Killer Scents

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Silence.

Not even the rustle of leaves intruded on the sinister concerto playing over and over in his mind. Only one obstacle stood in the way of his cleverly orchestrated plan: a rather intrusive beagle that barked at everything and anything. He’d come too far to have a four-legged shit machine jeopardize it all.

It was much easier than he imagined. The stupid mutt didn’t hesitate to snatch the strip of beef jerky he held between the fence boards. It took less than a minute before Shithead lay on the ground, frothing at the mouth while a lethal dose of pesticides shut his yap for good.

His owner’s reaction had been an added bonus. An hour or so later, the kid, no more than twelve years old, kicked a can up the road toward the house. Several minutes after the boy disappeared inside, ear-splitting cries filled the cul-de-sac.

Too bad I don’t have any more of that jerky. I’d shut the kid up, too.

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