November 16

My boss is a pig. He expects everyone to call him ‘Chaz’. Nope. This morning, he asked me to bring him a coffee while looking everywhere but my eyes. What, am I his concubine? Fuck no.

Easy task, ridding the Accounts Receivable Dept of him, better relieving the earth of his dead eyes and slurping looks.

Tiletamine.

Jess told me it’s something they use at the vet clinic on horses and big goats when they get unruly. Chaz is unruly.

I can’t just get it from Jess. Can you see me?

“Hey Jess I need some of that tiletamine stuff.”

“Cool – here ya go.”

That’s conspicuous. Or it could get that way in a jiffy.

I only need about 100cc.  And a big ass needle for the push.

That guy Jess sells it to has been sniffing around. I could let him diddle in my underwear a bit and then take it from him while he’s in an afterglow coma. He wouldn’t notice it missing. He buys a ton.

Chaz asks me out for lunch, coffee, happy hour, about once a week. I say, “no, thanks,” and he ribs me about my overprotective boyfriend. I don’t have one, but he thinks I do. And yet, he persists. Creep.

I could take him up on a happy hour, carefully. I’ll drive. Get him in the car, on the highway. Make his think he’s worn me down. Yuck. I’d rather drink bile.

While at speed, I’ll stick him with a fat dose in his flabby thigh. He’ll freak out for about 20 seconds. What’s he gonna do? Smack me? I might like that – definitely deserve it, but after a few bitch-slaps he’ll mellow a bit and drool.

Key is to leave my phone at home, stick to my pattern. They will find his phone pinging off the towers around the Miller road bridge, but they’ll never find his body.