The Hitnan: A Tale of Blood and Canes

by Wez Wallie

  "Wowzers, dere's loads of me isn't dere... me in a hat... me sleepin' in me bed... me again… on de toilet, dere..."

  "Yeah, the candid ones always get better engagement."

  "Ye got quite de imagination," he said with a little nervous laughter, as he thumbed down the pics onscreen. "Doe I'm shure de light doesn't quite shine dat way off me buttcrack in de shower like dat."

  "Give me a break, it's hard to sketch through a keyhole."

  "- Oh me Lordy!" he cried, as he snatched the phone out of her hand and brought it up close to his face.

  "Dat woman dere who's constantly likin' and commentin' about yer talent and how she wants ta recruit yer inta her 'agency': how long you been talkin' ta her fer?!"

  "The Wife of Michael Fish? Not too long. 'Bout a month or two maybe. She said she's thinking of offering me a scholarship into her art school, but I didn't wanna say anything to mummy before it was official."

  "Somehow I don't tink it's drawin' she's talkin' about here! How did ye start talkin' ta her, like?"

  "Well, I'm the Senior Social Relations Manager for Gus's Good Eats Café now, so I handle PR for when he gets enquiries about opening hours and for complaints about his beans. This lady sent us loads of DM’s, but Gus told me not to look at the private messages, so I left those for him to sort through as I assumed it was his boss."

  "Oh, dat's not good!"

  "Is there a problem, Peady?"

  "Ah naw, Miss Shon-Shon, not ta worry, everyting's grand."

  "You just said it's not good, though?"

  "Ah, yes because... it's opposite day taday, haha, yay," he bluffed, staring at the phone in a sweat.

  "Okay. Well, I totally don't want to draw you like one of my French lads, in the same way Jack drew Rose in Titanic..."

  "Dat's good..." he responded absent-mindedly. He whipped the curtain back and waved frantically with his one good arm to get The Hitnan's attention.

  "Psst! PSST! Ms Walker - Ms Walker!!" It was no use. She couldn't hear him between her low-set hearing aids and the argument she was still having with Mal.

  "...You fink it was easy for me? I didn't want to see you waste away on that stuff; squander your life chances - it hurt me too! But I had to be strong and firm with you.

  If you make your own choice to go down that road, then you'll have to hitchhike your way back. You were an adult by then, and you had to learn the hard way, making your own mistakes."

  "I know," said Mal. "But I was lost and not thinking straight. I guess I just could've used some support is all."

  "Well," said Dotty, straightening her fresh blouse with her palms, "It's in the past now. No good going over things we can't change. We gotta focus on what we can change, like that bleedin' fing in your arm for a start -"

  Suddenly, a spit ball shot into her right temple and squelched down into the wrinkle-folds of her cheek. She froze in place and turned her head slowly toward Peader like a predator provoked by its prey.

  The straw fell from his lips as he stared back with eyes filled of instant regret. "Ah naw, I'm sorry, I just, ye godda get in here, I tink I may have found dat ting ye were lookin' fer..."

  "Ting? Eh, what ting? Can't you see I'm in the middle of a muvver-daughter reconciliation 'ere?"

  "Yes, sorry Ms Walker, but it's about de ting... involving de legally wedded partner of a deceased wedderman, bearing a title akin ta tiny gill-beasts of de aquatic variety!"

  It took a second to process the riddle and to stop herself visibly groaning in frustration. She turned back to Mal, who was fiddling about with the IV line in her arm.

  "Time-out. And don't take any more of that muck!"

  Dotty whipped out of her chair and hobbled over to Peader, snatching Shonny's phone from his palm. She then handed Shonny her phone and instructed the kid to get off the bed and "go cheer ya mum up. With headphones."

  As she passed, Dotty whipped the blue curtain back around them and hopped on the side of the bed.

  "You sure this is her?"

  "Yeh," Peader said in resposnse, showing her the comments. "Her handle liderally says @TheWifeofMichaelFish, an' her bio says exactly de same ting!"

  "Shame she hasn't got a profile pic - we still dont know what she looks like!"

  "Aye, dat's a problem, I tried ta do a background search, but Google have wiped her face from de face of de interwebs."

  "Did you never meet her during your time at the Agency??"

