mentioned. "Is that common?"
Neil shook his head. "Most clients quietly pay their dues, then leave."
I pointed a finger at him, specifically choosing a bloodied glove. "You've got to stop picking up dangerous clients. One of these days you'll be the one targeted by a second assassin and you won't have me to pull you out of it."
Neil had grinned and gave me a fake salute. "Aye aye, Captain."
That was ten minutes ago. Now we waited in her hotel room for her to return from the funeral reception. I rubbed my thumb and finger together, encouraging the blood deeper into my glove. Nervous habit.
"Tell me why she'll even listen to you," I asked Neil.
Neil sat at the tiny desk at the other end of the room. An open laptop sat in front of him, and he typed away a moment before printing the document and shutting the lid. He swiveled the clean, black office chair around, a stark contrast to his beat up camos and now bloodied jacket. "Because when you join this profession, you learn to protect yourself." He held up a tiny golden earring. "Have you ever heard of serial killers taking trophies off their victims? Well, good assassins take trophies, too. We call them 'blackmail items.'"
I perked an ear. "Oh?"
Neil grinned. "If she doesn't listen, it'd be really easy to plant this back at the prayer garden. It's one of a kind. Well, two of a kind, since it's an earring. But she had these custom made. It wouldn't be easy to explain away if her earring was found at the scene of a crime."
"Devious," I noted. "But if she's really as crafty as she says she is, she'll find a way."
"Au contraire," Neil added. "This is just the tip of the iceberg. Every time I see her, I take something. A purse with her fingerprints on it, the earring. . ." He smiled slyly. "Recordings. . ."
I laughed. "Good. I was worried you'd overlook something so simple."
"Trust me. She'll have no choice." Something beeped. Neil looked at his phone. "She's close."
"You bugged her?"
"No choice, Trech," he grinned. "Remember?"
I rolled my eyes and concealed myself better behind the dresser. "Don't call me Trech."
He touched a gloved hand to his temple. "Aye, Captain."
The door flew open and Laurel stormed in, glaring at Neil. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh good, you got my text," Neil said. He held out a hot mug to her. "Coffee? You could probably use it."
"How did you get my cell number?" She coughed, irritation echoing in her voice.
"I have my ways," Neil said. He put the mug down and poured a little cream in it. "Do you take two sugars, or three?"
She crossed her arms. "You're dreaming if you think I'll drink anything you hand me."
Neil rolled his eyes, dropped two sugars in, and took a swig. "Relax. It's fine." He cupped his hand over the top and handed it to her, handle first. She crossed her arms with a frown. Neil narrowed his eyes at her. "Seriously, drink it. You're still sick and coughing, and the coffee will be good on your throat."
"I don't--"
"Drink it, Laurel." Neil's sharp voice growled the words out. I almost jumped.
Laurel suddenly froze up. She cautiously made her way to the bed, took the mug, and sniffed the contents. "It smells like burning almonds."
"It's roasted hazelnut, but thanks for trying," Neil said. "Or did you forget I just took a swig of that myself?"
"Some assassins kill themselves."
"Speaking from experience?" Neil said. "I drank that before you. If I was intending to get some kind of revenge on you before I die, it wouldn't do much good to take the poison first, would it?"
She brought the mug up to her lips and sipped it, eyeing Neil. He frowned at her and she took a bigger sip. ". . .It's good."
"It better be, for a hotel this fancy," Neil said, grinning, showing off his sharp incisors.
"What do you want from me? I've already paid you."
"Insurance, Ms. Pell." Neil tapped his snout and winked at her. She sat up straighter and Neil laughed. "That's right, I know your real name now. I have to say, I'm not surprised that you lied. Happens all the time. But it does mean I no longer have a reason to trust you. So," he pulled out a folded piece of paper and attached it to a clipboard. "I need your assurance that nothing negative will emerge out of this little business partnership."
Laurel coughed and my heart skipped a beat. Was that from her cold? Or something else?
Neil frowned. "Wow, you are still sick, aren't you? Stay back then, I wouldn't want to catch bitch-itis."
"Shut up, you damn cat," she muttered, taking another sip of coffee. "What is this?"
"Standard agreement, Ms. Pell," Neil said. "After today, I won't have any more to do with you, and you won't have any more to do with me. End of story."
Laurel coughed again. "And what if I refuse to sign it?"
