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Last week’s question, posed by Sergeant Kyle of the Talbot City Police Department, was how one should properly dispose of the slightly squashed werewolf sent to murder you in your office, because your brother has apparently stolen the sunshine of someone who can hold a grudge.
Tom has a simple answer.
But it does involve Lowell Rhombeck, Big Dog of the Talbot City pack, CEO of Nubilus Enterprises, and all around powerful, well-connected guy . . . who has a complicated history with Tom’s (allegedly) sunshine-stealing brother.
“Lock him in the drunk tank and call Rhombeck,” I said, “or better yet, leave him on Rhombeck’s doorstep with a note.”
“The TCPD isn’t your delivery service,” she said. “And dumping half-dead assassins on the front porch of the mayor’s new bestie doesn’t seem like the smart way to keep collecting my pathetic excuse for a paycheck.”
“Better than live ones. Seriously, Kyle, you’ll be doing him a favor: if that guy’s one of his, Rhombeck needs to know his wolves are hiring out as killers. If he isn’t, Rhombeck needs to know someone’s invading his territory. Either way, you’re just doing your job.”
She gave me one of her looks—the ones Turner claims she saves just for me. “And what will you be doing, while I’m just doing my job?”
Only one answer per Sunday, sorry.