He saw the bolt cutters hanging on the pegboard. <I>You really dosell anything, don’t you, Bram?</I> He thought bitterly. It had allmade sense, just half an hour ago, it had all fallen into place. He remembered watching the little girl go with the man, and heremembered that feeling he had gotten, remembering how familiar shelooked. It was only hours later he would realize why she had lookedso familiar, and soon after that he would piece it all together. —<I>You can quit this job; you don’t have to work here. It’snot good for you.</I>—<I>I’m not a customer and I’m not an employee. I belong herebecause…</I>The bolt cutters were heavy and they had quite a bit of heft in hishands. They would do the job but they would be very difficult toconceal. Thank God it was dark. The dark hair on the little girl, that slight limp, he had seen itbefore. He had seen it very recently in fact. Why it had taken solong to click he didn’t know, but as he was sitting in his chair,trying to think of a way that he could get Beverly out—counting uphis cash—he remembered the girl. She was walking down the street,not with the man who had bought all of his stuff at the monstrousyard sale, but walking to the yard sale with her mother and father.Her father’s face was half burned off. —…<I>I’m a product.</I>The girl was a product, and she had just been sold to a man who hadcome in there looking for stuff and walked out with one of thelongest selling items in the world. He had just bought a human being.“We Sell Anything” They sure did. —<I>I’m part of the merchandise.</I> </ol>
That was their prime product. How did they get them? That had beenhis question as soon as Beverly had told him. They both looked overto see if Bram was coming back out, or was watching out the windows,watching so carefully. —<I>The payment system. If you rack up too much debt, you can’tbuy anything, and most of the time, they’ll do a trade. A car, or aTV, something small like that.</I> —<I>But not all of the time?</I>—<I>No, very quickly, they needed something more.</I>Jim took the bolt cutters in the house and set them next to theknife. He would need more; he knew that he would need more. He neededsomething stronger. It was all he could do with these people—oh,these awful people—not to simply kill them. Deep down inside, thatpart that told him how wrong the whole thing was, selling <I>people</I>for crying out loud, also told him that he shouldn’t kill them.Part of him was afraid that he couldn’t kill them, that they weresomething…more. —<I>They come at night. Sometimes, with torches—that’s how theygot Amy, with torches—and they make their demands. You don’t haveany choice but to comply, they won’t let you disagree…</I>He walked to the cabinets that were in his kitchen. He pulled openthe drawer—the middle one—and reached down inside, moving aside apile of old papers that had no value to him at all, just a pile ofpapers that he had set there to conceal the drawer’s real purpose. —…<I>you come with them or you all die. </I>He reached, gently feeling for the tiny slot, only big enough for onefingertip; that was all it took. He found it only after a moment, andslipped his finger in, gently lifted it away and removed the drawer’sfalse bottom. The small wooden piece came away easily and he reachedin with his other hand and pulled the small, black gun out of thebottom of the drawer. </ol>
—<I>You don’t have a choice. You can’t call the police, if theywere to go investigate, they would be gone. Then they would come foryou—come to collect.</I> —<I>How can…that’s not possible.</I> —<I>I think I’ve said too much.</I> —<I>No, they’ve gone too far, we have to stop them. Come with me.</I>Fear in her eyes. Deep rooted fear, more than he had ever seen on aperson’s face. Fear that was not founded on putting your personalsafety in danger, but on putting the ones you love in danger. —<I>I’m going to get you out of here. Tonight. You wait. Ifanyone dies here, it’ll be me. </I>It was then that Bram had come out, sipping a cold Mountain Dew,giving only a slight glance in their direction. He didn’t know whatwas going on between them, somehow he was oblivious—that had to bea work of God on their behalf. The grip of the Ruger LC9 was very tight. The 9mm didn’t hold verymany rounds, but hopefully he wouldn’t need many. Best case, hewouldn’t need it at all, but it didn’t hurt to be a littlecareful. He would have to be very careful. The knife and bolt cutters stared back at him from the table. Eachone waiting for him to come back to them, ready to be used, ready toassist him under cover of darkness. He looked at the note that she had written to him, in shaky, boldletters that spoke more of her desperation than the words did. <I>Please save me. </I>He saw the little girl—Amy—walking with the man up the driveway,about to be hauled off like any other piece of merchandise, broughtto his house for whatever purpose that he had in mind. Taken away,like so many others, trafficked, sold—enslaved. </ol>
