Covert Coffee (The Serena Wilcox Dystopian Trilogy Book 2)

Covert Coffee Chapter 18

18

Vice President Morgan Canon blinked his rodent eyes rapidly. He was an eye-blinker when he was lying. “Everything’s under control,” he said.

“You forget I was married to you once, Morgan. Your pants are on fire.” Lita flexed her lips into an unnatural smile.

“What do you want me to say? That everything has hit the fan? You want the truth, how’s this for truth: Erik’s dead. He died in that stupid clown getup.”

“Only a matter of time before they figure out what that’s for.”

“Right. We have to move fast, and get Marci out of the way. She’s a loose cannon after IDing Erik at the morgue.”

“She’ll be back soon.”

“Marci?”

“No, Madam President.”

“Back? I thought she was here.” Morgan couldn’t hide the startled look on his face from Lita, the woman who knew his every micro-expression. For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t being kept in the loop.

“No, she slipped out. She left a body-double in her place, but that fooled no one.”

“Where did she go?”

“Minneapolis.”

“Minneapolis? Are you sure?” Morgan frowned. “This isn’t good.”

“They landed somewhere near there.”

“Then drove somewhere else,” he said with a flat tone of conviction and defeat.

“I take it that you know where that somewhere else is?”

“I have a fair idea. The lab is up north.”

“The top secret Superman lab?”

“And we can guess what they were up to.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. We have eyes on their investigation. They are closing in, Morgan. You’ll have to take that Toto down.”

“Toto?” Morgan never did enjoy Lita’s sense of humor and he was gritting his teeth through it now.

“The witch threatens to take down Dorothy…” Lita mimicked Miss Gulch’s voice, “…and her little dog too.” She noted Morgan’s expression of non-comprehension. She added, “Kinji’s the dog.”

“You must be the witch,” he said, playing along. Rushing Lita through these things was never a wise idea. Without a clue in his head about what was going to happen to him in the next thirty seconds he asked, “Who’s Dorothy?”

“You are.”

Morgan’s ex-wife leveled an adorably jeweled purse-sized handgun at the face she used to wake up to every morning, with the exception of those mornings when he was with his mistress: her very own dearly departed sister Lora. Funny how she held it against Lora until Lora died. Upon her sister’s death Lita’s rage transferred to Morgan, and intensified ten-fold.

Morgan’s mouth made an O shape, his rat-like eyes large and round for the first, and last, time in his life. Even his nose seemed to morph into one big circle like a bull’s eye. Her petite gun with bling and a white pearl handle looked like it should make a cute little popping sound. It didn’t. It made a single ear-shredding crack. That was all it took to blow Morgan’s head off at close range. Lita’s years of target practice were overkill because, in the end, she shot him from only two feet away.

No one heard the shot that ended Morgan Canon’s life, as it happened at his estate in a secluded area.  Lita stood over his body for a few seconds, fixing her eyes upon his lifeless face. He doesn’t look much different dead than alive, she thought. Then she made the call for a cleanup crew to take care of the situation. Because, while Lita had agreed to do it, she wasn’t the person who had ordered the hit. Oh no, this was not a domestic situation but a well-planned execution. She had merely wanted to be the one to pull the trigger.