SHORTS

The Marksman 

 

A Webley Tempest .22 air pistol measures 9.2 inches long and weighs 32 ounces. I knew that because when we were kids my mate had one. We were ten with weak ten-year-old arms and 32 ounces on the end of an outstretched arm was a big ask to hold steady. Target practice at twenty feet. I set the target and stepped three feet to the side. An outstretched arm and bang. The result: a hit, dead centre. The problem: smack bang in the middle of my thigh and I still have the scar. 

Anyway, that’s what I told my neighbour Anton across the street, that the gun was heavy and impossible to keep still. Told him he should've got a rifle not an antique pistol but Anton is one of those guys who knows best and ignores the voice of experience.  

He keeps chickens, twenty of them trapped inside a pen surrounded by a small hole wire fence to keep out the foxes but let in the rats and there’s the problem. Everyone knows if you keep chickens, you inherit rats and rats are one of the most generative creatures. Numbers can double in a very short time and the rats stay close to the food and therefore the chickens. The problem is, Anton is eighty-five with an eighty-five-year-old’s weak arms.  

So, there you have it. You can guess the outcome. Anton is now the proud owner of half as many chickens and twice as many rats and has just gone off to buy a rifle thinking he should’ve, for the first time in his life, listened to the voice of experience. He’ll tell you if you ask. Listen, take note and learn, it can save an awful lot of grief. 

 

The Car Thief 

 

What grabbed his attention was the old silver Merc. Nice. Perfect. One for the chop shop. The two guys, forties, he would guess. Dark suits. Neat ties. A buffed shine on their feet. He had watched them pull up to the kerb outside the deli. On a double yellow. No problem there they’d only be a few minutes. Watched them get out and head inside, probably to order pastrami on rye. They had that look. Opportunities, take them was his motto. The keys, the dumb bastards, left in the ignition. Away and thank you. 

One of the guys nudged his mate and grinned as they watched the Merc shed smoke. Pulling out his burner he made a call, police, my car’s been stolen. Yeah, heading west on Main Street and hung up. As they strolled munching pastrami and rye they thought about the boot. What a neat way to get rid of a body.  

The Arguing Man 

 

The strangest thing and you know what that is? No one is surprised. Why is that? Simple. Because it could have been. That’s the truth. And that’s the thing, isn’t it. I said to this fella, the one in the pub with the loud voice. You know the one. He’s in every bar, in every city, in all the countries. The one who’d argue about anything. I said to him about how it happened. I told him all about it. But no, he wouldn’t have it. He had to stick his oar right on in. He took a huge swig of a pint glass and then was almost shouting. So, I had to say, whoa there fella, I said, hang onto your life a bit and he said, What? So, I said think about it. Think about everything in this world. There’s stuff going on all the time and he said, So. So, I said, you're not thinking about it. Stuff is happening but you don’t ever think about it. Calming down a bit he asked me how I knew so much. I replied, I don’t, but what I do know is it could’ve. What do you mean it could’ve? He asked. So, I said, it’s always about what could have been, that’s the thing, isn’t it. We never know the truth. We read the papers. We see the news. We listen to all the claptrap, but we never know for sure, do we. All we can do is say, “Well, it’s what could’ve been, I suppose.” So matey, I said to him, what’s the point of arguing. 

 

The Ironic Car Man 

 

Dave Morant drove into the town car park. He did not notice the two car thieves with electronic scanning devices. One lingering near the pay machine and one patrolling the parking bays. Having parked and paid he pressed his keyless fob and locked his car then strolled through the alleyway to the High Street. He was meeting a friend for lunch in a restaurant on the opposite side of the street. Checking the traffic, he stepped out from between two parked cars to cross the road. Suddenly a car sped out of the car park entrance, headed down the High Street and, before he could react, knocked him flying. Fortunately, a passing community policeman rushed over to check if Dave was injured. He was speaking into his radio. Seeing Dave was only shaken and grazed he said, “Don’t worry I got the car registration and have radioed it in. They should catch the driver shortly. The car is registered to someone called Dave Morant. 

 

The Cheat 

 

Dexter saw him drop his phone as he rushed past and unaware carried on running. Dexter picked it up and started after him. To give it back. It rang and he answered.  

“Hi, who’s this?” 

“It’s Jane where are you. You’re late.” 

He recognised the voice. The familiarity of ten years. 

“Jane it’s Dexter. Who are you calling?” 

“I……..” and she hung up. 

 

The Smuggler 

 

There was the signal. Three quick flashes punctuated the darkness with a momentary brightness. Feint but distinguishable. The smuggler slipped silently forward. He knew the well-trodden path ended at the village and turned the corner expecting his contact. The startled policeman with cigarette hanging from his bottom lip dropped his flaming Zippo lighter but his partner drew his gun.  

 

The Drunk 

 

I didn’t understand what his problem was. Maybe the same as mine but I’m not so sure. The lady behind him in the queue was falling over laughing. The checkout girl was giggling as she loaded the sixth bottle of Bourbon into my bag. Then the six bags of nuts. In reply to her question, I just said, "Dinner." Yeah, sure there was a bit of a slur. Oh, and some forehead sweat... And a bit of shaking. In fact, a load of shaking. But it was all that water stacked high in his trolley. All I said was, "You down on your luck?" and he said, "What do you mean?" So, I said, "Looks like you're going to drown yourself." That’s when the lady laughed, and the checkout girl giggled. Then he just looked at me with one of those kind of f-off looks and said, "Looks like you’ve a problem," and added, "Matey," which sort of made me think he was a touch annoyed. That and the look of course. All eyes and bared teeth. So, I said, "No problem, fella." I added the fella bit just for the hell of it. "No problem, fella," I said, "Just that Bourbon’s better than water to drown in if you gotta drown in something." Then I thought a bit. Looked at the water again and said, "You wanna swap, I think I’m done with shaking." 

 

The Lucky Man 

Right next to the phone box the incessant buzz of two chain saws in flat out mode caused the fella to frown, shout something into the handset, and hang up. Slamming the door, he left to the sound of a horrendous cracking. A splitting of wood. A strange whooshing of air and an extremely loud crash. Looking back, he saw an ancient oak with rotted core sitting quite neatly on top of the obliterated phone box. 

The Vegetarian 

He is strong. He is resilient. He is so stoic. He used to spit on adversity but now he farts on it. He used to eat meat but has just become vegetarian. He is currently sitting in the smallest room waiting for his body to adjust.  

The Conned Con Man 

Archie thought “what a dope”. Archie is a conman who moments before had sold two thousand pounds of costume jewelry as ten thousand pounds of diamond encrusted gold. Enjoyed dinner paying with two fifties from the brown hold-all. A tap on the shoulder. “Can you please explain these counterfeit notes?” 

The Sick Man 

He was in the doctor's waiting for heart test results reading the magazine article about how four o'clock in the morning is a prime time to die of a heart attack in your sleep. That night he put his alarm on for three-forty-five in the morning so he would be awake at four. His obituary read, "He died of a heart attack brought on by the sudden shock of a very loud alarm