Hardboiled Crime Four-Pack

by Jack Bunker

  When I was done he said, “You made a big mistake. You’re fucking with Koreatown. The only way to survive in that place is to keep to the railroad tracks. Wash their cars and go home to your white wife or your black wife or your Latina wife—but not your Korean wife. A white guy like you? You’re not soluble in Korean culture. You won’t mix.”

  “Did you ever have to negotiate with these people?”

  Jules frowned. “Let me teach you a few things, if you don’t mind. Never use the phrase ‘these people.’ It’s like throwing a hand grenade into the conversation. I know you don’t mean anything by it, but mistakes like that are gonna bite you in the ass.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I wouldn’t get into a mess like this in the first place.”

  “Yeah, but pretend you did. What would you do?”

  “You’re a good guy, Wes. You have a good heart. But if you don’t mind me saying, you can be a little stupid sometimes.”

  Jules was old school, but calling someone stupid was really old school.

  I said, “I came to you because I respect your opinion.”

  Jukes leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cigarette, holding it in and then letting it out in an impressive plume of blue-gray smoke.

  “You want to get out of the contract, no problem,” said Jules. “I’ll give you back your down payment, and I won’t charge you a penalty. I’ll even eat the attorney fees. I can turn around and sell Warsaw Wash tomorrow and make a better deal than I gave you.”

  “No. I want to keep Warsaw Wash.”

  “You made a lot of trouble for yourself in one week.”

  “Walking away isn’t that simple. How many options does a guy like me have?”

  “That’s no excuse for being stu—”

  “Hey!”

  Jules’s shoulders jumped, startled. He glanced at the baby monitor. “Keep your voice down. Mary’s resting.”

  I leaned in closer. “Really, Jules. What should I do?”

  “The smart thing to do is leave it all behind. Annul the marriage. Liquidate your assets. Find another job far away from Koreatown.”

  I thought about that—did the addition—and wasn’t satisfied with the sum. I’d have my Dodge Dart. My nine grand in savings. A DVD player and a microwave. That was about it. My high school diploma would land me a job back in a car wash or a stock room. I’d be back to running a soapy rag over a car and vacuuming under the seats.

  I wasn’t a shining star. By dumb luck and staying in the same place for six years, I’d been handed an opportunity with Warsaw Wash.

  I could walk away.

  But I knew I wasn’t going to.

  TWENTY-ONE

  On my way back to LA I stopped into an In-N-Out off the freeway. I realized I hadn’t eaten all day—nothing more substantial than black coffee. I ordered and took my Double-Double and fries to one of the outside tables. Eating fast food was bad enough—eating at one of those plastic booths under the fluorescents gave me indigestion before the last French fry disappeared.

  The June day was clear and warm. When I first arrived in LA I’d been amazed by the endless string of beautiful days. There seemed to be only slight variations in degree of sunshine and blueness of sky. I didn’t miss Pittsburgh’s winter slush or muggy summers.

  My phone rang and I dug it out of my pocket.

  Yun.

  She got right into it. “Where have you been? I heard a rumor about what happened this morning. Is it true?”

  “Things have gotten worse with this whole blood feud thing. I guess I thought I was bulletproof.”

  “Where are you now? I drove by the car wash and they told me you weren’t there—that they weren’t sure when you were coming back. Are you leaving LA?”

  “No, I’m not leaving. But I have to figure something out. The Dokos are watching my apartment. I can’t go back, at least not until I manage to negotiate something with Shin.”

  “I thought we had something.”

  This wasn’t going well. “Yun, I feel fucking crazy. Like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. I met with the Nang family today—what’s left of them. They’re finished. The Dokos have won.”

  “They don’t think like that. When it comes to honor, for Koreans there’s no gray area. Just black and white.”

  “Same with us Norwegians.”

  “I missed you last night,” said Yun. “I called you.”

  “I couldn’t talk to anybody. I don’t think I said more than two words to Soo Jin, and she was in the same room.”

  “I felt jealous.”

