Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Storage Auction (1)
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I woke up in bed.
The first thing I saw was Nancy's drawing hanging on the wall.
A campsite filled with stars. The words "Our Family" written on it sparkled in the morning sunlight.
Rustle—
I sat up and looked around the cramped house trailer.
8x40 feet, about 320 square feet. In Korean terms, roughly 9 pyeong of towable prefab mobile home.
A tiny room too embarrassing to call a bedroom, a living room doubling as a kitchen, and a bathroom. That was it.
The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors' TV, and the floor creaked with every step.
A water stain marked one corner of the ceiling. I'd sealed it with silicone last year, but heavy rain still brought drips.
Through the window, I could see Sam's trailer, just ten meters straight ahead.
Sam's was a 1970s Airstream camper trailer—way better shape than mine. Its signature silver aluminum shell gleamed in the morning sun.
"Ugh..."
A groan escaped me unbidden.
Sam owned his trailer outright, so he only paid $450 a month in lot rent.
Me? I was renting the trailer too, shelling out $750 every month.
Utilities extra. For rural Texas, it was damn pricey.
[05:30 AM]
I checked the time on my phone and got out of bed.
Today was a round trip to Dallas. Three and a half hours each way, seven hours total driving.
Factor in loading and unloading cargo, and the day would be tight.
I headed to the bathroom for a shower.
As always, the water pressure was weak, the stream barely refreshing.
The water heater acted up too—hot water ran out in under five minutes.
"Damn... yeah, hot water's a luxury."
I rinsed off roughly in cold water and opened the closet.
Three pairs of jeans, five T-shirts, two flannel shirts.
That was my whole wardrobe, but I picked the cleanest ones after some thought.
In the kitchen, I put water in the coffeepot first thing.
Instant coffee, but it was a morning godsend.
The fridge revealed its usual empty greeting.
Four eggs, half a carton of milk, a few slices of bread... I needed to grocery shop, but kept putting it off.
So breakfast decided itself.
"Toast with one egg fried, cheap coffee. Perfect."
I muttered along to some half-made-up tune and glanced out the window.
Neighbors in the trailer park were stirring, one by one.
Most were poor folks like me, heading out to work at dawn.
Stepping outside, cool morning air filled my lungs.
Late October in Texas—perfect weather. Not too cold, not too hot.
"Jake!"
Sam waved from his porch.
"Morning, Sam."
"Off to work?"
"Yeah, Dallas round trip."
"Drive safe. Eaten breakfast?"
"Grabbed something."
"'Grabbed something'? Eat properly."
It was nagging, but warm.
Walking to the truck, I checked my wallet.
$87 cash. My whole week's living expenses.
Click—
I climbed in familiarly, turned the key. The engine growled to life.
Glancing at the dash odometer: '1,487,293 miles.'
Heading for 1.5 million. The truck was wearing out right alongside me.
I pulled out of the trailer park onto Highway 290.
Sun not up yet—road was quiet.
I flipped on the radio.
[Today's Austin area forecast: clear skies...]
After thirty minutes, hunger hit. Breakfast had been too skimpy.
Spotting a diner where Dorothy worked—'Lone Star Diner,' neon sign still glowing.
I parked the truck.
It was just past 6 AM, but plenty of customers already.
Mostly truckers and construction workers.
"Jake, come on in!"
Dorothy approached with the coffeepot. Her sky-blue uniform suited her perfectly.
Light makeup, but still gorgeous. At nineteen, she'd been dazzling; even now, she turned heads.
"Coffee?"
"You bet. Thanks."
Rich coffee aroma teased my nose.
One sip warmed me through.
"What'll you have?"
"Hungry Man Breakfast."
"Starving, huh? Right up."
Dorothy jotted the order, smiling.
She looked tired, but her smile shone bright.
Ten minutes later, a massive plate landed in front of me.
Three eggs' worth of scramble, four bacon strips, two sausages, hash browns, two toast slices.
Southern U.S. style—hearty start to the day.
"And this too."
Dorothy brought another plate.
Fried pork loin chops.
"On the house. Get some meat in you for breakfast. Fuel up."
"This much okay?"
"Told the cook. He's my cousin."
The guy at the next table eyed me.
Young white dude, weird look toward Dorothy.
"...That waitress is seriously hot."
His buddy replied.
"Single mom, heard. Raising one kid."
"Really? What a waste. With looks like that..."
Didn't want to hear more. I bit into a pork chop.
Crispy outside, tender inside. Sweet-salty special sauce perfection.
A violent flavor that ignored health, overwhelming my mouth.
"...Mmm, killer."
Dorothy swung back by.
"Good?"
"Insanely."
"Glad. Oh, Nancy misses you. Come by this weekend if you can."
"Yeah? I'll make time soon."
