The Mafia Incident
					While still in college, I came home late from work one night to find the apartment building next door to mine completely barricaded off with yellow police tape and squad cars. It was a rough neighborhood and I was always hearing sirens and gunshots and shouting so I figured it was only a matter of time before something happened on my front doorstep. What had happened I didn't find out until the next morning when I had conveniently forgotten about the scene. My aunt had seen a report on the news telling of an unsoloved murder and recognized the street name as being the same on that I lived on so naturally she was worried, being the one relative in close proximity to me. I assured her I was alright and that I would be careful to keep my door locked. Then I forgot about it again.    Returning from class a few days later I was confronted in the parking lot by an enthusiastic young reporter from the local newspaper. She questioned me about the neighborhood and if I had heard anything, which I hadn't. Hesitantly I allowed her to write down my name, thinking that she would have no need for it since I was not able to help her story. Big mistake.    The next day at work I was leafing through the newspaper and happened to glance down at a short column (see clipping). I was agast at seeing my name but quickly laughed it off and showed it to my fellow coworkers.    That night I arrived at my apartment and fed the key into the lock, only to find that the door swung freely open. My heart leaped in my chest.  Slowly I reached for the light and flipped the switch.
		I had reason to be afraid. There in my orange upolstered rocking chair with the swan neck handles sat a large clean shaven man in a pin-striped suit. He was eating a bag of chips. My chips. Balancing on my desk chair at my drafting table was another man, obese and moustached, also wearing pin-stripes. I braced myself.    "Uh, can I help you gentlemen?" I asked in the bravest squeaky voice I could muster.    "You can keep your mouth shut," said the obese man with a thick Brooklyn accent. "Otherwise we would be more that happy to break both your kneecaps." At this the other man chuckled, spewing chip crumbs all over my homework.    I stood there, afraid to say anything more. My mind was a blank. I had no idea what he was talking about. I didn't gamble. I didn't even have any overdue fines at the library. What was going on? I thought about turning and running or screaming at the top of my lungs for help, but just then they both stood up and brushed by me through the doorway. That night I couldn't sleep.   The following day I was a little jumpy. I tried to go about my tasks but avoided eye contact with everyone and said nothing to anyone. Eventually, I collapsed from exhaustion and stress and managed a fitful night's sleep, dreaming of dead horse heads and sleeping with the fishes.    The next day was better and the day after was almost back to normal. Weeks went by and as far as I knew, no one had been arrested in the case of the next door murder. I went through my routines as usual and almost forgot about that frightening encounter, until I came home late from work again.    Sure enough, there they were, two thugs in their zoot suits, eating my food and sitting on my furniture. This time I was annoyed more than anything.    "What now?" I demmanded. "I didn't do anything."    "You come with us," groweled the large one, munching on my Frosted Mini Wheats.    Once again I contemplated making a dash for it but before I could the fat one reached in his pocket for a gun and I froze. They grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me out the door to where a black Lincoln town car with tinted windows awaited. We walked (well, they walked, my feet were off the ground) up to the rear passenger side window and I tried to peer inside. The window slowly slid down and glaring at me from inside was an older thug wearing sunglasses.    I made an effort to say "hi" but he hushed me with a chubby finger to his lips and the large thug opened the door and thrust me inside. As my eyes ajusted to the light I could see a tiny elderly worman dressed all in black with a veil over her face. She was singing softly through sobs and stroking something that rested on her lap. I stared at it, trying to make out what it was and the older man simply said, "Little Gusepi needs your help."   I tried to explain that I didn't know what I could do but the woman's sobs grew louder and the older man just scoweled some more.  I sighed and reached out my arms for the bundle on the woman's lap and she handed to me something I never expected. A pot bellied pig.    Little Gusepi's breathing was very shallow and his nose was dry and warm. I still didn't know what to do but I offered to watch him for the night. The two thugs accompanied me back to my apartment where I placed Little Gusepi on my own bed and silently prayed for a miracle.   That was the longest night of my life. I don't know at what point I fell asleep but when I awoke the thugs were snoring away. Then I noticed that the bed was empty. Little Gusepi was gone! I panicked. I could picture the thugs sizing me up for a concrete overcoat. Cold sweat was dripping down my forehead.  I heard a noise from the bathroom. I ran over and there, drinking from the toilette, was Little Gusepi. I scooped him up and cried out for joy.   When the thugs awoke and saw that their pig was revived they were extremely grateful. They called me a "miracle doctor" told me that if I went into any Italian restaurant in town I could just say, "Little Gusepi sent me" and I wouldn't have to worry about a thing. I never took them up on that offer but it is still a fun story to tell. As my friends caught wind of it they started calling me Doc and the name just stuck.