porkyandthemob

“I know something.”
“What?”
“I know, I know something about the girl they found.”
“What girl.”
“The one they found in the car, the Chevelle.”
“What?” the cop shouted.
Samuel sat in the D.A.’s office. Large law books swamped the bookcase along the wall. A large mahogany desk stood in the middle of the floor. It had a glass top. The D.A. had a pointy nose and wore a toupee. It hung to one side revealing part of his bald head. He had a two button suit, one button was gone, and the other hung, literally by a thread. They had been talking about the events that passed that fateful day. The D.A. questioned him about the pink Cadillac – they had just recovered one with blood stains in the back. The D.A. thought he had the case all wrapped up with Sam’s testimony.
“Samuel, you have to testify. It’s critical to the case, if you don’t these guys could go free and kill more.”
Sam didn’t know what to do. If he testified he would surely be dead – he couldn’t count on this lunatic and his toupee to convict these guys and protect him. If he didn’t testify maybe he could move, to Japan or Tonga – somewhere on the other side of the world – somewhere they couldn’t find him. In his heart, however, he knew he had to testify. Then he had an idea.
“I want to wear the Porky suit.”
“What?”
“The Porky suit.”
The D.A sat in disbelief. “The suit you were wearing when you saw it happen? What, why?”
“It’s the only way to protect my identity.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Are you saying I’ll be placed in witness protection? Buy me a nice house somewhere in Iowa; let me live with enough money for the rest of my life? Safe? Unharmed? For the rest of my life?” Sam had a good point. He knew of the cities financial trouble. He wasn’t educated, but he wasn’t stupid either.
“We don’t have that kind of budget.”
“This is the Mob we’re talking about! No one is going to keep me safe! The only way is if I have the suit, I have to protect my identity.”
“OK, OK. It’s a deal; I let you were the suit. But you testify to everything – the leg, the tattoo, the thugs, everything.”
Sam sat in the chair on the stand, sweating profusely – he was wearing the Porky suit. The court room was full. People of all walks of life were there – they had to know what really happened. Even the pony-tail bus driver and Misty were there – they sat towards the back. The judge was relaxed, he leaned back in his chair. Did he even care?
“And what did you see the morning of the seventeenth?”
Nervously he explained what he saw; the foot, the tattoo, the big guy and the little guy, the Chevelle and the pink Cadillac. Everything.
“And are those two men in the court room?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Will you point them out to me?”
“Yes, it’s them!” Sam cried.
“Objection!”
The crowd was aghast, then it irrupted. Some were jumping up and down in protest, others were crying. A fight broke out in the crowd – the riot police burst through the doors, subduing the masses. One woman shrieked and fainted. The judge slammed his hammer down, breaking it in two – he was paying attention after all. His podium echoed loudly.
“I have no further questions your honor.”

Six years passed. He was now in a comfortable brownstone apartment. He didn’t think much about what he witnessed and the trial anymore. People stopped asking questions and he went about his life. The guilty party went to prison – the two men and many of their known associates. Sam stopped working at the Mexican restaurant long ago. He found a better job and worked his way up. He was now the manager of an upscale restaurant, it was perfectly located in downtown, among all the theaters and museums.
He woke up one morning, stretched and got up. He pulled the curtains back and looked out the window. A very short, broad man, in a brown, seventies style suit stood at the curb. He wore thin, gold chains around his neck. He was staring at Sam.