by Jack Bunker
I asked, “This is the place?”
“Don’t believe what you see on TV,” said Manuel. “We ain’t going to a gangbanger’s house with pit bulls and reggaeton, or some sleazy bar. This is where the action is.”
I followed Manuel through the door. Inside were aisles stacked with tiny toys and pound bags of candy for piñatas. Mexican women roamed the aisles, trailed by kids. One side of the room had all kinds of paper plates and cups and table cloths. The far wall stocked brooms and cleaning supplies for the after-party brushup. There was only one guy in the place, a hawk-nosed Mexican behind the register.
Manuel said, “Hola, amigo. How’s it hanging?”
The hawk-nosed guy said, “I got your message.” He looked at me and said, “I didn’t know you were bringing someone with you.”
“He’s cool,” said Manuel. “We go way back.”
The hawk-nosed guy jerked his chin toward the rear of the store. “Go on back and see Noony.”
I followed Manuel through a door in the rear wall that led to an empty room where there was another door. Manuel knocked on the second door and stood in front of the spy hole.
“Noony, it’s me. Manuel.”
The door opened, and we were waved in by a cholo with a shaved head, a carefully trimmed mustache, and a tattooed neck.
“Noony,” said Manuel.
Noony said, “Yo, Manuel.”
They exchanged a complicated fist bump and handshake.
Now I was squarely in cable TV/B movie land. Three other cholos sat on a shabby couch, giving me the eye. They were all dressed the same, in baggy shorts and white wifebeater tees. I was hoping Manuel had enough juice to float a gringo safely home.
Noony looked at me and said to Manuel, “This our client?”
“Yeah,” said Manuel. “He’s good people. Someone’s been taking shots at him, and he needs to strap up.”
Noony said, “You can vouch for the dude?”
“Primo carnal,” answered Manuel.
Noony frowned. “No manches.”
“La neta verdad,” said Manuel.
“Guys,” I said. “I don’t speak Spanish.”
One of the cholos on the couch said, “Bolillo, quiubo?”
Manuel said, “He called you a white bun.”
“Really?” I said. “Guys, let’s dial it down.”
Noony said, “All right then. What are you looking for?”
“Wes don’t know shit about guns,” said Manuel.
Noony walked over to a footlocker and flipped the lid. He reached in and took out a handgun. “We’re gonna start you off with a ladies’ gun,” said Noony. “A .38 Special. Easy to load, easy to fire. Six hundred bills gets you the gun and a box of ammo.”
I took the pistol and hefted it in my hand. “It’s not loaded?”
Noony smiled. “No, homes.”
I said, “I need a shotgun, too.”
One of the cholos laughed and said, “Homes goin’ to war.”
Noony ignored him and asked, “Where you gonna be firing the rifle?”
“Home defense.”
“Then you don’t need to be more accurate than ten or twelve feet,” said Noony. “A shotgun will do you. I recommend a sawed-off. It’ll give you the option of chasin’ around the city if you need to.”
Noony opened a closet and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. “This is a Remington 870. It’s sawed down to twenty inches, so you don’t have to worry about breaking the law. Anything under eighteen inches they gonna fuck you up. You got this one and a box of shells for eight hundred.”
One of the cholos said, “You got that kind of cash, gabacho?”
Another cholo chimed in with, “Take his cash, homes. Keep the guns.”
“I’ve got the cash,” I said.
I got out my wallet and counted out $1,400 before they could change their minds or think of some way to jam a stick in my spokes.
I stuck the .38 in my belt, under my shirt. Jammed the boxes of shells in my pockets. I held the shotgun and asked, “You got a bag?”
When they were done laughing, Noony said, “You want a receipt, too?”
I slid the shotgun under my shirt and held it close to my chest.
Manuel asked, “You good with that?”
“I’m good.”
Manuel turned away and said to the others, “We’re gonna bounce.” He repeated the same complicated handshake with Noony.
