The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series) (19 page)

‘
I better be careful before I get eaten,’ Tabatha returned huskily.

‘
Getting eaten is just the beginning,’ I flipped back.

‘
Really? What a big appetite you have,’ she stepped closer to me.

‘
It's not the only big thing I've got for you.’

‘
Oh, I know that I know you got ...’

‘
ME IS ’ERE!’ Curtis blasted across in full Patois. ‘Me is ’ere, me nah need to say nah more. Me not explain it. It not need explaining. Me is ’ere!’ he proclaimed standing between us. ‘Me is ’ere! And you two need to be somewhere else. Me nah watch you.’

‘
Yes, sorry, Curtis mate,’ I said, still looking lustfully at Tabatha.

‘
Yes, sorry Curtis,’ Tabatha agreed, while staring at me.

‘
I think we should go.’

‘
Yes.’ It was all she said and all I needed to hear.

‘
Let's go.’ I said grabbing her arm and leading her out of the house and towards Betsy.

As we were about to come out the front door filled with carnal lust, Muzzi burst back in with that mangy moggy, which on seeing me started spitting and struggling, desperately trying to lays claws upon me.

‘
Woof!’ I growled.

‘
Wolfy, stop it!’ Muzzi chastised.

‘
He started it.’ I replied with mock indignation. ‘Why is he still here?’

‘
That's why I came back. She's gone! Something's wrong with Mrs Milkie.’

‘
I know. She's bonkers.’

‘
She’s not bonkers she's ... um ...
different.’

‘
Yeah, differently bonkers. Nutty crackpot. Lovely woman, very polite, but mad mental.’

‘
She's in trouble.’ Muzzi implored. ‘She's wrote a note.’

‘
It's probably to the cat.’

‘
It is.’ Muzzi returned not detecting my scorn.

‘
What?’ Tabatha stated bemused. She didn't know Mrs Milkie and was unsure whether I was just teasing Muzzi.

‘
She wrote this note to Mr Milkie,’ he said, waving an expensive looking piece of paper above his head. As he did his grip on the cat loosened and the crazy beast made a lunge, narrowly missing me.

‘
Look,’ Muzzi uttered excitedly. ‘It's to her husband.’

‘
The cat.’ I interjected scornfully.

‘
What?’ Tabatha and Curtis simultaneously replied.

‘
The cat, isn't it, Muzzi?’

‘
Um … yes.’

‘
She wrote a letter to the cat?’ Tabatha asked, confused.

‘
No, no,’ Muzzi hurried. ‘It's to her husband.’

‘
Who she thinks
is
the cat,’ I emphasised.

‘
What?’ Curtis and Tabatha exclaimed again.

‘
She thinks the cat’s her husband. Like I said … bonkers, absolutely bonkers.’ Making sure the emphasis was directly at Muzzi, who looked down in embarrassment.

‘
Anyway, Muzzi, carry on. What does it say, this letter to the cat?’

‘
Okay.’ Muzzi was excited. He was involved in a mystery. ‘Ahem,’ he cleared his throat. Muzzi was getting far too carried away.

‘
Dear Mr Milkie …’

‘
She calls her husband
Mr Milkie?’
Tabatha enquired.

‘
Bonkers! Why is nobody listening? I keep saying it; the woman is bonkers, b-o-n-k-e-r-s! Bonkeeeeerrrrrrrs!’

‘
We get you.’ Tabatha said calming me.

‘
Are you sure, ’cos I can say it again if you want.’

‘
No, we get it. Bonkers.’

‘
Okay, cool.’

‘
Please continue, Muzzi,’ Tabatha directed.

‘
Okay … um … okay, sorry. It says:

Dear Mr Milkie

I write this letter to you in the chance you have escaped, as you did in Burma; should be easier now with claws.’

‘
Bonkers.’

‘
Wolfy, shut up!’

‘
Sorry, bab.’

‘
If you have escaped, your dinner’s in the tray and I will be back soon. If not, I have seen your kidnapper in a large green lorry. I have borrowed Mr Murphy's skip lorry and will come and get you. I heard the scoundrel tell Mrs Dotter that he was heading towards Bath. I will catch him and I will save you, Mr Milkie. yours sincerely Mrs Milkie’

‘
Alright bonkers,’ Tabatha said. ‘What skip lorry?’

‘
Mr Murphy who lives in the squat down the road; the one that's always trying to sell carpets. He's got a skip lorry.’

‘
I saw a skip lorry about fifteen minutes ago, when I was emptying the bins,’ Curtis added unhelpfully.

‘
That must have been her,’ Muzzi stammered. ‘If we go now we can still catch her.’

‘
That's lovely,’ I said. ‘Okay, Tabs, you ready? I think it's time to go.’

‘
You can't leave,’ Muzzi implored. ‘We’ve got to go and get her.’

‘
No, we don't.’

‘
We do, Wolfy. We’re responsible. If it wasn't for us trapping the cat she wouldn't have gone off.’