  "Naw. I nedder got high enough test scores ta earn tea and scone time wit Top Bass."

  Beyond the curtain, Mal was trying to find the words to talk to her daughter about her past. Her mother was right, and she owed it to Shonny and to the Lord to be more honest about her previous drug use. She looked down at the IV in her arm in shame.

  "Hey Shonny, sweetie. You remember when mummy was very thin and light, and had to go away to see some professional people?"

  Shonny nodded innocently, looking up with big brown eyes.

  "Well darling, in truth, I was..." Mal took a deep breath. "...I was addicted to bad substances. And I want you to know because I don't want you to follow down the same path as your mummy and make the same mistakes. Do you understand at all?"

  "I understand. At the café, Gus gives me a lot of leftover yoghurt at the end of the day. So, I know what it's like, mummy. I'm addicted to Frubes."

  Mal let out an involuntary snort and smile. "Well, I guess you can relate, after all!"

  Meanwhile, Peader had begun flicking through the dozens of messages sent back and forth between Gus and this head of Bognor lady.

  "Goddamn," cried The Hitnan. "They're all encrypted! Look, there's letters I've never even seen before - it must be some crazy new kind of crypto-coding!"

  "Naw, Ms Walker, it's jus' Turkish, like."

  "Really? Oh. Well, that's a bit of luck!" She whipped the curtain back and stuck her melon around the cloth: "Actually Shonny, get your hiney back in here, we need this translating."

  Shonny kissed her mum on the cheek and jumped off the bed, making her way around to the other side. Mal put on Best of Barlow and said, "you know, I'm starting to feel very left out over here!" as the curtain settled back straight. She just put the earphones in and hovered her hand over the morphine release valve, fighting the urge to concede.

  "Hey Shon-Shon, dese Turkish convo’s on yer café DMs, does ye reckon ye can translate it fer us kindly at all?"

  "But I'm not allowed to read the messages between the bosses - it's forbidden!"

  "So is bum fun, kid, but the Lord permitted the Tories to allow it in law, so get over here and decode these wonky letters!"

  "Nanny, what's bum-f -"

  "- Just looky 'ere!"

  Shonny began studying the messages. "I've only been learning the language for a few weeks guys so don't expect too much," she said as she scrolled through. "They're discussing terms of business; something about chopping them up after they've gone stiff and cold..."

  The Hitnan grabbed Peader by both shoulders with a panicked whisper: "Bollocks - they're gonna kill us, quarter us, and stuff our body parts inside the bleedin' pies!"

  "No, I think it's just about jellied eels," said Shonny. "'Smooth and popular with the locals' - yep, can't be you, definitely jellied eels. Calm down, nanna. Why you so nervous about all this? It's only Gus and his boss talking about the café's food stock shipments. Look, right at the bottom she even says, 'they will pay for everything' and 'we'll make sure they get what they deserve' - aw, what a nice lady, giving Gus free stuff! And I love how she understands the basic business principle that the customer is always right!"

  Peader and The Hitnan shared a look of worry and dismay. He mouthed 'dey will pay fer everyting?!' in confusion and Dotty returned the look of bewilderment.

  "Quick now, does it say anyting about where dey are, or how ta find dis woman?!"

  "Um..." said Shonny, scrolling back through and trying to translate back and forth in her young head. "Not really. She mentions being in a 'room of et
ernal doom...’ oh hang on, this bit seems to be a private online therapy session, so that must be more of a description of her mental state as she says that her husband has recently passed away, oh how sad." Dotty just looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, but here she says that 'she has to get off the computer now as she is needed elsewhere'. Maybe she shares the computer or something? That could be a clue maybe?"

  "Hmm. Not much to go on though."

  She kept scrolling. "Down here they are now talking about how 'the flump plan didn't work out how we wanted' - I told Gus he was overpricing them! - and ‘when I say I keep an eye on female target, I didn't think that would turn into babysitting child of child!'”

  Peader pulled Dotty's ear to his mouth: "Lordy! Dat means Gustavo was a spy de whole time, Ms Walker! He was told ta watch us and was workin' fer Top Bass all along!"

  "And they tried to take you out with a flump!"

  "Come ta tink of it, it was extra chewy, and I've nedder had a problem eatin' pink sponge before!"

