The notification on Bistok’s phone screen went off right at eight in the morning.
The balance in the holding account he had made specifically for this transaction increased drastically.
The number shown there was the total price for five contest-grade Super Red Arowana, plus a risk premium for the “blind route” he had run last night.
Bistok sat at the corner of the same tent stall in Muara Baru, where it all started.
He hadn’t ordered anything yet.
His hands moved quickly over his phone, first breaking down the total funds.
He cut his own share.
Then he separated operational costs, hush money for Kodir, and the chosen ground handling people he had put together, and compensation for the risk he had just taken by burning the manifest.
The remaining cleaned money he then broke up and sent to a series of holding bank accounts belonging to Sarah.
He knew the money wouldn’t stop there.
Sarah would forward it to an anonymous account controlled by Purnomo.
His phone buzzed again.
A short message from Sarah.
Received.
Never contact me again for fish business.
Just deposit the monthly ‘security’ cut as usual.
Sarah seemed to understand well enough that once things were running, cutting off all information, no matter how small, had to be done as standard operating procedure.
Bistok smiled cynically.
He closed his phone screen and put it in his pocket.
Never contact again.
Those words were the biggest lie Sarah had ever spoken.
They both knew that this money was like blood, meaning once you tasted it, you could never stop.
Sarah might think she could wash her hands of this dirt, but Bistok knew the monthly retribution was just the beginning of a deeper dependency.
Bistok got up, walking away from the tent stall toward the rows of containers at the port.
…
In another corner of Jakarta, at a clean and sterile office desk, Sarah stared at her computer monitor.
She had just confirmed that the transfer from Bistok had come in and then been channeled to Purnomo’s account without leaving a digital trail that an audit team could trace.
She took a long breath, trying to normalize her heartbeat.
Sarah’s hands trembled slightly as she straightened the files on her desk.
She felt dirty, but her current position and comfort in life depended on that illegal flow of money.
She was a machine in a broken system, and she had just done “maintenance” work to keep that machine running.
…
Bistok and Sarah were now in a strange place.
They weren’t closer emotionally, even though their bodies had touched in brutal urgency last night.
They also weren’t further apart.
Instead, they were now bound by the same secret.
They were two people who needed each other, standing on a pile of dead secrets that could rot and be smelled by anyone at any time.
Bistok knew, someday, this pile of secrets would be uncovered.
Maybe through a deeper audit, maybe through betrayal by whoever it might be, or maybe through someone outside their reach.
But for today, the new system was just starting to run.
Money had just flowed.
And in cruel Jakarta, as long as they could still pay for silence, they were still considered alive.
Bistok lit his cigarette, letting the smoke disappear into the fishy sea wind, while he waited for when Sarah would call him again when Purnomo needed “dirty hands” once more.
And he knew that call would definitely come.
Because in Jakarta, no honest person could last long at the top.
Besides that, Sarah wasn’t just addicted to money; she was a risk addict whose brain always demanded a dopamine spike in every second of her life.
Behind her rigid military uniform, she felt dead when not in danger, so tension, all forms of risk of getting caught, threats of betrayal, or danger tearing apart her career w, was the only narcotic that could make her feel truly alive.
For her, peace was just deadly boredom, and she deliberately threw herself into the brutal relationship with Bistok or Purnomo’s conspiracy whirlpool not for love or loyalty, but to keep pressing the alarm button in her nervous system until she was right at the edge of the abyss of destruction.
Even though she understood, other things certainly couldn’t change.
About someone she had known for a long time.
And sure enough…
…
Eleven at night.
Sarah’s apartment on the 18th floor.
The city lights of Jakarta blinked behind the glass window, but the thick curtains had been drawn since the afternoon.
Sarah didn’t like the light when she was restless.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Bistok.
“I’m starting to see movement.
Audit tomorrow morning.”
Sarah read it once.
Then threw her phone onto the sofa.
She stood in front of the small bar.
Poured whiskey into a glass, held it, feeling the cold spread to her palm.
The apartment door opened.
Bistok walked in.
Still with the faded bomber jacket, dusty boots.
His face looked a little tense.
Before he could open his mouth, Sarah was already in front of him.
She grabbed Bistok’s jacket collar.
