He pocketed the tooth before Kurt saw it and delved farther, approaching
the alley's end, which was carpeted with a humus of moldering cardboard,
leaves, and road turds blown or washed there. He kicked it aside as best
he could, then crouched down to examine the sewer grating beneath. The
greenish brass screws that anchored it to the ground had sharp cuts in
their old grooves where they had been recently removed. He rattled the
grating, which was about half a meter square, then slipped his multitool
out of his belt holster. He flipped out the Phillips driver and went to
work on the screws, unconsciously putting Kurt's flashlight in his
mouth, his front teeth finding purchase in the dents that Kurt's own had
left there.
He realized with a brief shudder that Kurt probably used this flashlight
while nipple-deep in dumpsters, had an image of Kurt transferring it
from his gloved hands to his mouth and back again as he dug through bags
of kitchen and toilet waste, looking for discarded technology. But the
metal was cool and clean against his teeth and so he bit down and worked
the four screws loose, worked his fingers into the mossy slots in the
grate, lifted it out, and set it to one side.
He shone the light down the hole and found another fingerbone, the tip
of a thumb, desiccated to the size of a large raisin, and he pocketed
that, too.
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