When he left the markets he grinned a sleazy smile, chuckled to himself until he could barely restrain his toothful mouth to the others on the train. They passed by him, with more than adequate space needed for politeness sake and did not brush him or his seat or the picnic cooler at his feet. He didn’t care about the apprehensive looks. He was, as that British gentleman might have said, “Bloody Rich!” But the trick was really on him. The kidney he had stolen from the gentleman’s body, left lying on a blood-soaked persian rug, was in dire need of a replacement as well and was also undergoing dialysis.