Everything was in place as much as Hank or I could manage. It was time to call my boss.
I dialed and held my breath.
"Angela… dude, how's it hanging?" I said breezily as she picked up her phone and grunted what barely passed for a greeting.
"Where in the hell have you been?" she shouted as I yanked the phone away from my ear. "And what phone number are you calling from?"
"Had to get a new phone plan since I haven't seen my paycheck this month," I explained with a touch of sarcasm in my tone. "You sound like you ran out of whiskey."
"It's in your mailbox at the apartment you haven't been back to," she snapped. "And for your information, I've been through several bottles in the last few days, thinking you were dead."
"Now why on earth would you think I was dead?" I asked coldly. I most certainly could have been dead if the Dragons or the Wolves had succeeded, but did she know that?
"Because you're two days late and I haven't heard from you or Hank or Dwayne or Bobby Sue," she screeched. "I have no more hair on the right side of my head. I could skin you alive right now, Essie."
"Yeah, well, get in line," I muttered.
Her demeanor was the same as it always was. She'd threatened to kill me at least three times a week for the past year and never made good on it. The maddest I ever saw her was when she realized I'd used the company card for a spa day and dinner at Ruth Chris. The front row seats to a Coldplay concert for Dwayne and me also hadn’t helped. I had been fairly sure that day was going to be my last on earth, but I was still kicking. I needed to be careful not to read too much into anything.
"Get your ass down to headquarters. We have situations in the making and I have no more time for lazy agents who can't make deadlines," she grumbled.
There was that word again… dead. Why it kept popping out at me was an irony. Angela was no different than she always had been.
"No can do, hot mamma. I'm in no mood for a clusterhump today," I replied calmly.
Her silence was unexpected. Was it the "no can do" or the "hot mamma" or the "clusterhump" that threw her off her yelling game? My lack of respect for authority was nothing new.
"I do believe my statement was a direct order," she ground out.
I heard a rustling in the background and I was positive she was searching for her booze.
"I do believe we are off the grid and you are not giving the orders," I countered in a tone I rarely used. "Is the Dragon with you?"
"Um, yes," she stuttered, not quite as sure of herself.
"That's wonderfully sucktastic," I yelled. Her yelp of pain amused me and I decided to yell the rest of the conversation. "You have exactly eight minutes from the time we hang up to get the Dragon and your half-bald Wolf ass to the front entrance of Wrigley Field. If you fail your mission we'll be gone."
"What the hell? There's too much traffic to make it there in eight minutes. This is ridiculous."
She was pissed.
"Nope, not ridiculous at all. You're correct about the traffic. I'd suggest running. If you sprint you can make it. If you need a hit I'd suggest a flask. A bottle would be messy if you dropped it on your run. No flunkies or we disappear."
"I should fire your ass," she muttered angrily.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" I shot back.
"Neither," she snapped. "If you weren't so damned valuable I wouldn't put up with this shit."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I cooed.
I could hear her breathing and I felt her blood pressure rise through the phone. I knew I was treading on thin ice if I wanted to actually keep my job, but being a WTF agent had become extremely unappealing in the last month. Defending my life on a semi-daily basis was not what I had signed up for. My dream had been to defend my entire race… not just myself.
"Does the Dragon know she'll be drinking the formula?" I asked.
Angela's ginormous pause answered the question. "Not exactly," she hedged.
"Well, I'd suggest you get the fire breather up to speed on your run. She doesn't drink—we have nothing to say or do with her… or you," I said tightly.
Hank tensed beside me. I knew he wanted to rip the phone from my hand and let Angela have it. Out of respect for me he stayed still.
"You really want to leave her defenseless?" she asked with disgust.
"After my week—yes. Yes, I do."
"What the hell does that mean?" she demanded, completely exasperated.
"If you don't already know, I might let you in on it when I see you," I informed her cryptically. "You have eight minutes. Starting now."
As I hung up the phone I heard her screaming a string of obscenities that made me cringe. To say she was pissed was an understatement, but I didn't care. I wasn't sure who the bad guy was anymore and I was taking no chances.
"I think that went well," I said to Hank with an evil grin.
"The half-bald Wolf ass comment was inspired," he said, congratulating me.
"Yep, I thought it was a nice touch," I agreed with a real smile. "Dima doesn't know about the solution."
"I gathered as much," he replied as he ran his hands through his hair. "She won’t want to drink it."
"Do you know her?" I asked. I didn't like the idea he had possibly interacted with the Dragon.