The Big Over Easy

Giorgio Porgia’s womanizing days were over. He was now seventy-five and in poor physical health. The days when women would swoon at his charms were long gone, the trail of irate husbands long since dried up. Giorgio Porgia had spent the last twenty years of his life in jail, a jail that would be his final resting place. As befits a man of his seniority within the underworld and the prison service, his apartments were large, well appointed and of the highest security. It wouldn’t be right and proper to have the governor of the jail in with the other convicts, nor would it be safe to have someone who once used a tire iron to enforce discipline kept under anything but the strictest security. Thus it was that Mary and Jack were handed over by a prison officer at the outside of Governor Porgia’s secure office to a disreputable character named Aardvark within it.

“They call me Aardvark,” said the shambling, bony character as he led them down the corridor, “’cause I’m Mr. Porgia’s number one. I’m also doing twelve to sixteen for armed robbery, so just watch it.”

Aardvark led them into a good-size room that had bars on the window and was tastefully furnished with antiques. A large, high-backed leather armchair faced the open fire away from them. A wrinkled index finger tapped time on the chair’s arm to an aria from Madame Butterfly.

Aardvark signaled for them to halt, then whispered to the unseen figure in the chair. Jack nudged Mary and pointed to a framed photograph of Porgia and Friedland. There was another figure on the other side of Giorgio, but he had been cropped out.

“You?” mouthed Mary, and Jack nodded.

“You will have to excuse Mr. Porgia,” announced Aardvark,

“but he speaks only in the language of his heart.”

“And what language is that?” asked Jack, hoping that Mary could understand Italian.

“English,” replied Aardvark. “He is the son of the Bracknell Porgias. You understand what that means.”

“Of course,” said Jack, without understanding what it meant—or particularly caring.

They walked around the front of the chair to find a decrepit old man sitting with a traveling rug over his knees. He smiled benignly at them in turn, running his eyes up and down Mary with the memory of his amorous youth passing fleetingly in front of him. All those women, all that kissing.

“Please,” he asked in an affected Italian accent, “please sit down.”

They sat on two antique chairs that Aardvark had put out for them.

“Mr. Spratt,” he said fondly, “we meet again. How long has it been?”

“Twenty years.”

“It seems like only eighteen. How is Mr. Chymes these days?”

“The same, sir.”

“He has gone on to great things. I follow his exploits in Amazing Crime Stories avidly. Isn’t that so, Aardvark?”

“Avidly, sir, yes,” replied Aardvark, rubbing his hands.

“And you?” asked Porgia. “You are still at the NCD?”

Jack rankled visibly. “There is still work to be done, sir. That’s why I’m here. I want to talk to you about an MO you once used.”

Porgia’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You are here to talk about my days as a criminal?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I cannot, I will not, help you. I don’t speak about my past. If you wish to discourse on the functioning of this prison of which I am the governor, I will be happy to… talk… to you….”

His voice trailed off as he suddenly seemed to become more interested in Mary. She glanced nervously at Jack. Mr. Porgia put on his spectacles with shaking hands, and a smile of recognition broke out on his lined features.

“Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,” he began in a soft voice that was almost a whisper, “of these supposed evils, to give me leave, by circumstance, but to acquit myself…. I did not kill your husband.”

“Why, then he is alive!” replied Mary before Jack could ask what was going on. “O! He was gentle, mild and virtuous!”

“The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him,…” continued Giorgio grimly, “for he was fitter for that place than earth.”

“And thou unfit for any place but hell!” replied Mary with vehemence.

Giorgio Porgia smiled at Mary, his eyes moistening. “It’s Mary Mary, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir.”

“I saw you at Basingstoke in Richard III. It was the only time I have been out since my incarceration began. The Governor—myself—gave me a special pass to go and see you. You were wonderful, dazzling, inspired!”

Mary blushed deeply, and Jack sighed inwardly.

“Your retirement from the stage was a great loss, Mary.”

“I didn’t have time for both, sir.”

“If ever you return to the stage, please let me know. You will, I trust, take tea?”

“No thank you, Mr. Porgia, but we would like to ask you some questions.”