The Purchase
1021 Words
The next day.
Julian stepped into the office when Victor found him. “What you busy with?”
“Zabby’s last words—get his death benefit approved, send to the kids he supported.” Julian sipped water. “Just finished the report—heading up.”
“Ah.”
“Your side lost three—no paperwork?”
“Chief handling—contacting families,” Victor low. “I hate those scenes. Stayed out.”
Julian nodded.
“Hey—free later?” Victor asked sudden.
Julian blinked. “Interrogate the low-levels. Nothing major.”
“Come with me to Sebastian’s place.” Victor played casual. “Reassigned logistics—no field pay cut. Worried the kid might hang himself.”
After time together, Julian knew Victor—mouth brutal, no filter, but heart sharp. Probably regretted yesterday’s words. Too proud to go alone—dragged Julian.
“Lunch break,” Julian glanced clock. “Check interrogation with Caleb first.”
“Fine. Noon—I’ll get you.”
“Good.”
…
Lunch bell rang. Julian rode Victor’s electric scooter to Sebastian’s.
Police jobs paid middle-tier in the era—iron rice bowl in the Sixth. Steady wage. But Sebastian scraped.
His home edged Ashmire slums. Most residents no stable work. Young managed labor. Old, sick, disabled—starved. No government relief resources. Crime sky-high, turnover constant.
Sebastian lived cheap—low rent, timed water/power. Saved every NeoDollar for family.
Julian entered the small yard, looked around. Square, three-four hundred meters—mostly landlord’s. Sebastian rented two low, narrow shacks by the gate. Facing each other, walled middle with iron door—landlord precaution against theft. Long-term tenant like Sebastian—landlord trusted, door stayed open.
They entered yard. Sebastian sat depressed on steps, staring.
“What you doing?” Victor asked.
Sebastian startled, stood. “You two?”
“Checking if you’re dead,” Victor deadpan.
“Come in.” Sebastian—no mention yesterday. Adjusted fast, smiled, welcomed.
“Mom?” Victor asked.
“Lying opposite shack. Sister out—piece work.” Sebastian grinned. “Water?”
“See mom,” Victor carried food—for her.
Sebastian paused, shook head. “Don’t.”
“Why?” Julian asked.
“We argued.”
“f**k,” Victor cursed. “Mad—take it out on mom? Grow up!”
“She took it out on me,” Sebastian sighed. “Fine—sudden demand for daughter-in-law. Where I get one?”
“Why sudden wife?” Victor curious.
Sebastian hesitated, invited in, explained.
Mother liver disease—chronic, no big money treatment, now systemic. Organs failing—days numbered. Illiterate, hard life—no big wishes. Just see Sebastian married, grandchild maybe.
Deeper—didn’t want money wasted on her. Settle him down.
Inside.
Julian listened silent—no advice.
Victor thought. “Wife needs prep. Sudden—where find? Live birth too slow.”
“She arranged—neighbor middleman.” Sebastian bitter. “Buy one. My situation—punished, pay cut, logistics unknown…”
Victor silent long. “Buy one works.”
“Stop bullshitting,” Sebastian waved. “If punishment heavy—out of department—what then?”
“Strip uniform max,” Victor low. “I’ll keep you in somehow.”
Sebastian stunned.
“Straight—mom really fading?” Victor low.
Sebastian silent seconds, sighed. “No cure—just maintain. Worsens… when unknown.”
“Then get wife.” Victor gritted. “You’re old enough. Lone guy rushing home—no one care. Someone there—you work better.”
“But money—”
“Wait.” Victor stood. To Julian: “Outside.”
“Victor—no need.” Sebastian rose.
Victor pointed. “Wait.”
Two minutes later, outside.
Victor e-cig, low to Julian. “Got cash?”
Julian blinked. “Lend five hundred max.”
“Not enough,” Victor shook.
Julian instant. “That’s my limit.”
Victor looked up, slow. “If Sebastian can’t repay quick—before Christmas, I cover.”
Julian surprised, thought seconds. “Fifteen hundred left. Take thirteen hundred—I keep two hundred eat.”
“Thanks, brother.” Victor slapped arm.
“Wait,” Julian curious. “If he can’t pay—what you use?”
“Sell ass in Slag Row—pay you.”
“…Fuck you,” Julian collapsed. “No lend.”
“Decided.” Victor grinned, entered. “Sebastian—contact. We scraped thirty-five hundred. Rest you figure.”
Sebastian in rundown room, stared long, bowed deep. “I… I’ll repay.”
…
Yes—Sebastian couldn’t deny mother’s possible last wish.
Afternoon three.
Sebastian cash belted, rode with Julian and Victor out of Salt Lake City—to Provo.
Vehicle crossed frozen Great Salt Lake years sealed, tires crunching snow, stopped nameless dirt road. Three-kilometer walk to North Tai village entrance, phone call.
Half hour—a fifty-something woman in military coat, red face, approached. “Buying person?”
“So crude,” Victor unhappy. “Finding wife.”
“Follow.” She turned.
They trailed through rundown shacks to drafty house.
She yanked iron door, pointed ground—dozen various ethnicities sitting. “Black, white—all here. Cash talks…”
Julian at door, covered nose. “Sebastian—pick.”
“All with residency?” Victor pretended knowledgeable.
“Brother—residency I’d introduce?” Woman rolled eyes. “Slag Row street work sweeter?”
“…Sis—you know the game.”
“f**k,” woman sneered. “These days—who no story?”
Victor speechless.
Woman slapped Sebastian shoulder. “Brother—no shame. Business—customer first. Go pick. Flashlight—dark ones hard see, light up…”
Sebastian embarrassed, hesitant door.
Thud.
Victor kicked him in. “Hurry—dark soon.”
Sebastian blinked, entered.
…
Elsewhere.
Shadow sneaked, glanced around, to Sebastian’s window. Low call. “Sebastian—home?”
Quick footsteps behind—shadow startled, pulled hidden shotgun from coat, turned—false alarm, passerby.
Sweat beaded. Glanced empty room, frowned, left.
- Writer