  I felt like I didn’t have time for this bullshit. But maybe that was my problem—why I spent so much time alone—I didn’t make time for bullshit. “You don’t have to be jealous.”

  “I was wondering if you were fucking her.”

  “C’mon, Yun.”

  “No, I was really jealous. My mind was playing all kinds of movies of you and Soo Jin. I had to stop myself from driving over there.”

  “What happened between us, that’s real. With Soo Jin, it’s all business.”

  “Then you haven’t done it? You haven’t fucked her?”

  The lie came easily. “No, I haven’t.”

  I could sense Yun’s relief on the phone. “You said you can’t go back to your apartment. Come here. Hide in my house.”

  “Are the Dokos going to mess with you?”

  “We’re not going to let them know you’re here. And if they do find out, they won’t hurt me.”

  “What about Soo Jin?”

  There was a long pause on the phone, then Yun said, “Soo Jin can come, too. I have a guest room.” Yun paused, then said, “You. You’ll sleep in my bed.”

  * * *

  The rest of the afternoon was a mad rush around LA, keeping my head down low while trying to do what I had to do. I withdrew a bunch of cash from the bank. Bought a half dozen biographies at a used bookstore. Called Manuel and was reassured that things were running well at the car wash. I’d seen enough crime shows to be paranoid about the Dokos somehow tracing our phones, so I stopped into Walmart and bought no-contract mobiles for me and Soo Jin.

  I phoned Soo Jin and told her to call a cab when she finished work. She was to meet me at the jazz section in Amoeba Music—the room in the back. I told her not to tell anyone where she was meeting me. I then called Yun and told her to expect us when it was dark—that me and Soo Jin would make a dash into her house.

  I found a garage for rent in Silver Lake and paid a couple months in advance to store my Dodge Dart out of sight.

  We were going to ground, and I was going to do everything I could to make us hard to find.

  It was almost seven thirty when Soo Jin found me in Amoeba, where I’d been reading John Coltrane liner notes for the last twenty minutes, all the while getting hairy looks from the staff.

  Soo Jin looked even paler than usual, as though all the drama was bleeding the life out of her.

  I asked her, “You took a cab?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone where you were going?”

  “No.”

  “OK. Come with me.”

  I took her hand and led her through the store, by the rows of LA hipsters waiting in line to pay for their CDs and vintage LPs. We walked up the street a block, to the ArcLight. I’d been there a couple times before. It was a sleek movie theater, one of the best in LA. Soo Jin and I stood in the lobby, looking up at the electronic marquee showing movies and times. I picked the next film that was going to play, an action film out of France, with hopefully not too many subtitles. I bought us two tickets, and within minutes we were in our seats. Soo Jin had said she was hungry so I had got her some popcorn, Twizzlers, and a bottled water.

  I had trouble keeping my mind on the movie, even though it was a barrage of gunshots, car crashes, and skullduggery. On any other night I would have enjoyed it. Tonight I was just killing time in the dark, until it was late enough to creep into Yun�
��s house without anyone seeing us.

  I leaned over toward Soo Jin’s ear and said, “Today was your last day at work. You’re going to have to quit the dumpling place.”

  Soo Jin stared at me, frowning. “Who will pay my bills?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Things took a heavy change today. Until I can sort things out, we’re going to have to lie low. We’re going to be living at a friend’s house.”

  “How far away?”

  “It’s not like that. We’re staying in Koreatown. It’s just that we’re going to have to hide from the Doko family.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “You’ll like her. She’s Korean.”

  On the screen, a Frenchman with a New York Yankees cap let go with both barrels, mowing down drug pushers left and right.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Soo Jin and I sat in the back of the cab as it shot down Normandie in the dark, heading toward Yun’s house.

  Soo Jin had been quiet most of the ride, until she asked, “What is her name?”

  “The woman we’re staying with?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yun. I’ve known her a couple of years.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  Instead of answering Soo Jin’s question, I said, “She was married up to a couple of weeks ago. Her husband just died. Lung cancer.”

