The Hitnan: A Tale of Blood and Canes

by Wez Wallie

  She whipped her gun muzzle from Robert to the shiny new kitchen appliance: "Oi, GINGERNUTS - one false move and the oven gets it - again!"

  Robert's eyes were bulging - "Are you crazy woman, you'll blow us all to Kingdom Come! Not to mention undoing all my hard plastering in here!"

  "I'm ready to face my maker. Question is, are you?"

  "Nah. You're bluffing," he retorted stoically, tightening his grip on Peader. "You love this puffy prick - You. Wouldn't. Dare."

  "You'd better pray gingers have a soul, son, or you're gonna be on a long rollercoaster journey down to a very different kind of fairground - one where the admission is free and so are the arse pokers!"

  Gingernuts took a few seconds to weigh up his options, before exclaiming "Screw you, Dotty Walker!!" and firing off a load of shots, (and thereby ruining his own hard plastering in the process). Dotty unleashed a load of led at the oven, with most just barely denting the shiny white plastic like it was somehow bulletproof too, and the designers had taken into account the possibility of a kitchen firefight in Peckham.

  The exchange was over in a matter of seconds, and the smoke took a few moments to clear as she reset her ringing ears again, this time from the smoke detector, (until she shot it straight off the ceiling).

  "Wowzers, Ms Walker," cried Peader, coughing through the mist. "Were ye actually gonna blow us all up, like?!"

  "Nah," said The Hitnan to reassure him. "Just putting on a show, as it were." Peader exhaled in relief. Bloody extra-safe, EU-regulated modern tat, she thought. Not like the old stuff that went up with a few kicks - this shite don't even go up after a few bullets!

  "Oh, wait now, me neck feels a lot lighter..." Peader leaned back against the wall to support himself as Robert slid to the floor covering the gaping hole in his side.

  "Ouchie..."

  Tilda lowered the smoking gun and tossed it onto the table. "Why did you make me do that, babe? I mean really."

  Dotty kicked the weapon away from him and then tended Peader's wounds, sitting him down on the chair and saying, "it's not too bad," whilst sticking a large Minnie Mouse plaster over the hole in his flesh. His blood stained her white blouse, and it seemed to smell of Monster Munch for some reason.

  Meanwhile, Tilda was trying to keep Robert awake and conscious as she applied pressure to his leaking abdomen.

  "Guess I... I failed... means I won't be getting paid this month, so you'll have go easy on the tuna and avocado for a bit, yeah?"

  "Don't worry," said Tilda, gently. "We'll just have to shop at Lidl for a time."

  "Oh christ just let me die!"

  Tilda tried to keep his focus: "Don’t you bloody croak on me, Bobby, you're not going to leave me to be that child's legal guardian - I'll be stuck with her for life!"

  He summoned the energy to laugh a little. "You know, I was supposed to kill you 'n all, Tild, but I didn’t want to be left alone with that devil child either... funny how things work out."

  Dotty joined her on the floor, kneeling beside her and giving him three slaps to keep him awake, (at least two were for taking the Lord's name in vain again).

  "Right. Time to spill. Who sent ya?"

  He was dozing in and out of reality. "Mm... Michael... Fish..."

  "Eh, Michael Fish, but he's dead! Killed him meself, ages ago!"

  "...Wife."

  "Michael Fishwife?" queried Tilda, looking round at Dotty, puzzled. "Never heard of him."

  "THE WIFE... OF. MICHAEL. FISH!"

  Dotty nudged Tilda's arm - "Top Bass! Gotta be."

  "Oh, this is not good!" Tilda responded worriedly.

  Dotty sat back. "Okay, let's pause and step back 'cos I'm lost. This doesn't make any sense! Why would the spouse of Michael Fish hire me to kill her 'usband, then put a hit out on me after I do it?"

  Robert was laughing again. "Cos the woman's a maniac! I've heard she likes to pit agents against each other for the lolz…"

  The Hitnan whispered: "That's 'shits and giggles' in street talk, Tild." She tapped her nose like it was some sort of secret code. Tilda rolled her eyes.

  "...Whoever's left standing becomes her favourite, or her 'pet'. But since neither of you two have been able to pop each other, I guess you're both done for, now. She has to clean up loose ends."

  Dotty and Tilda looked at each other resolutely.

  "Damn. I knew I shouldn't have taken a celebrity contract," said The Hitnan. "They only get you involved in so much drama."

