It took Sam and me almost four years to find the perfect mix of drugs for our missions, and then another year to nail the doses and drink combos so no werewolf would be able to sniff it out.
“Which reminds me, where's your phone?” I ask him.
As I look at Harold’s stormy face, his body tries its best to shift, but it won’t. It can’t. With a snap, the claws go right back in just as quickly as they came out, and his face becomes human again, his eyes dark. Body too weak fighting against the infection to shift into another form.
Then he goes still.
I edge closer to him, careful of any after effects. Can’t have my eyes clawed out, wouldn’t be good for the business. I glove up, eyes trained on him to catch any possible movements. When I’m sure he’s completely paralyzed, I grab his phone out of his pocket.
Harold's eyes continue following me, like they have since I stepped into his house. Like watching me did anything to stop me from poisoning him in the first place.
Whatever, his funeral. Literally.
I’m done here. Time for the cleanup.
I call Sam. “What? You done already?”
That sounds like a trick question. “Umm, yes?”
Sam sighs. “This could be so much more fun! Where’s the drama, the flair?” he whines in my ear.
“My murders are not for your entertainment, thank you very much,” I tell Sam primly.
“Yeah, yeah. Is the phone connected to Wi-Fi?”
I point the phone towards Harold's face, and it unlocks. Then check the Wi-Fi status. “Yup.”
“Perfect,” Sam says.
I hear a lot of clicks on his end.
While he takes care of that, I walk over to Mickey, who is now happily snoozing in the corner, his breath loud but calm.
He woofs quietly in his sleep. My heart melts into a puddle.
I can’t take him with me, I remind myself as I kneel in front of him.
Besides, he isn’t even that cute. He’s unnecessarily big and doesn’t even realize that. Every time I “accidentally” ran into Harold when I was trying to get him to trust me, Mickey would literally jump on me, smiling his stupid puppy smile. And then he’d look at me with his stupid doe eyes.
Mickey licks my finger in his sleep.He’s the cutest dog in the entire world. I’ll fight anyone who challenges that.
“Done. Now, you’ve never met Harold Nolan.” Sam’s voice brings me back to the present. Oh, right, I need to deal withthe nearly dead werewolf five feet away. “Check his call history and messages, just to be sure.”
I do as he says, while Harold gives out one last whine before his eyes go blank.
“Is he dead?” Sam asks.
I check Harold’s pulse. “Yup.”
“Did you at least tell him why he had to die?” Sam asks hopefully.
“Umm… yes?”
“This is so wasted on you,” he complains.
“I'm sure he already knows he killed his wife, Sam,” I say absentmindedly, checking his phone for any residual evidence.
“But I wanted him to... ugh, only you can make murder boring,” he says, resigned.
