It
was Sally, Mr. Hooper's wife who discovered his body, slumped
over his cluttered desk. Sally had arrived home from work as usual
at just after six in the evening. Normally her husband would have
had a delicious and healthy dinner ready and was waiting with
a bottle of wine- but not on this fateful Tuesday.
Sally
had walked in to find him lying in front of his beloved computer,
surely half way through some spine tingling story. His hair stood
on end and was almost comically frizzy, his once beautiful blue
eyes now appearing as if they had been hard boiled in their sockets,
and his face looked as if had been slow cooked like a barbequed
pig at a Luau. The smell of the cooked flesh was both sweet and
repulsive.
After
Sally finally came too, lying on the office floor, she once more
examined her dead husband. Not quite knowing what to do she grabbed
the old fashioned black telephone, and with a trembling, but perfectly
manicured finger, dialed 999.
The
police obediently and promptly arrived and proceeded to perform
the clichéd interviewing, snooping and picture taking that
are the benchmarks of a decent and thorough English police investigation.
It
was the brilliant mind of Constable A. Hitchcock that seemed to
shed some light on the method of death.
"I
reckon it's got something to do with that bloody computer sarge…"
He proudly proclaimed in that delightful Liverpool accent of his.
"Personally I hate the buggers."
The
two other officers nodded thoughtfully in apparent agreement.
"We
need to call in the computer specialist's," sergeant Carpenter
responded, as his piercing deep set eyes, flickered awkwardly
at the repugnant scene in front of him. "They will know what
to do, those chaps are smart."
Officer
Romero shook his head looking decidedly pale.
"The
smell is making me sick," he blurted. Then he raced out of
the room with a shaking hand helplessly covering his mouth as
a steady, and particularly chunky yellow/orange stream was being
quickly evacuated from his stomach.
Within
moments a speeding red Jaguar convertible pulled up and two surprisingly
well dressed and tanned computer technicians hopped out.
They
quickly marched passed the still vomiting Romero and straight
into the house.
"Allow
me to introduce my self " the first computer tech confidently
exclaimed." My name is Mr. Barker and this is my assistant
Mr. Cronenberg"
The
four men politely shook hands and discuss, while in the kitchen
helping them selves to chocolate biscuits, the gruesome situation
that had been uncovered; Barker and Cronenberg dutifully nod,
and gasp in all the appropriate places in the conversation.
"Leave
it to us!" Mr. Barker proclaimed waving his middle index
finger at the officers. Next he calmly walked into the office…
He appeared completely unaffected by the sight of the body or
its smell, and after sticking the last bit of biscuit into his
mouth, he casually lifted the fried remains off the keyboard.
Mr. Croneburg followed him, looked about the room quite satisfied,
and unplugged the computer. Then the two of them, smiling broadly,
proceeded to carry both the dead man and the computer to the boot
of their car.
With
that they give a knowing nod to the officers, and once more jump
into the Jaguar and speed off, leaving the police officers standing
there looking on somewhat dazed and confused.
"Another
mission accomplished Mr. Cronenberg." Mr. Barker said. "Please
Cross Mr. Tobe Hooper off the MI7 hit list!" A smile dampened
the intense facial features.
Mr.
Cronenberg stared at Mr. Barker, as if not able to believe his
ears.
"Shit.'
He said "It says here Mr. Tony Hooper sir…Not Mr. Tobe
Hooper."
Mr.
Barker abruptly stopped the car and stared at his colleague, anger
flaring up.
"That's
the second time this flippin' year alone you have bloody misread
the name…You have got to be more careful or we will lose
our Christmas bonus"
The end.
