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Shorts
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| Sharp to the end. | |
| By BrianRobertNeal | ||||||||||||||||||||||
| 18 June 2006 | ||||||||||||||||||||||
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This is the final part of "Doin a Sharpie" For new readers, Sharpie following the destruction of his comfy little world, had turned vigilante and waged a war against those he held to blame. Following his last atrocity he had fled North, met up with an old comrade (Chalky) and then they'd gone to the Funeral of one of their former COs. They'd been invited back by the late man's son and whilst tat his house the news of the atrocity and the person the police wanted to interview was announced on the telly. Read on. Chalky asked the son if he could use the telephone. He phoned the number shown on the telly and told the Police that the missing man had been staying with him prior to them going to a funeral. He put the son on, who confirmed that the men had been at the funeral. Finally Sharpie went on the phone and said that he had been with Chalky, having a chin-wag and he hadn’t got to sleep till two-two thirty in the morning. (Or put another way, half an hour before the bombs went off.) Harry’s son winked at Sharpie and said, “I wouldn’t be here but for you two. The pair of you saved dad’s life, so he could meet mum and they could have me. I, like you and dad, are ex-services and I have contacts. How do you fancy being Chelsea Pensioners? There are several vacancies following an outbreak of MRSA”. Strings were pulled and the men moved almost immediately into their new home. Chalky’s family were delighted when they got the news. Sharpie had been planning for this eventuality from the moment he knew that his old CO was terminally ill. He’d sold off most of his furniture and anything of else of value, so there was nothing at his rented house that he wanted. So he abandoned it. It was soon squatted in; which proved to be very fortunate for him, because the Police raid found the guns, the explosives, the dead bodies and the fundamentalists who could easily have been behind the killings and the bombings. Their refusal to say a word at their trial couldn’t have suited Sharpie better. At Chelsea, Sharpie was in his element and he loved the uniform. Everywhere he and Chalky went they were feted. Tourists took photos, bought drinks and dropped tips. When Sharpie took liberties with the women they laughed it off or took him back to their Hotel for bed and breakfast. The American old biddies were the best, because they were so grateful and undemanding. Occasionally he would snare a curious youngster, in which case she would have to go on top. He took to buying Viagra just in case! Elsewhere things were happening, his village was compulsory purchased and was flattened. It now sits under the local airport’s 5th runway. His wife died of lung cancer but his children never bothered to try to find him, so he never knew and wouldn’t have been that bothered if he had done. Chalky went over-night. Eight o’clock he was taken into the infirmary complaining of pains in his chest and arms. Six hours later he was dead. A simple coronary took him. Sharpie was now one of the seniors at the Hospital and got to lay a wreath at the Cenotaph! He met the Queen and had a laugh with Charlie Boy! However he still felt the need for some excitement. He decided to wage a war against perverts. Rent boys were his target. He got to kill maybe six and the Police did not have a clue. They needed a break but never got one. Sharpie even managed to kill a decoy, right under the Police’s nose. He was well known in all the gay bars, or more accurately his alter egos were. His favourite was the retired Bus Inspector. In the face of the Police’s incompetence the Ex-Inspector organised gay vigilante groups, who he got to prowl Chelsea and Fulham looking for the serial killer. Of course the killings stopped and the Ex-Inspector became a bit of a gay icon. Nobody bothered about Sharpie’s absences because his amorous dalliances were the talk of the Hospital. He had bought his “Mess” a Photo phone and would often send them intimate photographs of his conquests. The funny thing was that he had actually forgotten about the 2nd World War, well he certainly never mentioned it. He had done as his wife had asked and now lived very much in the present. He died in action as you might say and the Hospital quietly retrieved his body from a local Hotel. The woman concerned went to his funeral, which he would have loved. The Eulogy covered his long service and his heroics. However his diary which detailed his atrocities and murders was found when his room was being cleared. It was all there, the intruders, the drug dealers, the bombing, the rent boys and all his conquests. A book based on the diary was published and became an instant best seller. One of the big production companies turned it into a block-buster film. They even made a Sharpie Game that could be played on all the popular games consoles. You had to drink a “sharp-half”, seduce a woman and then kill one of a range of targeted enemies. The three elements could be played as separate mini-games. The first element became a binge drinker’s game. It became so popular that it was given its own sub-section in the “Book of Records”. The obvious basic record being the fastest “sharp half”’ then the greatest number in 10 minutes and finally the most potent. The latter was dropped altogether following several fatalities usually involving Vodka and the former was for similar reasons limited to 5 then 2 minutes. His nick name entered into common parlance and to do anything that was outrageous, appalling, barbaric or horrendous was labelled as “Doing a Sharpie!”
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