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Driving Lessons Chapter 87
Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time
It had been many many years since Den and Pru had shared a hotel room. The last time they had totally redecorated a room in the Washington DC Plaza with Viking flags and left an axe embedded in the ceiling. There had also been a flood in the bathroom which meant the room downstairs had had to be completely refurbished and leaving a drunken tied-up Nordic Nation (Iceland) in the wardrobe had not helped matters either.
"I'm telling you, man, we're totally buzzed over here!" Prussia yelled down the phone.
Brian the duck did not disagree. Or agree. The duck was in the bath swimming around quite happily.
"It's totally wild. I'm gonna call Saxony and Brandenburg over for a totally smash-up later!" Prussia continued. Den looked at him in alarm. Prussia shook his head in reassurance. "Den's totally out of it!" He added.
Den nodded.
"We've already had the police over!" Prussia yelled.
Den frowned in confusion.
Prussia again shook his head at his friend. "Ja ja, see yer later, Oz!" He slammed the phone down. "I hate Australia. He thinks he's so wild. I showed him. Now turn the volume up on the TV. I'm missing the wedding," Prussia said.
Den shook his head. "Your obsession with Coronation Street is getting as bad as Russia's and I think you're turning into a boring fart." He said and then began looking through the binoculars again. "I'm sure that's Mr Kumajiro. The guy's a mad dude if he thinks he's going to get away with it."
"You're obsessed with that bear. Now shut up I want to see if Tom realises he's not the father of the baby."
DFS Store, Penge High Street...
"I'm missing Coronation Street," Russia said ominously. His internal clock - usually set to Vladivostok or Moscow time was now set to ITV1 time and he knew instinctively when the British soap was airing. He was not happy.
"My mum watches that," Darren said.
"She does? Then she is a wise babushka," Russia said.
"What's a babushka?" Darren asked.
Russia smiled, "A grandmother, a wise woman, a mother…"
"Right. I don't think she's a wise woman. Although she makes a good steak and kidney pie."
"Then she is a jewel among women! You should honour her!"
"Yes I do…". Darren was trying to think. Surviving a hostage situation was not a training requirement for assistant managers but he'd read somewhere or watched a film somewhere that implied that you establish some contact with your captor. So he gave it a whirl. "Erm does your mother bake?"
Russia nodded. "She bakes very good!" Russia smiled happily.
Darren should really have kept his mouth shut, "Well that's great. Perhaps your mum and my mum could swap recipes?"
Russia nodded, "She could do that!" He said and then placed his fore finger and middle finger on Darren's eyes and closed them. "But she is dead," he said solemnly.
"Oh I'm erm very sorry." Darren said with his eyes closed. "When was this?"
"About 866 AD," Russia said sadly.
Darren, his eyes still closed, was disturbed and then his phone rang - a jaunty pop song that Russia instantly hated.
"Hello?" Darren answered.
"Is it your mother?" Russia asked, his purple eyes wide.
"No." Darren replied. It was actually the police but Darren didn't say this. He was being given some instructions and he nodded apprehensively while looking at Russia who was looking at him.
"Yes, I understand," he said.
"Who is it?" Russia asked. "Is it Henry the Sixth?" He added incomprehensibly. Further cementing the idea in Darren's head that Russia was a complete fruitcake. "It could be!" Russia told the small fairy in his pocket.
"Erm it's not. It's erm… the BBC!" He said quickly.
Russia's mouth dropped open. "I want to speak with them!" He said and snatched Darren's iPhone from him. "Privet! I want to talk to you about Antiques Roadshow." He said into the phone.
It was then that Inspector Biggins-Smythe of Special Branch had to talk to Russia about the lack of Russians on Antiques Roadshow.
"Hahahahaha! They will rue the day that they stole from me!" Shouted the ingenious arch-villain in his most villainous way.
"Who?" Asked his 'victim'.
"Shut up Americano! You are so stupid!"
"Romano, can you take off that fake moustache and drive me to a Maccy Ds? I'm starving." America was non-plussed about being plucked from Penge Opticians on his first day at work.
"I am not Romano! My name is Santiago!" Romano told him as they stood in traffic in Penge High Street.
The kidnapping was not going well. For a start the kidnapping victim would not shut up. Also the disguise had not worked. Also they had moved less than 100 metres in half an hour. Romano realised this when they sat behind a TV news crew.
"What's the hold-up?" He shouted out of the window at a gormless looking person with a TV camera.
"Siege at the DFS."
"Is that the English version of the Mafia?"
"It's a furniture store."
"Oh." Romano looked confused.
"Happy Meal! Happy Meal! Happy Meal!" America started chanting.
"Shut up! Before I kill you!" Romano shouted at him.
"With what?"
"You mean what with? Did England teach you grammar?"
"No."
Romano sighed and slammed his hand on the horn. "Get out of the way, terrible English drivers!" He shouted.
"Happy Meal Happy Meal Happy Meal!" America continued to chant.
