Chronicles of Han: Preserving Creata: Part 1: Learning Curve
Chapter Thirty-Eight

After the short rest, Tucker opened the second body-bag.

This man reminded me of a weasel. He had been stabbed numerous times, making for a really messy business.

I centred myself, putting the professional observationalist to the fore before taking the plunge . . .

I was standing in another ally, an independent observer.

The person I was touching was guarding the back door to what looked like a shabby hotel. He turned away from the ally entrance and lit a smoke, cupping it so the draft through the alley could not blow out the match.

The door he was supposed to be guarding silently opened behind him and the first man, the snitch, plunged a knife into his back.

It was a bad thrust and did not have the desired effect, glancing off a rib. A warning was shouted towards an upper window as the weasley man turned to ward off the assault.

He tried to reach for his firearm, but the thrusts came fast and furious. The little man went down in a heap, the life draining out of him.

I tried to follow the killer back through the door, but was pulled back to my own body at dizzying speed . . . Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I managed not to end up on the floor, but was heaving for breath, half lying on top of the body.

Focussing, I realized that Tucker was unlocking the door.

A knock on the door had been responsible for bringing me rushing back, unable to complete my task.

Stepping away from the body, I wiped my hand clean on a paper towel that Tucker had produced earlier. Feeling shaky and ready to faint, I supported my weight by leaning against the third cadaver’s table.

The mortician entered. “Hi. I hope you found what you were looking for. My assistant said you have been in here for ages.”

“We actually need a few more minutes, if you please,” Tucker replied, using his most authoritive voice, angry about the interruption.

“We would also appreciate no further interruptions,” Tucker concluded with a stern glare.

The mortition was not perturbed. “I had been asked to give you all the assistance you needed and see no reason why I need to leave you alone with bodies in the custody of the state.

Unless . . . Oh!”

The mortician stared at me, his eyes narrowing, probably noticing me for the first time. You could see the thoughts flashing through his mind, assessing the situation. His eyes suddenly widened with comprehension.

“Unless what?” Tucker pushed.

“Unless your colleague is . . . ?” he stated, turning pale. “I think I will retire to my office now and have some coffee and a rest . . . I have been working long hours and feel tired enough to start having hallucinations.”

He quickly backed out of the room, closing the door with exaggerated care behind him. It did seem as if he would keep his mouth closed about his ‘hallucinations’.

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