The Killing Game. J. Kerley A.

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      Harry had been my best friend for a decade. He knew everything about me, including things I either didn’t know or didn’t acknowledge.

      “Ten per cent,” I sighed. “Maybe fifteen.”

      “And the other eighty-five to ninety per cent?”

      “I actually enjoy the class.”

      “Which should be celebrated,” Harry said. “I’m thinking beer.”

      We settled on a cheapie bar a few blocks distant and I finished putting my materials away. We were heading out the door when my cell trilled, screen showing Tom Mason.

      “You still at the academy, Carson?” Tom asked.

      “I’ve been arguing pedagogical theory with an fellow academician, Tom,” I said, winking at Harry. “What can Professor Nautilus and I do for you?”

      “Harry’s there? Good. A body was just found along a bike path near there, by the university …”