This is life Jim, but not as we know it.

Well I am sorry that there has not been an update for a while but I have had a rather hectic time moving and not having a direct internet connection. Now I do, albeit it is a little slow but beggars can’t be choosers at the moment and therefore I am happy for small mercies.

Lots had been happening in the world the last two weeks plus, most of it bad…hah hah hah. But not to worry, I have been entertaining myself writing this ludicrous black political satire. It is not that far from being finished actually. I reckon three or more chapters and it is a wrap, besides the work of going over it, tying up the knots and plots. Then I have to find someone willing to edit the lot for nothing besides 20% of profits unknown.

It could all turn out to be much to do about nothing but we will see. I have also been messing around redoing the chapters but I will leave the present part / chapters as they are. As I intend to try and SELL this, I will cut you off at least two or three thrilling chapters before the end.

So here it is, the next episode in the most exciting thing you have read since you were drunk in a poolside deck chair trying to get your head around the Da Vinci code.

The Y Files: The Tinny Blabber Code. Part Six.

Secret Agent Slapper spun the mighty machine through a 360 with the hand brake. Ramming the tortured engine into first, she floored the accelerator, causing the rear of the sleek gold metallic Jaguar convertible to snake wildly as it attempted to gain a grip. As it did, Dilly smashed on the brakes and pulled up in front of McDonalds on Beggers Street. She sniffed the stench appreciatively, the aphrodisiac aroma of burnt rubber making her nipples stand out.

Mildew scuffled over and climbed awkwardly into the passenger seat, signalled the classic Star Trek, ‘Engage’ arm movement, and Dilly put the ‘Cat’ through its fancy brochured advertised paces. No words were spoken besides Wolf’s request to head towards Birmingham, Dilly needing all her concentration controlling the huge horsepower at her disposal, zipped the machine through the yellow lit streets and the speedometer showed 120 miles an hour as she entered the M4 slipway heading north west.

Wolf rummaged through Dilly’s bag and attempted to read through his one good eye the crude script scribbled onto the paper napkins stuffed into the Co-Op carrier bag by the weak glow of the tiny cosmetic lamp installed in the visor.

“I gotta eat, Wolf, and I need some booze. I hope you got some coke for me in that little bag around your spare tyre. My nerves are killing me. Found anything interesting?”
Wolf looked up, “There’s a 24 hour service station coming up, pull in there. Yeah, you did well kid, this is pay dirt by the looks of things.”

***

“Get him out Tinny, now, and I don’t want that thing,” pointing to the Greatmaltpoo who was now engrossed dragging itself with it’s forelegs whilst it attempted to relieve the itching worms in its rear on the corridor carpet, “ever coming here again!”

Tinny obeyed his shrill wife and pushed the confused Divhead Bonkit, dragging his arse bound dog, out the door and slammed it shut. “You look a bit of a mess my dear, I’m not sure if yellow is a good colour for you,” referring to the congealed mess covering most of his wife’s head.

“Shut up you idiot. We have a big problem. That Slapper bitch took the CCTV footage, so I can’t prove she did this,” parting her hair with difficulty she showed Tinny the large quail egg sized bump, now a delicate shade of blue/black. She didn’t bother informing Tinny that she had started the fight. Avoiding the light brown ‘snail trail’ left by Bonkit’s recently departed dog, she went over to the Last Supper and released it from its catch exposing the naked back. The P.M.’s face turned into one resembling a dental student’s pickled deceased volunteers head.

“Sweet Jesus, we are fucked!” As an after thought, he added, “where’s the diamond gone from your ring sweetie?”
Cherry looked down at her left hand, still holding open the Last Supper. “That’s it, she is definitely dead, along with that fat shit fool Mildew. Stop farting around like some 13 year old examining the strange stains that appeared over night on his pyjama bottoms and take your thumb out your bum, engage brain and phone Alabaster Crampballs. I’m going for a shower. I want him here first thing tomorrow morning. Ka-pee-toh, Copy, Comprehendo?”

