LOS SANTOS — The Monday auction began with a recorded message welcoming remote bidders to a frictionless recovery experience. Friction arrived immediately when the registration line asked for a vehicle identification number. I explained I was bidding on my own van, which police currently held. The clerk said that was a philosophical problem, not a technical one, and transferred me to customer service.
Customer service was a man named Brayden who sold priority access for $75. Priority meant my bids would be read aloud before the room heard them, creating what he called a confidence gradient. I paid from the editor’s advance, now down to $425 and eleven stories owed. Brayden confirmed my lot number and warned that remote bidders were responsible for all telephone charges, including hold music.
Uncle Len called while I was on hold. He had the glove compartment and wanted to discuss its contents. He described a finder’s fee structure: $50 for the compartment itself, $150 for the invoice inside, and $300 for not telling Captain Rusk that the invoice existed. I asked what the invoice said. Len said that was a premium tier and hung up.
The auctioneer opened bidding on my van at $500. I raised by phone. A man in the room raised by $50. Brayden whispered that the man had paid for priority access, so my bid would be considered after a short delay to preserve the confidence gradient. During the delay, the van was sold to the man for $550. Brayden congratulated me on a competitive showing and offered a discount on next week’s priority tier.
The editor called to ask for the first story against the advance. I told her I had just lost my van again. She said that was a story, but not a very good one, and reminded me that the transfer fee had been deducted for my convenience. An impound clerk then emailed an invoice for the telephone call I had made to the auction, itemised as a facility access consultation. The charge was $18, payable before any future bids.
I took a taxi to the impound lot to inspect the van’s paperwork. The driver waited outside while I argued with a clerk about why the van had been sold to a priority bidder when I was the registered owner. The clerk said ownership was a state of mind and produced a contradictory invoice showing the van had been seized twice on the same day, once for towing and once for being towed while being towed. The invoice listed a $40 charge for glove compartment removal, marked as customer-requested.
The taxi driver honked. I ran out to find a tow truck lifting his cab. The driver said I had failed to pay the waiting fee, which had been accruing at $2 per minute since I entered the lot. The tow operator offered to release the taxi for $120 cash. I had $107. The taxi driver said he would remember my face. The tow truck drove off with the cab, and I walked back to the impound lot to ask if they had a lost-and-found for dignity.
Uncle Len texted me a photo of the invoice. It was from a company called Civic Recovery Partners, and it charged the police department $300 for ‘glove compartment disposal, priority tier.’ The invoice was addressed to Captain Rusk and marked paid in cash. Len wrote: ‘Now you know why I run.’ I asked where he was. He replied with an address and a request for $300, plus bus fare.
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