Bad Dad Read online

  “Look, guv’nor! It’s a Mini just like theirs!” announced Thumbs.

  “It is their Mini!” said Fingers.

  “Well done, Thumbs. You get a gold star.”

  Mr Big crossed the road, his silk dressing gown blowing in the wind. He peered into Queenie through the large hole in her roof.

  “They’re not in the car! So I was right. They must be inside the bank already,” he said. Mr Big crossed back over the road and rattled the doors to the bank. “Clever! They must have barricaded themselves in. Fingers! DO YOUR WORST!”

  “Right away, guv’nor!” replied Fingers with a grin. “A little demolition job.”

  “Yes, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “I don’t think there are any birds we need to kill, guv’nor,” said Thumbs.

  “Oh, do shut up or I’ll order you to punch yourself!”

  Fingers drove the crane towards the Mini. Its thick metal arm swung through the air, and its claw picked up Queenie with ease.

  CLANK!

  Then the arm swung again, and the little car reeled towards the bank. Frank held tightly on to his dad’s arm. The man closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch what was about to happen.

  Queenie smashed through the entrance to the bank.

  BOOM!

  The doors and windows burst on to the street.

  The bank’s alarm blared.

  RING!

  The crane swung back to reveal a crumpled mess that used to be Queenie. The whole front end of the car had been destroyed. The grille had dropped off, the bonnet had been bashed and the front wheels were dangling by a thread.

  “No!” whispered Dad. The poor man had tears in his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad,” whispered the boy. He put his arm round his father. “I know you loved her.”

  “Farewell, Your Majesty,” said Dad.

  “FINISH HER OFF!” ordered Mr Big.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Fingers. He pulled a lever on the crane and hoisted the car as high as it would go.

  WHIRR!

  It swayed in the wind for a few moments. Then the claw opened and the Mini fell through the air.

  WHIZZ!

  In a second it hit the road.

  BOOM!

  The crane then surged forward, and crushed what was left of the car under its caterpillar tracks.

  WHIRR!

  Queenie had been a member of the family for as long as Frank could remember. Now she was nothing more than a flattened mess of metal.

  “That’s their getaway car knackered, guv’nor,” said Fingers with a wicked grin.

  “Good work, Fingers. Now I want my money back. Let’s get in there and stop those two rats before the filth arrive,” ordered Mr Big, and he followed his henchmen inside the bank.

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

  “Kill two birds with one stone,” replied the boy.

  Father gave son a puzzled look.

  “You’ll see,” said Frank, pulling his dad along.

  Without realising it, Mr Big and his goon squad were doing most of the hard work for Frank and Dad. Father and son were now able to waltz straight into the bank. The only trouble was that the alarm had been set off and the police were sure to arrive in moments. Working fast, they followed the path of destruction left by the three criminals down to the bank’s vault. Doors had been off hinges, glass and electronic keypads bashed in.

  KABOOM!

  Frank and his father were rocked by an explosion. Debris fell from the ceiling, a cloud of black smoke filled the air and any windows that hadn’t already been broken exploded, spraying bullets of glass everywhere. The pair covered their faces with their hands.

  “Are you all right, mate?” spluttered Dad as he gasped for air.

  “Fine. I think. Let’s carry on.”

  Together they stumbled forward, and stopped at the top of a spiral staircase.

  “The vault must be down in the basement,” whispered Dad.

  The pair tiptoed down the stairs. The smoke cleared to reveal an amusing sight. The criminal gang had clearly used far too much dynamite to blow the lock on the door to the vault. All three were singed, burnt black with smoke snaking off them. Mr Big, Fingers and Thumbs looked like three sausages that had been overcooked on a barbecue.

  “There they are!” said Fingers, pointing with his long, thin, charred finger.

  Thumbs looked mightily confused. “But we thought you were in the vault already.”

  “Well, you were wrong! We were out here the whole time,” said Frank with a grin.

  “Oh,” replied the henchman, bowing his head.