***

Dilly returned from the ‘Ladies’ restroom, sniffed loudly, looked at Mildew with Coked up sparkling attentative eyes. She sat down opposite him at the corner table in the tacky restaurant and immediately attacked viciously a double portion of ‘bloody rare’ rump steak, chips and fried egg. Between belches, she drank from the large pile of Heineken beer tins stacked in the middle.
There had been little problem organising the feast. The place was deserted of clientele at this time and the young Kosovo immigrant employee, (of the month, according to a huge plastic tag pinned on his hollow chest,) had wisely opted for alternative three, after his protest had resulted in Dilly placing her I.D. badge, her chrome plated 9mm PPK semi automatic pistol and two fifty pound notes onto the counter. With her hand still gripped around the weapon, she had simply stated to the terrified illegal, “Take your pick, and make it a wise one.” The service from then on had been impeccable.

“Ya look a ficken mess by the way, and you smell like this beer tin”, she told Wolf between gasps for air, and waggled her third beer at him.
Mildew ignored her and poured over the napkins. His right eye was hurting bad. He had refused food as he was on a diet, but happily accepted one of the proffered beer tins from Dilly. With his partner well occupied for a while, Wolf studied carefully what was in front of him. Finally he sat back and looked over at Dolly who had finally finished her meal and was lighting up a cigarette. She threw a quick look at the Kosovo who waved enthusiastically in agreement to let her disobey the ‘No Smoking’ sign.
“And?”
“Before I tell you Doll, how did the great escape go?”

Dilly laughed that way that only she could, a pure piss take laugh of sensual ridicule.
“Worked a dream, Wolfie, ya should have seen it man. I rush out, cameras flashing everywhere, brained Cherry babe appears for half a sec, then slams the door as I’m babbling to Sky News some tripe about dumping Blonkit. Best though, Gobby Browneye next door rushes out in his dressing gown to see what all the performance is about, and slips bare foot into the Greatmaltpoo turd on his doorstep. Hah hah hah. Then, he lands up on his back, cracking his head and they land up taking him to hospital. I simply squeezed the Sky News reporters second microphone a bit, promised him more if he dropped me outside the flat where me Jag was parked. The rest you know from the DVD.

Mildew had given up trying to read the napkins in the car and had watched the CCTV footage on the cars DVD, TV and navigation aid screen. “Well, it’s the famous ‘Granita pact’ reached between Tinny Blabber and Gobby Browneye ten years ago in an Islington restaurant supposedingly about who should be the next Labour leader in 1995. It was always denied that it existed, but here it is.” Wolf poked a finger at the small pile of paper napkins.
“What does it say.” Dilly peered at the creased and grubby pile trying to decipher the spidery scribble upside down but gave up and let Wolf explain.
“Basically it’s a list of all public services that will be systematically looted along with any state assets they can plunder. An agreed twenty percent is allocated to protect the whole plan and,” Wolf took the bottom layer out and spun it around so Dilly could read it better, “protect the finding off, or destruction of the pyramid should it ever be detected and investigated. It was also agreed that Tinny would hand over the P.M. job to Gobby after ten years, something that hasn’t happened yet.”
Two signatures near the bottom appeared above what looked like dried blood stains. “What’s this?” Dilly used the long manicured nail on her forefinger to tap the stains.
“That, dear Dilly, is what THEY are frightened off. My guess, they signed and sealed this with their blood. Once I can get a D.N.A. check on it I will know for sure. Presuming it is, it is irrefutable proof.”

Dilly lifted her finger off the napkin and stuck it inside her right ear, waggled it rapidly up and down for a couple seconds. Removing it and satisfied that there was nothing stuck underneath the nail, “Pyramid? What’s that all about then?” she asked curiously.
“We have to go to Bosnia-Herzegovina to prove my theory. I now believe 100% that Tinny Blabber was not abducted by Aliens, but is actually a direct descendant from one. I am sure the answer to the whole Tinny Blabber code is somewhere deep in a pyramid that is over twelve thousand years old in the Visoko valley not far from Sarajevo.”

