Pete Wisdom pretended to listen to Dr Ella Whitby as he drank his lager. In his head he was doing lists of his favourite rap songs and colours he’d paint his nails if they came in volcanic heat resistant polish.
“What are you thinking about Pete?”
Pete looked up from his daydream. “Nothing.”
“You were talking about your father…” Ella prompted.
“He’s a detective at New Scotland Yard and we don’t talk. He’s a prick. The end.” Pete slid the glass across the table.
“And who killed your mum?”
Pete sat stunned for a second at the bluntness, normally it was him delivering statements like that. “Ryan Robert Michaels. Unemployed handyman and schizophrenic took a legally bought hunting rifle out for a stroll and killed sixteen people before putting the gun in his mouth and blowing his fat stupid head off!”
“How did it make you feel?”
“What? Him topping him self? Good…”
“Could you take your sunglasses off?” Ella asked nicely.
Pete groaned, threw his head back dramatically and then took them off before looking right at her. “Happy?”
“It is alright to cry, you know?”
“Sod off!” Pete slapped the glasses back on. “CAN I GET ANOTHER PINT?”
“Did the killer target your mum?”
“Random. No rhyme, no reason. Just people who were in the High Street when he went nuts.”
“And why weren’t you there?” Ella asked directly. Pete shuffled uncomfortably before standing up, pacing before sitting down again. “Something the matter Pete?”
Pete pulled out his cigarettes nervously. “I was supposed to be there. We had a lunch planned and I said I was going to go, and I didn’t. She sat there waiting for me…and then this %$#@ has an episode! If I’d said I wasn’t going to go, she wouldn’t of even been there.”
“And if you’d gone, you’d be dead too,” Ella suggested.
“That’s what my dad said, just not as nice and calmly as that,” Pete said. “My mum died because I was a selfish toerag. That’s why a time machine would be nice also.”
“Or a genie.”
“Genies grant wishes,” Ella said. “Just as plausible as a time machine.”
Pete went to answer when he caught Ma in the corner of his eye standing right next to him making him jump. “You haven’t touched your meal?” she said sternly.
Pete begrudgingly mashed the meal with the pink fork, plucked out a chunk and stuffed it in his mouth. “’appy?”
Ma rolled her eyes and cleared the plates away. Ella motioned for the cheque and stood up. “Excuse me Pete, I have to use the lavatory.”
“So, did I pass or what?” Pete asked. He looked around the room again, smiling at the agents around him. Suddenly Ma was next to him again making him jump.
“Cash or tap?” she asked.
“Um…” Pete reached for his wallet to discover it wasn’t there. He did the pat-down dance and stood up. “Um the lady head doctor who was with me is going to get it.”
“She told me on her way out that YOU were handling it.” Ma folded her arms.
“Look, Mum, I don’t know where my wallet is okay,” Pete replied anxiously.
From out of the kitchen came a short solid man, arms caked in flour and pancake batter, carrying a large shovel-spatula device. He moved with purpose and was by his wife’s side in an instant.
“You right luv?” He asked glaring at Pete.
“Young man seems to have forgotten his wallet,” Ma explained. “Barely touched his Fairy Princess Meal.”
“That so!” Pa moved closer to Pete.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble okay, just a misunderstaAHHHHHHHH!” Pa reached up grabbed Pete’s ear and twisted bring him low. Pete shrieked and Pa dragged him like a naughty puppy towards the kitchen. Pa dragged him through the kitchen and threw him into the alley outside, Pete crashed into a set of bins. Pete scrambled to his feet and fired up his hands.
“Right you little pri…mum?”
Standing before him was his mother; Matilda Juniper Wisdom.
“Hello Petey,” she said as she burst into tears. Pete’s hands subsided and he ran to her wrapping her in the biggest tightest hug he could muster.
“Mum? What the hell?”
“Ssh my love,” she cried into his chest. Pete ran his fingers through her hair and then stepped behind her placing her into a sleeper hold.
“My mum NEVER called me Petey,” He growled as he pulled tight. “No idea what game you’re playing but I’m going to ^&^$# kill whoever you are!”
Matilda writhed like a snake as pressure increased. “P-Pete…please.”
“What are you? An LMD? Body double? Huh?”
Suddenly Matilda went to water and poured herself out of his grip and into a puddle on the floor before reforming into the shape of John Lennon.
“What the &^%$!” Pete raised his hands and fired off a massive burst of hot knives at the former Beatle. John ducked and ran down the alley after him.
“Get back here!”
“HELP! I NEED SOMEBODY!” yelled John as he dodged another barrage. As Pete bolted around the corner, he ran smack bang into Michelle Scicluna, Dr Ella Whitby and a dozen heavily armed troops pointing automatic weapons at him.
“What the &^%$ (*&% was that?!?” Pete yelled.
“Your final test to join MI:13,” Dr Whitby said. “And you passed, barely, but you passed. Well done.”
“No, no, no *&%# that!” Pete ranted. “That thing that was my mum!”
“He’s a member of Black Air,” said Michelle Scicluna. “Just like you are now. You’ll meet the rest tomorrow. Thank you, Dr Whitby.”
“Pleasure Ms Scicluna,” Ella said. “Pete, I will see you once a week. You’ve got a lot of pent up issues.”
“I saw my mum, but it wasn’t my mum…” Pete murmured.
“Tell me next week,” Ella smiled. “Now excuse me I’ve got to settle up with Ma & Pa.”
“Wisdom!” Michelle barked. “You are to be at Heathrow at 8am tomorrow for your first mission, understood?”
“I think so,” Pete scratched his head.
To be continued...