The Medi-Oscars

“Keyser Soze?” Kujan shook his head. “I don’t know, Verbal.” There was a brief pause.

With a scoff, he continued, “Keyser Soze’s a shield, or like you said, a spook story. But I know Keaton, and someone is out there pulling strings for you. Stay here and let us protect you.”

Verbal’s head began to shake. “No way, I’m not bait. I post today.”

“You posted 20 minutes ago,” cut in Kujan. “Captain Leo wants you out of here ASAP unless you turn State’s.”

“I’ll take my chances, thank you,” Verbal replied, adamant yet thoroughly broken.

“If someone wants to get you, they’re gonna get you out there. Turn State’s evidence. You might never see trial.“

“Maybe so,” Verbal started, with Kujan’s words clearly spinning in his head, “but I’m not a rat, Agent Kujan.”

With that final affirmation, Verbal stands and limps toward the office door.

Suddenly it opened from the outside, pushing him unsteadily back a few steps. A short, periwinkle troll with a ridiculous cowlick walks in, heavily out-of-breath. He gestures at verbal with both arms, “Sheesh, Soze, there you are. You realize I’ve been circling the damn block for like two hours now? What’s with that look, something in my teeth?”