THE PLAN

     Pratt was sitting at a  table in Sammael's Seafood Restaurant where he agreed to meet Finch for lunch.  Finch prepared the meal himself, since he was also a chef.  Last week Pratt went back to the institute at Woods Hole to retrieve a poisonous mollusk from his lab, containing a lethal poison called tetrodoxin.  It causes blindness, paralysis then death within hours.  The good thing about it was that it could not be detected.  He was now carrying a vial of it and would find an opportunity to slip it into Finch's drink.

     "So, Pratt, did you enjoy your lunch?"  Finch asked.

     "Yes, it was fine, just fine,"  Pratt replied, who was now perspiring in anticipation.

     "How about the wine? Did you like the wine?"

     The wine was a Merlot.  The last and only time he had wine was when he had Manischewitz at his cousin's bar mitzvah.

     "Oh, it's fine."

     "I personally know the owners of the vineyard."

     "I see."

     "Now, let's get down to business.  About the job.  You'll have to do it Thursday night.  She usually stays in all night-"

     "What if I refuse?"  Pratt asked, trying to sound defiant.

     "Well then, I may take Sabine out to Cape Cod for the weekend.  Maybe drop in on ole' Sully.  Ask him if there are any cold cases.  You remember him, right?  He was in my grade.  We still keep in touch.  He's the chief of police in Falsmouth.

     Pratt could not believe Finch was actually blackmailing him.  This could ruin his career.  He'd probably be stripped of his Nobel Prize.

     "What do you want me to do?"  He asked begrudgingly.

     "I'm glad we're on the same page.  Here's how it's gonna go down.  Like I said, Sabine stays in on Thursday nights.  I'm giving  you a copy of my key.  You let yourself in at one a.m.  She's in bed by then.  She takes a sleeping pill so she'll be out.  You go in there and strangle her, make it look like a break in.  You mess up the lock after.  See?  Quick, fast and easy," he says as though he's teaching Pratt how to make a BLT.

     Pratt's mind was racing.  These details were making him sick.  He immediately remembered he was carrying the poison.  He wouldn't have to do a single thing Finch said.  At that moment, Finch's cell phone rang.  "Excuse me, Pratt, but I have to take this."

     He walked back to the kitchen to take the call.  Pratt knew this was an opportunity to slip it into his  drink.  He surreptitiously took out the vial and emptied the contents into Finch's wine glass.  It was still half full.  In a few minutes Finch returned carrying a carafe of coffee.  He poured each of them a cup.  Just then the door opened and Sabine walked in and gave Finch a kiss.

     "Nimo! So nice to see you.  Did you enjoy Sam's cooking?"  she asked.

     "Um...yuh...I mean yes...it was just fine,"  he stammered.

     "Good," she said as she lifted up Sam's wine glass and drank from it.  Pratt immediately had a panic attack.  Half falling out of his chair, arms flailing.  He started pounding on his chest and coughing.

     "Nimo!  Your inhaler!"  Sabine exclaimed, sounding frightened.

     Sam ran to the bar and brought him a glass of water.  Pratt finally took out his inhaler and took several pulls.  In a few moments he stopped gasping and realized what just happened.  Sabine will be dead by tonight.  He wasn't prepared for such a contingency.  Sam continued to drink his coffee.

     "I'm going back to the apartment now.  I have papers to grade.  What time will you be home tonight, honey?" Sabine asked.

     "I'll be home early. Eve's closing tonight."

     "It was nice to see you again, Nimo.  Maybe I'll cook dinner for you one night."  Sabine said.

     "That would be fine.  Just fine,"  Pratt croaked.

     "She's a great cook.  You won't be disappointed,"  Finch said ominously.
  
     "I'll see you tonight then, "  she took another sip of wine, kissed Finch and was out the door.

     "Take care, Nimo," she said then walked out the door.

     Pratt and Sam continued to drink their coffee.  Pratt was in shock.  He couldn't move.  Sabine had not been the target.  Finch was going to live.  That was unacceptable.  The blackmail would never end.  It would look too suspicious for him to die in the wake of his fiancee's death.  In four hours she will swell up and become blind and paralyzed by the time Sam would get home.  Suddenly, he remembered that he had the antidote  at his apartment.  There would be a chance that she would live.
     Feeling violently ill he told Finch he had to go.  Finch got up and grabbed Pratt's elbow giving it a tight hold. 'Remember, Pratt.  Thursday."'  He let go of Pratt's arm and wiped it off.  "it was a pleasure having lunch with you.  See you Thursday.'