8: Chapter 8 Street Wisdom and the Dead's Profit

Five minutes later, two gurneys were roughly pushed into the morgue by several sweating police officers.

"Damn it, these two guys have their guts spilling out." One police officer covered his nose and threw the gurney into the middle of the room with a look of disgust.

"Where is the medical examiner? Sign for these quickly; this smell is even worse than the sewer."

The white sheets were soaked with blood, and dark red blood was still dripping down from the wheels, dragging two shocking trails across the floor.

"What are you yelling about? Can't you see I'm busy?" George poked his head out from behind the autopsy table, waving a blood-stained pen in his hand, "Put the forms there and get lost!"

The police officers acted as if they had been granted amnesty; they slapped the handover forms onto the table and rushed out of the door as if fleeing, as if there were some man-eating monster here.

The heavy iron door closed again.

"I'm going to get some suture thread and, while I'm at it, sign off for those idiots."

George threw the registration form in his hand to Chen Mo.

"You go undress them and take out all their personal belongings. Remember, don't pocket anything, although these two poor wretches probably don't have anything valuable anyway."

George dragged his crippled leg and walked into the inner office, grumbling.

The opportunity had arrived.

Chen Mo quickly walked over to the first gurney and lifted the white sheet.

It was a young Black man with a gold chain hanging around his neck; his chest had been blasted into a mass of rotten flesh by a shotgun, and one could even see the jagged broken ribs.

With such close-range bombardment, even a god couldn't save him.

Chen Mo didn't hesitate at all and pressed his hands directly onto the corpse's forehead, which was still warm.

[Ding!]

[Target extractable detected... Low-level gang drug dealer.]

[Target time of death: 25 minutes ago.]

[Extraction conditions met.]

"Extract."

[Extraction successful!]

[Obtained skill entry: [Street Smarts (White)]]

[Entry effect: You are proficient in all the slang of Brooklyn, have mastered basic lock-picking techniques, know how to avoid street-corner surveillance, and how to instantly identify plainclothes police officers and enemy gang sentries on the chaotic streets. Note: This is the survival instinct of a rat.]

A complex stream of information instantly flooded into his mind.

Those previously unfamiliar street gestures, those graffiti symbols that looked like gibberish, those techniques for picking an old-fashioned padlock with a piece of wire... all became Chen Mo's instincts at this moment.

He even felt that his standing posture had undergone some subtle changes, becoming more relaxed, more... like a thug.

Good stuff.

In this chaotic city, this kind of skill is sometimes more useful than marksmanship.

Chen Mo immediately turned around and lifted the white sheet of the second corpse.

This deceased person was slightly older, with a face full of flabby flesh; the cause of death was a gunshot wound to the back, having been riddled with bullets from behind.

[Ding!]

[Target extractable detected... Greedy small-time gang leader.]

[Extraction successful!]

[Obtained intelligence/memory fragment: [Jackson's Secret Locker]]

The scene abruptly exploded before Chen Mo's eyes.

It was a shaky, first-person perspective scene.

A rainy night, the abandoned No. 4 freight station in the Red Hook District.

He was frantically stuffing a heavy black gym bag into a row of rusty lockers; the number on the locker door was 304.

In the scene, his hands were still shaking, and he was cursing: "Damn Anthony, this batch of goods is mine, two kilograms of 'crystal', it's all mine..."

The memory came to an abrupt end.

Chen Mo suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils slightly contracting.

Two kilograms of high-purity drugs, plus the heavy feel of that gym bag—there was definitely more than just drugs inside; there must be guns and spare cash as well. This was stolen loot from a double-cross.

"Kid, what are you standing there stunned for? Do you want to put them on display?"

George's voice came from behind him.

Chen Mo instantly collected his thoughts, and his movements became extremely nimble.

He picked up the scissors, skillfully cut open the deceased's clothes, threw the blood-stained rags into the medical waste bin, and then picked up the threaded suture needle.

George had originally wanted to come over and give some instructions, but after one look, he stopped in his tracks.

Chen Mo's technique was terrifyingly steady.

Holding the needle, inserting the needle, tying the knot, cutting the thread.

Every movement was as precise as if he were working on precision machinery; the wounds blasted apart by the shotgun were, under his hands, pieced back together bit by bit. Although still gruesome, at least they were no longer a pile of rotten flesh.

This was the anatomical foundation brought by [Intern Police Officer], combined with the rough understanding of human body structure from the newly acquired [Street Smarts], which produced a strange chemical reaction.

Ten minutes later, the two corpses had been cleaned up and neatly laid out on the table.

George walked over, looked down at the fine stitches, then looked up at Chen Mo; the contempt in his eyes had completely vanished.

"Did you work at a funeral home before?" George asked.

"I worked some off-the-books jobs for a few years." Chen Mo wiped the bloodstains from his hands, answering half-truthfully.

"No wonder." George pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed one to Chen Mo.

"Your hands are steady. It seems that bastard Murphy throwing you here actually found me a good helper. Alright, push them into the freezer; there's no more work today."

Chen Mo took the cigarette and tucked it behind his ear.

"I want to go out and get some air, George; this smell is a bit overwhelming."

George waved his hand, not caring at all.

"Go on, go on. Remember to come back before eight tomorrow morning to mop the floor. Oh, and don't get any crooked ideas about those two corpses; those two unlucky devils didn't even have a coin on them."

"Don't worry, I have no interest in dead men's things."

Chen Mo took off his apron, washed his hands, and changed back into his jacket.

When he walked out of the police station door, it was already pitch black outside.

The neon lights of New York were blurred into a fantastical array of colors in the rain and mist.

Chen Mo pressed down the brim of his hat and did not go home.

He stood by the roadside, looking toward the direction of the Brooklyn District, which looked like a giant beast lurking in the darkness.

Now, he was the Corpse Collector, Robert.

But tonight, he was a street rat going to collect some "extra income."