Chapter 8: Use and Discard
Clatter, clatter...
In a street piled high with garbage, dilapidated and reeking, several figures hurried back and forth, clutching bottles and jars as they stepped briskly through the black, foul water.
Each of them deliberately hunched their backs and shrank their bodies, unwilling to show their faces to others, instinctively adopting a defensive posture.
This was the poorest, filthiest, and most chaotic part of Maracan Town—but also the black market richest in variety.
Everyone called this place the "Old Street."
Countless items unobtainable through legal means, or outright illegal, were smuggled here by all manner of criminals.
Many of the "customers" came from other cities.
Desire, money, despair, corruption, and evil—all bred and spread amid the stench.
In the black market, nothing was off-limits for trade.
Anything, including life itself, had a price.
Knock, knock, knock!
A man in a trench coat stepped through the sewage toward a rusted iron door and knocked rhythmically three times.
Five or six seconds later, a small window on the iron door slid open, emitting a sharp static sound.
A hoarse, cautious voice called out, “Who is it?”
“Me.”
“Brandon?!” The person inside clearly hadn’t expected the visitor’s identity. “Why are you here so early today? Aren’t you afraid your colleagues will find out?”
Brandon—the very officer who had just bumped into Milton at the fruit stand!
He hadn’t actually gone on patrol. After leaving the fruit stall, he had come straight here.
The sleazy, corrupt aura that usually clung to Brandon vanished instantly. His voice lowered with gravity: “I ran into some trouble today. My partner was pulled away on an urgent assignment.”
The man inside muttered as he opened the iron door, glanced left and right to ensure no one was following, then let Brandon in, grumbling, “Even if your partner’s gone, there are other cops around.”
“No, most of the police force will soon be diverted by another major incident,” Brandon replied. “We’re safe. Sean, I’m much more professional than you. Don’t doubt me.”
As they spoke, they reached an entrance to the sewer.
“All right, all right…” Old Sean chuckled bitterly, shaking his head as he bent down to unlock the door. “What’s this big matter you’re talking about?”
Before Brandon could answer, a distant explosion thundered into their ears.
Old Sean spun around in shock, seeing billowing black smoke and flames shooting into the sky.
Then, piercing sirens screamed past.
Sean looked at Brandon like a stranger, stunned: “You… you did this?”
“No, but I got some intel from the Van Kang gang beforehand,” Brandon said. “He’s a scumbag anyway. Your daughter’ll be glad to hear this, won’t she?”
Earlier, when Brandon mentioned “Old Sean’s daughter” at the fruit stall, his partner’s lecherous expression revealed the man’s true nature—a rapist.
That officer was also the prime cause of Sean’s daughter still needing medication to this day.
Sean’s face shifted upon hearing this—pain, gratitude, but no satisfaction from revenge.
It was too late.
And it seemed this rare decent cop before him was sinking ever deeper.
“Brandon, you’d better stay far away from Van Kang and those people… or sooner or later, you’ll be dragged down with them. They’re no good.”
---
“I keep my distance. Who else will get the medicine, gather the news, or act as your protection at the station? There’s trouble at the border inspection now—have you seen how much the drug prices have skyrocketed? I can’t afford any more accidents,” Brandon shook his head. “Besides, it’s too late—I’m already in too deep.”
Trouble at the border inspection...
Smuggled medicine couldn’t be brought in anymore—the inspector they’d just encountered had confiscated a batch of seized drugs.
Those who came through other channels commanded exorbitant prices and were incomplete in variety.
Everyone sensed a storm was about to break.
After winding through narrow, convoluted paths, they reached the last chamber of the sewer. Brandon waved his hand. “This is as far as I go. I need to talk to the ‘Boss’ about what comes next.”
Sean hunched over and slowly retreated. “Officer, take care of yourself…”
Brandon fell silent for a moment before pushing open a door.
Before him stood a figure hidden completely in darkness, face obscured.
This was the largest drug dealer in the area—no one knew his real name, only the codename “Boss.”
The Boss asked briefly, “How’s the drug import situation? When will it return to normal?”
“Stabilizing, but there’ll be big moves. It’s an internal issue at the border inspection,” Brandon sighed. “The problem is, our network at the border inspection may be completely invalidated.”
It was only through ties with Maynard and the Van Kang gang that they could smuggle so many drugs.