‘
No. She wouldn't have gone off if she wasn't bonkers. She says she's stolen a skip lorry. I don't need to explain why I'm not getting involved. It's a batty old woman and a cat. It’s your show, Muzzi. See you later.’

‘
Wolfy, please. Tabatha, please. Come on, Wolfy. You shot Cholera. You have a responsibility to this innocent creature.’

‘
I have a responsibility to put it in a sack and fling it in the river.’

‘
Oh my god, Wolfy. I can't believe you just said that. It's an innocent creature.’

‘
Hell Spawn.’

‘
Wolfy ... are you going to help this dear old woman who has lost her cat?’

‘
No. Muzzi. I am
not
going to help the dear old woman who’s lost her cat, because she's bonkers.’

‘
Fine then. I'll do it alone,’ Muzzi huffed, snatching my car keys from Tabatha’s hand and, running out, slamming the door behind him.

By the time I'd realised what had happened, Muzzi had already opened the car door and was climbing in, cat in one hand, my keys in the other.

‘
Oi, Muzzi! Don't you dare! Don't you dare start that engine.’

He started the engine.

‘
Don't put it into gear.’

He put it in gear.

‘
Don't move it, Muzzi. I'm not joking. Don't move my car.’

He moved … he bloody moved.

Muzzi drove off in search of Marigold Milkie, in my car, with an evil cat smiling at me from the passenger seat.

‘
Curtis, get your car.’

‘
Are you mad? I’m not chasing them.’

‘
You’re the big mouth with ‘
I saw a skip lorry’,
and if you want your cut of the rocks you’ll start the engine.’

‘
Wolfy, that's not funny.’

‘
Start the engine and follow my car.’

Curtis mumbled something evil and started his car, an old battered Fiesta. We piled in and followed Betsy.

‘
I'm going to kill, Muzzi. I'm a bad man now you know.’ Nobody really took this seriously.

‘
It's okay, bab. We'll get Betsy back.’

‘
Oh I know.’ I pronounced with mock confidence. ‘And when we do, I'm going to kill Muzzi.’

This was a serious thing; my car is my pride and joy I love my car, I've named my car. Turtle wax, regular vacuum out. I love my car. I built that car. Muzzi knew all this and stole my car.

‘
I'll kill him.’

‘
Calm down, bab. It's Muzzi. He's on a crusade. It’s okay. We'll sort it.’

We followed down towards Hammersmith and into Twickenham, heading towards Bath, trailing Muzzi and that mangy cat.

‘
If that cat pisses on my seats, no joke, I’m getting a sack,’ I said to no one in particular.

‘
What’s happening with the rocks, Wolfy, now that you’ve threatened me with them?’

‘
Yeah, sorry about that, Curt. They’re meant to be moving tomorrow. We have to nick the donkeys when they’re delivered. Now catch up to Betsy.’

‘
That’s the plan?’

‘
Well, you can always try getting them from the warehouse, where the police are surrounding them. Drive faster.’

‘
Fair enough. Is that the skip lorry?’

Marigold Milkie was indeed in a skip lorry, following a green HGV. Muzzi was behind her. apologising to me through the window of my car, while I was doing much swearing at Muzzi through the window of Curtis’ car.

This nonsense continued for about fifteen miles until the green HGV pulled in at a service station, followed by Mrs Milkie in the skip lorry, Muzzi in Betsy and then us.

As the driver of the lorry climbed out of his cab, oblivious to the chaos surrounding him, Marigold Milkie leapt — and I do mean
leapt
— out of the skip lorry. Wielding a brown and green tartan pattern carpet bag, she charged at the lorry driver screaming.

‘
Give back my Cholera! Give back my husband.’

His reflexes were better then you would've expected as he dodged the first swing. It did take him off balance though, sending him tumbling to the ground.

‘
No! Mrs Milkie, stop!’ wailed Muzzi, dashing towards her and running from us simultaneously.

‘
I have Cholera,’ he uttered, which I can't deny got him some funny looks in the service station. A lot of people took a couple of steps back.

‘
What?’ she doddered. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Muzzi.’ She did her best old granny voice; sweet little granny about to murder a lorry driver outside the Happy Chef … because of a cat.

Bonkers!

‘
Mrs Milkie, I've found your cat.’

‘
Oh thank you, Mr Muzzi. I was sure this ruffian had taken Mr Milkie.’

‘
What?’ stammered the dumbfounded driver. ‘What's going on?’

By now we had caught up. Muzzi was deliberately putting Mrs Milkie between him and me. Curtis helped up the driver.

Mrs Milkie grabbed the mangy beast from Muzzi.

‘
I think it's time I took you home,’ Muzzi took Mrs Milkie's hand and led her back to my car. Just as I realised what was happening my phone rang.

I was going to ignore it. Muzzi was trying to drive off in my car again and he was hoping that the old woman he was hiding behind was going to stop me shooting him.