  Mr Big rocked uneasily in his slippers. From the look on his face he loathed being outsmarted like this. “Actually, you two have fallen straight into my trap!”

  “How is that, then, Biggie?” asked Dad.

  “Well, erm, because, well…” the man stumbled, “because now we are going to steal back the money from you that we stole from the bank, and steal some more! And you two idiots are going to get the blame! Fingers, Thumbs, take it all. Every last penny!”

  “Me bag’s got a hole in it now,” said Thumbs.

  “Mine’s got two,” added Fingers.

  Just like their clothes, the dynamite had taken its toll on the bags.

  “Well then, stuff your pockets!” ordered Mr Big.

  The two henchmen examined what was left of their coats.

  “Not got any pockets no more,” replied Thumbs.

  “I’ve got one, guv’nor!” said Fingers. “Oh no, sorry. It’s got a hole in it,” he added, wiggling one of his fingers through to demonstrate.

  “You can borrow our bag,” said Frank.

  “But that’s got half a million quid in it, mate,” hissed Dad out of the corner of his mouth so only his son could hear.

  “Bring it to me, boy,” ordered Big.

  The boy took a few paces forward, and handed the bag to Mr Big. The little man looked inside, and his face lit up.

  “Ah! My babies. Oh, how I missed you,” he said, before passing the bin liner to Fingers.

  Then the two henchmen disappeared inside the vault, and began stuffing the bag with wad after wad of money. Frank peered into the vault to get a better look.

  “Look at all that lovely money, boy,” said Big. “More money than you could ever earn in a lifetime. Just there for the taking.”

  The boy’s eyes widened.

  “I know you’re tempted, boy. Look at it. It can give you anything you want. Anything.”

  Frank stared at it, mesmerised. “It’s… beautiful.”

  “It is,” replied Mr Big, egging the boy on. “Money is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

  “I love it,” said Frank. It was as if his eyes had lit up with gold.

  “I love, love, love it.”

  “But, mate?” pleaded Dad.“Think! What are you doing?”

  “Come with me, boy,” continued Mr Big. He stretched out his hand towards the boy. “Take your rightful place at my side. I can be the father you never had. Join me. Together we can rule the world.”

  Frank took a deep breath. “I would like that,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

  Poor Dad had tears in his eyes. “MATE! NO-OO!”

  “I’m so pleased you’ve come round to my way of thinking, boy,” said Mr Big, shooting a smug look at Gilbert.

  “Let’s start right now,” said Frank. He took Mr Big’s hand, and led the man into the vault.

  “MATE!” screamed Dad.

  As if in a trance, the boy kept going further and further inside.

  Mr Big turned back to Gilbert and smirked. “You’ve lost, little man.”

  As Big and his goons busied themselves greedily stuffing the bag full of more and more money, the boy slowly backed out of the vault. Once he’d passed the thick metal door, he whispered, “Dad! I tricked them! Help me!”

  “Clever boy!”

  The boy began pushing the door shut. Dad rushe
d to help, and together they used all their strength to try to close it. Inside the vault Big looked up.

  “GET THE DOOR!” he shouted, and he and his gang ran towards it. They smashed their shoulders up against the door, pushing with all their might, desperate not to be trapped inside.

  “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” said Dad.

  “Never!” replied the boy as they both strained against the door.

  Mr Big just managed to squeeze his face through the tiny gap.

  “You are no match for me, Gilbert,” said the man. “I pity you. No wife. No money. No leg. The plan was for you to die in that little racing ‘accident’.”

  “You made that happen?” said Dad, shaking with fury.

  “I wanted Rita. And I wanted you out of the way. Forever.”

  “I booby-trapped your engine,” shouted Fingers.

  “And I cut your brakes,” screamed Thumbs. “But your plan didn’t work, did it?” replied Dad defiantly.

  “Because I’m still here!”

  “You are right,” agreed Mr Big. “But you know what? I think I prefer you crippled. That way, I’ve had the pleasure of watching you suffer all these years.”

