Hardboiled Crime Four-Pack

by Jack Bunker

  I looked over at Soo Jin again—at her delicate profile, glossy black hair, the slim curves of her body. It had been a couple of months since I’d been in bed with a woman, and that had been on a massage table and had cost me $125. The masseuse was a Korean woman with a Cesarean scar and an appealing overbite. The sex had been explosive and perfunctory; the emotions tamped down and probably nonexistent on her part.

  I wasn’t proud that I sometimes paid for sex, but I knew why I did it. They’ve done studies on chimpanzees dying from the lack of touch. My mom had been the hands-off type. It didn’t make that much of an impression on me until I was a thirteen-year-old at my first school dance. It only took one slow song with my hands wrapped around a girl to clue me in on what I’d been missing. Now, instead of withering on the vine and becoming even more strange, I budgeted money for an occasional massage and a screw. It wasn’t the real thing. I didn’t pretend it was the real thing. But without it—given my serious lack of game—I’d have no sex life at all.

  We were a block from my apartment building. I looked in the rearview, and there was the orange Jeep Rubicon, two cars back.

  There was no traffic ahead of me. The Jeep swung into the oncoming lane, roared past, and then turned back into the right lane. The Jeep slowed down to a crawl in front of me and then pulled into a parking space next to a hydrant, directly in front of my apartment.

  I hung a right and turned into an empty space. I looked back at the Jeep—no one was getting out.

  I pointed and asked, “Soo Jin, see that Jeep back there? Do you know anyone with a Jeep like that?”

  Soo Jin looked back and said, “No.”

  “They’ve been following us since we left Ms. Tam’s.”

  Soo Jin’s features took on a saddened, downcast quality. Maybe she liked me a little bit and was imagining my head being blown off. Maybe she was just sorry for herself and the blood feud she’d been born into.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Everyone’s been telling me they won’t kill a white guy. Let’s see how true that is.”

  I got Soo Jin’s tartan plaid suitcase from the back seat and locked up the car. Soo Jin and I walked slowly toward the entrance to the apartment building, where the Jeep was parked. The night was warm. I could smell the smog, but it was something I’d grown accustomed to. I touched my cell phone in my pocket, wondering how fast I could dial 911. If we made it home tonight, I’d put 911 on my list of contacts.

  I looked at Soo Jin. “You know, I didn’t tell you, but you look very pretty tonight.”

  I couldn’t see that clearly in the dim light, but it looked as though she was blushing as she smiled. “Thank you. You are very handsome.”

  The Jeep’s headlights flashed on and then off. There looked to be four guys sitting inside the Jeep, but it was too dark to make out any details.

  When we were a couple steps away the window powered down.

  I stopped in my tracks.

  A hand reached out and tossed a small box onto the sidewalk in front of us.

  The window powered back up and the Jeep’s engine turned over. It slowly drove off, disappearing around the corner.

  I picked up the small box from the sidewalk:

  Magnum Spermicidal Condoms.

  ELEVEN

  I turned on the lights in my apartment. I hadn’t had much time to prepare the place for Soo Jin. During my lunch hour I’d driven down Western Avenue and bought a cheap folding bed and some extra blankets. I also consolidated a few drawers and made space in the closet so she could have somewhere to put her stuff. At least the place was tidy—I guess you could say I was the opposite of a hoarder. I looked it up once. It’s called Obsessive-Compulsive Spartanism. Everything in it place.

  I put the suitcase on the bed and said, “I guess we’ll pick up the rest of your stuff tomorrow.”

  Soo Jin’s gaze was moving around the room, taking in the cramped quarters, the single bed, the midget refrigerator, the pile of biographies from the library. Even though I’d lived here over five years I could move out of the apartment in an hour. My living quarters suited me, but to anyone else it probably looked sad.

  I asked, “Would you like some tea?”

  Soo Jin nodded, and I put a cup of water in the microwave. As the water heated up, to reassure her I opened up the folding bed.

