I remember back in the late 1970's when I first started investing in property as a young guy, being taken to a house that felt EXTREMELY cold, strange, and rather chilling. Okay it was an older house that need some renovation work, but there was something about the place that just did not seem right. But despite that, it was available for purchase at what seemed to be a very attractive price always a good starting point. Anyway, the real estate agent finished taking me around the property answering the questions that I had, and I left with a plan to do some costings before making a decision. But something was niggling me and making me feel a little uncomfortable, so I decided to investigate the property further. A couple of days later I was around at a friends house. He was in the Police force and as it happened he was in the same neighbourhood, I mentioned this particular property that I was looking at buying. He asked me the actual address after which he 'kindly' informed me that that that house had been the scene of a murder 6 months previously. It turned out that the property had been rented to a homosexual couple and that after an argument, one had murdered the other in the bath and then proceeded to cut his head off. Apparently the head was subsequently discovered a week later in the trunk of a car that had been abandoned up by a local golf-course. Less than impressed that the real estate agent had been less than forthcoming with me, I made the decision to not to proceed with the purchase. As they say in the property business 'Location, Location, Location' is always an important factor in determining the value of a property. However despite that being a good location, it was reputation that deterred me on that occasion. Sometimes there are situations where even the best makeover will not work. Question: Who showed the main character around the house? Options: - The homosexual couple - The real estate agent - The guy on the police force - not enough information === The correct answer is
The real estate agent

(Question)
Dark meat in the can--brown, oily, and flecked with mucus--gave off a repellent, fishy smell, and the taste of it rose in his throat, putrid and bitter, like something from a dead man's stomach. George Jordan sat on the kitchen floor and vomited, then pushed himself away from the shining pool, which looked very much like what remained in the can. He thought, No, this won't do: I have wires in my head, and they make me eat cat food. The snake likes cat food He needed help but know there was little point in calling the Air Force. He'd tried them, and there was no way they were going to admit responsibility for the monster in his head. What George called the snake, the Air Force called Effective Human Interface Technology and didn't want to hear about any postdischarge problems with it. They had their own problems with congressional committees investigating "the conduct of the war in Thailand." He lay for a while with his cheek on the cold linoleum, got up and rinsed his mouth in the sink, then stuck his head under the faucet and ran cold water over it, thinking, Call the goddamned multicomp, then call SenTrax and say, "Is it true you can do something about this incubus that wants to take possession of my soul?" And if they ask you, "What's your problem?" you say "cat food," and maybe they'll say, "Hell, it just wants to take possession of your lunch" A chair covered in brown corduroy stood in the middle of the barren living room, a white telephone on the floor beside it, a television flat against the opposite waIl--that was the whole thing, what might have been home, if it weren't for the snake. He picked up the phone, called up the directory on its screen, and keyed TELECOM SENTRAX. Question: Who does George work for now? Options: - SenTrax. - The Air Force. - Himself. - not enough information === The correct answer is
(Answer)
not enough information

SHE moved through the crowded streets like she owned the place. Hell, if things went as planned in the coming months, she might in fact own the place. Or some other place if that's what she wanted. If things went as planned, there was no limit to what she could have. She smiled to herself as a crowd of sunburned, middle-aged men broke ranks to let her pass on her way toward Mallory Square. They had no idea who she was, but she liked to think that they could sense her strength and that it intimidated them. Not enough to stop them from staring openly at her chest of course, but what did she expect? They were still men. Duval Street, Key West's main tourist drag, buzzed with early evening activity. The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the throngs moving up from the nightly sunset ritual in Mallory Square now wandered about, trying to choose between the dozens of bars and restaurants vying for their attention. She moved against the general flow and seemed to know exactly where she was going. She knew these streets well and had planned out her route ahead of time. But something bothered her. That nagging feeling in the back of her brain that she'd long ago learned to heed even though it was wrong as often as it was right. You couldn't survive in her world without learning to pay attention to such feelings, and she'd more than survived - she'd prospered beyond the dreams of any young hacker or con artist. Heeding the subliminal warning, she changed plans and stepped out into the crawling Duval Street traffic. A purple taxi honked angrily but she just smiled as she strode across the street and stared intently at a display of cheap, tasteless T-shirts in a storefront window. Question: How long the narrator probably looked for her place? Options: - Few hours - Few month - Just one day - not enough information === The correct answer is
Few month