Peter Steuzi

Peter Steuzi sat on a park bench watching the pigeons. His musings went unspoken as he tossed a piece of popcorn to first one and as the flock grew to one after another. Finally, he poured the remains into his hand and tossed the last kernels it into their midst. Amid a clatter of flapping wings, they swirled about the unexpected bounty.

It’s hard going from a somebody to nobody. He mused, worse a nobody who is despised by half the Americans on the planet. I suppose I’ve nobody to blame but myself, but the shame of it all. One minute I’m at the top of my game, doing what I love and the next I’m down in the weeds, cast aside like a used condom. He realized he’d done wrong but resisted believing that he was as loathsome and vile as some claimed.

Sometimes he’d go to a bar, but not the same places he used to go as an Agent. The old crowd wanteded nothing to do with me, avoid me like the plague. When I meet someone the street, and a flash of recognition passes, they look away and make themselves scarce. If that’s not bad enough, word is I’m about to be indicted. Yeah, imagine that, for falsifying 302s, as if that’s the least I’m guilty of. My “buddie,” Joe Primo is about to rat me out. That could spell some jail time. After spending my life locking up the bad guys I could soon have one for a cell mate. How ironic is that?

His reveries were interrupted by squeaking breaks and a tall man riding a bicycle. He was wearing spectacles and dressed like a tourist from Florida. “Is that you Pete?” he queried. “Of course it is, I know that.”

Steuzi looked up, surprised anyone would admit to knowing him.

“One of our agents said I would find you here but I’m always surprised when things work out the way they’re supposed to.”