The Name Game

Like the Bible story, Rok Finger is resurrected from the dead. Stand slack-jawed pointing all you want, good people, but of course, I only mean I'm back using my old-fashioned moniker instead of the new and improved Godfrey Bellmont name I was just getting used to.

Apparently the FBI considers it a "security breach" if you tell anyone about your new identity or being involved in the commune. I swore to them I told no one, only the commune readers, which statistics say are close in percentage to no one, but it wasn't good enough for them. They shanghaied us in the middle of the night, throwing us in laundry bags and tossing us into the back of a van and carting us off to another safe house. Though, actually, Camembert did say he was just asked to accompany them to a new location, so I wonder if that guy was even with the FBI.

But no matter. I didn't even spend too long at the new safe house, or the new identity they established for me afterwards. The FBI allowed me to choose my own new name and apparently there's another "Ben Affleck" out there getting a lot of attention, and oddly, more death threats than I ever got as a witness against the mob. Again, bagged and vanned, only to wind up with another secret identity in a new undisclosed location.

Would you believe the name Ted Kaczynski was already taken? I wouldn't want to be that poor son of a bitch. I got a lot of interesting mail, though, even a bunch of returned packages I didn't get a chance to open, but the FBI declared the new name a security leak and moved me quickly to another house.

I actually began to like my next name, Omar Bricks, but I began to get a lot of angry men showing up on my doorstep complaining about how I defiled their sister, daughter, or lawn maintenance vehicle. I was still determined to bear it out, but I began getting calls from the Daredevil Adventurer's Society complaining their dues were 9 years late, and repeated requests from the Car of the Month Club to pay off my supposed balance. Enough was enough, and that was quite enough, so I abandoned that name.

For the sake of anyone else looking to make a name for themselves in the Witness Protection Program, I'll save you some time by saying don't bother with these names: Sammy Gravano, John Gotti Jr., Robert Mugabe, Abraham Lincoln, Sharon Tate, Tommy Chong, Sid Vicious, Martha Stewart, Charles Taylor, Jack Ruby, Slobodan Milosevic, and William McKinley. Not all received threats of bodily harm, but all had more than their share of problems and I wasn't quick to trade Rok Finger's for them.

All this was quite interesting, if for no other reason, I found out the FBI has a limited warranty when it comes to Witness Protection. Earlier this past week they threw themselves into laundry bags, tossed themselves into the back of a van, and disappeared in the night with no other explanation. Camembert said he believed I had taken more than my fair share of new identities, and since I was adamant on giving up my column anyway, they didn't believe it was prudent to waste their time creating another one for me. Which is just as well. I was born a Finger, I'll die a Finger, and perhaps very soon. I still have my mob problem to solve.

Fortunately, I still have my new home in Tempe, Arizona. It is a bit arid, and the commute to commune offices in New Jersey is a bit trying, but it's easily safe from the mob. I would like to see how the mob would even guess I, Rok Finger, now live in Tempe Arizona.

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