Case Files — Score Dossier · Director's Cut
The Deposition
The rap sheet lists § 11.6 as 'Witness Tampering (Fly Consumption)' in three tidy lines. It leaves out the part that made the whole gallery gasp: PooPee didn't threaten the witness, bribe the witness, or relocate the witness. He simply outlasted it — by one bite.
The hub file has the disposition. This is the caper behind it — why the People's entire case hung on a single fly, how PooPee got himself into the sealed room where that fly was sworn, and the one reflex ten thousand years of evolution installed in every frog that no statute in Croaktown had ever thought to make illegal. The Swamp P.D. files this one under 'lunch.'
The Nine O'Clock Witness
a.k.a. “The Deposition”
Take: one dismissed case, and the only eyewitness the marsh will ever produce against him
The Setup
The People had exactly one witness, and it was airtight: a housefly named Bartholomew who had, by pure misfortune, been resting on the very reed PooPee leaned against the night of the casino raid. A sworn fly's account is ironclad in Croaktown — flies see in every direction at once and cannot, anatomically, look away — so the prosecution treated Bartholomew like the crown jewel he was. Round-the-clock protection. A sealed deposition behind a locked door. A stenographer, two bailiffs, and a mesh cover over the water pitcher. What they could not keep out of that room, by law, was the defendant's own counsel — and the night before, PooPee had filed one crisp motion to represent himself. He walked in wearing a borrowed collar, sat at the far end of the table, and folded his hands like a frog with nothing but respect for due process.
The Take
The deposition opened at nine o'clock sharp. Bartholomew was sworn in, cleared his throat, and began — 'I saw everything, and I will tell this court exactly wh—' The record does not contain the rest of the sentence. What it contains, per the official transcript, is the stenographer's bracketed note: [witness no longer present]. The People's entire case had been reduced, in the space of one heartbeat and one flick, to a matter of digestion. There was nothing left to cross-examine, nothing to enter into evidence, and nothing, the prosecutor realized with a slow and dawning horror, that could ever be recovered without a warrant no judge in the marsh would sign. The case did not collapse so much as it was quietly, thoroughly consumed.
How It Nearly Worked
It nearly worked — very nearly walked — because there was no crime on the books that fit. Every witness-tampering statute in Croaktown assumed a witness who could be threatened, bribed, or relocated to the islands. Not one of them, in the whole dusty code, had ever imagined a witness who could be a snack. The prosecution flipped through the statutes in real time and found only a hole shaped exactly like a frog. Technically, a fly-eating defense argued, the accused had done nothing a frog does not do a thousand times a day without a second thought. The Court itself noted, on the record, that 'this is technically what frogs do.' For one glorious afternoon it looked like the most literal obstruction of justice in swamp history was going to go unpunished for the simple reason that it was also lunch.
The Line That Got Him Caught
He could not leave the deadpan alone. As the bailiffs stared and the stenographer's fingers hovered, PooPee dabbed the corner of his mouth with a pocket square, glanced at the empty witness chair, and said — for the record, at normal speaking volume — 'Let the minutes reflect the witness and I have reached an understanding.' Then he licked his lips. Slowly. The stenographer, to her eternal credit, wrote down the lip-lick. That single documented reflex was the whole case: it turned an accident of biology into an act of intent, and the Court, which had been fully prepared to let a frog be a frog, charged him anyway out of sheer institutional principle. You can be a frog. You cannot narrate being a frog and expect the marsh to call it coincidence.
The next job's already running
New Scores Break on the Feed
The deposition is filed under 'lunch.' The next one isn't filed at all yet. Fresh jobs — and the reflexes the code hasn't outlawed — break on the feed before the dossier's even typed. Follow PooPee on X and read the score before it becomes a charge.
Follow PooPee on X — @getpoopeeNo cut for followers. No wallet. Just the feed — and one witness chair, denied as a keepsake.