  I pointed at the single bed. “I think that one will be more comfortable for you. It’s got clean sheets and a clean pillowcase.”

  I opened the closet. “You’ve got space and hangers in here, and you can have the top two drawers in the dresser.”

  Soo Jin opened her suitcase. The microwave dinged, and I asked, “How do you like your tea?”

  “Just tea,” said Soo Jin.

  I handed her the cup. “Do you have a job you have to go to?”

  “I work in the Koreatown Plaza.

  “That’s close. You can walk.”

  “I work at Pao Jao. Ten to seven.”

  This was the first time she offered any information without being asked.

  “What’s Pao Jao?”

  “Dumplings. All kinds.”

  I watched as Soo Jin put her things away. She took out a small toiletry bag and hesitated before going into the bathroom.

  I looked at the clock radio by the side of the bed. 10:24. I never went to bed this early, although something told me it would be the smart thing to do. I prepared the folding bed on the far side of the room from Soo Jin’s bed. I usually slept naked, but tonight I’d keep my boxers and T-shirt on.

  Soo Jin came out of the bathroom and sat at the table, drinking her tea.

  I pointed at the TV and DVD player. “I don’t have cable. Just DVDs.”

  She looked disappointed. “No TV?”

  “They have a lot of Korean movies at the library. I’ll take you over there tomorrow.”

  Soo Jin nodded.

  I got up. “I’m going to sleep early tonight.”

  I washed up. When I came out, Soo Jin was rinsing out the tea mug.

  I sat on the edge of the folding bed and watched her go into the bathroom. I switched off the light and got under the covers. The folding bed was pretty bad—my feet hung over the end if I straightened out.

  When Soo Jin came out of the bathroom my eyes were adjusted to the dark. Bars of light came into the room from the streetlight on the corner. Soo Jin looked lovely in a light night gown. Then she was under the covers herself.

  I drifted off, wondering what I’d just done.

  TWELVE

  I was used to eating in pho noodle shops and by the side of taco trucks. It felt strange to be in an all-American-type diner, looking down at a plate of eggs, rye toast, and a ceramic cup steaming with black coffee.

  Jules and I were on Catalina Avenue in Redondo Beach at ten thirty in the morning, having just come from his lawyer’s office, where I’d handed Jules a bank draft for 25K. In return, we signed the documents that turned Warsaw Wash over to me, provided I kept up with my payments. It was my goal to double up and own it lock, stock, and barrel in under two years.

  “I have confidence in you,” said Jules. “Being an owner is different than being a manager, but you know what you’re doing.”

  “How different?”

  “First of all, don’t play around with your taxes—no more than you have to,” said Jules, wagging his finger at me. “It’s the quickest way to go into the tank. Second, don’t carry a lousy employee, no matter how much you like him. In the long run you won’t be doing either one of you a favor.”

  “You ever hire women?”

  Jules’s bushy eyebrows raised. “Bikini car wash? The quickest way to go out of business. Stick with the Mexicans. They’re fucking Apache warriors—they can go all day.”

  “I’m thinking of making Manuel my manager.”

  “Big mistake,” countered Jules. “Be a manager-owner for at least a year. Groom Manuel to fill in for you if you get sick or something. But the first year, plan on working six days a week. First one in, last
one out.”

  “I got Manuel opening today.”

  “Do what you got to do but be the boss.”

  Jules tucked into his pastrami and eggs.

  I took a sip of coffee.

  Jules looked up. “Warsaw Wash was good to me. It’ll be good to you, too.”

  * * *

  I kept quiet the rest of the day, managing the car wash as though nothing had happened. My workers didn’t know I was the new owner. At four in the afternoon, during a lull in the action, I gathered them around and asked if they could stay a few minutes after closing, that I had some news. This was met with frowns from most of them, and I realized that news for these guys was more often than not bad.

  I walked over to Ralphs supermarket and picked up a case of ice-cold Tecates. When the last car was washed and the chain was secured across the entrance, I broke out the beers and handed them around to the six workers.

