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Face to Face II: The Sociologist Who Got in the Way
by Michael S. Collins

I looked around. Mingling with the old types and the idiot (now wrestling with a tobacco releasing vending machine in an attempt to get his change back) were students, OAPs and single mothers complete with their screaming little angels. Nothing makes my hackles rise faster than one of those bloody loud children wailing at any given public opportunity! Kill the lot of them! They give me a headache! Hang on, I can kill them.

Wait a second! Dr. Williams was in again. I must have just missed him.

“Excuse me, sir”, said an interrupting old woman, “What do you think of the views of Max Weber? Don’t you think his Orientals teachings were a bit racist?”

I turned to this wannabe sociologist, enraged. “How dare you! How dare you call the founder of Weimar Germany a racist?” I said. “That is beyond the pale fire. Have you read nothing beyond limited social expression, you sorry wretch of a pseudo-intellectual?”

“What I meant was...” started the woman, clearly flustered.

“No comebacks, lady. If you cannot read somebody’s theoretical Perspective before you insult his memory, then I shall have nothing more to hear from you.”

Her skin matched her flowing white hair and her worm tail glasses drooped down her nose as she looked back in aghast at someone who had actually bothered to answer her. I cannot stand distractions, or ignorance, and my temper was starting to fail.

Williams was out! In the ten seconds I had turned, he had changed his sign! I stood up, kicked the chair back and screamed aloud. He must still be in this room. So logic dictates someone here is the person I was paid to kill. I flashed out my gun and shot down the sociologist. She annoyed me! People looked over in horror, but soon became calm as a hail of gunfire removed them. Ancients frowned no more as they chocked on their blood loss, students no more bemoaned cash flow crisis, and babies were silenced, and for that I was truly grateful. Soon I was out of bullets, and the chatter had ceased. The floor had been dyed red, and I felt infinitely calmer. Everyone else was dead. Now Dr. Williams was out, for sure.

Then I saw him. Sitting, watching me, the mere hint of a smile. He jumped up and walked over to me, never keeping the smile away, and shook me warmly by the hand.

“Hello”, he said, “I am Dr. Williams.”

I started to cry, and screamed in despair.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, in tears.

“I can only say one thing to you”, said the doctor, “Everyone but me is dead. You must be the worst hit man I’ve ever seen.”