The Persecuted Samaritan

Fiction by Michael Marrotti ⊗  Art by Patrick Martinez

My miserable boss, who wasn’t keen on hygiene, pushed it too far on that Monday night. He was screaming at me over trivial issues, like how to dispose of the garbage correctly.


And here I thought throwing it into the dumpster, closing the lid, and walking away was a job well done. I told that cocksucker to fuck off!

After almost a decade of insufficient fund’s, sixty hour work-weeks, and a demeaning proprietor, who’s eye’s turned greener after each increase of revenue, I was free.

Emancipation is wonderful. At the time I managed to save up a few bucks, so I had a little leeway until a worthwhile financial endeavor manifested. Not that it ever did.

I was driving down Castle Shannon boulevard in my Chevy Cobalt, around midnight, feeling good about my decision. ‘Millions Of Dead Cops’ was playing on the stereo.

So far so good, I thought. No deer’s in sight, which means no five hundred dollar deductible.

My iPhone was ringing. I picked it up to see who was calling. It was my mother, I hit the ignore button.

Next stop: serenity.

I made the right turn onto Mt. Lebanon boulevard, obeying the speed limit as I drove along. Right before I crossed the trolley tracks a black couple with an infant waved me down. I pulled over in the Mr. Magic Carwash, to inquire about their dilemma.

They told me they got off at the wrong trolley stop, after spending the remaining amount of money in their pockets. I asked them how I could be of assistance. They asked for a ride to Dormont. I told them no problem, get in.

I was feeling great, doing the right thing. There was even a car seat in back for the infant since I personally believe in procreation. They offered me whatever money they had lying around their apartment. I politely declined, telling them I’m doing this for the moral incentive.

We were driving up Castle Shannon boulevard, doing the speed limit, when I noticed a Mt. Lebanon cop in my rearview. The black guy brought it to my attention, but I had already beaten him to the punch.

‘Millions Of Dead Cops’ was still playing on the stereo when I noticed the police officer behind us accelerate his vehicle. My hands started to shake as I focused on the road, cop and speedometer.

He had no right to pull us over, I wasn’t breaking the law. Once I made the right turn onto Washington road he chose to flex his power.

Police lights were flickering behind us. I yelled out, “This is bullshit! I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

My passenger’s said in unison, “He pulled you over because we’re black. Sorry, bro.”

The police officer yelled into his loud speaker, “Pull over the fucking car!”

We all looked at each like this was crazy. I’ve been pulled over now for a few minutes. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.

The police officer approached my car, inspecting the passenger’s before saying, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” He sounded belligerent.

I grabbed the steering wheel to suppress the instability of my hands as I replied, “I didn’t fucking do anything!” Anger had gotten the best of me.

“Get the fuck out of the car!” screamed the cop.

People driving past were breaking their necks at the spectacle at hand.

I stepped out of my automobile when two Dormont police cars showed up for backup. This is great, I thought. That’s all I need is injustice and police brutality which the Dormont cop’s are notorious for.

They surrounded me at first, then one of them walked over to my car for further inspection. Pessimism had taken over.

The Mt. Lebanon cop asked me what I was doing with those kind of people in my car. I told him the story, and stood my ground. He laughed in my face, which triggered the other cops to laugh along with him.

These bastards actually ridiculed me for being a good Samaritan.

“You have the appearance of a fucking scumbag,” proclaimed the asshole cop of Mt. Lebanon.

“Think what you want,” I told him. “I’m here for the moral incentive.”

This only triggered more laughter. I was fucking exasperated! All I wanted was a fair fight against that pig, motherfucker!

It’s shit like this that makes me rejoice when these bullies become fatalities.

“Tell me the truth, scumbag!” demanded the cop. “What charges do you have on your record.”

This seemed irrelevant to me, but the pig had me right where he wanted, so I mentioned a few speeding tickets, nothing else.

“You stay fucking put!” demanded the pig. “I’m running your name right now. If it comes up clean, you’re free to go.”

“Free to go?” I replied. “I haven’t broken the god damn law!”

The cops surrounded me again with their hands on their Tasers, insisting I calm down, or else. I took a deep breath as the pig went back to his car for scientific research.

It felt like an eternity. By the time he got back to me, I was a nervous wreck, and rightfully so. The other two cop’s had a field day at my expense, cracking jokes about my appearance, then giving me intimidating looks. All this cause I wanted to do the right thing.

The bully cop came back wearing a horrific look on his face as he said, “What are you, a fucking smartass? Did you conveniently forget to acknowledge the fact that you disarmed two police officers?”

All of a sudden the cop’s weren’t smiling anymore. They took a few steps back to avoid being next in line for a felony offense that was diminished through the help of one of the best Jew lawyers in Pittsburgh.

Seriously, he was worth every penny. This was the closest thing to retribution I was going to get against these corrupt cops.

I sarcastically replied, “I’m not one to brag about achievement.”

They all took another step back. I was wondering how much longer this standoff was going to take when the asshole cop said, “Once I hear those special word’s you’ll be free to go.”

Confusion was now added to the multitude of feelings that were building up inside of me. I had no clue of what this cocksucker was referring to, nor did I feel like assuming, so I told him to speak frankly or I’m calling my Jew lawyer.

Single syllable word’s can be formidable when used in the correct context. He screamed out, “I was looking for an apology!”

The nerve of this bastard was appalling, but I had already known the odds of winning were not in my favor. I swallowed my dignity like a Neurontin without water as I put my head down and spoke the words, “I’m sorry.”

They all pointed their fingers at me like middle school students as sincere laughter erupted out of their piggish mouths.

“You’re free to go, scumbag!” said the bully with a badge. “Get the fuck out of here!”

I hopped back into the trusty Cobalt, and drove to the other side of Dormont. Everyone was apologetic, not like it mattered. The damage was done. They did however try to force money on me for the headache that transpired over a good deed gone wrong.

I told them everyone has a price to pay, but this right here is on the house.

Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he’s not writing, he’s volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man’s work, please check out his for his latest poetry and short stories.

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