Hardboiled Crime Four-Pack

by Jack Bunker

  “Let’s leave something for next time.”

  “Send me some photos of the car wash. I want to see what you’re doing.”

  After I hung up, I took a deep pull from my can of beer. Maybe I caught him in the aftermath of a Hallmark commercial. Maybe he was changing.

  Maybe I was changing.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The next morning found me bleary-eyed. It had been a sleepless night. My mind wouldn’t shut down. It kept circling the fact that I was a kidnapper—that I was sitting on a powder keg. But as I set my feet on the floor, I knew that as bleary-eyed as I was, Shin had to be a thousand times worse. A guy his age must be a bundle of aches and pains after spending the night on a linoleum floor. I looked over and saw that Yun was out cold. My tossing and turning had kept her up, too, until the dawn started breaking and she crashed out of sheer weariness.

  Slipping on some jeans and a T-shirt, I padded into the kitchen. Shin was wide awake, sitting with his back to the fridge, glaring at me.

  “It didn’t have to go this far,” I said.

  “Fuck you, white ghost.”

  “Ghost? Is that the best you got?”

  “Round eye.”

  “You’re getting there.”

  I looked over and saw Soo Jin staring at both of us. She had a spooky way of appearing next to me without making a sound.

  “I’m going to have to cut this guy loose,” I said to Soo Jin. “You up for helping me out?”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t have to be scared of him,” I said. “He’s a sick old man. He’s gonna be six feet in the ground when you’re taking your kids to Disneyland.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Soo Jin.

  “Wait here a minute.”

  I went into the bedroom and got the shotgun, duct tape, and the keys to the handcuffs.

  “We’re going to do permanent damage to his circulation if we keep him tied up the same way. I want you to free his right hand and tape up his left the same way—see how I got it wrapped around?”

  “Yes,” said Soo Jin.

  I opened the cutlery drawer and handed her a serrated steak knife.

  “Cut through the duct tape.”

  I pointed the gun at Shin. “You fuck with her and I’ll kill you. I’ll feed you to the dog. Got that?”

  Shin tried another angry glare, but the wattage dimmed and fluttered like lights in a power failure. He stared down at the floor, looking every inch the old man he was.

  Soo Jin trembled as she worked the knife through the duct tape.

  “He’s not going to hurt you,” I said.

  Shin had sweat under the tape, and a rank odor wafted up. Soo Jin kept cutting. Then I saw her gag—hesitate—then lurch to her feet and hurl a load of sour vomit into the sink, splashing all over last night’s dinner dishes.

  I stepped to the side so I’d have a clear shot if Shin made a move. “Yun!”

  Yun came running out of the bedroom in nothing but red panties. She was a sight.

  “It was too much for Soo Jin,” I said. “Help her and come back. I need you here.”

  Yun put an arm around Soo Jin and helped her to the bathroom.

  Shin looked down and wrinkled his nose at a splash of vomit on his pants.

  I said, “You’re quite the ladies’ man, Shin.”

  Yun came back in a robe and said, “She’s all right. What do you want me to do?”

  I told her the same thing I told Soo Jin, and Yun had it done in a flash, with Shin wrapped up the reverse of yesterday.

  Soo Jin reappeared and sat on the sofa, looking wan and wasted.

  I gestured with the shotgun toward the easy chair and said to Shin, “Sit your ass down and try not to make anyone puke.”

  * * *

  Ms. Tam must have spent the afternoon at the beauty parlor. Her carefully coiffed black hair was shorter and looked to be her own instead of a wig. Her lipstick was red, and her nails shone with clear lacquer. The sheath dress she wore was a blue metallic fabric that accentuated her curves. All in all, she was looking good, period—no matter what her real age was.

  I hadn’t asked her for a meeting, and when I showed up at her door unexpectedly she hustled me inside, looking pissed and scared at seeing me.

  “Why do you come here?” she said, eyes flashing. “Especially now, after what you’ve done.”

  I followed her into her chrome and glass living room and said, “I have to talk to somebody.”

