The incense was the secret. It was a tricky situation, since Glory’s employer never slept there, never ate nor drank anything there. He showed up to give her assignments, to get data, and to fuck her if she was willing, which usually she was.
Glory nearly always had incense going. Sometimes the breeze was wrong and the aroma from the exhaust end of the vat wound up in the house. At those times, the smell of incense was most welcome. The rest of the time, she did it just because Karina liked it. It had been an incense day that time Karina came to look at the house.
It was merely a matter of swapping it out. The opiate infused stuff was marvelous for inducing drowsiness.
Lionel watched safely from the fire escape. When his cue came, there was a hatch for the dryer exhaust hookup where the grille and hose were really loose. He’d already tested this as a manner of entering and exiting the house at will. He could stay out here and keep to a minimum how much smoke he might get into himself.
Time.
Lionel was a visceral killer, harboring no illusions as to his nature. As he wriggled through the exhaust hatch, he went over again the plan, looking forward to the kill. Too bad he couldn’t play with it.
Gently he sprang onto the bed, where Glory was snoring softly, curled away from the guy, who was splayed out like a crucifixion, drugged out of his gourd. Prissily, Lionel licked the spot on the healthy throat that he’d picked, pulse throbbing lazily. Sweaty.
A cat’s eye teeth are already impressive weapons. A cat agent’s eye teeth are sometimes filed or built up, depending on the cat’s own distinct dental structure, so that a sharp edge runs along the inner side of the teeth. Carefully, Lionel placed his teeth in the chosen locations, then licked about for the pulse to make sure he’d got on either side of it.
The guy was making noise, a frown crinkling his face. If this took much longer, he might wake up. No worries, this wouldn’t take much longer at all.
A kill of this type definitely carries personal risk to the agent. If there’s enough thrashing about, a neck can get broken, ribs can get busted, even all the legs could get fractured. There’s a big body weight disparity, and a human can thrash a lot while dying.
But Lionel was a brave agent, that or stupid. Mentally counting down, on three, he thrust his teeth together.
Despite the opiates, the boss came bolt upright in the bed, eyes bulging, face a rictus of pain. Out of reflex, he grabbed Lionel and yanked.
Thus cutting his own throat.
He flung the cat and threw his hand around the flooding wound. He rummaged around the bed for his shirt, but as he bent, he began to go over. He tumbled, bouncing off the edge off the bed and landing with a rubbery thunk on the floor.
Glory was partially awake from all the jiggling of the bed. Lionel turned to her.
“Honey, go open a window, okay? We’ve got some people coming over to clean things up and we don’t wanna knock them out.”
She was staring at the boss, a bloody wreck on the floor, the expression on her face seeming to say that this had to be some weird dream. Too bad for her it wasn’t.
Oh, well, thought Lionel, the change of jobs will do her good.