Micah Castro Braden // Doctor Watson, I presume (acatalyst) wrote in bellumlogs,
"He shouldn't move," Micah said, as he finished packing up, "and this blood needs to come up," he reiterated. One minute later, and he was on the phone with the janitorial service from the morgue, moving out of hearing range so no one could hear him explaining, in Spanish, that he had a job and he'd pay cash, but no questions. The janitor, who was in the country illegally, agreed to come over in fifteen minutes.
He walked back, and he hoisted Cole up onto the couch. It was easy for him, towering over everyone in the room like he did. "Someone will be here to clean in fifteen minutes. They won't ask questions, and no one should offer anything up. Everyone who doesn't need to be here should clear out," he added, checking the pulse at Cole's ankle one last time before hoisting the duffel bag over his shoulder.
He walked over to Rosalie, and he checked the work John had done on her, then he did the same with Shane. He clapped John on the back, and he held out his hand and shook the other man's. "Thanks for the teamwork," he said, then he looked back at Cole. "Make sure to take the medicines. Check the wound every two to four hours, and I'll check on you in a day."
He looked at the carnage around the room one last time, and then he left. He needed to see if any of the neighboring murders looked like they'd been committed by a wolf. His only regret was not having his camera to take a photo of the bite.