  “Everyone is gossiping about the kidnapping,” complained Ms. Tam. “It’s made people so upset that some are speaking about going to the police.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I countered. “Roll over and let them blow my head off? Run away and give up my business? And what about Soo Jin? Why does she have to live with this hanging over her head the rest of her life?”

  I thought these sensible questions would dial down Ms. Tam’s anger. Instead she got even more heated. “You are a fool,” she said. “And I was a fool to bring an outsider into this.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I knew what I was doing marrying Soo Jin. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “There are rules,” she said. “You’re like someone doing a crazy dance in the middle of a ballet.”

  Hearing this, I felt like I’d parachuted into an alternate reality. “Ballet? You call someone getting their head blown off a ballet? With all due respect, Ms. Tam, stop the bullshit. You got paid. I got paid. We had a problem from day one. Now we got an even bigger problem.”

  “You made it worse.”

  “All right. I made it worse. You made your point. What do we do now?”

  “First, never come here again.”

  I listened, but I wasn’t making any promises.

  Ms. Tam asked, “Is Shin Doko still alive?”

  “I’m not going to kill Shin,” I said. “I’m not a killer.”

  “He’s an old man. The shock might kill him.”

  “Maybe. But he’s doing all right.”

  “His family wants him returned, unharmed.”

  “I figured that. What do I get out of the deal?”

  “You will be allowed to leave Los Angeles.”

  I let out a deep breath, tired of the stubborn Doko family. They had so much pride and so much power. I’d let the air out of their tires, and they were oblivious, riding along on the rims.

  I leaned in closer to Ms. Tam and said, “If I cut off one of Shin’s ears and send it to the Dokos in a jar of kimchi, you think that’ll get their attention?”

  Spittle flew out of her mouth when she answered, “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “I’m not running,” I said. “I’ve got lots of reasons to stay.”

  Ms. Tam looked at her watch and said, “It’s three o’clock.”

  She walked into the kitchen and came back with a green bottle of soju and two glasses. She poured and handed one to me.

  “You were a polite young man,” she said. “This has changed you.”

  “I had everything under control, Ms. Tam. I did everything in moderation. I kept things so moderate you’d probably have had a hard time finding a pulse. Things have changed. I’m not alone anymore.”

  “You fell in love with Soo Jin?”

  “Not exactly. I feel responsible for her.” I was about to tell her about Yun but stopped myself.

  “I don’t know if you can appease the Doko family, no matter what you do,” said Ms. Tam. “They revere Shin. If you harm him they’ll never stop until you’re dead. So be very careful.”

  “Will they deal with me?”

  “The Dokos are cunning. If they make a deal with you, examine it from every angle. They’ll do their best to create a path that will leave them free to persecute you and Soo Jin.”

  I took a sip of the soju, feeling it burn my throat.

  Ms. Tam asked, “Are you still in Koreatown?”

  ”Yeah, I am.”

  “Then you’re not safe,” said Ms. Tam.

  “But w
hat am I supposed to do?”

  “I’ve told you what to do. Run.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  Ms. Tam stood up. My visit was over.

  “There will be more than Dokos looking for you now,” said Ms. Tam. “They will have hired professionals to hunt you.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The afternoon sun was mellow coming through the bamboo blinds. Shin’s eyes followed Tae-Yong as he toddled around the room. Tae-Yong had made up a game with a piece of crumpled paper. He’d throw it on the floor, grin, then pick it up. He was working his way across the room, finding his own joy. I wondered what a stranger would think of this tableaux: a white guy on the sofa, an old Korean dude bound with duct tape, and a little kid throwing a ball of paper around the room. I had a feeling it would be a while before it was duplicated anywhere else in the world.

  I picked up my iPad and did a Google search. In less than a minute I had the number and info I was looking for. I dug out my phone and made the call.

  A polite voice answered, “Sharper Image.”

  “I’m looking for a karaoke system,” I said. “Do you have the GPX Party Machine? Can I get that delivered today? Is that possible?”