  “NOT ANY MORE!” yelled Dad.

  “NOW IT’S YOUR TURN TO SUFFER!” shouted Frank.

  The anger made the pair strong. Together they just managed to push the three back and slam the vault door behind them.

  CLUNK!

  But they couldn’t lock it!

  “Darn!” said Dad. “Look! They’ve blown the bolt on the door.”

  “We need to jam them in somehow,” said Frank. “Let’s put that thing to one final good use.”

  “What thing?”

  “That leg of yours!”

  “I can’t leave it here!”

  “Dad! We have no choice!”

  Reluctantly, the man whipped his wooden leg off and together they slid it into place. The door was blocked.

  Faintly they could hear the three criminals pounding on the other side, pathetically pleading for mercy.

  “We can make a deal!”

  “It was all Fingers’s idea.”

  “Thumbs made me do it.”

  Frank and his father looked at each other and smiled.

  “See, Dad. We killed two birds with one stone. We put the money back and trapped the real criminals in there at the same time!”

  “You, mate, are a genius!” exclaimed Dad.

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “The police will find them. In no time at all. In fact, we need to get out of here. NOW!” Without needing to say another word, he put his arm over his son’s shoulders for support. Frank helped his dad hop up the spiral staircase.

  As they reached the entrance to the bank, dawn was breaking. In the distance, they could hear police sirens wailing.

  NEE-NAW! NEE-NAW! NEE-NAW!

  They rushed the other way down the street.

  “Right! Now back to prison for you, Dad!” said Frank.

  Once Dad had hopped all the way home, he changed himself back into Auntie Flip’s long, flowery dress. Without his wooden leg, the man was struggling to get around. So Frank hurriedly improvised a new one from an old plastic mop in the kitchen. The pair jumped on the bus to take them to Wrongfoot Prison at the far side of the town. It wasn’t visiting day until next week, so they were going to have to blag their way in somehow.

  Frank’s idea was that they should say they had some upsetting news to tell Gilbert Goodie. The pair would make up a distant relative – a cousin or uncle or someone – and say that they’d died and had to tell the boy’s father in person.

  “Who goes there?” barked Mr Swivel through a tiny hatch at the huge metal front door of Wrongfoot Prison.

  “Gilbert Goodie is my father and I have some very sad news for him,” blubbed Frank. He’d made himself cry by hiding a raw onion in a tissue, and dabbing his eyes with it.

  Dad, dressed as Auntie Flip, put a comforting arm round the boy’s shoulder. “Oh, it’s you!” exclaimed Swivel. “You were here only yesterday. We are closed to visitors for two weeks. What is this SAD news, exactly?” demanded the prison guard. “It better be really, really, really gut-wrenchingly sad.”

  “I don’t know how to say this without breaking down, but…” began Frank.

  “GET ON WITH IT, BOY!” ordered Mr Swivel.

  “…his Uncle Keith has passed away,” blubbed Dad.

  “Dead?” asked Mr Swivel.

  “Yes,” replied Dad.

  “Completely dead?”

  “Yes. One hundred per cent completely, utterly, never-going-to-be-alive-again dead.”

  “I’ll tell him!” snapped Mr Swivel. With that, he slid the metal hatch shut.

  Frank and his dad looked at each other in panic. This was not part of the plan.

  “WE NEED TO TELL GILBERT FACE TO FACE!” shouted Dad through the prison door.

  “WHY?” shouted Mr Swivel from the other side.

  “Erm, because we wouldn’t want you to spoil the surprise!” replied Frank.

  Dad looked at his son as if to say, “What are you on about?!”

  “Surprise?” said Swivel.

  “Yes. He always hated Uncle Keith!” replied Frank.

  There was the sound of keys jangling, and then the huge metal door slid open.

  CLUNK!

  “You’ve got two minutes. I’ve got my eye on you,” said the prison guard, though he didn’t state which eye, the real one or the glass one.

