Blood Pact

Celluci turned onto Division Street, one hand palming the wheel, the other grabbing air for emphasis. "Why would Tom Chen steal the body?”

    "How the hell should I know?" Vicki snarled. "When we find him, I'll ask him.”

    "You don't know he had anything to do with it.”

    "No? We're talking fake address and total disappearance the morning after the crime, that sure as shit sounds incriminating to me.”

    "Granted.”

    "Not to mention the did-we-or-didn't-we shuffle that went on in the embalming room. That girl who insisted on talking to the younger Mr. Hutchinson was probably a planned distraction.”

    "Detective Fergusson and his partner are looking into it.”

    Vicki turned to face him as they pulled into the parking lot at the apartment building. "So?”

    "So let them do their job, Vicki." Celluci parked and reached over the back of the seat for the bag of take-out chicken.
    "Fergusson's promised to keep you completely informed.”

    "Good." She got out of the car and strode toward the building, the heels of her pumps making emphatic statements in the gravel.
    "It'll make my job easier.”

    "And your job is?" He had to ask. He didn't need to, but he had to.

    "Finding Tom Chen.”

    Celluci took three long strides to catch up and then one more to cut in front and pull open the door to the apartment building.
    "Vicki, you do realize that Tom Chen, the name, the person, the body snatcher, is probably as fake as his address. How the hell are you going to find him?”

    "When I find him . . ." Her voice made the finding a fact not a possibility, and Celluci strongly suspected she hadn't heard a word he'd said. ". . . I find my mother's body.”

    "Of all the lousy luck.”

    Catherine frowned as she unbuckled number nine's restraints and stepped back so he could climb out of his box. "I suppose it is unfortunate," she said doubtfully, "but it doesn't actually have anything to do with us.”

    "Yeah, right." Donald snorted. "Earth to Cathy: try to remember that we're the ones who walked off with the body they're looking for. Try to remember that body snatching is a crime." His voice rose. "Try to remember that you'll get bugger all amount of research done if they throw your ass in jail!" He jumped back as number nine suddenly lurched toward him. "Hey! Back off!”

    "Stop shouting! He doesn't like it." Catherine reached for an undead arm. It took another two steps for the pressure of her fingers to register, but when it did, number nine obediently stopped. "It's okay," she said softly. "It's okay.”

    "It is not okay!" Donald threw both hands up into the air and whirled to face Dr. Burke. "Tell her, Doctor. Tell her it's not okay!”

    Dr. Burke looked up from the alpha wave pattern undulating across the monitor. "Donald," she sighed, "I think you're overreacting.”

    His eyes bulged. "Overreacting! Try to remember that I'm the one they can identify!”

    "No, you're not." While not exactly soothing, Dr. Burke's tone was so matter-of-fact that it had the same effect. "They can identify Tom Chen, not Donald Li. But as Tom Chen doesn't exist and there's nothing to tie him to Donald Li, I think we can assume you're safe.”

    "But they know what I look like." His protest had died to a near whine.

    "Yes, the others at the funeral home could pick you out of a lineup, but you have my personal guarantee it will never go that far.
    What kind of a description can they give the police? A young Oriental male, about five-six; short dark hair; dark eyes; clean-shaven . . ." Dr. Burke sighed again. "Donald, there are hundreds of students just at this university that fit that description, let alone those in the rest of the city.”

    Donald glowered. "You saying we all look alike?”

    "Just as alike as young Occidental males about five-eight; short brown hair; light eyes; clean-shaven, of which there are also hundreds at this university. I'm saying the police will never find you." She bent over the electrocardiograph. "Just stay close for a few days and everything will be fine.”

    "Stay close. Right." He paced the length of the room and back, unwrapping a miniature chocolate bar he'd taken from his jacket pocket. "I was a grade A idiot to let you talk me into this. I knew this was going to be trouble, right from the start.”

    "You knew," Dr. Burke corrected, straightening, "this was going to make us all a great deal of money, right from the start. That the applications for the work we're doing are infinite and the