  "Yep," said Tilda mournfully. "I remember when I did Tupac - I've still got Suge Knight ringing and calling me names in the middle of the night."

  Robert groaned and choked through his crazy laughter, trying to hold his gallbladder in. "She won't give up 'til you're both brown bread... (that means 'dead' in professional east-end geezer talk...)"

  Tilda caressed his head. "Alright sweetie, enough with the rhyming slang; you don't have to act the part anymore."

  Robert cackled and then spat a splodule of bloody phlegm onto the freshly laid floor tiles beside him, meeting their eyes with strained madness. "...Now you see the true wage of your sins... yes, you have brought upon yourselves the wrath of The Wife of Michael Fish!"

  Sirens approached from outside, and the two contract killers looked at each other in horror, then down at one another's blood-stained clothes and to their expired smoking guns. They stared daggers at Peader and the phone beside him.

  "Please tell me you didn't, fatboy..."

  "Whadda ye expect - I got a t'ree-inch leaking hole in me chest an' I needed an ambulance! And so does Micky-boy by de looks'a tings. I mean, de floor's gone all simply red, and de poor fecker's almost simply dead!"

  The Hitnan lowered her head with a sigh. "Fack's sake." The two ladies rushed around grabbing up the guns, giving them a quick wipe and throwing them two gardens over, where they fell into a pit of bones being buried by a passing dog and were quickly covered up with a convenient bit of luck.

  The ambulance crew busted in and began trying to stabilise Robert, (well, after taking a quick dying selfie with the lead singer of an English '80s pop band naturally), whilst a familiar police Sergeant escorted the two elderly ladies outside to take their statements.

  "Well, well, well," said the copper. "Can't seem to keep out of trouble, can we, Ms Walker?"

  "Oh, hello again, OJ dear. You keeping well?" asked Dotty, between much-needed puffs of a smokey.

  "Please. Call me, Oluwanjeolumbingo."

  Tilda gave her name and sat on the wall outside the house, as Peader hobbled out being supported by two pretty policewomen. "It's not so bad after all, Ms Walker!” (Dotty quickly hid her fag behind her.) “Oh, howdy, Sgt. Jones!"

  "Please. Call me Oluwanjeolumbingo. Do you need any fresh clothes, Mr Seamus-Manus-Dreyfus?"

  "Naw, I should be grand, t’anks."

  He was shuffled into the back of the ambulance with a wide smile.

  Sgt. Jones turned back to them with one of his own. "Nice lad."

  Dotty turned up the schtick. "Ooh, you must be thinking so awful of me, Sgt. Olubumbe-olumuwingo..."

  Tilda just watched with a cringe.

  "It's Oluwanjeolumbingo. And I don't want to cause you any further distress given your age and vulnerability, but I do have to stress this isn't looking good for you, Ms Walker. This is the third event within the span of two and a half months that you have been directly involved in serious incidents which have involved death and/or bodily harm."

  Tilda tried a little tactic of her own to get them out of this mess. She hopped off the wall and sauntered her way over to him, running a hand from his arm to his chest seductively. "Ooh, that does sound like one big headache, Mr Sergeant. Though, I think there may be one way I can think of to make all that blow away..."

  "That may very well be, Mrs Matthews, but I don’t swap my pants for just anyone."

  Tilda flashed a faux-smile and quickly turned to Dotty with a whispery panic. "What kind of phrase is that?"

  "Trust me, it ain
't a phrase."

  "Now don't mess me around, ladies, 'cos now I've got a conspiracy to file and sort out. I did warn you, Ms Walker! Oh gawd, I can feel my hernia coming out at just the thought of all the paperwork on this!"

  Tilda tried one last time to seduce the guy, as she pressed herself against him and brought her lips close to his. "Just relax, baby. Feel my warmth on your skin and my breath in your lungs... there's nothing to worry about when you're in the moment..."

  He shoved her away. "Nothing to worry about?! I've got two men in there with penetrated holes! Oh, the boys down at the station are gonna have a field day with this." Tilda threw her hands up in despair and walked back to the wall. "Have you got anything to say for yourselves, hmm?"

  Dotty tried to think quick and looked over at her accomplice for help. Tilda just sat back on the brickwork, blowing into her hand checking her breath and trying to understand why her sexy plan didn't work like it normally does.