  Mr Swivel took the two up to a little grey room and told them to wait. Moments later, he led in Auntie Flip, dressed as Dad. The poor woman looked completely frazzled after her night in the cells.

  “They’ve got some news for you,” barked the prison guard. “Your Uncle Keith has snuffed it.”

  “Who?” replied Auntie Flip.

  “You know – Uncle Keith,” continued Dad, winking at the lady and hoping she might realise this was a scam. “Your uncle who you knew very well.”

  “Oh, old Uncle Keith! Yes, of course I remember!” exclaimed Auntie Flip. “How is he?”

  “Dead,” replied Frank.

  “DEAD? NOOOOOOO!” screamed the lady, and she burst into a fountain of tears.

  The prison guard observed all this like a hawk. A one-eyed hawk.

  “You said your father always hated Uncle Keith,” said Mr Swivel.

  “Yes, well, hate is a strong word, yes, but you always disliked him, Dad. Remember?” prompted the boy.

  The lady eventually got the hint, and began hooting with fake laughter. “Ho! Ho! Uncle Keith has kicked the bucket. Yippee!”

  Mr Swivel shook his head, mightily confused by this bizarre family. “Right, get out of my prison, you two weirdos,” he barked.

  “Could we have a moment to grieve as a family in peace, Mr Swivel?” pleaded Dad as Auntie Flip.

  “Grieve?” asked Mr Swivel.

  “I mean celebrate,” said Dad.

  The prison guard sighed. “All right, all right, you have one minute, and not a second more!” he barked, slamming the door behind him.

  BANG!

  “We’d better swap clothes quickly,” said Dad.

  “Yes, I can’t wait to get out of here,” replied the lady.

  “Did you not enjoy your night in prison, Auntie Flip?” asked the boy.

  The lady looked at Frank as if he was stark raving mad.

  “The noise! The people!” she exclaimed. “I had to share a cell with these six brutes who were brothers. I couldn’t sleep a wink. They were all staring at me funny. I thought they were on to me. That they might do me in during the night. But I began reciting some of my poetry about the joys of garden centres to them and that sent them all off to sleep in an instant.”

  “I bet,” murmured Frank under his breath.

  “Now, boy, close your eyes while we get changed.”

  Frank did what he was told.

  In a few moments, Auntie Flip announced, “Right, you can open them again!
”

  Frank opened his eyes, relieved to see that Dad was back to being Dad, and Auntie Flip was back to being Auntie Flip.

  “I am me again. Thank the Lord!” said the lady, lifting her hands in prayer.

  CLICK!

  At that moment, Mr Swivel marched back into the room. “Right, that’s quite enough crying or laughing or whatever bizarre thing you do in this family when someone snuffs it. You two, out!”

  Auntie Flip and Frank were led out of the room. As he reached the door, the boy looked over his shoulder and smiled at his father.

  “OUT!” barked Mr Swivel.

  Reluctantly, Frank had to leave his father in prison as he and Auntie Flip returned to her house. The boy was sure it would only be a matter of time until the news came out of what had happened at the bank. Sure enough, a visit to Raj’s shop the next morning brought good news.

  “Frank! Have you seen the morning newspapers? LOOK! The police have finally arrested that nasty gang who’ve been terrorising this town for years!”

  “Let me see, Raj!”

  The boy hungrily read the headlines.

  “They have to let my dad out of prison now!” exclaimed the boy.

  “Why?” asked Raj.

  “These men must be the real baddies!”

  The newsagent pondered this for a moment. “Well, your father couldn’t have been part of last night’s bank robbery as he has the perfect alibi. He was in prison the whole time!”

  “Of course!” exclaimed the boy, not wishing to give the game away. “And the money that was stolen from the robbery before got put back in the vault anyway!”

  This stopped Raj in his tracks. “How do you know that?”

  “What?” asked Frank.

  “How do you know that? I read all the newspapers. Not one of them said that.”

  The boy became flustered. “I… er, well, um, I…”

  Raj’s eyes widened. “Young man, you are not telling me that you had something to do with all this…?”