Then we were walking down an aisle of the store, with me gripping the shotgun close and hoping the pistol wouldn’t slide down my pants, walking away under the watchful piñata eyes of Spiderman, SpongeBob, and the Little Mermaid.
TWENTY-FOUR
Back home, I locked Yun’s bedroom door and laid the guns out on the bed. Manuel had brought me the iPad I’d bought for the car wash, and I logged in to Yun’s Wi-Fi account and started in on my firearms education. I knew I wasn’t going to have the luxury of training myself in the actual firing of the weapons, not unless I took a drive into the desert. Mainly, I wanted to know how to load quickly and where the safety was. After surfing the web for a half hour and watching a few tutorials on YouTube, I felt like I had a working knowledge in firearms safety and practice. I’d even picked up a few tips, like pointing the pistol like it was my hand and aiming and firing in a simple motion. I wasn’t going to have to be a marksman—this was purely for protection if someone was bum-rushing the house.
There was a knock on the door. Soo Jin—she was the only one home.
I hollered out, “One minute.” I put the guns and ammo on the top closet shelf, where the kids weren’t likely to find them.
I opened the door.
Soo Jin had taken a shower, and her hair was glossy and wet. She was dressed in a white shift, and her feet were bare.
“There’s something wrong with the TV,” she said. “I can’t make it work.”
“Let me take a look.”
I followed Soo Jin into the guest room, the first time I’d ventured inside. It was dismal. One side of the small room was stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic storage bins. A bed faced a chipped dresser where a bulky-looking TV squatted, playing noisy static. There’d been no attempt to decorate the room, and the walls were bare.
I picked up the remote on the bed, which was unmade from morning. “Why don’t you watch TV in the living room? You’re not a prisoner.”
“I like it here,” answered Soo Jin.
An answer like that is hard to argue with, and I said, “Well, that counts for something.”
I pressed the settings button on the remote and scrolled through until I found channel 3. A Korean soap opera materialized in front of our eyes, some kind of drama with a baby-faced Korean dude waving around a bouquet of flowers.
I asked, “Is this it?”
“Yes,” said Soo Jin.
After I showed her how to work the remote so it wouldn’t happen again, Soo Jin settled into bed, her back propped up by two pillows, eyes glued to the set as though I wasn’t there. Her knees were up, which gave me a clear view up her shift, to her white panties and the crease caused by the lips of her vulva. I took a few steps to the side, not liking the feeling of descending into Peeping Tom territory.
“With any luck, this won’t be for long,” I said.
Soo Jin looked up at me. “I hope we’re here for a long time. Forever. I don’t want you to die.”
I stopped on my way to the door. “You think that’s the only way out of this?”
“The Doko are strong,” said Soo Jin. “And the Nang are weak.”
Closing the door, I said, “I’m not Nang.”
* * *
I watched Ms. Tam unwrap the present I’d brought her. She carefully took off the gift wrapping and folded it into a square. She held it up to me and said, “Good for later.”
The gift wasn’t much—just a box of Korean sweets—but I felt I should bring her something, since I was going to ask her for another favor.
I’d called Ms. Tam an hour
ago, asking if I could come by her place before she left for the Saja Room. I’d been going stir crazy sitting around Yun’s house. I had my own business at last, but I didn’t dare go to it for fear of being gunned down. Before this mess, my life had a routine that would be boring to most people—but it was my routine. I liked being able to walk down the street, browse the bio shelf in the library, sing some karaoke in the evening.
Ms. Tam and I were sitting in the kitchen drinking aloe vera juice. Slimy pulp was suspended in the juice, and one sip was enough for me.
“I heard about your meeting with Shin,” said Ms. Tam.
“It didn’t go so well,” I said. “They know they have the upper hand so they don’t give a damn about negotiating a deal. Maybe I approached the whole thing wrong.”
“You didn’t show them the proper respect,” said Ms. Tam. “We don’t like doing our business in public.”
“The tables outside Ralphs was a bad idea?”
“The word coming back to me was you shamed Shin, making him sit around with a bunch of homeless people.”