Romano put his head on the steering wheel. Why was his life like this?
At the German Embassy...
"I don't know where my fratello is. He was supposed to be here hours ago. I think he is very good at making Frapuccinos and espressos and he can also make you a seafood pizza. I am not very good at seafood pizzas. I get confused with the prawns. But he is very good. I can make you a lasagne and a pasta but you will have to allow me three hours…" Feliciano stood in a room in the German Embassy talking ten to the dozen to the shadowy person in the corner, dressed in a trench coat and fedora.
In an obviously disguised voice, the person said, "I don't want a Frappuccino or an espresso or a seafood pizza! Or a lasagne… Wait, why does it take you three hours to make a lasagne?"
"One hour to go to the store to buy pasta and tomatoes and cheese, come back, then go back for what I have forgotten to buy, then come back and then another half hour to drink some wine, then half an hour to roll out the pasta using my Mama's pasta roller if I can find it, then another fifteen minutes to find my Pavarotti CD and then another fifteen minutes to find my favourite aria and then half an hour to drink some more wine and then…"
"Shut up! I just want a latte!"
"Why didn't you say? I could go to the nearest Costa Coffee and get you one!" Feliciano said and ran out and then ran back in.
"What is it?"
"I need some money. I don't have any money. Romano handles all the money and Luddy-kins won't let me have any because he says I'm not to be trusted."
The shadowy figure threw him a few pound coins.
"Yay! Thank you Mr Kumajiro!"
"Don't call me that!"
"Why? Have you changed your name?"
"No, I'm incognito!"
"Ok Mr Incognito!"
Pierre was wishing he was back in the French Embassy or at least back in Paris. He'd been warned before about living in England's house and how utterly mindnumbingly dull it was. This time it wasn't. No-one knew that it was because of the presence of a Stan or the fact that Scotland was now living there.
France and Scotland - ancient allies - were having a party. England had attempted to quieten things down by suggesting a quiet game of monopoly, but this hadn't worked, particularly when Scotland had lost all his money to Turkmenistan and then had flung the board in the air and chased the Stan around with the Monopoly token 'boot' threatening to stick it somewhere.
Then someone had brought out some vintage Scotch Whisky. England was not normally allowed to drink Scotch after he'd drunk rather a lot of it and insulted a particularly un-photogenic German princess who'd been about to marry one of his royal family. That had been 1751 or something.
But now he was well and truly sloshed and because it was Scotch he was singing along with Scotland some awful bawdy Scottish songs about kicking some poor unfortunate Nation's arse.
France, who loved a party, had invited some CIA agents who turned up having been bailed out of jail in Scotland and/or been made redundant from Sealand's services. England found out that Sealand had returned to Sweden and Finland's house to do his mock exams. His parting words to the CIA officers who he'd hired as 'heavies' were apparently 'sorry I can't pay you severance'. They were quite bitter about this. They told England that they wished they'd never met the small quasi-Nation. They were also bitter about having had their arses kicked by Denmark and Prussia in a small Scottish public house.
But this was all water under the bridge now thanks to Scotch Whisky, a CD of Scottish folk tunes and the omnibus edition of Downton Abbey on the TV which Turkmenistan seemed to think was a documentary on contemporary British life.
"Do you know, I think Lady Mary is a hottie," Prussia mused, watching the television and eating a huge family bag of smarties. The E-numbers on the blue smarties would bite them in the bottom later.
"I think you're definitely going soft," Denmark replied, watching the German Embassy across the street through the binoculars. "It's definitely Mr K. And your brother's just come out again to shout at reporters. He's saying something about somebody creeping into his kitchen and messing with the fridge magnets."
"Shut up Brian! I'll get you some bread later!" Prussia shouted in the direction of the bathroom. "Bloody show ducks. Honestly, I think he was spoiled by Yorkshire." He added.
This seemed to give him an idea…
"…And then Boris' head fell off!" Russia finished his story with a miming action.
Darren fainted.
It was not a good day in the Furniture store. The 'BBC' on Darren's iPhone had not been very forthcoming and General Winter had disappeared taking Tinkerbell with him. Russia sighed. This was not good. A winter demon and a British fairy? Who knew what horrors they could get up to?
And then the basement window was blown in and a rope with a bottle of vodka was lowered in with a message attached.
Russia approached it apprehensively.
The message read 'please drink me'. Russia liked vodka that came with messages. He was still a little suspicious and wondered if his little sister had sent it laced with sleeping pills and aimed to drag his unconscious body to a chapel and marry him.
Another rope descended, this had a box of caviar attached. This had the message 'please eat me'.
The messages were in English and Russia knew that his little sister would chop off her hand rather than write in English. However, he was still unsure. He took out his phone and tried to ring his other sister for guidance but apparently when she answered she said she was going into a tunnel. He wondered if she was still stuck on the number 9 bus to Vladivostok.