  “Lots of Koreans die from that.”

  “Well, they smoke like chimneys. Us Norwegians die from suicide and the bottle.”

  “You don’t drink that much.”

  “No. I’ve met Drunk Wes a few times. I decided I didn’t like him much.”

  “Does Yun have a big apartment?”

  “She’s got a house. Not that big. Do you like kids?”

  “Not really. They make me tired.”

  “Yun’s got a couple of kids. And a big-ass dog—a mastiff.”

  “I like dogs. We used to have a little Maltese.”

  “This mastiff isn’t going to be climbing into your lap.”

  The cab pulled over to the curb in front of Yun’s address. I paid the fare and hustled Soo Jin up the walk to the front door. We’d called ahead, and Yun had the door open before we’d made it up the steps.

  As soon as we were inside Yun shut the door behind us. I noticed the shades were drawn, just as I’d asked.

  I turned around and got a good look at Yun for the first time. She was wearing a short black dress with a plunging neckline. Her legs were bare and she wore black heels. Soo Jin’s face didn’t have a hint of makeup, while Yun had gone full bore with the eye shadow and lipstick. One looked like a woman; the other like a little girl.

  Jamjari the mastiff was sitting in the corner, on a dog blanket by the sofa. He panted seeing me.

  I waved a hand at the living room and said to Soo Jin, “Your new home.”

  Yun led Soo Jin to a chair. “Wes has told me about the trouble you’re in.”

  Soo Jin said, “Thank you for helping us.”

  Yun’s response was strange. I wasn’t sure what she meant when she said to Soo Jin, “We can all help each other.”

  I went over to Jamjari and scratched him behind the ears. I asked Yun, “Are the kids asleep?”

  Yun seemed distracted as she said, “You’ll meet them in the morning.”

  Soo Jin yawned behind a tiny hand. Yun noticed and asked, “Are you tired?”

  “Yes. Where do we sleep?”

  “You’ll sleep in the spare bedroom. Follow me.”

  I stayed where I was and looked down the hall as Yun showed Soo Jin to her room. When Yun walked back to me I saw Soo Jin in the doorway, catching my eye with a questioning look. Then the door slowly closed.

  Yun said to me, “That girl is a drink of water. Me, I’m plum wine.”

  * * *

  My hand trailed along Yun’s full hip, down her thigh to her calf. Her skin was smooth. Heat was coming from her body, making the warm June night even warmer. When I leaned in to kiss her full lips there was a hint of garlic and something sweet on her breath.

  I was already thinking of Yun’s bedroom as a sanctuary. I loved how the moonlight and streetlights combined to give the room a pale illumination. There was a Bose stereo on the dresser, and Yun had put on a CD of Korean pop music to drown out any noise we might make. I had no idea what the singers were singing, but they all sounded like they were smiling as their hearts were breaking.

  “No one can know we’re here,” I said. “These Doko idiots are crazy. They were gunning for me this morning, but any of those bullets they shot at me could have hit someone else. Some unlucky person walking by minding their own business.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I don’t want you or your kids to get hurt by accident.”

  Yun trailed a finger across my chest. “You’re gonna get even whiter, staying in the house all day. It’ll make your blue eyes stick out even more.”

  I knew she meant to say “stand out,” but I didn’t correct her. Whenever I felt the urge to correct an immigrant’s English I stopped myself—they knew twice as many languages as I did.

  “Does your house have a fence in the backyard?”

  “A big wood one.”

  “Maybe I can go outside if I wear a hat and shades, some kind of disguise. Does Jamjari like to chase a ball?”

  “He’s gonna love you if you play with him.”

  “Do me a favor? Be nice to Soo Jin. She’s going to be confused by this new arrangement.”

  Something flickered behind Yun’s eyes. “Does she think you belong to her?”

  “I don’t know what she thinks. I hardly know her. She’s been through hell.”

  Yun said, “I have a feeling she’ll be like a third child in the house.”

  I pulled Yun close. “I’ll make sure everything runs all right.”