"She's been asking about Uncle Jake nonstop since the camping trip."
My heart warmed. That little angel waiting for me.
I finished eating in a daze and hit the register.
"How much?"
"Eight bucks."
I glanced at the menu.
Hungry Man Breakfast: $12.
"Menu says twelve..."
"Staff discount. Family too."
Owe her again.
I smiled faintly and handed over ten.
"Keep the change as tip."
"No need for tip."
"Take it. Service was top-notch."
She hesitated, then pocketed it.
"Thanks. Drive safe."
Leaving the diner, I looked back.
Dorothy taking orders at another table.
A middle-aged guy at one said something; she forced a smile.
'Even with good tips... must be tough.'
Back in the truck, rolling again. Two and a half hours to Dallas.
CB radio crackled.
"10-4, thanks for the info."
I reset the GPS for a detour.
Longer time, but avoided the jam.
Hit the Dallas logistics center at 10 AM.
Another hour loading electronics cargo.
Now heading back to Austin.
"Ugh, killing me."
Finally home by 3 PM. Exhausted, but job done.
Tallied earnings: $1 per mile, 420 miles total... $420.
Minus $140 fuel: $280.
All-day drive for $280.
Even full month, tough to hit $6,000.
Then truck insurance, repairs, hospital loan interest and principal, living expenses...
"Hoo..."
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Living like this, I'd never escape poverty.
Ring ring—
Phone rang.
Antique shop owner Bill.
"Jake, free tomorrow?"
"What's up?"
"Storage auction. Wanna come?"
"Storage auction?"
"Rented storage units. Folks miss payments, company auctions the stuff."
I'd heard of it.
Maybe seen on TV.
"And you want me along?"
"You've got an eye for items. Those finds last time? Talent."
True.
But that was my ability to see objects' pasts.
"How's it work?"
"Simple. Open the door, five minutes to peek. No entering, no touching, no opening boxes. Flashlight from the doorway."
"Can't really tell what's inside?"
"Gambling. But experience gives a feel. Furniture? Electronics? Antiques peeking out...?"
Intriguing.
Couldn't touch, but if I won, then I could check.
"Entry fee?"
"None. Just pay what you bid. Usually $100 to $1,500 per unit."
"$1,500..."
Tight on my cash.
Recent lucky haul mostly went to Sam's surgery and debts.
"Don't worry. I'll front the capital. We split profits fifty-fifty."
"For real?"
"Yeah. Getting old, heavy lifting's tough. Borrowing your luck this time. Trust your eye. Ha ha."
Sweet deal.
Experience without risk.
"Sounds good. I'm in."
"Smart choice. Pick you up at 8 AM tomorrow."
Hung up, Googled storage auctions.
Tons of self-storage in the U.S.
Folks stash stuff when moving or outgrowing homes.
Monthly rent: $50 to $300 by size.
But hard times meant more defaulters.
Three months late? Company auctions after legal steps.
Even a reality show: Storage Wars.
About auction hunters and appraisers.
Some scored tens of thousands from a few hundred bucks.
But mostly junk: worn furniture, broken gadgets, moldy clothes. Hence the gamble.
'Will my power work here?'
Need to touch for past visions, can't pre-auction.
But Bill's veteran eye plus my ability...
Next morning.
Bill pulled up in his old van right at 8.
"Ready?"
"Born ready."
"Auction site's north outskirts. Hour drive."
In the van, Bill kept briefing.
"Today's from SecureSpace. Ten units up."
"Ten?"
"Economy sucks—delinquencies doubled from last year."
Texas plains rolled by outside.
"Rules: One, don't get emotional. Two, set budget, stick to it. Three, watch competitors."
"Competitors?"
"Regulars. Pros who show every time. Learn their patterns."
Hour later, storage facility.
Twenty people already there.
From tattooed bruisers to sharp businessmen—eclectic crowd.
"See that?"
Bill pointed to a bearded guy.
"Big Mike. Ten years in. Targets big furniture, tools."
Next, a blonde middle-aged woman.
"That's Cindy. Vintage clothes, accessories. Watches small boxes."
Auctioneer appeared.
Fat guy with megaphone around neck.
"Morning, folks! Ten units today. Rules simple: five minutes peek per unit, cash only, clear out in 24 hours!"
Murmurs rose.
"First unit: A-47!"
We crowded to the door.
Auctioneer cut the lock, rolled up the shutter.
10x10 foot unit revealed.
Worn sofa, few boxes, bike, misc junk.
"Five minutes observation!"
Folks lit flashlights, peered in.
I scanned quick: sofa 1980s-ish, boxes mostly books or clothes.
"Time's up! Bidding starts at fifty bucks!"
"Fifty!"
Big Mike raised his hand the second bidding opened.