Whisker Of Evil

40

Rick hung up the phone. “Jerome didn’t have rabies.”

Cooper, at her desk, cheered. “Thank God.”

Rick celebrated by lighting up a Camel. He’d returned to his favorite brand after trying others. Two blue plumes escaped his nostrils. “If those tests had come back positive, we’d be answering the calls of people shooting one another’s dogs and cats and then one another. Thank God for small favors.”

It was a very small favor, indeed.