Goon #2 was glaring at the transmitter that was flickering between yellow and red when Velma emerged from the room. She was sweaty and disheveled.
Goon #1 giggled at the sight. He nudged Goon #2 and leered but Goon #2, the elder and wiser of the two, focused on the screams. She’d left the room and the poor bastard was still screaming. What had she done to the man?
“Give him 15 minutes, then go in there and put the weasel in the cat carrier I stashed in the closet.”
Goon #1 stopped giggling. Weasel?
“Just open the box, the weasel will obey.” She continued, ignoring Goon #1’s wide eyes.
“My client may need first aid to some abrasions. Here’s the key to his lock. Toss him in the shower if needed.” Goon #1 opened his mouth to say something. Goon #2 shook his head. Goon #1 closed his mouth. Wise choice!
Velma was still ignoring them both. “He’s a pretty bright fellow. He’s doing OK with his lessons. He might actually defeat the weasel.” She sidled up to Goon #1, pressing her fabulous breasts against his chest, causing the poor man’s mind to cloud up. “You know how they say in movie credits ‘no animals were harmed in the making of this film’?” She had her nose inches from his face. He nodded uncertainly. “I’m not like the movies. The weasel may die, the client may die… whatever, I’m all about seeing how far the mind can go.” She gave a conspiratorial wink and Goon #1 peed himself.
She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She reached into her small handbag, shuffled past various mysterious feminine objects and a wicked looking little silver revolver, to retrieve a cookie. “If he’s killed the weasel, congratulate him and give him this cookie.”
She stepped across the hall to the opposite room. Both Goons were surprised that it was unlocked but obviously she’d planned it that way. “Fifteen minutes, have him washed and standing, the weasel caged or trashed. Next lesson is chemistry. I must prepare. Bye.”
Goon #2 looked at the transmitter. It had gone red again.