I nodded in agreement. “I fucked up.”
I could tell Ms. Tam thought I’d acted the ass. I tried to get her back on my side. “Did you hear they were shooting at me yesterday? A gunman ambushed me at the car wash.”
“At first they were afraid of you. Because of your color. I think they did some digging and found out you were not powerful at all.”
“That’s true,” I said. “On paper I’m not much.”
Ms. Tam looked weary. I noticed mascara clumped on her eyelashes.
“I don’t want to see you die, Wes,” said Ms. Tam. “Don’t go back to work. And stay away from the Saja Room.”
“I’ll stay away if it will make your life easier. But staying away from the Saja Room doesn’t solve my problem.”
“The Nang family has only a tiny bit of sand left in their hourglass. The Doko see this. They can taste their victory, and to them it’s sweet.”
“I never liked a bully,” I said. “That’s what this Shin is beginning to sound like.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ms. Tam. “I thought you’d be safe.”
“What if I killed Shin?”
Ms. Tam made a face, like I’d just taken a crap on her kitchen table. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t even think like that. That would not be a solution.”
“You know, Ms. Tam? I like to work. I like the simple things in life. Working makes me feel good. That’s all I want to do. Pay my bills and go about my business.”
“What are your dreams?”
“Keep it simple. Stay out of people’s hair. Keep them out of mine.”
“No bigger dreams?”
“I’d like a woman by my side. Someone I could really count on. Maybe one or two kids down the line.”
Ms. Tam seemed to let this soak in. I figured it was a good moment to get down to business—get down to why I came here in the first place. “Do me a favor. Give me Shin’s number.”
Ms. Tam hesitated, then got up and rummaged around in a kitchen drawer, coming up with a pencil and a scrap of paper. She wrote the number down and handed it to me.
There was a worried look in her eye when she asked, “What are you going to do?”
TWENTY-FIVE
I had it narrowed down to three places: Spago, Musso & Frank, or CUT. I’d spent an hour on my iPad searching for the proper restaurant to invite Shin Doko to dine on my dime. It had to be expensive, classy, maybe a little hip, but not too hip.
Yun brushed up against my back and looked over my shoulder at a photo of CUT. “That’s a nice place. You gonna take me?”
Her jean-clad thighs felt warm against my back.
“Sure,” I said. “Right after I get done romancing Shin Doko.”
I clicked on the menu for CUT. They were serving Japanese Wagyu beef—$120 for six ounces. Plus it was owned by Wolfgang Puck, the guy on the pizza box. CUT it was. Shin was going to be impressed.
“You think he’s gonna listen this time?” asked Yun. “A lot’s happened since you had that first meeting. I mean, if that guy was a better shot you’d be dead.”
“We’re going to be in Beverly Hills, surrounded by people. He’d be suicidal to try to take me out in a fancy restaurant. Plus, Shin is in the driver’s seat. He’s not going to do anything stupid. I’m just hoping I can convince him that he’s won. The Dokos are the champions. We’ve got one player on the field. Be a sport and call the game.”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“No way. I want to keep you out of this.”
Soo Jin drifted out of her room and into the kitchen. She put a kettle of water on to boil.
“Make me a cup, too,” said Yun. “Two sugars.”
Yun asked me if I wanted a cup.
I shook my head no.
Soo Jin looked melancholy, and I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I think I miss my job,” said Soo Jin. ”I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s not going to be like this forever,” I said. “It can’t be. We’d all go crazy.”
“I know what you can do,” said Yun. “Make some dumplings here.”
The kettle whistled, and Soo Jin prepared the tea and sat down at the table with us.
Mi-Cha appeared in the doorway of the kid’s room, dressed in Hello Kitty pajamas. She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t go to sleep.”
Yun said, “Lie down and close your eyes.”
Mi-Cha said, “I can hear a doggy barking.”
Yun waved her toward the kid’s room. “Just lie down.”
Soo Jin said to Yun, “Is it all right if I lie down with her?”
