The Island Read Online Free

everything from plastic bongs to exotic street food. His stomach quivered at the sight of rat meat kebabs being consumed by those who couldn’t afford anything better. It wasn’t rat or cockroach kebab he was looking for, nor low-grade amateur pornography which seemed to frequent every other stall and cater to every despicable taste imaginable. What Chase was looking for was tucked away in a dark recess, a stall set up to be as discreet as possible, the wares on it not the true product it was known to sell. Chase stood and looked at the array of lighters on the table top, many decorated with painted marijuana leaves or badly drawn skulls. He eyed the man behind the table with his filthy fingernails, scruffy birds nest hair and shallow features. His skin seemed to be stretched across his skull, the bluish veins visible beneath the skin.
    “Anythin’ you need?” the man said, grinning and showing an ocean of rotten, stumpy teeth. Although he was as white as white could be, he spoke with a bad fake Jamaican accent for reasons Chase couldn’t comprehend.
    “I’m not sure. What else do you sell?” Chase asked, careful with his words until he knew what was going on.
    “What is it you need, brotha?” the wannabe Rasta said.
    Chase looked around. Unsurprisingly, nobody was paying him the slightest bit of attention. “Not a lighter. I was looking for something with a bit more…impact.”
    The man made no reaction, which Chase saw as a sign he was at least in the right place. “Can you help me or not?”
    The man behind the stall shrugged. “That depen’ on exactly what you need.”
    “I think you know.”
    The scruffy man sucked his rotten teeth and placed his hands flat on the table. “You have to ask for it, brotha. Entrapment and all that. What are you lookin’ for?”
    Chase wanted to say it, but the three letter word that was so simple in principle just wouldn’t project from brain to lips. He tried, swallowed, cleared his throat and tried again. “Gun. I need a gun.”
    A beat of silence, and Chase wondered if he had made a mistake. However, the man didn’t tell him he was crazy or turn him away. He simply stared at him with those dead eyes and smiled at him with his stinking mouth.
    “Can you help me or not?”
    “Depends. Even if I knew someone who could get what you asked for, it would cost. The question is, do you have the money, mon?”
    “How much would it be?” Chase asked, unable to believe he was indulging in such a conversation.
    “Depends how big a shooter you need. Bigger costs more, obviously.”
    “How much for a small one?”
    “Pistol will set you back three hundred.”
    Chase shook his head. “I can’t afford that. You need to come lower.”
    “You don’t make the prices here. Three hundred or you can get out of here, bumbaclat.”
    “I only have fifty, and I had to struggle to get that.”
    The stall holder shook his filthy head. “I can’t do it. Best I can go to is two seventy five. Take it or leave it.”
    Chase felt it, the desperation and hopelessness. This was his one remaining plan, his one chance to maybe make something happen for his family. Now, it too was on the verge of being snatched away. “Look, please, you have to help me.”
    “I don’t need to do nothin’, mon. Come back when you have some green and we can talk.”
    “This is all I have. Don’t you get it? It’s all I can get. My daughter is sick, she–”
    “Not my problem. Everyone is sick. If it’s not the cancer, it’s the cold. What makes you special? We’re all scratchin’ and fightin’ to survive in this worl’, mon. All of us.”
    Chase knew he was right. Nobody owed him or his family anything. A simple look around the city told him that they were just a small part of a machine that kept running no matter what happened to the Riley family. He supposed it might even have been for the best. He slinked away, losing himself in the crush of people in the markets. There was certain comfort to