18. Jin #2
In our lifestyle, it’s not uncommon for members of the gang to be eliminated at moments like this.
A lieutenant hungry for power asking his superior to dinner or an afternoon at the spa, then carrying out an assassination.
The boss himself calling in one of his right hands who has dissatisfied him so that he can execute them discreetly.
I could be on my way to my death.
This could be some sort of trap.
Cheongyeon Spa sits wedged between a chicken hof and a karaoke bar, its signage flickering in bright blue letters against the grubby alley behind it. It looks unassuming from the street—just another old bathhouse that’s existed longer than I’ve been alive.
But I know better than to be fooled. The front doors don’t open to the public.
I park along the curb, kill the engine, and scan the street. Nobody’s followed me as far as I can tell, and no one is lurking, keeping watch.
Inside the bathhouse, the air is pungent with eucalyptus and salt. The smell clings to my skin as I pass the front desk without a word. One of the attendants, an older man with hunched posture and a stack of towels in his arms, nods as I approach.
“He’s waiting upstairs. Third room on the left.”
The hall beyond the bathing area is dim, lined with warped wooden walls and damp floors. I promptly change into the bathhouse’s uniform of shorts and a robe, my bare feet padding over the worn planks. I pause outside the door to the private room, pulse steady and senses on alert.
Jae-hyun sits cross-legged on a heated mat, a bottle of cold sikhye on the low table in front of him. He sips the fermented rice drink from a paper cup, his gaze already set on the door. He’s been expecting me for some time.
“Jin-tae,” he grunts. “Have a seat and pour yourself some sikhye. We have things to discuss.”
I close the door behind me and take the spot across him on the mat. The steamy heat wraps around my shoulders like a third presence in the room. Otherwise, we’re completely alone.
Jae-hyun studies me for a moment. He surveys the bruises that purple my skin and the gash near my temple, then nods as though tallying the damage.
“Anyone who chooses to fight you to the death is a damn fool,” he mutters, grabbing his cup of sikhye. “Seung-min should’ve taken the Chim. He would’ve walked out with a branding instead of a broken jaw and half his ribs shattered. His nose and left eye in need of reconstructive surgery.”
I sip from the sikhye I’ve poured and wait for him to continue. The sweetness from the drink is almost too much, though its coldness offers reprieve from the heat in the room. Steam curls from the vent overhead. Sweat clings to my brow and rolls down my back, but I maintain my composure as usual.
“I’ve always admired that about you. You are unmovable like a tree. Dedicated and planted firmly. Even as a child, I knew. That’s why I brought you in so young.”
I was only twelve when I ran away from the orphanage and resorted to a life of crime.
At first it was petty pickpocketing and vandalism.
It graduated to violence once I committed an armed robbery and then killed a man by the time I was thirteen—he was a criminal himself, trying to rob a kid on the streets under the assumption he could overpower me.
I did what I could to survive, showing no remorse after I ran him through.
It was either my survival or my death and he forced me to choose.
My reputation quickly grew. Jae-hyun, who was a Ho-gwi at the time, took notice. He offered me room and board under one condition. I had to pledge my life to the Baekho Pa. I didn’t understand the gravity of signing my life away at such a young age, but I’ve been a part of the syndicate ever since.
“I’ve always been loyal to you,” I say. “You know I have always done well.”
He nods. “I do.”
“Then tell me why you stopped it last night. I earned that kill under Gyeol-sa.”
The steam curls around us, hissing from the vents above. Jae-hyun allows it to be the only sound for the moment as he takes his time answering. He drinks instead, then releases a long exhale.
“Because Seung-min is my nephew.”
My eyes narrow. “You’ve never mentioned this before. No one has.”
“No one knows. I’ve kept it that way. My baby sister had a bastard child when she was young.
It brought shame to our family. My parents disowned her and she had very little until I rose up the Baekho and could provide for her and Seung-min.
But then she fell ill and passed away. Her final wish was that I look after him.
“I’m no father figure. The best I could think of was inducting him into the syndicate before he got himself in trouble with some lesser gang or ended up dead. But I never told anyone of our blood relation. I wanted him to earn his rank himself.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“Because, Jin-tae, I trust you will show discretion,” he says.
“I understand your frustration about last night. It’s warranted.
Seung-min will be out of commission for weeks.
I’ll reassign him to another crew. He’ll know not to cross you again.
But I need this to stay between us. For you to drop the feud. ”
I study him, searching for any traces of dishonesty, and find none.
Jae-hyun asked me to this bathhouse for his own discreet purposes. Not because of my actions.
I bow my head once. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Our meeting ends as abruptly as it started. I show myself out, deciding that Jae-hyun can keep his secret regarding his nephew. I have my own waiting back in my apartment.
On my drive back to Gijang-gun, Monroe is on my mind. A burden has been lifted off my shoulders after the meeting with Jae-hyun, and I’m looking forward to spending the rest of the afternoon at the apartment with her.
Images of her in my bed from this morning filter through my head—bare-faced, warm and naked under the bedsheet, eyes dark and glittering. It was as if she was the slice of happiness I had never experienced before.
Now I can’t let her go.
I stop by a drugstore halfway home and pick up some items I’m sure she’ll appreciate.
Basic needs like tampons and soap and treats that she enjoys like the strawberry-flavored MyChew candy she won’t shut up about.
I add a pack of paper face masks that she likes putting on in the evenings before bed.
I’m already approaching the counter when I notice a paperback thriller on display.
It’s an American author, the cover a dramatic silhouette of a couple in the window of a house.
She’s read so many classic pieces of literature since she’s come to stay, a change in genre might be nice. I add the book to the basket of things.
The summer sunshine is bright as I return to the roads. I crack the window and let some of the ocean air blow in. My spirits are higher than usual, the landscape shifting around me. The city vibe of Busan falls away for the tranquil calm that’s the fishing village.
The salt in the air is distinct and fresh.
But on this afternoon it’s joined by hints of smoke. Something acrid and biting that hangs insistently in the air.
I press the button to bring down the rest of the window and inhale more of the smoky scent, trying to place it.
Then I hear the wail of sirens.
My eyes snap to the rearview mirror in time to watch police cars and fire trucks whiz by me. A surreal haze creeps over the moment, suddenly making everything feel like a dream.
I turn down the same corner the police and firemen went down. The same corner that leads to…
My heart stills inside my chest.
Dark smoke billows from my apartment building, thickening by the second. It curls toward the sky as flames roar and lash at the building’s foundation.
My apartment has been set on fire… and Monroe is trapped inside.