Short Story: Toes and a Nose

There’s a knock on my door as I finish polishing my tools. “Who is it?” I ask, as I slip the last of the scalpels back into place in its little leather holster.

“It’s me.” The reply comes.

“Ah, Santa!” I say, my earnest enthusiasm evident in my voice. “Come in, come in!” As he enters, his suspenders working overtime to keep his belly from exceeding the limits of his red pants, I ask him, “Would you like a cup of hot chocolate? Maybe some milk?” I quickly get up and begin fixing both of us a cup before he can wave me away.

“No, Violence, I just came…” His voice trails off as he sits in the small chair opposite my desk. His face is white as snow now, a troubled look in his eye. “I came because the law suits were all withdrawn.” I can see his eyes searching mine.

“Ah.” I say. “And you’re wondering if I had a hand in it.” The statement is plain, simple, unadorned with any conceit or deception. I love this man with all my heart and soul, I could never lie to him. He nods. “Yes. I took care of it.” I admit, sitting back in my seat and gently rolling my tool kit shut.

As I fix the small brass clasps over the leather straps that keep it shut I see him fidget in his chair. “I didn’t ask you to…” He starts to say, but I cut him off.

“No, you didn’t. But it needed to be done.” I tell him, my voice quiet and steadfast. Santa doesn’t always approve of my methods but he’s never reproached me before. He knows I do my job as efficiently and within the bounds of reason that I can. “And no, I won’t tell you who asked me to.” I know and he knows that it was Mrs. Claus, but if it’s left unsaid…

He nods towards a small box sitting next to me. It’s made of silver, a black patina shadowing it in the nooks and crannies I can’t clean. “Your latest trophies?” Santa asks, his voice trembling a bit. I nod. “Let me see it.” He demands.

“Santa—“ I start to say but it’s his turn to cut *me* off.

“I need to see the price paid. I need to see your work.” He says simply.

I sigh, then turn the box to face him before flipping open the lid. His face blanching at the grisly sight in the box. I shut the lid quickly, the *clack* of metal smacking into metal filling my small office.

“Toes and a nose?” He asks, confused by my decision.

“They rhyme with ‘CEOs’.” I explain.