Rehabilitated: Episode Three
by Martin Smith
Previous Episode
Late afternoon, BB stood at the base of the great tower. He tilted his head further and further back as he took in the skyscraper’s splendour in all its glass and steel magnificence.
‘Hoo-wee!’ he said. ‘It’d take more than a huff and a puff to blow that baby down.’ He took a step back in awe and bumped into someone in a rush. ‘Excuse me,’ BB said.
‘So you should!’ a voice said. ‘Don’t you know who I am and how important I am?’
BB looked down and saw a suited porky pig with a fake tan and a wacky yellow toupee that defied gravity.
‘Hey, I recognise you,’ BB said. ‘You’re that pig who owns the brick house. The swine with the two brothers. Though it looks like you’ve spent a fair amount of time with your nose in the trough since we last met. What the hell are you doing in this fairy-tale sequel?’
‘Err, hello? Do I know you?’ the pig said with an aloof raising of his snout.
‘Piggy, it’s me. BB. BB Wolfe. Surely you remember me and that murder trial back last millennium? If not, then you’ve gotta remember all that huff and puff nonsense.’
‘You!’ The pig backed up against the skyscraper and spread his arms out along the glass door of the entrance. ‘You! I thought you were in prison. For life. Have you escaped?’ He reached inside his suit pocket and removed his phone.
‘No, I’m free. On parole. I’ve been rehabilitated.’
Piggy’s trotter hit the ‘9’ on his phone.
‘Hey, hey. Don’t do that.’ And BB plucked the phone from Piggy’s trembling hand.
‘W … What do you want? I’ll give you anything. Money. My sow. My piglets. Anything that’ll stop you blowing down Trot Tower.’ He extended his arms even further and spread his legs apart.
‘Want? Want? I want nothing. I’m just on my way to pay a courtesy visit and was admiring this mighty erection. This yours? This Trot Tower?’
‘Y … Y … Yes. Please don’t blow it down.’
‘Funny one, Pigs. Say, you’ve done well for yourself. Though I think Freud might have a word or two to say about you overcompensating.’
‘So, you’re not going to huff?’
‘No.’
Piggy lowered his arms slightly. ‘Or puff?’
‘No.’
Piggy brought his legs together. ‘Or blow my tower down?’
‘No. I don’t do things like that anymore. Like I said, I’m rehabilitated. Say, what’s the secret to your success?’
‘Oh, OK.’ Piggy’s arms dropped to his side. ‘I’m … I’m in real estate. A mogul of sorts. I was in politics for a while, trying to push through legislation to drain this swamp I had my eye on for redevelopment, but it didn’t work out, so now I focus on my business interests.’
‘You always had an eye for quality real estate. And those brothers of yours? How are they holding up?’
‘My youngest brother is in textile production. He runs a factory out west. Sources cheap foreign labour—foreign imps, to be exact—on dodgy visas and gets them to spin his straw into gold. He’s making an absolute bloody fortune. As for my other brother, after he lost his stick house, he went on a wellbeing retreat in a land far, far away, only to return all arty-farty. Now he plays in the woodwind section of the local philharmonic. He brings the house down every performance, if you pardon the pun.’
‘Ha! Nice one, Pigs. Look, while I’ve got you here, there’s something I really want to give you.’
‘W … W … What?’ Piggy extended his arms and legs.
‘Forgiveness.’
‘Forgiveness? What, you want to forgive me?’
‘That’s right.’
‘For what?’
‘For you lying your arse off as an expert witness at my trial. Look, Piggy, I’m not still mad at you. After all, I am rehabilitated. I want to forgive you. You know damn well I never blew those houses down. You rigged my medical examination, didn’t you? All those respiratory function tests I sat through. You and I both know I failed them. Failed them all. I may have quit smoking while in prison, but before they incarcerated me, I was a perpetual puffer, a three-packs-a-day wolf. I had emphysema even before I left my teens. Couldn’t even blow a match out, let alone a straw or timber house. Yet, come the trial, according to your expert testimony, I blew the needle off the dial when blowing through those tubes. I’m not sure if that’s what got me locked up—you know, for that crime—but it sure as hell didn’t help my cause. But, Pigs, that slops under the trough now. I forgive you. Can I give you a hug?’
‘I … I … I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. This suit’s a Brioni. So that’s all you want? Just to forgive me? There’s nothing else you want?’
‘Nothing. Like I said, I’m just blowing through.’
‘You’re not going to blow my tower down?’
BB took a deep, deep breath. Piggy’s eyes bulged, and he stretched his arms and legs to breaking point. But BB exhaled and smiled and said, ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Pigs. But now that I think of it, there is a favour you can do me.’
‘W … W … What?’
‘Can you lend me a brick?’
‘A brick?’
‘Yes. Even a half-brick will do.’
Piggy reached down and unclipped his briefcase. ‘All I’ve got is this sample from our new Playwrights range. It’s called a Chekhov. It’s the latest in ecotechnology.’
‘Brilliant. A Chekhov’s brick.’ And he took the brick from Piggy’s trembling hand. ‘Well, best be—ah …’ BB tilted his head back.
Piggy’s face froze.
‘Ah …’ BB tilted his head back further.
Piggy’s arms shot up and stretched out in front of his precious tower.
‘AH …’ BB tilted his head back until it could tilt no more.
Piggy’s mouth gaped wide open.
‘CH—ill out, Piggy, I’m only joshing you. Here, try this.’ BB reached into his bag and removed the apple and shoved it into Piggy’s gaping mouth until it stuck firm. ‘You’re damn lucky I didn’t bung it up your bunghole, you asinine arsehole. Nice talking.’
Stay tuned for the next episode of Rehabilitated!