  * * *

  The breakfast table was laid with empty plates and chopsticks. Across from me sat Yun’s kids: her four-year-old daughter, Mi-Cha, and two-year-old boy, Tae-Yong. They’d looked at me warily when they saw me standing in the kitchen, mixing a cup of instant coffee. Yun had introduced me as Wes and told them in English that I’d be staying for a while.

  When Soo Jin came out of the bedroom fully dressed, the kids stared at her.

  Mi-Cha asked, “Are you a princess?”

  Soo Jin smiled and took a seat at the table.

  Yun said, “Soo Jin, help me in the kitchen.”

  Soo Jin got up dutifully. It was clear from the get-go that Yun was going to draw some clear lines in the sand.

  I wasn’t big on breakfast. Usually it was an egg on a hard roll, maybe a couple of doughnuts. I was bewildered as one platter after another came out of the kitchen: white rice, bowls of clear soup, pickled vegetables, a platter of smoked fish—still with their heads on. My nose was assaulted by a bowl of foul-smelling kimchi—fermented cabbage laden with red pepper. I took a sip of coffee to prepare myself for the onslaught on my belly.

  Yun’s T-shirts and shorts, her house with the Western décor and People magazine on the table—none of it had prepared me for this Korean breakfast spread.

  Yun gave me a grin. “You were expecting Pop-Tarts?”

  “You’re talking to a Pittsburgh boy,” I said. “Let’s just say I’m more the drive-through type.”

  The kids attacked their rice like it was ice cream. Soo Jin picked up a small fish with her chopsticks and nibbled at its side.

  I started with the soup, which was laden with bean sprouts.

  “Kongnamool gook,” said Yun.

  “What?”

  “Kongnamool gook,” answered Yun. “That’s the name of the soup.”

  I shook my head. “I am not going to call this stuff Gook Soup.”

  Yun laughed.

  Even Soo Jin smiled.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I slowed down at the corner of Oxford and Seventh as Manuel trotted toward my rental, a navy-blue Ford Focus. I braked just long enough for him to get his ass in t
he seat, and then we were off again, driving toward Pico.

  Manuel gave me a look that wrinkled his brow. “You sure you want to do this, homes?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  This morning I’d done an accounting. After making the down payment on Warsaw Wash, paying the rent on my apartment and the garage, and getting a rental car, I had about $5,500 to my name. If Manuel ran the car wash the way it should be run I’d do all right, definitely making my payroll and mortgage with cash to spare. I’d asked Soo Jin what she could contribute to the household, and she told me she had $800 in the bank. I told her we might not need it, but it was good to know it was there. I then sat down with Yun and told her I wanted to pay her mortgage while we were staying with her and that we’d make sure the fridge was filled. She tried to tell me that wouldn’t be necessary, but no one drives double shifts in a gypsy cab for fun and games.

  Then I called Manuel. At first he tried to talk me out of it, but he knew me well. He knew when I’d made up my mind.

  “Let me do the talking,” said Manuel.

  “They’re not going to try and jack me, are they?”

  “Not with me making the introductions.”

  “How many cars came through this morning?”

  Manuel ignored my question and asked, “You know anything about guns?”

  “Nothing.”

  “My advice to you is keep it simple. A point-and-shoot handgun and a shotgun. You know, you could get a shotgun at Walmart for a much better deal than these dudes is gonna give you.”

  “If I use it, it’s going to be pointed at someone. I don’t want anything that can be traced back to me.”

  “I don’t think they can do ballistics on a shotgun.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to appear on a Walmart security tape running a shotgun through checkout.

  “Whatever.”

  “I hope I never have to use it,” I said. “But these Doko dudes are serious.”

  Manuel pointed ahead. “Take a left on Pico.”

  We drove a mile toward downtown when Manuel gestured toward a party store called Casa de Piñatas. I pulled into the lot and parked. A couple of windblown piñatas hung outside the door, and a bunch of birthday helium balloons strained against their strings.