Bad Dad Read online

  “Mate!” Dad’s eyes lit up. “You are a genius. You take after your father!”

  “If you were a genius, you wouldn’t be in here,” said Auntie Flip unhelpfully.

  The man shot his aunt a look.

  “Let’s not fall out before we’ve even started!” said the boy. He held the quiche in his hands. “Now I’m going to drop this in three, two, one…”

  BOING!

  It didn’t break.

  The quiche bounced.

  Frank caught it on the way back up.

  “What on earth do you put in these things?” said Dad.

  “I don’t like to divulge my secret recipes,” replied his aunt.

  “Have another go!” said Dad.

  The boy threw the quiche down on the floor again as hard as he could…

  BOING!

  …but it bounced right back up and hit the ceiling.

  SPLAT!

  It stuck there.

  “Oh no,” said Frank.

  The three stared up at it.

  “What are we going to do now?” asked Dad.

  “Let me climb on your shoulders,” replied the boy.

  His father quickly hoisted the boy up.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Mr Swivel.

  “Oh! The quiche slipped out of my hand!” lied Flip.

  “And it stuck on the ceiling?” said the prison guard.

  “Well, it is pigeon-flavoured, so maybe it flew up,” she said.

  Frank peeled the quiche off the ceiling. “We have it now, thank you, sir!”

  “Sit down, the three of you!” ordered Mr Swivel.

  They did what the prison guard said. As soon as his back was turned, Frank snapped into action.

  “One last go!” said the boy.

  “Fingers crossed,” said Dad.

  The boy slammed the quiche down as hard as he could on the floor.

  BOOF!

  It broke into a hundred pieces.

  “Whoops! I dropped the quiche!” announced the boy to everyone in the visitors’ room.

  The two grown-ups slid under the table.

  The game was on!

  Just as the fearsome prison guard Mr Swivel was becoming more and more suspicious as to why these two had been under the table for so long, Flip slid up on to Dad’s chair. Without her glasses and wearing Dad’s prison overalls, she passed rather well for her nephew.

  Next, Dad slid up on to Flip’s chair. The boy had to stifle a giggle at the sight of his dad wearing one of Flip’s famous floaty dresses. The glasses softened his face, and from a distance he might just pass as the elderly librarian.

  “Stop giggling, mate!”

  hissed Dad. “You’ll give the game away.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “I think I look rather cool,” said Dad. “Though now I can’t see a thing. My word, these glasses are thick!”

  “I can’t see now, either!” added Flip.

  Dad looked down at his feet. “Oh no!”

  “What, Dad?”

  “There’s something you forgot. My wooden leg!”

  The boy looked under the table. Dad’s wooden foot and ankle were poking out from the bottom of the dress.

  “What’s all this whispering?” demanded Mr Swivel as he twirled his stick.

  “Nothing, Mr Swivel,” said Dad in a voice that was a little too high.

  “Nothing, Mr Swivel,” said Flip in a voice that was a little too low.

  The boy glanced down to his father’s wooden foot.

  The guard clocked this, and his one real eye was drawn down there too. “Lady, I don’t remember you having a wooden leg when you came in!” he barked.

  Suddenly all eyes in the visitors’ room were on this one group in the corner.

  “Oh yes, Mr Swivel!” replied Dad, his voice cracking a little as he tried to sound ladylike. “Solid oak!”

  “But you’ve got a wooden leg too,” snarled the guard, his eye swivelling on to Flip.

  “Yes, they run in the family!” she replied.

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Well, Auntie Flip, we’d better get going,” said the boy, eager to get out of there before any more suspicion was raised.

  “Right you are,” said the lady, getting up from her chair.

  “I mean this Auntie Flip here!” said Frank, grabbing his father by the arm.

  “Oh yes, of course!” said the lady. “I’d better be getting back to my prison cell, wherever that is!”

  “STOP RIGHT THERE!” barked Mr Swivel. “Let’s just check you really are who you say you are. Stand still! Let’s see if you really do have a wooden leg. If you do, then this won’t hurt at all!”

