovver side of ya collar!"

  "Fair do's, Ms Walker."

  Tilda just groaned and sat down at the dining table, feeling despondent and rather bored.

  "Right, who put the contract out on me then?" asked Dotty with fury. "Who wants me dead? 'Cos as far as I know me only enemies are present in this room. Everyone else I meet fackin' loves me!"

  "Who do you think, Dotty? You caught the attention of the bigwigs of the Agency. Pissed them off rightly so."

  "Why? I've done all that was fackin' asked of me!"

  "Who knows. But this goes right to the top. This person paid me to off you personally."

  Peader caught a glimpse of a reflection within Dotty's polka dot glasses: "Say now, Ms Walker, have I lost too much blood or am I right in tinkin' I'm being held hostage by de bloke from Simply Red?"

  "No. Unfortunately, this isn't one mass hallucination!" Dotty opined.

  Peader was trying to look up behind him. "Say now, Mr Hucknall fella, d'ye mind feelin' down in me pants fer me phone an’ dat, so I can get a selfie wit ye whilst we're in de perfect position fer it, like?"

  "How about we don't do that, mate; sounds a bit bender-y to me."

  "Oh. But didn't ye sing a wee song about pleasurin' a man at a fairground, dat one time?"

  "What are you talking about, you prat; you do know I'm not Mick fucking Hucknall, right? I just have curly red hair and a freckly face that looks like plasticine."

  "Gawd, I wish this was an 'allucination..." muttered The Hitnan, under her breath.

  Wait... hallucination... gas... the oven!

  "I dunno, I really can't see anyting from here -"