All right, Bobo admitted it—Deathstroke had left him speechless again.
What the hell had he shown him? A wooden box carved with a freak whose head looked like a duck egg, and the box was even red and white. Did any normal person really choose an urn like that?
But when he remembered that Deathstroke was planning to use it for himself, Bobo fell silent. When it came to picking an urn, it was best to respect the wishes of the person involved.
Honestly, only Detective Chimp's broad experience had let him know that the great Eastern nation favored cremation, which was why urns existed.
In the United States, though, everyone used coffins. Their larger size gave artists far more room to work with.
As though he could see through Bobo's thoughts, Deathstroke nodded, put his phone away, and continued browsing as he said:
"Actually, a coffin would be better. I could order one with a sliding lid too. Going in and out would feel more ceremonial."
"Why not get a folding one? Makes it easier for the corpse to do sit-ups inside?"
The chimp quipped. Seeing that Deathstroke was unaffected, he relaxed, climbed onto the man's shoulder with his pipe in his mouth, and settled down. "All right, Slade, back to business. Since this corpse was you from the past, this place was your former home. So this world was most likely where you used to live, right?"
"I can't say for certain. It's only a possibility." Su Ming lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. "But you can probably think of the other possibilities too, so I won't stress them. We might even be in some kind of dream."
In truth, whether it was or not made little difference. Even if Blank had somehow obtained his