  Auntie Flip stood still as Frank and his father looked on anxiously. Mr Swivel swivelled his baton, before whacking the lady hard on the leg with it.

  THWACK!

  To her credit, Flip did not cry out in pain. Instead she pursed her lips and heroically held it in. It was enough to convince Mr Swivel.

  “Off you go, then!” he barked.

  Auntie Flip limped off in pain, which of course only helped the illusion that her leg was wooden. Without her glasses, she walked straight into a guard.

  “Oh, silly me!” she said.

  Frank grabbed his father by the arm and hurried him out of the visitors’ room. Just as they reached the door, their path was blocked by a wall of a man.

  “OOF! Sorry!” said the boy, bumping into him. Looking up, he realised it was someone he knew only too well.

  Thumbs.

  Thumbs had two fearsome-looking boys with him. They were the size of children but had the cold, hard faces of grown-ups.

  “It’s you,” growled Thumbs.

  “Yes, it is me,” replied Frank. “Well, I would love to stop for a natter, but we must be going. Come along, Auntie Flip.” He tugged at the sleeve of his father’s long, flowery dress.

  “Grrr!” The two boys growled at Frank and this unusual-looking woman, and blocked their path.

  Sweat steamed up Dad’s glasses. He was clearly nervous. Would Thumbs recognise him?

  “If you’ll excuse us, please,” said Frank.

  “Will? Bear?” said Thumbs.

  “Yeah, Uncle Thumbs?” they replied in unison.

  “This is the boy I was telling you about. The one whose racing track you’ve got.”

  Frank’s face dropped. This horrible pair had his favourite toy in the world.

  “Oh well, it’s nice to know it went to a good home,” lied Frank.

  “Nah, we smashed it up,” said Will with a smirk.

  “Then we ate it,” added Bear.

  “I hope it doesn’t make you ill,” replied Frank in a tone that suggested that was exactly what he wanted.

  Then Thumbs turned his attention to this unusual lady trying to hide behind Frank. “Who are you?” he barked.

  “Oh, this is my dad’s aunt!” leaped in Frank. “Auntie Flip. You met her in court at my dad’s trial, remember?”

  The man-mountain peered down at the “lady”. “You look different.”

  “That was a few weeks ago. I am very slightly older,” chirped Dad, putting on his best Auntie Flip voice.

  “We must have all you boys over for a play date soon!” said Frank. “And, Thumbs? Thank you so much for not sticking your Thumbs in my ears this time. Now, come along, Auntie Flip. We have to go right now.”

  The pair edged round the gang.

  “Something’s not right with that woman,” growled Thumbs.

  “She’s nearly as ugly as our mum,” said Will.

  “No one’s that ugly,” added Bear.

  Frank and his father didn’t look back. They hurried down the corridor as fast as they could, Dad’s wooden leg slowing him down.

  “You didn’t have a limp last time,” called Thumbs.

  “Run!” hissed Frank.

  As soon as they’d turned a corner he asked, “Dad, d’you think Thumbs knew it was really you?”

  “I dunno. He’s thick as t
wo short planks of wood, but his six brothers are all banged up in here, so he’s got eyes and ears all over the prison. Auntie Flip better watch out.”

  Thumbs’s brothers were:

  Spider. A tattoo of a spider’s web covered his face. Somehow it must have seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Gorilla. Gorilla never bathed, and smelled like an ape. His pong was enough to knock a grown man out from a distance of one hundred metres.

  Brillo. So called because every inch of his skin was covered in thick, black, wiry hair, with which he would scratch his victims to death like a giant Brillo Pad. Brillo was father to Will and Bear.

  Shelf. This brother had a giant bottom that stuck out like a shelf. It was so big and heavy he could crush his enemies to death just by sitting on them.

  Knuckles. He wore huge gold rings on every finger, which made his punches all the harder.

