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A waiter passed, and I flagged him down, taking two more champagne flutes and setting one in front of Mr. Olvera. He was so busy not looking at me I didn’t even bother being sly about using my nail to flick open a tiny compartment on my gold bracelet and drop in the powder.
He picked it up and took a sip without missing a beat in his detailed monologue.
If I cared––if it would make a difference––I would have pointed out how unsustainable agave farming was, but dead men couldn’t make changes. No point in wasting my breath.
“With the tequila demand growing, we’ve never been busier. We’ve had to hire enough men for a whole new shift.”
Speaking of tequila . . . I frowned down at my drink. The champagne wasn’t as strong as I was craving, and I was far too sober to listen to this.
He had about three minutes before he would start slurring his speech. Four minutes until he began stumbling. Five until he was dead.
“It’s hard to hear you.” I batted my lashes, and he finally turned his attention to me. “Do you want to head up to the roof? It will be quieter there.”
He grinned. Actually smiled, like he didn’t see what a flimsy plan this was, and offered his arm. “I’m so glad to have found someone who understands the importance of my work. We’re the second largest producer in Mexico, you know.”
I did. He told me three times already. “Wow, impressive.”
His success had made him my target in the first place. He pissed off the wrong guy when he inherited the farm and bought the surrounding ones to expand.
One of the Pack’s higher-ups wanted that land. I wasn’t sure for what. They didn’t provide details, and I learned years ago not to ask.
All I knew about this guy was it was his time to go.
“Yes, we have projections to surpass the first within the next five years.”
Blah, blah, blah.
We took the stairs up to the roof, lit only by a few strands of yellow lights. With the sprinkle of bright stars in the night sky and strategically placed fireplaces, it was quite romantic.
But more importantly, it was empty.
Perfect.
He followed me away from the door to the wall that ran the length of the roof. The worn brick piled to about chest height, so I could take in the views of downtown San Antonio while he droned on. It was nice out. The early summer heat and humidity dissipated enough that it was actually comfortable outside.
What a waste of a nice night. Not that I ever had better plans. Friends weren’t very high on my priority list. Dating was even further down.
Missions consumed all my time.
Speaking of, this one was taking far too long.
“They’re a beautiful plant, but only bloom once in their life. It can take between ten to twenty years. Can you believe that? They wait all that time and die after.” He shook his head with a sigh. “We want to find a way to improve that. There’s a scientist in––”
He should be slurring his speech. He should be slumping over by now, not continuing the world’s most boring rant about various farming methods.
Was the powder too diluted?
Expired? I wasn’t aware of it having an expiration date. The witch who supplied me never mentioned one, but it was from a batch I bought last year.I trusted her not to make me a dud. Her family has been contracted with the Velez for generations and she would never do anything to risk that relationship.
No, it worked flawlessly just last week.
Maybe I messed up the calculations. He was taller than I estimated. Did he need an extra dose? It wasn’t like I had to worry about giving him too much.
My favorite thing about the unique powder the witch and I had concocted was its complete inability to be traced. Thanks to her added intention when making it, no one, not even supernaturals, could find proof of anything in his system. Just the alcohol he sipped on all night.
His death would look like natural causes. It always did. Maybe a clogged artery, a blood clot that found its fatal home, or simply a heart attack.
Whatever people wanted to tell themselves to find closure was none of my business. I was never around long enough for the bodies to be found, let alone examined.
