He opened his eyes. “How long is the treatment?”
Mary Alice consulted her watch. “Thirty minutes. We will return to check on you then.”
But we didn’t make any move to leave, and he turned his head, his eyes blinking in confusion. “Wait, I don’t feel good. My heart,” he said. “It is beating very fast.”
“That’s the nicotine,” Mary Alice said in her own voice.
He blinked several times more. “Wha—what?” His voice was thick and slurred. Recognition flickered in his eyes and he groaned, understanding at last what was happening.
“The nicotine,” I told him. “It’s in the mud and we’ve slathered your entire body in it. It’s one of the transdermal poisons, you know. I mean, the buccal mucosa or the rectum is the best way to administer it, but why would you even bother when the average adult has twenty-one square feet of skin and every pore is right there, just waiting to be used? You’re probably already getting queasy. Don’t worry. That just means it’s working.”
He opened his mouth—to yell at us, I think—but all he managed was a gurgled shriek. I went to the desk, where a bowl of apples was sitting, and stripped off my glove to choose one. I polished it on my uniform and took a bite. Fresh and crisp as new snow. I ate it down to the core as Günther continued to struggle for breath.
“Why?” he managed to pant once.
“You know why,” Mary Alice told him. “You ordered our termination.”
“Had to,” he gasped. “Vance—”
“Don’t worry,” I said brightly. “We’ll deal with him too.”
Mary Alice checked her watch again. “He’s taking too long. Did you make the poison strong enough?” she asked, frowning.
“Yes, Mary Alice. At least I think so. I didn’t exactly have a lab, did I? We’re doing this old-school, remember? Down and dirty. I did the best I could with what I had.” I didn’t mention the fact that she was usually our poison expert but she’d been too preoccupied with her marital trouble to be of much help.
“Well, maybe we need to speed things along,” she suggested. “We have a train to catch and we still have to clean him up.”
He made a mewling sound then, followed by a rattle, but he kept breathing and I stuffed the apple core in my pocket. “Fine. Shoot you for it. Odds.”
She sighed and we each made a fist. “One. Two. Three. Shoot.”
We held out our hands and Mary Alice grinned. “Even. You lose. Finish him.”
He bucked a little then, although I would have thought he was past hearing. I pulled off a fresh length of plastic wrap and held it tightly over his face. It didn’t take long. When it was over, I peeled away the plastic and stuck it in my pocket with the apple core. Together we unwrapped him and hauled him into the shower, using loofahs to scrub the mud off. There were a few red spots on his face—petechiae, the classic symptom of asphyxiation.
“That’s not part of the plan,” Mary Alice pointed out sourly.
“I’ll handle it,” I promised. We dried him and tucked him into bed before scrubbing down the bathroom to remove all traces of the mud. Everything—sheets, loofahs, plastic wrap, gloves, mud and poison containers, spoon—went into a garbage bag. I found the note from Ji-Woo and added it to the rest before tying it neatly.
As a final flourish, I grabbed another apple with the hem of my shirt. I put it into his hand, pressing it firmly to get good fingerprints onto it. Then I lifted it to his mouth, manipulating his jaw to take a hefty bite with his toothmarks in it. It took a little maneuvering to get the bite stuffed down in his throat, but it was a pretty touch. At first glance, anybody would think he’d died of a heart attack or stroke, but anyone taking a closer look would assume he’d choked—and that would square with the modest amount of petechiae.
“Handled,” I told Mary Alice. She rolled her eyes and made a final sweep of the room.
“That’s everything.” She ushered me out, and I looked at the time.
“It’s 6:04. Not bad for a couple of old broads,” I said with a grin. We left the treatment table in the stairwell—some poor spa employee would probably get an ass chewing for that, but it was better than hauling it around. Back in our rooms we changed and bagged up our black uniforms and wigs. We resumed the clothes we’d traveled in and the four of us headed down with our bags.
A girl with thick bangs was arguing tearfully with Ji-Woo. “But I wouldn’t have canceled—it’s my hen do! What do you mean you don’t have any rooms left?”