  * * *

  The truck rolled up around four-thirty. In a half hour I had the machine set up in the living room. Soo Jin and the kids watched with interest; I think even Shin was intrigued. I turned it on, picked up the mic, and said, “Test…testing.”

  I laid the mic down and said to Soo Jin, “Let’s wait until Yun gets home before we give it a full-blown test-drive.”

  I’d called Yun near the end of her cab-driving shift and asked her to pick up some ice cream, some soju, a twelve-pack of beer, Famous Franks, hotdog buns, and a bag of chips.

  She’d asked me what the occasion was, and I said, “It’s time for a party.”

  * * *

  Yun stood in the middle of the room, belting out a note-perfect rendition of “Yesterday.” Her kids stared in rapture. Later she told me it was the first time they’d heard her really sing. Yun was dressed for a party, in blue cowboy boots, brief shorts with the word Juicy emblazoned across the backside, and a mint-green T-shirt adorned with a silver appliqué of a setting sun. She looked beautiful and happy as she sang.

  Everyone applauded when Yun finished. Yun almost skipped across the room and landed in my lap. Manuel gave me an approving nod—he’d seen our slow-motion romance at Warsaw Wash and was pleased we were together.

  Kwan handed his glass of soju to Min Jee and picked up the mic from the stand. It was his turn to sing, and he picked a Korean ballad. As the first bars played, he gave a slight bow and said, “This song is for you, Mr. Doko, and for our homeland. “‘Arirang.’”

  I could see Kwan was hedging his bets and playing it smart. Nothing wrong with trying to get on Shin’s good side.

  Yun leaned close to my ear and said, “It’s a very old song, almost like our national anthem. About lovers in the Land of Dreams.”

  I’d thought hard about the wisdom of inviting a few friends over. Was I putting them in danger? I decided to invite them while giving them the caveat that they might see my head blown off during the festivities, and some of the blame for the trouble I was causing might stick to them. I also told them that they had to keep their mouths shut about a few things—that I’d explain once they were here. Whether they showed or not was up to them.

  Koreans love a party. Mexicans love a party. The only one who didn’t show was Ms. Tam. She’d hung up on me before I got the full invitation out of my mouth. Kwan’s jaw had dropped when he saw Shin, but I could tell he was enjoying the high drama of it all.

  Kwan had pulled me aside and said, “You’ve done it now. You’re walking on the tiger’s tail.”

  Min Jee had made a beeline for the GPX Party Machine. She’d immediately adjusted the mic so there would be plenty of reverb. The presence of a duct-taped and hobbled Shin Doko didn’t seem to faze her. Instead she took it on herself to make sure Shin’s hot dog was prepared the way he liked it, and his glass of soju was regularly topped off. She treated Shin like a customer who had rolled into the Saja Room in a wheelchair.

  Yun felt warm in my lap—I felt like I was holding nature’s bounty. It was a good feeling. Seeing the kids eating potato chips and hearing people laugh. Seeing Soo Jin break into a smile or two. Even with all its problems, the life I was living now beat grinding out nights alone in a small room, reading about other people’s lives—people who actually amounted to something.

  Kwan finished, and I called out, “Soo Jin. Let’s hear something from you.”

  Yun shifted in my lap so I could stand up. I took the mic from Kwan and held it out toward Soo Jin. “Come on. I have a feeling you love to sing.”

  Soo Jin was dressed in one of her simple shifts, this one white trimmed with blue. She’d made an attempt at putting on makeup. Her eyes were shadowed with blue, and her lipstick was a brown shade of red.

  Soo Jin took the mic and said, “I’ll sing, but Wes, you have to sing with me.”

  Before I could say yes or no Kwan had handed me the second mic.

  I asked, “What are we going to sing?”

  Soo Jin said, with a nod toward Min Jee sitting next to the machine, “‘Sweet Caroline.’”

  The opening notes of the Neil Diamond song began to play, and Soo Jin took the first verse, singing about not knowing where it all began.

  We both sang the chorus, with our arms around each other’s waists.

  Manuel and Kwan sang along from their seats.

  I looked at Yun, smiling with pleasure.