Neil held up the earring. "This look familiar?"
Laurel gasped (which turned into a cough) and she touched her ear. "My earring! How did you get that?"
"Sleight of hand is one of my specialties," Neil said.
She reached for it. "Give it back!"
Neil pulled the earring back and bared a handful of claws through his glove. "Careful. Kitty cats scratch."
"You little asshole." She coughed harder this time.
"Insurance, lady," Neil said, no longer smiling. "You trick me, I trick you." He handed her the paper again. "You sign and I leave you alone forever."
She coughed. "You--"
"Either you give me the paper as protection for the future, or the earring ends up in some crime scene and you spend several precious months trying to talk your way out of the problem, losing money and earning doubt from your board of directors." She gaped. Neil grinned. "Yeah, I know about that, too." He nodded to the clipboard. "Sign the damn paper. And drink your coffee before you cough a lung out. I'd hate to try and explain that to the hotel cleaning staff."
Laurel finished the mug, and signed the paper. She place the mug on the table. "There. Your paper's all signed. Give me my earring back."
Neil took the paper out of the clipboard and ran it under his nose. "Ahh, fresh ink. Like the scent of fine wine. And I must say, you have a beautiful signature, milady."
Laurel fell into a coughing fit. "Cut the crap and give me my earring back."
Neil tossed the earring to her. "See Red? I told you she'd sign it."
The audible gasp followed by the choking coughing fit fed my inner devil like a delicious four course meal. She turned and saw me emerge from the corner.
"What? You. . . You're supposed to be dead!" She coughed and hacked. "I saw you die!"
I stared at her. I wanted to say some snarky remark. I wanted to call her a murderer and a thief. I had a million things to say to her. But looking at her now, listening to her horrid coughs, knowing they weren't just from her cold, feeling her shock and anger. . . I just couldn't do it. I couldn't say anything.
She coughed again, this time throwing up on the floor. "That's. . . not the cold. What was in that coffee?"
"Aconite," Neil said. "The same poison Red dropped in Dr. Laskey's drink."
"But. . ." She threw up again. "You drank it! I saw -cough cough- I saw you! I--" She doubled over and fell to her knees.
Neil leaned down. "My sleight of hand skills are legendary. I believe I told you already. When I cupped my hand over the mug, I dropped a quick dissolve pill in your drink." He flipped the signed piece of paper open. "Thanks for this, by the way. A suicide note written on your computer, printed from your printer, covered in your signature and fingerprints, detailing your role in Dr. Laskey's death and willing the entire company to his wife." He winked at her.
"You. . . you can't--" She coughed and fell to the ground, drowning in her own vomit. Neil chuckled.
But suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. "Enough, Neil." Neil stopped, but I wouldn't look at him.
Laurel gave one more sputtering cough and stopped moving. I shut my eyes and said a quie
t prayer to Draso. "There. It's done." I pulled off a glove and shut her eyes.
"Trecheon, contaminating the scene!" Neil gasped.
"No fingerprints," I whispered. "It's fine." I jerked a thumb to the open windows. "Come on, let's go." We left as quietly as we came, leaving the body for some poor sap to find. I hoped it was someone who'd actually care.
Eight
Two days later, the newspapers exploded with news of Laurel's "suicide" and its connection to Dr. Laskey's death. Mrs. Laskey had visited me herself a few days later with news about it, and she was nearly crying with joy.
"Now I can continue my husband's work!" she said. "It's just what Brett would want. Thank you."
I had no idea why she was thanking me, but I didn't say anything against it.
I spent the next day in Neil's office assembling another crappy desk for him. The new arms did wonders with the screwdriver.
"So now what?" Neil asked me.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
"Or you don't want to know."
I paused. "Maybe a bit of that too, yeah."
"Should I keep you out of the loop from now on?"
I finished screwing in a leg. "After all that? No. I think I'm stuck for the long haul." I grabbed a new leg and started installing it. "I want that magic hit."
"I thought you said that was faulty logic."
"But it's my logic," I snarled back at him.
Neil lowered his gaze. "You have to pay dues to get that."
"No, I don't." I looked Neil in the eye. "I'm not you. I can't keep taking hits like that and expect to come out intact." I went back to the leg. "No, from now on, I only take corrupt hits. I'll do whatever research I need, but I refuse to go through this again."
Neil actually laughed. "What, like