They weren’t going to get away with it.The gun felt heavy in his hand, despite its small size. He slippedthe slide on the semi-auto down and chambered a round. The familiarmetallic snicker of the bullet sliding into place sounded a lotlouder than it actually was. He stared down at it, building moreresolve to do what he was going to do—a deed under cover of night,hiding among the shadows, moving swiftly among the dark, heavy shade.—<I>I’m going to save you.</I><H2 ALIGN=LEFT >THE NIGHT swallowed all light around it. The streetlights tried tosupply light to any who would dare venture the streets so late atnight, but they tried in vain, and the darkness reigned over all,with a rod of iron shadow. Underneath the glare of fading stars,speckled across innumerable galaxies, Jim walked slowly, the boltcutters held tightly in his hands, partially hidden by his leg. Thegun was in his side pocket, and the knife tucked in his waistband, atowel wrapped around it to keep him from cutting himself. His breathing was hard, harder than it had ever been on one of hislongest runs, and his mind was filled with fears that contested withthe amount of the stars above. He hadn’t been quite so afraidbefore he had left his house, but the tiny fears, the ones that madeup the little cold needles that danced on the skin of your arms, hadgrouped up when he had seen the dark streets, and the feeling that hewas being watched. The eyes were everywhere. They were always watching, those tinylittle eyes, each one focused on him, peeking through the windows,glowing in the darkness, caught under a spell of their neighbors whowere holding the best sale on earth. We sell anything. Anything.</ol>
Anything. Even you. We’ll sell you. Just come on, rack up some debt—we’llsell you. We sell anything. Jim held the bolt cutters tighter. Not that they could really supplyhim with any assurance, they were only bolt cutters, the gun was inhis pocket, and the knife his waistband. The eyes watched. He came up to the same old driveway for the last time, and glancedbehind him at the streets, empty and dark. They were only occupied bythe stretching shadows, waking from their rest, ready to fade again.The streetlights glared, tiny dots, little eyes down the street,growing in size, as they got closer. The sign: simple, fresh, daring, smart and infuriating—the simplethree-word slogan, that terrible phrase that haunted him in the darkcorners of his mind. It burned into him, like a lit match pressedagainst his skin. He thought of Beverly, of what he was about to do.He thought of the little girl—Amy—who had been heartlessly soldto a man that had who knew what in mind for her. A dim fire, the blueblaze of righteous anger burned deep down within. He knew what he wasgoing to do, and come what may, he would make sure it got done, or hewould sure enough die trying. The gravel, suddenly returned, skittered away from him. He hardlypaid it any mind; he was going straight for his target, a little shedtucked just to the side of where the tent was. Just to the far rightof all of the tables in the back yard. —<I>They keep us in the shed. There are some cots in there for usto sleep, and it’s locked up with a padlock at night. I want tomake noise but I’m afraid they’ll hear. They hear everything.</I> The fence was wide open, as if they were expecting midnightcustomers, or—he wanted to cringe at the thought—expecting him. </ol>
The backyard was not illuminated in the least; the only light waswhat came from the street. He could see the faint reflection, barelydiscernable, on the plastic bins that were piled high on the tables,holding all of the goods, all except for a particular piece ofmerchandise. He remembered sitting at his kitchen table, what, only a few hoursago? He was counting cash. He was going to buy her, but then itoccurred to him—she couldn’t be bought. Beverly was a person, nota thing. You don’t buy a human being—that was just wrong. He hadto break her out: that was the only option. That was the only thinghe was going to do. He was going to break her out and then call thecops; he wouldn’t leave her in their possession any longer. Theycould hide the truth, fool the cops, but Beverly would be free, andthat was the point. That was the mission. He crept down the driveway, stealing a quick peek at the house. Thewindows were dark, the happy couple probably asleep, exhausted from aday’s labors, dreaming of the next big sales, of how many morepeople they intended to sell. The padlock was on the shed, just as Beverly had said, it shonelightly in the dim illumination. He brought the bolt cutters up alittle, and moved in for the lock, looked quickly at the window, sawthat it was boarded up. He slipped the cutters right on the lock and began to squeeze. After a moment, the lock didn’t move—nothing. <I>Oh, dear God, please. </I>Jim could feel the cutters gaining purchase, digging just a littlebit into the metal. He could picture a large dog, one with big teeth,locking down a bone, trying to bite it in half. The metal cutterssunk a little deeper, and the dog began to growl. With a light grunt the lock broke. The cutters thudded against thewood of the shed door, and he inhaled sharply, hoping that it wasn’ttoo loud; not giving him away to the happy couple that was inside. </ol>