Damning Disgusting Evidence

I grew up with Mary Anne. I knew her forwards and backwards. I never heard her say a mean word to anyone and in our neighborhood there were lots of mean words describing almost everyone from blocks around. I also knew she didn’t lie. I heard her father beating her one evening when he didn’t get the response he wanted and expected from her. There had been other beatings almost from day one. I was ashamed that I did noting, but I knew her father would turn on me and unlike Mary Anne I would not have been able to control myself and just take the hurt and the shame that was being delivered. Death would have been my reward for trying to save the beating of Mary Anne and it would not have accomplished anything.

As you can probably tell, I left that town and the pain that went with it in almost every breath. I never wanted to return, so you can see that when I was sent by the firm I had worked for and loved to the Hell hole I was from, I almost begged and refused. To go against the big boys in the firm was to see a “You’re fired” tattoo printed across your forehead in just minutes. And I had no desire to throw my future away.

I had looked over the paperwork and read every scribbled comment. There had been a murder of a poor little rich girl and the blame was being put on Mary Anne. My Mary Anne!

Just so you know, this was not a poor town; this was a rich town and there were multiple connections that always got things covered up when needed. Three people had heard three shots by Mary Anne. She denied the accusation. The three claimed to have seen Mary Anne fire the revolver. An open and shut case. All three stood by the story that Mary Anne fired the gun at point-blank range and had then thrown the gun down on the floor and backstepped away.

Now, the pressure was on me. When push came to shove I did what I could and I soon lost any real future success when I asked to see Mary Anne shoot the weapon, the .45 ACP Pistol within the court room.

The opposition tried to claim that firing the pistol would damage everyone’s hearing in the room. I promised it would not.

They relented. Mary Anne approached the .45. She took off her gloves and everyone close by in the courtroom saw that both hands had numerous broken finger bones and could not possibly pull the trigger of a .45 ACP Pistol. She struggled to fire the weapon. The more she struggled, the more everyone in the courtroom knew the reality of her freedom.

In the end Mary Anne was free. I was able to stay in the firm, but I never got the huge cut I deserved. But it was enough for Mary Anne and me.