The Alien stuff Dilly could easily believe after the experience at 10 Conning Street. She shivered slightly, remembering the awful experience she had just gone through. “Suits me Wolfie, you the man, I need to get away from here for a while anyway, but aren’t we heading in the wrong direction?” She had a load more questions, but knew from experience that Wolf would answer them in due course automatically as his talent for subterfuge really kicked in.
“First big hassle. Money.” Wolf didn’t even bother asking Dilly if she had access to any large funds. Besides her designer wardrobe, all of it ‘presents’ from various appreciative liaisons, she used most of her income paying back the huge debt of lawyers fees who had represented her twin brother Rodney.
“Next major problem; Alabaster Crampballs.”
Dilly stretched and yawned widely, then gave Wolf a screwed eyes grimace. “The man’s a friggin faggot freak, tried it on with me once. What does the ‘White Ghost’ do for a living anyway?”
“Well according to this, Dilly dear”, Wolf poked at the pile of napkins once more, SPIN is a secret organisation set up by the Blabbers to protect them from the truth coming out. Crampballs heads it.”
“Oooo la la la, Wofie, I gather you don’t like the man much,” the venom that Mildew spat the head of SPINs name out had surprised Dilly. Definitely no love lost here. “What’s up Doc?” Her pet line to Mildew done with pouting lips in an attempt to lighten him up.
Wolf sighed. “I just worked out that he is the reason I’ve been stuck in that damn cellar ever since Tinny Blabber came to power. Stuff him, I’m better. We still a jump ahead of the bastard. Were going to Ireland via a short stay at my safe house in Porkmydog in North Wales. Well, it’s actually a caravan in Shittysands Holiday Site, but we will be okay whilst I think of a plan to get some money together. We require a lot, plus we need a boat to get us to Bosnia-Herzegovina with out being detected and a trustful Captain and crew.”

Dilly stood up and went over to the counter. The young man in charge barely came up to her breasts, and smiled in a death grin of expectant imminent annihilation. “How may I help?”, came the high pitched tone of pure terror.
“When was the cash machine last filled, sweetie?”
“Er, one hour ago.”
“You don’t have a problem if I empty it then?” Flashing a deck of credit cards before the quivering wreck, now peeing down his left leg, Dilly added with a smile, “legally, of course.”
Without waiting for any response she strode over to the AT machine, and swinging her hips whilst whistling, Hey Big Spender, fed one card after another till the gaping maw stopped gushing torrents of cash. “Oy, you, bring me some of them plastic carrier bags will ya,” the attendant scuttled quickly over in response to Dilly’s request.

“Oh well, there will be some well pissed off Lords when they look at their credit card accounts at the end of this month. That’s the lot. I got stopped at the maximum. I reckon close on fifteen thousand quid.” Dilly dumped the four stuffed bags next to the beer tins now being hurriedly packed by the attendant.
Wolfie pushed the half crazed with fear Kosovo away.
“Brilliant, Dill, that covers expenses but we need more for the boat.”
Dilly groped in her bag and removed an almost pigeon egg sized object wrapped in printed Go With B.P. toilet paper. Freeing it, she presented Mildew the magnificent diamond. “Will this perhaps cover it?” Her eyes flashed with inner pleasure, and she squirmed in primeval pleasure against the back of the chair. It had been a long time since she last went on the hunt and this one was looking very interesting.
For the first time in weeks, Wolf laughed, a sound from deep down in his psyche, one of returning confidence in his own abilities.
“You stole Cherry’s beloved Kimberly Blue. You got guts kid, and she will be after yours big time. That’s the boat covered. How the hell did you manage this?”
Dilly shrugged nonchalantly, “let’s just say it had a long passage before arriving here.”
“You ready? I’m ready, lets go.” Mildew picked up the bags of money, Dilly being more powerfully built carried the 20 tins of Heinakin.

As the two approached the exit, Dilly asked
“Ya got a Captain in mind?”
“Yes, a genius and the most dependent man I’ve ever met, Captain James T Jerk.” Wolf stopped in front of the newspaper wrack.
Dilly walking behind him was forced to stop too. “Isn’t that the nutcase that blew up the HMS Sinkfast in the Nigerian Delta seven years ago? Is he alive? I heard the ship went up with the loss of over 900 lives.”
Special Agent Wolf Mildew stared at the headlines from The Daily Creep,
‘Massive Explosion on Pontoon Kills 15 Illegal Jet Ski Tourists in Estuary’
Heroic crew recovering in Bangemup hospital. Reported by Urine Heep.

“I think he is alive and knowing him, still kicking.”