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The buyer poured the boy a double Jack Daniel’s; the boy drank it down and coughed. The buyer laughed, “It is called a sipping Whiskey for a reason, you know.”

The boy gathered himself, took a sip of beer and asked, “Why didn’t the “package” try to run away after they took the sack off of him?”

The tramp buyer took a gulp of his beer and timidly said, “Shame, he was ashamed of his life, ashamed of how this had all come about, he, and all the other homeless people had resigned themselves to death, there was only shame left for them, they have lost all respect for themselves and for humanity, they have basically lost their spirit, and when a person loses their spirit, they are easy to break, when they have nothing they will do anything, for something.”

They both sat there in silence for a few minutes, the boy finally asked, “So you stayed and worked for them, what was your role?”

“Collector.” The buyer answered with a wry smile on his lips, “I collected people, John became my helper, and driver. You see, the pet store was the best cover for our little business; people would fly in from all around the world, to come to our little shop. They were not there to buy goldfish; they were there to buy people. And they paid good money for good packages.” The buyer filled his glass with Jack Daniel’s, took a sip and continued, “The problem was transporting the packages, for instance, if a buyer wanted a Swedish girl delivered to his bar in Tokyo, we had to smuggle the package through customs.”

The boy looked at his phone, the battery was getting low, “So you would smuggle your victims on airplanes?”
“Boats are better, and cheaper. We had guys, captains of large container ships; well they would tell us where they and their ships were going a month in advance. And they were cheap too. It was all about coordination, ship going to Japan in two weeks, satisfy the Japanese clients, Greece in a week, their happy too.”

“So you were not really a tramp buyer, more like a tramp seller?” The boy stretched his hands behind his head and groaned.

The buyer took another mouthful of whiskey and spoke, “You look tired, would you like to come back tomorrow and continue?”

The boy drank some of his, now warm beer, “But I thought you were going to tell the full story tonight.”

“It is a long story, and you look tired, come back tomorrow at 5pm and we can continue. That way you or your telephone will not run out of batteries.”

“But I’m fine, it’s just my”

The buyer cut him off again, “It’s OK, here is the address, go home, recharge and be here tomorrow at 5.”

As the boy left he turned and looked at the house, the sun was almost up, there was enough light to see the red brick walls and dark slate roof of the buyers home, the buyer was standing in the room he had just left, looking out of the window, watching the boy as he walked down the tree lined street looking for a taxi, it was 3am.