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   Chapter 33 No.33

Dead Man’s Hammer By Christina Engela Characters: 5695

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:02

"Tell me how much you love me." She said.

"Well, let's see – I love you, I love you, I love you…"

* * *

There was a little confusion over at the San Fedora public health clinic. A van had arrived to collect a body to be taken to a funeral home in Atro City. Bruce Levy was one of those odd kids who had finished school recently and still had no idea what he wanted to do in life. Growing his hair and piercing his tongue hadn't shed any light on the matter either.

By some strange twist of fate he had ended up working at the mortuary as a porter and assistant skull-cracker, which meant his job generally, consisted of pushing cadavers around on trolleys. As a habit learned through experience, he always, always wore gloves. This resulted from autopsies during which he assisted, and was frequently told by the mortician to 'here – hold this for a minute, will you?'

Despite his good fortune in finding a job here, he still had a nagging feeling that he was meant for greater things. (Like for instance working at a gas station, pumping hydrogen.) He could connect dots, and he could color in real good. He knew how to spell, and he could count pretty good too, at least up to three hundred and something. When he filled in his application form, the interviewer had said something like 'that's all right, we hardly ever get that many bodies anyway' – and rubber-stamped him through.

The confusion in question came about when Bruce opened the fridge, the relevant body was missing. As in not there. The plastic sheet was still inside and sort of hollowed out, like the body had just been yanked out by a magician or evaporated under it or something, just like in a magic show. It was clean

s in all the papers and on TV too! She's famous! What you here for? You kill somebody too?"

"Goodness, no – I'm a priest!" Said Ramsley, shocked.

"A priest? You mean like with no nookie an' lots of praying an' stuff?"

Valcovar blushed. 'From the mouths of babes', he thought.

"No, plenty of nookie." He said, half-jokingly. "You just can't tell anybody about it."

"Oh." Said Josh, sitting down beside him on the bench, looking at him with those penetrating, honest big blue eyes.

A frazzled-looking tabby cat came slinking nervously past them on the narrow brick path through the manicured lawn. It was nervous for good reason – it was the house cat of Willow Gardens and it avoided getting killed dozens of times a day – which would go some way to explain the bald spot on its rump and several patches of singed fur in random locations. Its tail was bald at the tip and had two kinks in it, at opposite angles, making it look somewhat like a furry crank. Goodness knows how many of its allotted nine lives remained. "Ow" it went and looked at them with piercing yellow eyes before vanishing into the shrubbery. "Ow."

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