  Manuel gave me a nervous look. “Wes. Are we gonna get in trouble with the boss, drinking beers?”

  “No,” I said. “Know why? Because the boss is going to drink with you.”

  I picked up a can of Tecate and popped the top. I held the can up and said, “To the new owner of Warsaw Wash. Me.”

  After it sunk in they let out a cheer. Manuel let fly with a full-throated mariachi “Ai yi yi yi yi!” A couple guys clapped me on the back. I explained that Jules had sold the business to me. I also reassured them that nothing much would change, since we’d been virtually running the place on our own.

  Manuel turned up the music on our battered portable radio, and banda pumped loud. The guys raided the communal tip jar, and Ramon, a tiny guy with a carefully razored movie-star mustache, dashed across the street for a bottle of tequila.

  I was into my second beer and third shot of tequila when I saw Yun’s black Camry pull to a stop at the curb. She got out with a big smile on her face and yelled, “You’re having a party and you didn’t invite me?”

  I waved her over. She looked good in low-slung khaki shorts and a pink T-shirt. I handed her a beer, and she asked, “Whose birthday is it?”

  “Nobody’s,” I said. “I just bought the place. I’m working for myself now.”

  Yun smiled and gave me a hug. She didn’t let go right away. I could smell the camellia scent in her hair. A fresh banda song began to play, and Manuel chanted, “Dance…dance…dance!”

  Without letting go, Yun handed her beer to one of the workers and started in with the simple but fast banda step. I wasn’t a great dancer, but I’d been to enough Mexican backyard barbecues to keep up with the beat. I don’t know where Yun learned, but she was smooth and followed my lead as though we’d been practicing weeks for this moment.

  You can dance the banda grandmother style, or as sexy as a lambada. Yun was holding on tight and had managed to get my leg firmly in between her thighs. My hand gripped low on her back and her pink T-shirt rode up, until my bare hand was on the flesh curving up from her round ass. I started to get hard, which didn’t seem to faze Yun at all. The guys were letting out whoops, happy that a good-looking woman had joined the party. I didn’t want the song to end, but it did. Yun gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, “Congratulations…”

  Then she was gone, back in her car, on the way to pick up her next passenger.

  Manuel handed me a plastic shot glass of tequila and said, watching Yun drive away, “Homes, that woman is a hundred and ten proof.”

  My body was still carrying a sexual charge. I really didn’t know a lot about Yun. I knew she had a couple of young kids, and I’d heard her husband was a dour guy with the unfortunate name of Suck-Chin. She’d told me he’d moved to Boulder to take care of his ailing mother—that he’d been gone for over a year. There was zero warmth when Yun talked about her husband, but I knew Korean women were loyal to the max, and divorce was a last resort for most Koreans. Even if Suck-Chin was a pain in the ass Yun would stick by him.

  But I could tell when a woman liked me. You can tell a lot by the way a woman dances with you. I’ve had women hold me at arm’s length and talk a blue streak—anything to avoid having our bodies touch. Then there was Yun, who by the end of the dance had me tangled up in the sheets. Maybe she was playing a game, but it sure felt real to me.

  Then I saw it—driving by on Sixth Street—the orange Jeep Rubicon. The window was down. An arm extended out with the hand cocked like a gun. The hand pointed at me and mimed firing, then mimicked the motion of a gun’s recoil. I watched as the Jeep rolled on down the road, breezing through the amber traffic signal.

  Manuel had seen the whole thing. He said to me, “Homes, you’re the boss now. And like they say in the storybooks, heavy lies the head wearin’ the crown.”

  THIRTEEN

  When I got home I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost seven. Soo Jin would be home soon.

  I’d lived alone for a long time. It was going to take some getting used to sharing my small space with another person. Alone, the room didn’t seem so small; I could disappear into my mind, or into a book or a DVD. With another person in the room it was going to resemble what it really was—a cage or a cell.