  "Not what I heard, Peter... Anyway, going through you to get to me? That's low. These people are sick!"

  He blushed and was about to protest when she thanked Shonny and grabbed her coat before going over to kiss Marion goodbye. "I have to shoot off now love, but please do me a favour - take that shite out of your arm. You don't need it. It's poison and you're so much better than that. Besides, pain builds character."

  She gave her a kiss as Mal slowly nodded in concurrence.

  "Mum?" she called, slowly sitting up straight.

  "Yeah?"

  "I love you."

  Dotty paused for a moment before grabbing her phone out of Shonny's hand. "Ditto, dear."

  Mal appreciated the attempt at reciprocation and nodded back, looking down and with a shamed determination pulled the IV out of her arm with a wince. Shonny cuddled up to her mum as Peader whipped the curtain around to cover them both again. "Ms Walker, where ye going to now?!"

  "Look after her, yeah?" said Dotty, dialling a number and holding her phone to her ear. "Make sure she don’t take any more of that stuff. I need to go get Tilda. We gotta finish this, now. Or else it'll never be over. We'll never be safe from The Wife of Michael Fish!"

  "But ye don't even know where she is!"

  "That's why you're gonna fire up that tracking device of yours and call me when you've found her location."

  He swung his legs out of the bed and tried to get up. "Naw, Ms Walker, I can't let youse two go in alone! She'll have de entire resources of de Agency behind her!"

  She stopped him, swung his legs back under the covers and tucked him in tight until he was wriggling against the sheets like a worm fighting the soil.

  "Well, if yer gonna go ye have ta hand over yer ciggies! Dat's my price of leddin’ ye do dis."

  "Look at you, Pete - you're wrapped up tighter than Hannibal Lecter in front of a naked Yoga class. You're in no position to haggle, son."

  "Ms Walkerr!" he said in a defiant, demanding voice.

  She conceded and flung the pack at his face. "Fine, whatever minger."

  He smiled in satisfaction. "Well, make shure ye call me if ye need me! What will ye do in de meantime, whilst I'm finding her, like?"

  The Hitnan stopped halfway through the door: "We're gonna get tooled up, son."

  Chapter 20

  The Hitnan had nicked Peader's cab and after almost hitting every bollard and pedestrian on the roads, she slammed into Tilda's gravelly front yard with a tidal skid, sending a wave of pebbly stones up to tap on the bedroom windows above, (perhaps like a courting lover would in one of them yankee teen romance dramas from the '80s).

  The cane smacked into the stones as she made her way over to the front door of the manor under the last whisks of an afternoon sun, which was swiftly retreating behind a blanket sheet of grey.

  Dotty could already hear the shrieks and sounds of familial drama from deep inside, which reminded her of the good ol’ days sparring with Marion, such as the time she banned her daughter from going to the latest Take That concert for doing drugs whilst sewing and then making a voodoo sex doll of Mark Owen. (Colleges tend to frown on that kind of thing, and the Textiles teacher was particularly peeved that Mal didn't end up making her dolls of the whole of Shawaddywaddy like she promised.)

  The Hitnan tapped on the door and before she could step back it flung open and the scrawny body of one Tilda Matthews was thrown out on top of her.

  "...And next time you forget to slice the Avocado to the appropriate three centimetres of width, I shall make the same 'error' with all of your tacky berets!" Eight-year-old Bluebell slammed the door with a crash that shook the whole house.

  "Tacky?! The brat doesn't know what good taste is!"

  Dotty just stared up into Tilda's face as they laid nose to nose. "Well don't look at me, I'm on the kid's side."

  "Oh, get out of it, Dorothy!"

  "You're on top of ME, Maffews!"

  They rolled off and out from under each other as Tilda scrambled to sit on the front step and Dotty sat legs apart in the gravel, catching her breath.

  "Gosh, that girl's super strong," said Tilda, circling her arm to reset her shoulder.

  "Well, what ya feedin' it?"

  "Nothing unusual; just the normal human assortment of middle-class comestibles."

  "So why she having an eppy about the consistency of a fruit then?" Dotty asked, arcing her cane in the shingles like a bored kid.

  "You think that was bad, you should have seen her when I bought Mini Milks instead of Caramel Magnums! I couldn't sit right for days, Dorothy!"

  "I blame the parents."

