troublewillfindme

Loose lips don’t just sink ships. They get you poisoned, too.

The dossier had been thorough; months of surveillance had painted an astonishingly complete picture of the man. She’s impressed Weir could stand to be around the garbage for so long.

Her Shirley Temple is really not enough for this.

Welch continues on, now slurring his words. “Gotta whole liss’of’em. Bunch’a spooks. They’re everywhere, y’know?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

As if on cue, the barman slides her a shot of gin. She nods her thanks and downs it

She plasters a smile on her face, and wrenches her voice into a sugary sweet register.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she says, turning to face them. “Did I hear you boys say you’re working for the War Department?”

–

The foxglove is taking entirely too long to kick in.

Yes, it has only been forty-five minutes, but the man is grating on her nerves.

Thirty minutes to two hours for symptoms. Death in two to six.

God, please don’t let it be six.

–

He falls dead on their fourth loop around Potomac Park, three hours after ingestion. She pats him down, removing a packet of documents from the inside of his coat. She drags the body further into the shadows, then uses the dead man’s lighter to examine the contents.

Her heart stutters in her chest.

The packet is full of pictures.

Mark Simon, and his two little girls.

Takashi Lund, scowl fixed firmly in place.

Tatiana Mercier, a small calico following at her heels.

And Weir.

She slips the images back in the envelope, and then into her purse.

She waits a few minutes to ensure the man is dead, and manages to work herself into a believable panic. By the time the police arrive, pursuant to her pained phone call, she even has a sheen of tears in her eye.

–

Marlowe puffs on a cigarette, the pictures spread out before him.

“And your justification, Agent?”

She shifts, uncomfortable. “The mark kept running his mouth. He seemed to indicate he was preparing to hand the information over. He’s a known collaborator. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

“And when they finish their examination of the body?”

“Digoxin comes from foxglove. Foxglove looks like comfrey. There’s enough people who put comfrey in their tea. Simple misidentification.”

Marlowe nods, his face neutral. “You’re dismissed.”

She pauses for a moment to catch her breath outside the office.

There is a horrible lump in her stomach.