Running With Scissors

Chekhov's Scorpion

"What am I gonna tell his wife?" said Sarah, placing both hands on her forehead for support.

"That he was killed in the line of duty," said Peter. "Are you gonna eat that?"

He then took the plate from under Sarah's nose, like the prick he was.

"He's not a cop," said Sarah.

"Was," corrected Peter. "Was not a cop. And it's better than to tell her he was skewered by a seven-fingered bowling ball."

"Bowling ball, bowling ball," began to mutter the tinfoiled man behind them. "That's how they getcha. Not me. Not putting my finger in satan's round a-holes."

Sarah scooted even closer to the table. "Who was that guy, anyways? You seem to know him."

"That?" he said as he pointed at the tinfoiled man. "That's just Wonky Wally. He thinks the Russians are trying to control his mind using potatoes and EDM music. He's harmless."

"The man with one eye, Mr. Katz!" she yelled, making Wonky Wally piss himself a little.

Peter took a bite of pizza, cleaning his greasy mouth with his sleeve. "Ya know, we just escaped death together. You can call me Peter, Sarah. Or Daddy, if you prefer."

"And you can call me Ms. McGuffin," she said.

"So, no Mr. McGuffin?" said Peter with his most charming smile. Of course, his mouth was filled with cheap grease, so it was more of an "I have to stay away from high schools and bus stops according to New York laws" kind of smile.

"The man, Mr. Katz," she said. "Explain."

Peter cleaned his fingers with a napkin, tossing it aside with disgust. "I'm surprised you agreed to come all the way here to ask that question. Very plot convenient."

"Speaking of, are we safe here? Shouldn't we like, go to the police?"

"As long as we're in public, he's not gonna try to kill me," he said. "He doesn't wanna attract attention to himself. Only cops and gang-members can kill in broad daylight. Besides, that guy's only after me, so you don't have to worry about yourself."

"I'm sure Dr. George didn't have to worry about himself," commented Sarah. "That didn't stop him from dying."

"Jesus, Sarah," said Peter with a concerned voice.

"Ms. McGuffin," she corrected.

"The man was killed. Have some respect."

Sarah was a pretty patient woman, especially since she dealt with patients all the time. Patients, she learned through the years, are not very patient. But there was a fine line between being patient and being a punching bag, usually when push comes to shove. And Sarah could shove.

"You know which were Dr. George's last words?" she asked.

"I guess something between a gurgle and a gasp?"

"He asked me to be kind and patient!" she said as she stood up in a hurry, making Wonky Wally's heart to skip a beat. He had crippling arrhythmia.

"He told me that nobody is truly bad and that we only need the patience to bring the best in people."

"Even Hitler?" asked Peter, leaning back on his chair. Or Mussolini? What about Stalin? Do they have some good in them? What about that guy who took all those poor rich people and sent them to a festival in the middle of nowhere while they suffered in FEMA tents?"

Sarah took a deep breath, which served as a silent prayer for Kali, the Hindu goddess of compassion. Sadly, Kali was also the Hindu goddess of death, which is something that often followed compassionate people. See Christ, Jesus for more information.