Joe staggered, cursing, into the bathroom. Getting up at six for a construction job? How had his life come to that?
"Oh yeah, that's how," he thought as he looked down at the newspaper wadded up in the trash. "Scarpoliti Guilty", the headline read. Poor old Nick Scarpoliti was goin' up the river, and partly on Joe's say-so. He'd taken the offer of a new life to sing the Feds a nice song about old Nick.
Joe looked up at the reflection in the mirror. Guy behind him, gun already lifted. "Witness protection," Joe thought as Nick's guy whacked him.
And to think, I don't even like mob stories....