  Warts. His face was covered in hundreds and hundreds of warts. Warts was the good-looking one in the family.

  Soon Frank and his father passed through the huge prison gates.

  “We made it!” said Dad.

  “Just,” replied Frank. “But there’s no time to lose.”

  Escaping from prison was the easy part. Now they had an epic task ahead of them.

  Frank and Dad found empty seats at the back of the bus. As soon as the boy was sure no one could hear, he began telling his father all about his plan. To steal the half a million pounds from Mr Big and put it back in the bank was a daring plot. When Frank reached the end, Dad’s face was lit up.

  “It’s brilliant, mate!”

  “Thanks, Dad.” The boy beamed with pride.

  “Just one problem.”

  “What?”

  “We need a set of wheels to carry out this plan of yours.”

  “Queenie?”

  “We need her now more than ever.”

  “Will she still be in the field where we left her?”

  “No, no, no. The fuzz will have towed her away by now.”

  “Where will she be, then?”

  “They will have sold the old girl off for scrap.”

  “Scrap?!”

  “I know, but there’s life in the old girl yet. I am just praying we get to her in time.”

  “Me too.”

  “As soon as we’ve got home and I’ve changed out of this dress…”

  “I dunno, Dad. It kinda suits you,” joked Frank.

  “Very funny, mate. Come on, this is our stop!”

  The scrapyard was like a graveyard for cars. Most looked beyond repair, with their crushed bonnets, missing wheels and bodies brown with rust.

  A huge crane towered overhead, picking up cars by their roofs with a giant claw. Then it hoisted them through the air before dropping them into a giant crushing machine. This could squeeze any car, however big, into a brick the size of a microwave oven.

  Finding Queenie among the hundreds of wrecks was not going to be easy, but they desperately needed her. The Mini had been a part of Frank and his father’s lives for so long that she seemed like a member of the family. As they searched the scrapyard, the boy called the car’s name out loud.

  “Queenie?”

  “Ha! Ha! She’s not a dog, but it might just work!” said Dad before joining in.“Queenie?”

  “Queenie?”

  “Queenie?”

  “Queenie?”

  As they paced the rows and rows of wrecks, Frank noticed many of them were police cars, no doubt destroyed by the pair’s last escapade. He was too distracted to notice that something strange was going on with the crane. It was slowly closer and closer towards them. Now dangling right over their heads was a huge old Bentley that must have weighed a ton. A shadow fell across them. Frank realised it was suddenly colder and darker.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, mate.”

  “Look up!”

  At that moment the crane released its claw. In the blink of an eye, the huge Bentley was falling through the air.

  “LOOK OUT!” shouted Dad as he pushed his son away.

  BOOM!

  The Bentley smashed on to the ground, trapping Dad’s leg underneath. The man remained remarkably calm.

  “Dad! Why aren’t you screaming?”

  “It’s my wooden leg! That’s the one that doesn’t hurt.”

  “I have to get you out.”

  Using all his strength, the boy pulled his father from under the car.

  “How is the leg?” asked Frank.

  Dad examined it. “A few cracks and splinters. I can always get another one!”

  Frank could feel the air whooshing around them. He looked up to see the crane’s claw coming straight for them.

  “DAD!”

  The pair rolled out of the way, and the claw dug into the ground.

  “Who is driving that thing?” asked the boy.

  Dad looked up to catch sight of the man in the crane’s cab. He knew that smirk anywhere. It was Fingers.

  “Thumbs must have worked it out and told Fingers,” said Dad. “They’re on to us!”

  “Let’s run!” said Frank.

  “We need to find Queenie first!”

  The pair scrambled to their feet, and raced off round the corner, the crane’s claw swooping down on them.

  “There she is!” exclaimed Frank. He’d spotted their old girl’s bonnet poking out from a long row of wrecks. Queenie did not look her best, crumpled from crashing into a tree and with the yellow paint half washed off by the rain. The windscreen was smashed, the headlamps were cracked and her roof had been bashed in. Frank and his father raced towards the old girl.