He then tried to ring England but got no response. This puzzled him. It also angered him as he viewed England as someone who should be available for advice to him as he was his landlord (and brother in law).
And then Darren's phone rang just as the poor human was waking up. Russia rushed over to answer it.
"Is he drinking it?" A hushed voice asked him.
Russia frowned. "No. He's unconscious," Russia replied, looking at Darren.
"Good." The voice said.
Russia wasn't sure if it was 'good' that the human was unconscious. Russia didn't have a lot of experience when it came to human health.
"Is it safe?" The voice asked.
Russia looked around the basement. "Yes. There are no French soldiers and I feel safe!" Russia answered cheerily.
"Good, you sound in fine fettle. You're not injured?"
"Me? No!" Russia scoffed. The very idea!
"Good then we're sending in our best agent to extract you."
"Oh good," Russia replied. His next answer should really have alerted the authorities to the fact that they weren't talking to Darren (despite the Russian accent). "Do you think this agent will be able to bring down a television as I'm missing Coronation Street?" Russia asked.
There was no answer to this. The person at the other end of the line had rudely hung up when Russia had said 'good'. He frowned. He was not happy with this and thought about ringing them back but had no chance as the lift doors pinged and someone stepped out.
Russia looked up and felt a serious feeling of deflation. This person would definitely not be bringing him a television.
"Oh for God's sake! It's bloody Braginski and he's bloody conscious! Hey guys! You said he was unconscious!" The person yelled.
Russia considered fighting but then thought twice about it. Not that he couldn't beat that person in a fight but it would look bad and also suppose, just suppose, that the person in question kicked his arse as they were apt to do with other male Nations? He couldn't risk that. He looked around the furniture store in desperation for something to barter with.
The person glared at him, clutching her frying pan. "The game's up, Braginski. Honestly, you're so useless. I'm really going to tell Katya about you!"
"Nooooo! You can't! She's still on the number 9 bus to Vladivostok."
Hungary stepped into the basement and then noticed the prone human. Keeping one eye on Russia, she approached carefully and poked him with the toe of her boot. (The human, not Russia.)
Russia said, "That's Darren. He's my friend. He sold me a wardrobe and a bed."
Darren pretended to be unconscious and watched through partly closed lashes as the woman in military garb, carrying a crossbow and a frying pan, bent down to inspect him.
"I thought you were in Australia?" Russia asked her.
"I was, but we ran out of money. Some cheeky bastard has been using Austria's credit card!"
"There are some terrible people around." Russia said shaking his head.
"Can I keep him?" Hungary said, nodding at Darren.
"He is my friend so…"
"If I find you not here and just him…" Hungary hinted.
"He's my friend! I'm protecting him from French soldiers!" Russia interrupted.
Hungary growled. "I SAID… If I find you're not here…" she insisted in a strident voice.
Darren wasn't sure if he really wanted to be passed on to the strange woman. But surely it had to be better than being the hostage of the strange Russian man with the violet eyes?
Russia considered this, remembered how much it hurt when Hungary had last hit him over the head with her frying pan and the resulting concussion and hurried off to the lift.
"Not that way, moron! The police are up there!" Hungary told him.
Russia nodded, wondered if he could get through the window and then instead had a bright idea. He scribbled quickly on the back of one of the notes, impaled it with his knife to a wardrobe and shoved himself inside. He then hurried back out, picked up the bottle of vodka and caviar and settled himself inside to be delivered to England's house.
"It's okay!" Hungary yelled up the stairs. "Russia's managed to escape! He erm… overpowered me and got clean away! I bet he's erm… at England's house." There was a sharp cough from inside the wardrobe. "I mean in Narnia…" She added.
"I have a funny feelingsh," England slurred at Turkmenistan.
"About what, Sir?" Turkmenistan asked him. Ever the subordinate he was now serving canapés at the party, which Scotland declared as 'rubbish' and 'not as good as good ole Scottish shortbread'.
"That shomething horrible ish going to happen."
"It probably is," one of the CIA men said.
"Where'sh America? And where'sh Russia? And why ish Francish' hand on my bottom?"
And then his phone rang and a mysterious voice said, "Do you want to see your precious again?"
"My Princess Diana tea towel? Do you have it?" England yelled.
"No! The thing you miss the most…"
"My besht teapot? That wash the Ferrari of teapotsh!" England slurred. He was getting more and more frantic. "You broke it!"
France shuffled guiltily.
The voice on the other end of the phone was now hysterical. "Stupido! I will send you a picture message!"
"What?" England had no idea what a 'picture message' was.
But the phone cut off and there was a ping. England peered drunkenly at his phone as an SMS picture of America appeared holding a ransom note that said, "GIVE ME MONEY OR YOU WILL NEVER SEE USA AGAIN."
Except the word 'again' had been cut off to 'AGA' as the kidnapper had run out of room on the paper.
"I'll never see USA AGA?" England frowned and passed his phone to France and then passed out.