Judge Norman Johnson was dearly departed. He had been a crass, tough, old codger who would rather lock a convict away in the depths of Hell than have to hurt his bloodshot eyeballs looking at him.

The whole town knew he'd do it. He would smile behind his frown, then bring his gavel down. And, at least 500 times over the last fifty years, this commonplace event occurred.

Equally feared and respected the people of the town turned out in droves for his funeral services. That is, those who believed themselves to be much more important than they actually were. The short list included the Chief of Police and the Mayor. Both who were probably the biggest suck-ups to Judge Johnson.

Others in attendance were the City Aldermen and a variety of civic leaders. To not be there would automatically earn you a blacklisting and being ostracized from your highfalutin position in Glass Lake.

The funeral itself had all the bells and whistles of a Black Tie affair. Processional vehicles were lined up for three city blocks and full of mourners, or those pretending to put up the proper front.

Me, I had a little, fairly popular eatery on the outskirts of town. Nothing high and mighty mind you. I avoided those charades like they were the plague. But, my food's reputation was superb. So, I volunteered to cater the Wake.

No big deal. Not the first time I had fed a Dog and Pony Show of this caliber before. I had arrived at the banquet hall in the town's Civic Center earlier that morning with plenty of chores to do. An event of this nature always required certain amenities.

The carpeting in the hall had been freshly shampooed the night before. All the tables and chairs had been properly arranged in just the right fashion. Floral creations of various sizes adorned the tables, and the finest china had been chosen. I held no reservations about using only the very best of everything in how I had the arrangements made.

My meal of choice was an array of bright colored vegetables, mashed potatoes with the finest gravy you have ever eaten, hot buttered rolls, and a very special meat I had slaved over a hot stove all morning preparing. Nothing was too elaborate for the crowd I was responsible to feed that afternoon.

Oh, I had previously had my run-in with Judge Johnson. But, no one in Glass Lake knew anything about all those occasions. The old man did, and he had taken my little secret to the grave with him.

One of my ex-prison cellmates had turned me on to the wonders of cyanide while I was locked up tightly in the state's worst maximum security Hell hole. A place I had barely survived for ten long years before being released on parole, finding out where my old buddy Judge Johnson was to be found, and relocating where I could extract my sweet revenge.

Poisoning the Judge was a simple matter of slipping a capsule of cyanide I had absconded with into his whiskey sour he had drunk three nights before in my eatery. A place he frequented several times to "keep a close eye on me" he had said.

Now I don't have him to worry about any more, and I considered that to be a major case of good riddance. I would not miss the old coot one iota. And, with him out of the way I could get down to the business of living a normal life.

The careless Coroner's sloppy autopsy had missed the fact the Judge had been poisoned, and instead listed his untimely demise as a heart attack. The fact the old man was pushing eighty years old, and a ten thousand dollar bribe I had slipped the Coroner, ensured I would never have to worry about my little scheme being discovered.

That was just the beginning of my devious plan. I still had a trick or two up my sleeve before I would let my revenge on the Judge go. I had served hard time for a crime he knew damn well I had not committed!

His wife knew it too. But, after I had bedded her, that is one body that will never be found. I dismembered and disposed of her wart-covered remains fifteen years ago. Yes, I have spent the last twenty-five years systematically carrying out my plan. One I had severely paid for with every last drop of my own precious blood.

I carved the meat I had roasted and plated it into servings. I wanted all of my guests to be able to walk into the hall from the gravesite, sit down at the table as comfortably as possible, and enjoy their meal to the fullest.

That was exactly what the pigs were now doing. Cast your pearls before swine and watch how they devour them. And, I had plenty of my meat prepared for this occasion. I very seriously doubted if I could even come close to running out of it.

The compliments I heard from the participants about my cuisine were plenty. Succulent seemed to be their favorite description of my pride and joy platter of meat. And, each attendee ate their bellies full.

Now it was time for dessert. At the head of the table I carefully placed a silver serving tray. Slowly a sinister smile came to my face as I pulled the lid off the platter. And, every single one of the feasters immediately knew what my special meat was.

Because there on that platter lay the decapitated head of Judge Johnson. The same terrified expression on his shriveled up face that had been there when I had first started carving him alive.

Shocked by my foul evil deed, for a brief moment in time, you could hear a pin drop in the room as everyone of them grasped the full extent of what I had done.

Me? I just stood there holding that cover in my right hand. And, laughing the loudest evil sound ever made. The funniest part was I had shown this whole town of prudes for exactly what they were.

I had my sweet revenge!

Rest in peace...or is that pieces?