  “It’s good to be home,” said Dad as he slid into the driving seat, and turned the key that had been left in the ignition.

  ROAR!

  The engine roared like old times.

  “Let’s go!” said Dad, and the car zoomed off through the scrapyard.

  Frank looked up. The crane’s claw had smashed through the roof of the car. With ease, the crane picked up the Mini.

  “NOOO!” screamed the boy as the little car swung through the air like a conker.

  WHOOP!

  In seconds, Frank and Dad were dangling over the crushing machine, with its terrifying metal mouth gaping wide. They could make out Fingers in the crane’s cab, laughing like a hyena.

  “SWING FORWARD, SON!” shouted Dad.

  The pair threw their weight forward just as the claw opened to drop the car.

  “HOLD TIGHT!” said Dad.

  WHOOSH!

  The car fell through the air.

  “ARGH!” screamed the boy.

  Queenie landed on the rim of the crusher.

  THUNK!

  She wobbled there, Frank and his father hanging between life and death.

  “Swing forward again!” cried Dad. They both swung forward and the car slid off the rim of the crusher and hit the ground.

  THUD!

  Dad then pressed hard on the accelerator. But no sooner had Queenie sped forward than the crane’s claw smashed through what was left of the roof.

  “HOLD ON!” said Dad to his son. The man did a handbrake turn, putting the car into a wild spin. The claw tore the roof clean off Queenie. It was like peeling open a tin of sardines.

  “I always wanted Queenie to have a sunroof,” said Dad as the car smashed through a wire fence…

  …and sped out of the scrapyard.

  ROAR!

  Still the crane thundered after them, its caterpillar tracks whirring as it gave chase.

  Ahead was a sign that read “LOW BRIDGE”. The pair smiled at each other as they raced past it. Queenie zoomed under the bridge. Frank climbed up out of his seat and looked behind out of the brand-new sunroof. The crane was way too tall. It smashed straight into the bridge.

  DOOF!

  Bricks exploded everywhere.

  Like a staggering Tyrannosaurus rex, the crane ground to a halt.

  BASH!

  In the distance, Frank could see Fingers l
eap out of the cab, kick the ailing crane with his foot and then wince at the pain.

  “First stop, Mr Big’s!” shouted the boy over the roar of the Mini’s engine.

  ROAR!

  The pair of bank un-robbers hid Queenie in a hedgerow before making the final part of the journey to Mr Big’s country house on foot. It was late now, and all they could hear were their own footsteps echoing on the wet road.

  Frank felt frightened, but didn’t want to admit it.

  “Let me hold your hand, Dad. I just don’t want you to trip over,” he lied.

  “Thanks, mate,” replied the man, looking scared too.

  Pilfer House was surrounded by a huge stone wall.

  “Please can I borrow your leg?” asked the boy.

  “I will need it back.”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course, Dad!”

  As soon as the man had taken off his wooden leg, Frank turned it upside down and used the foot as a hook on the stone wall. Next he hoisted himself up. Once he was standing on top of the wall, Frank lowered the leg to pull his father up.

  Both then leaped into the grand garden below. From that safe distance, Frank studied the house.

  “If I remember right, Big’s study must be that room with the huge window there. Follow me,” said the boy with confidence.

  “Just one thing, mate.”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “Please can I have my leg back?”

  “Oops!” said the boy.

  As soon as Dad had reattached it, they were on their way.

  It came as no surprise to discover that all the windows and doors to Pilfer House were locked. Mr Big had become rich by stealing from others, but no one would be allowed to steal from him.

  “Locked, locked, locked!” cursed Dad.

  “Maybe I could borrow your leg again?”

  “What for this time?”

  “To break a window?” suggested the boy.

  “That will wake everyone up, mate.”

  Frank thought for a moment. “Dad, Big has got those two huge cats, remember?”

  “Yeah! Horrible creatures called Ronnie and Reggie. So…?”