Yun looked like she was weighing the pros and cons before she said, “Sure.”
Soo Jin got up. “I’ll tell her a story.”
Yun lit up a Parliament as we listened to the indistinct murmurs of Soo Jin’s voice soothing Mi-Cha with a tale in Korean.
I said, “She’s good with your kids.”
“She thinks like a kid,” said Yun.
I took the scrap of paper with Shin’s number out of my wallet and reached for my phone.
“I still wish I could go with you,” said Yun.
“Not this time.”
* * *
CUT was all glass and light and polished metal. It was perfect. Shin Doko would never try and take me down here—it would be impossible to know if he was being watched. Any move on his part would be like getting violent onstage in front of a hundred people.
The phone call had been cordial enough, almost as though Shin considered the blood feud an entertaining sideshow. My proposal had been simple: be my guest at CUT so we can discuss an alternative to shooting up Koreatown. I could almost hear him nodding to his cohorts in satisfaction as the white boy finally showed him some respect. He agreed to the meet, and I asked him to keep the bodyguards to two—that I was on a budget. Maybe it was a Hail Mary pass, but I was prepared to spend a thousand bucks on dinner trying to soften up Shin.
I looked at the time on my phone. Where the fuck was he?
Then I saw him coming through the doors. Jules, looking all spruced up in a suit and tie.
The maître d’ brought him over. He looked surprised when Jules insisted on sitting on my side of the table.
I said to the maître d’, “We’re waiting on some people.”
Jules looked around. “I can’t tell if you’re doing me a favor, or I’m doing you one. I’ve heard about this place.”
“Thanks for coming. I think we need a mediator.”
“I don’t know this Shin Doko guy, but I know plenty like him. You can’t kiss ass and you can’t step on toes. It’s a delicate dance.”
“I know how to skank and I’m good in a mosh pit. That’s about it.”
Jules gave me the once-over. “I don’t think I ever saw you in a pressed shirt.”
“I was lucky. It was still clean from my wedding last week.”
Jules looked around the restaurant and gave me a c
orny thumbs-up. “Good choice. Those Koreans love the beef.”
“You bring a gun?”
“Of course not,” answered Jules. “Did you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“You know,” said Jules. “I’m thinking of giving up my cable. You’re better than TV.”
I saw the tall Korean at the door, holding it open as Shin walked through. The maître d’ brought them over and sat them. Cool that Shin brought only one bodyguard; the lighter the party the lighter the bill.
Shin had the regal thing going, as though he was the guest of honor. I realized I liked the tall Korean less each time I met him. He tried to pull off a sneering attitude, but he looked like the kind of guy who wore dirty underwear.
I decided to play it formal. “Mr. Shin Doko. Meet Mr. Jules Weinberg. Jules is a trusted friend of mine, and I thought he might help keep us on track.”
A waiter appeared and martinis were ordered all around, except for the tall Korean—he requested a Coke. The menus were in front of us so we put in our orders for expensive cuts of beef.
I was surprised when Shin chose a rib eye from Nebraska. He must have noticed the look of surprise on my face. “Beef from Nebraska is the best,” he said. “This is something to think about: what is most expensive is not always of the highest quality.”
I had a feeling he was making an oblique reference to the situation I was in, but my wheels were spinning trying to figure out his “Confucius Says” comment. I’d already ordered the Wagyu, so I guess I lost that round.
“An astute observation, Mr. Doko,” said Jules. “It could be applied to many things in life, from a pair of socks to the wife by your side.”
“You understand,” said Shin.
Jules decided to be a smartass and said, “I’m partial to Gold Toe myself.”
I figured I’d try to make Shin smile. “Speaking of socks, we’re running out of feet, Mr. Doko. We got off on the wrong foot the first time. I hope we can come to an understanding during this second meeting.”
Shin didn’t crack a smile. Instead he looked at me like I was a monkey.
I dug in and kept going. “A lot of people have died over this feud. I’ve met with the Nang family. They know they’re beaten. In fact, I’d like to ask you a question.”