  The guys at Warsaw Wash had chipped in for a bottle of champagne. I made space in the tiny refrigerator and placed it inside to keep it cool. At first I thought they might have heard I was married and the champagne was for me and Soo Jin to celebrate. I’m not sure why exactly, but I hadn’t mentioned the marriage to them. I figured they might have heard something from a customer. Then, when they presented the bottle to me and congratulated me again on buying the car wash, I knew my private life was still private. Maybe I’d tell them tomorrow, after I’d had the chance to wrap my own head around the new change in my life.

  I looked at the stack of books from the library. I tended toward biographies of successful people, it didn’t matter their field of expertise. One day it might be Steve Jobs, the next day Jay Z. I took down the one I was currently reading, a bio of Colin Powell. I’m not sure what it was I was looking for in wading through these books. I think at least a little bit of it was related to the common-sense observation a high school English teacher had shared, that people judge you by the company you keep.

  I was just getting relaxed when I heard the buzzer. I buzzed back, and in a minute or so Soo Jin appeared at the door, looking hesitant to even come in. She got up her nerve and stepped across the threshold. She was holding a white paper sack.

  I took a step back. “Come on in.”

  I dug into my pocket and came up with two shiny keys. “I had these made for you today. You won’t have to buzz yourself in anymore.”

  Soo Jin nodded her thanks and placed the bag on the table. “Mandoo. Dumplings from work. For our dinner.”

  I watched her set plates on the table. She’d brought disposable chopsticks and some packets of soy sauce. She set the dumplings on the plates and opened a second carton containing a green glob.

  I pointed. “What’s that?”

  “Sigeumchi namul.”

  “Yeah, but what is it?”

  She smiled. “Spinach.”

  We ate in silence. When I’d polished off my dumplings, Soo Jin lifted a dumpling from her plate and put it on mine.

  The sun was down and the lights were low. I watched Soo Jin clear away the dishes. I still had a buzz from the tequila a couple of hours ago, and the memory of holding Yun close during the dance was hovering at the edge of my consciousness.

  I said, “Do you know why I agreed to marry you?”

  Soo Jin wiped a plate dry and put it away. “You needed money for your business.”

  “My car wash.”

  “Maybe I could help you there.”

  “You know, I never saw a woman working at Warsaw Wash. But who knows? If I make a success of things maybe I’ll have a job that a woman could do.”

  “A woman could wash cars.”

  “You’re right. A woman could do anything a man can do. But believe me, if you have a better option than washing car
s by hand, take it. It’s hard work.”

  Soo Jin sat back down across from me and did her damnedest to look me in the eye and then looked down at the table. “I don’t want you to die.”

  “That would be a drag.”

  “Even though the car wash would be mine, I still don’t want you to die.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “No sense in killing me yet,” I said. “The car wash is carrying a big mortgage. It’ll be a couple of years before it’s reached its full value. I’m the golden goose in this equation.”

  I switched on the clock radio and got some music, reggaeton from a Spanish station. I turned it down low—I just needed some noise in the room. I felt like Soo Jin was an empty vessel. If I raised her to the light I’d be able to see right through translucent flesh, blood, and bone.

  To break the silence I walked over to the mini fridge and took out the bottle of champagne. Holding it up to Soo Jin, I said, “Last night we celebrated a wedding. Today we celebrate Warsaw Wash.”

  I took down a couple of glasses and popped the cork. I handed a glass to Soo Jin and said, “Kampai.”

  “Kampai,” answered Soo Jin, before she took a small sip.

  I sat down in the black vinyl chair, the bottle of champagne next to me on a folding table. Soo Jin sat on the edge of the bed. She was dressed in a simple white blouse and black slacks and was wearing what looked to be black ballet slippers. My head was swimming even as I gulped more champagne. That was my wife over there. The curves were subtle, but there was a woman under those simple clothes.

  I asked, “Do you like me?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  I would have pegged her for being much younger. “And you’ve never been married?”