The Oldest Trade

The Oldest Trade

Thierrie had pissed himself. From what Truth could see, Vigor’s shot to the back of the head was the first really serious damage Theirrie took in the fight. He had a broken hand and a broken arm, but nothing remotely fatal. This was going to be fatal, unless Thierrie got treatment soon.

“Good job.” Truth struggled to his feet. Everything, everything, hurt. But he had a job to do. “Please give me the soup can.”

Vigor looked at him, bewildered. Then looked at the can he was holding, and handed it over.

“Thank you, it’s dinner tonight.” Truth shambled over to Vigor and gave him a little hug. “We are going to talk this over, but not right this second, ok?”

“Ok.” Vigor whispered.

“Good. Please go get the rice in the bag at the end of the alley. I don’t want anyone to steal it.”

“Ok.” Vigor didn’t move. “Truth?”

“Yes?”

“I want to watch you do it. I know what you are going to do.” He looked up at Truth with something inexplicable, dark, in his eyes. “I need to see it.”

“That’s pretty fucked up, bro. This is the first person I have for-sure killed, you know?”

“I... honestly, no, I didn’t know. We always thought you had some bodies on you. You always come back with food.” Vigor said without heat.

Truth wanted to laugh at that, but couldn’t. Hadn’t he been considering armed robbery all day?

“Well. It was mostly odd jobs and hunting for scrap in the canal. You can’t make much money doing that, but you can make a little, and it’s safe enough.”

Truth looked down on Thierrie. He was starting to seize, shaking like he had a fever. He would almost certainly die if left alone. Almost certainly. Truth tried to hate Thierrie. The petty cruelty of him. The shitty gang he ran with. The base slaves slowly dying in cockroach infested squats. The rape. The children he had ruined. Truth let a trickle of breath out in a long stream. In the end, he didn’t care about any of that. Theirrie was a danger to the sibs. To him.

Truth raised the soup can, and smashed it down again. And again. And a third time. No pulse. The can was pretty fucked looking, but that’s normal enough in the slums. At least it wasn’t leaking. Thierrie was leaking. All that life just... pissed away into the concrete. Back to the shitty world that made him.The initial posting of this chapter occurred via Ñøv€l-B!n.

“Alright. Go get the rice. Then you can help me shove the body into a dumpster.”

Truth leaned down and started patting down the corpse. It was a pretty unpleasant job, what with the literal piss and shit soaking through the trousers. Worth it though. Thierrie had almost four hundred wen on him. Not to mention a half full vial of base, a pipe and a little bottle of some blue potion he didn’t recognize.

Since his hands were already filthy, he kept on searching. No luck. The so-called Charisma of the Streets had some cash, some drugs, a broken Sharp spell, and the clothes on his back.

Vigor frowned a little, then smoothed his face out again. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a little twist of gray powder wrapped in clear plastic.

“Rat poison. I figured he was going to try and get me drunk or high if I gave him the chance, and I could slip it to him. Then rob him. If he was still alive, a broken bottle to the throat.” Vigor’s voice came out flat.

Truth paused for a minute. Then started washing again. “A lot of ways that could go wrong.” He softly said.

“You have a better idea? Because Mom and Dad are going to kill us. They are going to rob us, screw our chances at the SAT or college or anything. Which is just killing us slow and mean. They said they want to keep you as a slave, Truth!” His voice was rising, shouting by the end. “We can’t trust anyone. They all want to fuck us! So we have to hunt them first!”

Truth didn’t know what to say. He had come to the same conclusions. But it was different when he planned to do it himself, rather than his baby brother.

“Thierrie had three hundred and ninety seven wen, some base, a pipe, and a vial of something I don’t recognize, but it’s probably a roofie.” Truth looked at Vigor in the mirror. “A fortune, for us. But he damn near killed me at the end, there. So you got to ask, was the risk worth the reward?”

Vigor shook his head. “Give me a better plan. Any better plan! I know you think you are going to pass the SAT, but so does everybody. It’s not for sure.”

Truth ran his hand through his short hair, desperately trying to think of anything. At the end, he could only try the truth- “All I know is there’s no future in crime. I can’t think of a single rich guy who got that way by armed robbery.”

Vigor gave him a dead eyed look. “You think we can worry about “rich?” Or do we gotta worry about eating?”

Truth kept trying to wash off the filth, wondering if at this point he was just moving it around. He didn’t know how to give his brother back hope.

“You aren’t wrong. It’s a more than bad situation. I’m going to have to stash the loot somewhere before we get home.”

Vigor just shook his head.

Truth tried washing his shirt under the tap. It sort of helped, but really, the shirt was shredded. Fit only for the trash.

‘I guess it comes down to this.” Truth said. “We can’t control what Mom and Dad do. We can’t control how they think, or how they think about us. Can’t control much of anything in this shitty world. But what we can control?” He tapped Vigor on the forehead. “Is how we think about things. And I am thinking none of this is going to beat us.”

“Truth?”

“Yeah?”

“I’mma kick your ass if you tell me to keep the faith.”

Truth laughed, for what felt like the first time in ages. “Fair.”