When a vehicle loaded with medicine was seized, Maynard and the Van Kang gang suffered heavy losses, causing turmoil within the border inspection station itself and sharply raising smuggling costs.
The Boss’s voice was flat and emotionless: “Starting today, drug prices will rise 20%—a cost for rebuilding our network. This expense is necessary. Our drugs are all pirated imitations; we can’t go through official import channels.”
“Prices have nearly tripled recently... I’m worried...”
Knock, knock, knock...
As they spoke, the door behind them was gently knocked. A young girl cautiously entered.
Seeing her, Brandon’s expression softened.
“Lia, buying medicine again?”
It was the little girl from the fruit stand.
“Uncle Brandon!” Lia smiled brightly, clearly in good spirits. “Good afternoon! How was my acting just now?”
Brandon smiled back: “You had a small slip, but nothing obvious.”
The Boss also clearly knew Lia. Without wasting words, he said, “Lia, glibenclamide, 160 grams, Char brand.”
“160?!” Lia gasped. “Why is it so expensive again?”
The moment the question left her lips, she recalled the confiscated “loot” from the inspector.
She actually knew Uncle Brandon and the Boss weren’t making much profit from them.
But the inspector was a good man...
None of them were at fault... So who was?
The girl’s expression darkened, voice dropping: “Twenty dollars... is that okay?”
Brandon suddenly interrupted, “Where did you get dollars?”
“The inspector... gave them. Said it was compensation for the fruit stand,” Lia hurried to explain. “Uncle Brandon, the inspector’s a good man. He didn’t hurt me.”
It was obvious—she had no injuries, just a runny nose. Only fools like the recently killed Milton, driven mad with lust, would have thought otherwise.
The Boss cut off their exchange: “Dollars are fine.”
He examined the bills for authenticity, then handed over the medicine bottle.
---
“Go home quickly. It’s not safe here at night.”
Lia carefully took the bottle, nodded firmly, and left the room.
“I’ll eat here and then go home!”
The iron door closed, darkness swallowing the room once more.
Several seconds later, Brandon gave a self-mocking laugh: “A good man?”
The Boss answered softly: “Good people don’t last long here.”
“Hopefully this storm will pass quickly,” Brandon shook his head. “We only have one job: to keep low, wait for everything to end, for drug imports to normalize, and find a new protector.”
One “good” inspector could never solve the problem.
Even if he truly took out the Van Kang gang’s assassins and survived the upheaval at the border inspection, what then?
If Van Kang is gone, Van En will take their place.
If station chief Valter is gone, station chief Maynard will remain.
Apart from a change of names, nothing would truly change.
While they spoke, another man in tattered clothes, eyes weary, entered to buy medicine as usual.
The Boss pocketed the money, handed over the drugs, and said mildly, “Your illness is nearly cured. From now on, focus on recuperation. No need to come back.”
“All right! Thank you, Boss! Thank you, Officer Brandon!”
The man expressed endless gratitude, took the medicine, and quietly closed the door behind him.
Click.
Beep, beep, beep...
Hearing the lock snap shut and the roar of a motorcycle engine outside the district, the man’s face darkened. His expression flickered as if caught between hesitation and resolve.
He had overheard the Boss and Brandon’s conversation from the corner outside the door.
He had heard a great deal.
His illness was cured, but buying medicine had drained his savings and left him deeply in debt.
So, he hatched a bold plan.
Could he report the Boss and this illicit pharmacy to the inspector, hoping to exchange it for a bounty or intelligence fee?
If successful, not only could he repay his debts, but he might even have enough left over to flee to America!
In the past, he would never have dared entertain such thoughts—both the police station and border inspection had protection umbrellas over the black pharmacy. Who would dare try?
But now, with the border inspection compromised and the black pharmacy’s network temporarily paralyzed, this was an extremely rare window of opportunity.
If missed, once the Boss rebuilt the network, reporting them would be useless—and might cost him his life.
The man gritted his teeth, his expression hardening. “Let’s do it!”
As for what would happen to the Boss and Brandon; the suffering that patients deprived of life-saving medicine would endure; how the little girl would live without her father—whether she would be forced onto men’s beds, barely surviving under gang extortion, eventually succumbing to disease—he didn’t care.
It was none of his business.
Good people don’t last long here.