  Life could be easy if the Dokos faded away. Lots of singing, drinking beer on the patio, watching a bootleg DVD, slow nights with Yun in bed, waking up for work.

  It was an impromptu party on a weekday, and it ran out of gas a few minutes shy of midnight. People were finishing their drinks as I walked around, picking up plates and crumpled napkins. The kids were asleep on the couch. I walked over to put away the karaoke machine when I heard Shin say, “I haven’t sung yet.”

  It was the first thing Shin had said all evening. Kwan and Min Jee had directed comments at him and hadn’t pushed when they’d received no response.

  “You want to sing?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  The others gathered around. Kwan poured himself another soju. I handed the mic to Shin.

  “‘My Way,’” said Shin.

  I punched in the number, and Shin bobbed his head in time to the opening bars of the Sinatra tune. It was weird to see Shin holding the mic with his left hand, his right arm duct-taped to his side. He straightened and then began to sing, about facing the final curtain.

  Shin had a good voice, and you could tell it was a song he’d sung many times before. But there was no humility in the way he sang—he sounded like he was addressing the troops.

  And I felt fear for the first time that day, when Shin glared at me as he attacked the lyric, the line about eating it up and spitting it out.

  THIRTY-NINE

  The morning after the party, Yun and I were the first ones up. I got Shin unhooked from the kitchen sink and settled in the living room. Yun and I had tidied up before going to bed, but here and there lay a stray paper plate or balled napkin.

  I tied up the trash bag and hauled it out to the cans. Walking back, I could see through the window Yun handing a cup of tea to Shin. They seemed to be having a serious conversation. Maybe she was trying to break through the old man’s reserve. If anybody could do it, Yun could. She was a joy to be around, especially in the morning. Yun had the gift of waking up as though each day was a clean slate.

  As I rinsed my hands in the kitchen sink, Yun came up behind and gave me a hug.

  “That was a good party,” said Yun.

  “Those were the first guests I’ve had since I moved to LA,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind doing that more often. We’ll have to invite your friends and your side of the family next time.”

  Yun�
��s smile faded, then she gave a little smile and said, “Next time.”

  Soo Jin’s door opened a crack. She ventured out, walking slowly, like an invalid.

  Yun said, “Are you all right?”

  Shin stared with interest from his perch on the couch.

  Soo Jin said in a small voice, “I don’t feel well.”

  Then she lurched toward the bathroom. In seconds we heard the sounds of puke splashing into the toilet, and a low groan from Soo Jin.

  Yun looked at me, eyes flashing. “So you didn’t fuck her?”

  * * *

  Yun walked around in a fury, looking for her car keys, muttering about morning sickness.

  I sat on the sofa, wondering what the odds were. I fucked Soo Jin once—it had been a halfhearted fuck at that. I loved Soo Jin, but not the way a man loves a woman. Soo Jin didn’t seem to occupy the same plain as so-called normal human beings. The truth was, I loved Soo Jin the way you love a dog. And now there might be a chance I was fathering a child with her.

  Yun was back in fifteen minutes from Rite Aid with a home pregnancy kit. She disappeared into the bathroom with Soo Jin.

  Shin was looking at me like he’d brought a checker set to a chess game. I could imagine him thinking the kidnapping was outrageous, the karaoke party unexpected, and Soo Jin’s possible pregnancy too much to consider.

  “Who are you?” asked Shin.

  “What do you mean, ‘Who am I’?”

  “This blood feud has flowed like a river for many years,” said Shin. “A white ghost like you marries Soo Jin, and the problems grow and grow. Where did you come from? Who sent you?”

  “No one sent me. I’m not on a mission. I just want to work at my own business.”

  “Someone sent you,” said Shin, not convinced. “Maybe there are more Nang than we realize.”

  I looked at the kids’ toys scattered around the living room and imagined a third kid playing with them. A baby I’d had a hand in making. “For all I know there could be a million more Nang. I never even heard the name until the night you blew that poor guy’s head off in the Saja Room.”

  Shin said, “I don’t believe you.” Then he turned his face away, ending the conversation.