Pulled him inside.
Slammed him against the wall near the door.
“Why were you so long?”
“I was making sure first who the officer was and what the audit results were, Sarah.”
“Don’t talk.”
Sarah pushed Bistok toward the sofa.
Bistok fell sitting down.
Sarah immediately sat on his lap.
Her hands on Bistok’s shoulders, pressing.
Her eyes looked into Bistok’s eyes.
A little dark.
Looking very hungry.
“You…” said Bistok.
“You too.”
Sarah took off her blouse.
Her bra underneath came off, too.
Her chest rose and fell quickly.
“I need this, Bistok.
You must understand.”
“We don’t know the official audit results yet, Sar.”
“Not yet.
But we already control the territory.”
Sarah kissed Bistok.
Rough.
Her tongue went in.
Bistok kissed back.
No less rough.
Bistok’s hands squeezed Sarah’s waist.
Helping her take off her pants.
Skirt or pants, Sarah had even forgotten what she was wearing.
What mattered was getting them off.
Sarah moved her hips quickly and started getting rougher.
Bistok let her lead.
Sarah’s hands gripped Bistok’s hair, pulling.
“Don’t hold back slow on purpose, Bistok.”
Bistok helped her.
His hands on Sarah’s waist, setting the rhythm.
Sarah closed her eyes.
Her head bowed.
Her short hair was wet with sweat.
She reached her peak.
Her body tensed.
No sound, just held breath.
Bistok wasn’t finished yet.
Sarah shifted down.
Lying down on the sofa.
Pulling Bistok on top of her.
“Your turn on top.”
Bistok entered, thrusting with quick pressure.
Then suddenly stopped.
Sarah groaned.
Bistok rolled Sarah over, making her bend over with her hips raised from behind.
This time, Bistok was leading.
Sarah let him.
Her hands were pulled back by Bistok.
“Faster, Bistok, don’t hold back.”
Bistok sped up.
His breath rushed.
Sarah bit her lip.
Blood appeared, a little, but Sarah didn’t care.
Bistok started to pull out.
Then turned Sarah’s body back to face him and let it all go on Sarah’s stomach.
They were quiet.
Each is still catching their breath.
Bistok fell to the side.
Reached for a cigarette from the table.
Sarah lay on her back.
Staring at the ceiling.
Not cleaning herself.
“Tomorrow I’ll meet Purnomo,” said Bistok.
“You stay quiet.
Don’t take calls from anyone.”
“What if the audit reaches headquarters?” asked Sarah as if she didn’t understand the flow.
“We stop it before that.
I have people on the inside.”
Sarah turned her head.
Looked at Bistok.
The man had already lit his cigarette.
Smoke rose to the ceiling.
“You sure?”
“No.
But we don’t have a choice.”
Sarah got up.
Walked to the bathroom.
Without closing the door.
She turned on the faucet, letting the hot water steam up.
In the mirror, she saw her body.
A little bruised.
Bite marks on her neck.
Scratch marks on her waist.
Dried blood on her lip.
She smiled with relief.
Relieved because for a few minutes, she didn’t think about Purnomo, the audit, or her future that could be destroyed.
She stepped into the shower.
Hot water soaked her body.
Erasing those marks.
Erasing the evidence.
After showering, she came out with a towel wrapped around her body.
Bistok was still on the sofa.
His jacket was already back on.
Ready to leave.
“Are you going straight to headquarters?” asked Bistok.
“Meeting at eight.”
“Sleep first.
Don’t be stupid.”
Sarah didn’t answer.
She walked to the kitchen, poured water.
Sipped it slowly.
Bistok stood up.
Walked to the door.
“Bistok.”
He stopped.
Didn’t turn around.
“Be careful.”
“You too, Sar.”
The door closed.
Sarah sat on the sofa that was still warm from their bodies.
She held a pillow, smelling it.
Not because of love.
Because Bistok’s smell was still there.
The smell of cigarettes, sweat, and dirt.
The smell she had always associated with one thing called relief.
She lay down.
Closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would go back to being Second Lieutenant Sarah.
Upright.
Disciplined.
Untouchable.
But tonight, she was just Sarah.
A woman with a high libido and one man who could match her.