  "Erm, yes," said Dotty, turning back. "Actually, you see it wasn't bullet holes or anything like that if that's what you're thinking, Officer... no, see it was simply, uh, a champagne cork that shot into the poor blokes' bodies... yes..."

  "Whatty? Champagne corks?"

  "Yeah, see we were celebrating the repair of the kitchen and the shiny new oven when we got a little overexcited and the cork shot off and into the clavicle bone of Mr Seamus-Manus-Dreyfus."

  "Bloody hell. And the red fella?"

  "Yeah, well naturally, corks are very bouncy aren't they and the kitchen tiles were freshly plastered so the bleedin' thing bounced off the walls like it was 1985 and shot straight through the abdomen of the Mick Hucknall lad."

  "Blimey! They should put warnings on the label for that kind of thing!" He turned to Tilda: "And you corroborate this story, yeah?"

  She hadn't been listening but replied with a casual, "Uh, yeah, what she said."

  "Right. Good enough for me," he said with a snap of his notebook. "Cor, I was worried for a second there. I always get pulled up on my paperwork. It sets off my anxiety it does. And I hadn't even gotten to addressing the issue of the abandoned helicopter my colleagues removed from the green last week! But let's not even go there, my notepad's almost full now anyhow."

  Tilda hopped off the wall again. "Okay, so are we free to go?"

  "You're free to go." Dotty shook her head in disbelief that her bullshit actually worked. "Congrats on the house, by the way, Ms Walker. Amazing you got it back good as new." She nodded in thanks as he got back in his car and drove off.

  "That was a close one," said Tilda with a sigh, opening a pack of Milky Way Magic Stars from her handbag and flinging a few over to her archnemesis.

  "Right," said The Hitnan, between chocolatey gums. "So, they ask me to take you out, and you to take me out... and given neither of us succeeded, that makes us both a target now, right? Top Bass is gonna use the entire resources of the Agency to take us out."

  Tilda nodded. "Yep."

  "Then the only way we stand a chance is to..." Dotty gulped, "...stand togevver."

  Her archrival sighed again. "God, I suppose."

  Dotty gave her a slap for good measure. "Keep taking the Lord's name in vain - I enjoy smacking you up!"

  "Oh, you keep on like that and this trucie-team-up's going to be over before it begins, Dorothy Walker!"

  The Hitnan just sniggered like a kid. Tilda gave her the finger before asking: "So, what do you propose then?"

  "We get out of here for a start. Maybe head up to Scotland, hide out up there for a bit."

  "Are you mad? You can't run from the Wife of Michael Fish! You said it yourself, she has all the resources of a global agency! We have a cab and a walking stick."

  "Oi! Don't put us down like that. We also have a Gameboy and possibly an Etchersketch too if we're lucky."

  "Bloody hell. How have I been thwarted all this time by you ragtag pair of tools?"

  Speaking of, Dotty gave her two fingers back and went over to check on Peader. Tilda just watched as they wheeled Robert out on a stretcher, as he mumbled in enthusiastic delirium between morphine shots the lyrics to one of his favourite songs:

  ♫"Aaand I love the thought of coming home to you... EVEN IF I KNOW THERE'S NO BACON!"♫

  His wild red eyes lit up as Tilda hopped in the back of the second ambulance and they drove off to their private hospital.

  From the view of a black Vauxhall Corsa parked just over the road from The Hitnan's house, the Wife of Michael Fish sat strengthening her crimson lipstick in the rear-view mirror.

  "Never send a ginger to do a cappuccino brown's work." she said with a purr, smacking her plump dermal-filled lips together. "Fine. We do this the hard way then."

  Chapter 19

  Dotty had picked up little Shonny from Gus's café to visit her mum in the hospital, leaving Gustavo and his Turkish nephew with a Thousand Yard Stare and a brief window with which they could escape the country for a while to get a bit of respite.

  They entered the ward and made their way over to the two beds by window: in the left sat Shonny's mummy and in the other lay Peader, who had his bandaged left shoulder supported in a sling. They had just finished up their late afternoon snack, and Peader slurped up the remnants of liquid at the bottom of his Ribena carton and playfully blew it toward Mal in the bed next to him. Mal however was prepared and had already made some spit balls from her Capri Sun and sarnie packet, shooting three of them square into his forehead before it had even registered.

