Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
Deedee introduced me to this place. According to her, it’s rare to find
Badak on this side of the country, so snagging a bottle during these meetings is like microdosing happiness. I consider it a little treat for not getting murdered or dying from a stress-induced heart attack.
Awareness prickles at the back of my neck. I whip around to the busy street, eyes darting between passing motorbikes, tourists walking in and out of shops, patrons and vendors around the street. No one pays me any mind.
You’re imagining it. Get your ass out of the open.
He takes the cash and hands me the change from his pocket. Another thing I love about this place: cash is the main currency. I flew into Jakarta with a fake passport and a couple grand—both thanks to Deedee—took a bunch of different trains and buses to get to Bali, and then we sourced a place for me to stay using that accepted cash.
I grab a seat on one of the plastic chairs under the shade and place the helmet on the narrow table. Nobody gives me more than a cursory glance as I check my phone for messages, the cameras at home, the microchip lab, and the factory where we print the books.
The biggest thing with a heartbeat near my property is a stray dog. In the factory, Deedee checks paper stock while Nat operates one of the machines at the lab, wearing a pristine white coat, hairnet, and mask as she works her artistic magic.
I tap my thumb on the table, periodically stopping to check my surroundings before going back to the footage of my cabin, flicking between frames so I don’t miss a thing. A text pops up on the screen from my group chat—I see both girls check their phones on camera.
Deedee: Tell Budi he still hasn’t paid up for losing that bet last week.
Nat: OMG, he has to pay me too. The guy gambles too much lol. It’s always stupid bets too.
Deedee: He’s single handedly making me richer. U kno he bet 100ribu he can do a backflip.
Nat: Well, can he?
Deedee: Guess.
Nat: *Laughing face emoji*
I’m too wired to joke around with them, and like hell am I about to tell Budi any of that and prolong our conversation more than necessary.
My spine snaps to attention the second our fencer steps in, my grip tightening around my phone like it’s a weapon. Flip-flops, shorts, a sweat-stained T-shirt.
Potential threat, my brain registers.
“Sup,” Budi says.
I flinch when he holds his hand up for a fist bump. It’s a harmless gesture, but the thought of skin-on-skin makes me want to puke.
Just suck it up and do it. I quickly tap his hand with mine, feeling another layer of sweat building along my forehead.
He drops down across from me, half-heartedly casting his dark eyes around the little food joint. The only person left is a guy chipping away at his noodles while watching a video on his phone with the volume all the way up.
Probably not a threat, my brain registers.
“How’s it?” Budi raps his knuckles on the table.
Carefully pulling the tote bag out of my backpack, I slide it across to him. “Turkish, German, and Canadian are in there. You can tell Harta twenty Australians and thirty Americans will be ready in a month. A machine broke, so we’re slow going.”
Budi quickly shoves the product into his own bag without bothering to check the contents—it’s idiotic on his part. I could’ve lied about the number of passports in there, then come knocking on his door asking for payment.
Any artist with the right printing facilities can make the passport book. The hardest aspect isn’t perfecting the paper weight or the nuances within the designs.
The real art is in the RFID chip.
A fake passport is only good if you don’t get caught.
The microchip was the one part the Gallagher’s shady company couldn’t nail down until I came along. My degree and naivety made me the perfect employee who could be easily controlled.
Tommy wanted a microchip that would pass all the tests to better establish their family, and I cracked the code three days before I killed him, though I never reported my discovery.
Now, all the information is with me.
The lab manufacturing process isn’t perfect, but with more time, resources, and research, it could be.
Nat and Deedee already had an established gig going before I stepped in to improve their product with the research I stole from the Gallaghers.
After Deedee finishes printing, Nat and I step in to add the microchip. She works on production while I deal with the serial number and placing it into the book—on my good hand days.
Budi’s job is to distribute the product to another fencer, who will get it to the consumer—the ones at the end of the line, taking the pictures and interacting with the gangs, filthy rich, or a random person willing to put every cent they own into getting free.
Once it’s out of his hands, we all split the cut, with Deedee and Nat taking a higher percentage. We could’ve grown a lot more if I were smart enough to get the production process down pat.
“Cool, cool,” Budi says. “I’ve got a bro in Singapore wanting to know if you’d do a batch of Armenians.”
My brows hike up my forehead. “I’ll have to check with Deedee if she can do it. We’ll need more research and an original sample.” The shape and weight of every country’s chip is different. “Are they planning on paying more?”
He shrugs. “She might.”
I stare at him blankly. I know Nat and Deedee have been working with him since they started their operation five years ago, but he’s not the brightest person I’ve ever met. Loyalty trumps intelligence, I guess.
My skin prickles, and I do a quick sweep of my surroundings, three times for good measure. Someone could come out at any second—
especially since I’m in the open.
The Gallaghers aren’t the only people trying to track me down. Deedee and Nat’s passport manufacturing operation caught the eye of a gang—
pirates, they call themselves. They have it out for us, but I can’t bring myself to leave when I know I should. I like it here too much.
I lower my voice, foot tapping the ground. “Any updates on the pirates?”
Budi scratches his head. I can’t tell whether he’s concerned or unbothered. From what I’ve gathered, they’ve always been a problem, but it’s only getting worse. Nat’s slightly panicked, but Deedee couldn’t give two shits about it, blissfully ignorant as she tinkers away in the factory.
“Nah. Nothing. All quiet.”
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