  "The problem is she's a literal devil child! I think the Anti-Christ was due to be born to her mother, but his sister was all like, 'screw you, I'm going up first!' Sometimes," she began to add with a red-eyed whisper, "I think she's eating my soul..."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry about what you never had in the first place, dear," The Hitnan said matter-of-factly, and struggling to her feet with a stretch. "Maybe you should rethink this whole parenting and family lark."

  Tilda stared at the ground. "I just never thought I'd be this old and still in-play, Dorothy; never really planned for it. It's scary being on your own this late in the game."

  Dotty looked over at her once formidable foe's pathetic shape. After a moment of wallowing silence, Tilda enquired after Peader.

  "How's your boy doing with his collar wound?"

  "Honestly, it's the best fing that ever 'appened to him, to be fair. They've put him in the bed next to his girlie friend."

  "Girlfriend?! Oh my. I'd just assumed..."

  "Ashumed what?"

  "Well, you know... flat cap, leather jacket, best friend an old bird..."

  "You got a cheek. You wouldn't look at Mick 'Ucknall and fink 'lady-killer'... well you would fink that actually - the guy looks like an adult Chucky doll, but I mean you wouldn't have thought the Simply Red bloke would get ‘nuff pinkly dick-soaks."

  "He's clearly done alright for himself," said Tilda, sitting straighter as she bigged herself up.

  "Yeah. If by bagging himself a giraffe at the Fairground on the way to a hot Tinder date can be called ‘doing alright for himself’."

  "Shut up, my neck is normal! Anyway, he was batting off all those BUPA nurses as I was leaving the ward. He's hot stuff, my Mick – uh, I mean, Robert..."

  Dotty snorted.

  Tilda just gave her an elongated middle finger. After a short period of awkward silence, she looked up again: "Wait, what are we supposed to be doing here, Dorothy?"

  "Oh balls, that's right! We found out the Wife of Michael Fish has been secretly watching us via spies in the local caffy, and me granddaughter's decoded secret transmissions between her and a Turkish immigrant."

  Tilda looked baffled.

  "It's a fing, just go with it. But we gotta take the fight to her, whilst she least expects it!"

  She shot up. "Agreed. I'm ready to take this whore of Babylon out; just tell me where
she is and I shall do what I do best!"

  "Well, we don't need any whoring done, fanks. Ah, that's a point, Peter was meant to be phoning me with her location, one mo..." Dotty whipped out her mobile and called her Irish lad, who promptly picked up with a relieved, "Oh, Ms Walker, yer okey den?!", thinking the ordeal was all over.

  "I haven't even confronted the woman yet; we're waiting on you to tell us where she's at!"

  "Ah yes, course yer are. Well, de Game Boy's had naw luck. It's like she's off-grid! I even tried firing up me Etchersketch but Mrs Wife of Michael Fish must’a found a way ta block out de signal! …Oh no, I guess it's because I've never shot her wit a tracker... well dat's useless, den."

  "Bleedin' heck! We're all dressed up here with nowhere to go!"

  "What's the problem, Dorothy?" Tilda asked, sitting back down on the step, a little deflated.

  Dotty pressed the phone to her collar and whispered, "He ain't been able to find her yet."

  "Crumbs on it. He had one job, you know!"

  She put the phone back to her ear: "She said you had one job you know!"

  "Aw, I know. I feel terrible. But I also feel relieved 'cos I don't want youse ta go pickin' fights wit psychopaths who don't even have a real name."

  "Well, someone's gotta stop her tyrannical power trip and setting agents against each other for the sheer jollies. Now, we're going to the Library to stock up on some special gear - I want a location as soon as we're done. You hear that, boy?"

  "In an instant, Ms Walker! Or ye know, whenever me T.I.T. can trace some online activity."

  "Whatever. Dotty out."

  "Ooh, that's a point," said Tilda. "Maybe we should do one last Dotty's Diary whilst we're, you know, still breathing and such?"

  "Shut up Maffews, you ain't gettin' on me channel. I don't do collabs and I don't share screen time."

  "FINE!" yelled Tilda, rushing up from the step and stomping over to the cab. She whipped around and thrust a finger into Dotty's face: "But when I start my own Youtube channel, don't expect me to link to yours on the 'Community' section and be giving you mad cred!"