Jaen Songok arrived home at eleven-twenty. He parked the car at the curb, then staggered across the courtyard of his apartment complex, lugging the heavy canvas bag.
Once safely inside his apartment, he went immediately into the bathroom. He placed the bag on the counter by the sink, took out the bloody knife, and held it up to the ceiling light. He smiled as he read the words stainless steel printed on its handle. Already he was much relieved. Stainless steel didn't rust, thus reducing the danger of tetanus.
He stripped off his clothes. Naked, he examined himself. The wound was still bleeding slightly. In his medicine cabinet he found a package of sterile cotton balls. He used them to sop up the blood, tossing each one in the toilet as soon as it was soaked through.
