Chapter 116 Liquid B

Chapter 116 Liquid B
POV: BRIGAIL
She was expecting the knock.
After she had left Russell's office, Barry had met her in the casino with a brown paper bag containing two vials of what he called liquid B. Russell's pharmacologists had been developing it for years on the Nevada farm. It was a designer cocktail of barbiturates that in low doses produced euphoria and physical numbness and in high doses stopped a heart within minutes. Clean. Fast. Virtually undetectable in a standard tox screen.
The perfect silent killer.
She opened the door before he could knock twice.
Barry's eyes moved over her. The heavy-lidded look. The glass of vodka tonic in her hand. The lineup of empty minibar bottles on the TV rack.
"How many drinks have you had?" he asked, stepping inside.
She swayed back to the bed and dropped onto it with theatrical weight. "More than enough," she said.
He checked his watch. "It's almost midnight. Are you going to be able to do this?"
She bent down and picked up a stiletto from the floor and put it on with considerably less grace than usual. "I'll drink as much as I want," she said, without looking at him. "There's no way I can pull this off lucid. Does that answer your question?"
He pressed his lips together and nodded.
She put on the second shoe. Grabbed her red purse and the brown bag. Went to the bathroom and closed the door.
Barry stood in the middle of the suite and counted nine empty Grey Goose minis on the surfaces around the room. The minibar had five assorted bottles per room. She must have requested extras.
She came back out looking steady enough.
"Shall we?" she asked.
He fell in behind her. "Brigail. I'm sorry you have to do this."
She stopped with her hand on the door and looked back at him. "Spare me, Barry. You know exactly what kind of hell you put me in the minute you lured me here." She turned the handle. "Don't pretend you didn't know."
He said nothing.
"All I had to do was kill someone to earn granddaddy's favor," she said flatly. "What a peach."

POV: BRIGAIL
Thalia Romero worked the Blackjack pit on Wednesday graveyard. Same tables. Same break schedule. Same order from the 24-hour coffee shop: caramel macchiato at 12:15, taken to the smokers' lounge outside for her cigarette break.
Brigail had known Thalia's routine for three weeks before tonight.
She took a seat at the Baccarat table with a clear sightline to Thalia's pit. Simon, the pit boss at her table, handed her a ten-thousand-dollar marker without blinking. She changed it into hundreds and began placing bets.
Barry watched from nearby. She could feel him calculating her sobriety from the pattern of her betting.
She kept choosing the banker. The table trend was running strongly in favor of the player. An inebriated Brigail, Barry would conclude, was a lousy gambler.
She tapped the lid of the white paper cup beside her chips at regular intervals. The black lid was still sealed.
After a while she scooped her remaining chips into her purse and made her way to the 24-hour coffee shop at the back of the gaming floor. She didn't need to follow Thalia's movement to know where she was going.
At the counter she set her sealed cup down among the pick-up orders and made a show of leaning over the pastry display, pointing at a blueberry cheesecake through the glass.
Two minutes later the barista called out a caramel macchiato.
Brigail beat Thalia to the counter by half a step and picked up the cup on the left. Thalia, arriving just behind her, took the only remaining cup without looking at it.
She gave Thalia a wave as the pit boss headed to the smokers' lounge.
Thalia waved back and went through the door.
Before Brigail and Barry had come down to the casino floor, Brigail had ordered Thalia's usual from the café. Then she had made a quick stop to the restroom.
Barry sat down across from her.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She pressed her palm flat against her stomach. "I don't feel so good."
He offered to take her back to her room. She shook her head.
"Not until it's over," she said.
Fifteen minutes later his phone buzzed. He answered it. She watched his face and read the words before he said them.
"She's gone," he said.
Brigail looked at the table. She let her hands tremble slightly. She was crying, quiet and sudden, the tears coming fast.
Barry put his hand over hers.
She let him.
"I'm a despicable person," she said.
"I'll take you back," he said, already standing.
She grabbed her bag and followed. In the corridor behind the gaming floor, close to Russell's office, she bent double and made a sound that turned both guards' heads away.
"Shit," Barry muttered.
She grabbed his shoulder for support.
He looked around. No public restrooms. Only private offices.
He pulled his keycard and punched his four-digit code into the lock on his office door and ushered her straight through to the private bathroom.
She made it as far as the tile and got down on her knees.
Barry retreated to his desk.