  A moment passed between them, as they stared into each other's eyes and bridged the distance with outstretched lips before Dotty Walker stuck her wrinkly forefinger between the gap with which they would meet.

  "Eurgh, mother!" cried Mal, opening her eyes after wondering why Peader's mouth would taste like battered leather and fag ash.

  Peader, bless him, was still snogging her finger with his eyes closed and battling a raging lob-on.

  "Stop it Peter, it was a joke, already! You're like schoolkids, the pair of ya!"

  Shonny just giggled as he opened his eyes and went red again. "Oh, hey guys. I was just, uh, sleep... …smooching... yeh, it's like sleep-walkin' but... sexier?"

  Dotty pulled up a chair to the left of her daughter, and Shonny sat in the middle of the two beds facing both of them, after having kisses and cuddles with her mum.

  "Cor, I've seen more of this hospital ward than I have me own bedroom of late. We're right regulars in here now."

  Mal sat up. "Hi mum, how are you doing?"

  "Well, I've just been betrayed by a builder; Countdown's ruined, and me piles are on fire. But I'm still here, just about." She looked down at her child's floppy legs, growing as gaunt her face. "We gotta get you up and walking soon. How's your fractured pelvis holding up, love?"

  "Much less pain now, thanks. What was that about the build -"

  "Your legs are so thin, mummy!"

  "Yes, because I haven't been able to use them for a so long, sweetie."

  Dotty chuckled. "What's fatboy's excuse then?"

  Unfortunately, Dotty didn't get the desired response to her mad bantz as Peader was hanging off the bed, falling asleep. Shonny propped him back up as he came back to consciousness with a startle.

  Mal sniggered. "Hey mum, what are the chances P hurts his arm saving a birdie from the new roof and gets put in the next bed? Can you believe it?"

  "No. I can't believe it."

  Beyond Mal's sight, Peader was mouthing 'I had ta tell her someting!'

  Mal was quite touched when her mother seemed to make the effort of holding her hand, though she was a little disheartened when it was clear Dotty was just trying to inspect her quivering wrist.

  "'Ere, why's your claw shaking so much, woman?"

  "Oh, I'm just so tired and cold, and my body's been through trauma, and -"

  "- Hold up. I've seen this before; you know I have!" She grabbed over at her other arm and traced the line back up to the IV bag above. "Oh, please tell me you ain’t hooke
d on that fackin' morphine drip, Marion!"

  Mal's eyes widened then rolled. She looked over at Peader, who got the message.

  "Hey Shon-Shon, come over to me bed and show me yer Instabook piccies. Let's give yer mammy an’ nanna sum privacy, yeh?"

  He stretched over to draw the thin blue sheet of curtain in a circle around them, which only served to partially block them from sight yet couldn't prevent them from hearing every word they were saying.

  "...I knew you'd go back to this stuff. Gawd 'elp me if you're going down this road again, woman." Dotty was shaking in anger in the chair, whilst Mal tried to lift herself up a bit in the bed to take the bollocking.

  "Look, I was in pain, alright? My family had just been blown up, my bloody pelvis was shattered, and I was all alone for ages with nothing but Mrs Brown's Boys for company. Even you would have turned to the snizz to ease that pain!"

  "Stop with the excuses, Marion. I worked so hard to get you clean and away from the charlie. I even saved up to send you on that rehab course - you know, with the arab-looking guy who had the giant curly moustache."

  "Yeah, well I shagged him," she said with spite.

  "I knew it! In Ikea?"

  "Yeah, he held me up against the pedal bins and just tickled my muff with his ‘tache."

  "Sweet Jafar's Bazaar!"

  "What do you want me to say, mum? I'm a failure, alright?! I'm weak! All I do is try my best but it's just never enough. I tried to give up Monster Munch for Lent but was back on the starch by March. I'm just doomed."

  Meanwhile across the curtain, Shonny and Peader were flicking through Snapchats and listening to Cardi B tracks, with the volume up as high as it will go. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to cover the discussion next door and now Peader was stuck with horrific mental image of Jafar from Alladin dining at the altar of his girlfriend. (This dating lark was certainly a Whole New World for the lad.)

  He tried to distract himself. "Hey Shon-Shon, how's dat piccie of me ye drew back in de café doing?"

  "Oh, really well. That's on Instagram, one mo..." She flicked between apps and loaded her profile. She had just broken 32k followers now and was close to blue tick territory.