Didn’t they see how unfair it was? Ki-jeong muttered inwardly at her fellow teachers as they pretended to be busily absorbed in their work. Wasn’t it too steep a price to pay, even for vanity? And yet, at the same time, she realized that the true source of her anger was not Do-jun. Her anger arose from a much deeper place. Mixed up with it was the repugnance she felt toward the principal and vice principal who were under the thumb of the chairman of the board, the alienation she felt at being among fellow teachers who would only socialize with those who’d graduated from the same college as them, and something else, something bordering on contempt for Do-jun’s parents.
Her face stony, she slowly shouldered her bag and walked out of the building. The students working on the grounds outside opened a path for her, stealing glances as she passed and regrouping to chatter in her wake. She ignored the ever-friendly security guard as he chirped, “Clocking out early today!”
On the bus ride home, her phone rang. It was the police. Only then did she realize she’d boarded the bus on the wrong side of the street and was headed away from home. The phone stopped ringing. She got off at the next stop. As she thought about what the cops might tell her, her anger subsided.
The officer gave her the name and address of the person who’d made the last call to her sister’s phone. As usual, they’d been unable to get in contact with that person. Ki-jeong put up with the officer’s incompetence; she lacked the energy today to get angry with him. She didn’t recognize the name. Just as she hadn’t recognized anything else having to do with her sister’s case. Ki-jeong said nothing. The officer added a few more details. The person was around the same age as her sister.
Ki-jeong instantly committed the name to memory. She’d never heard that name before, and yet it now seemed as familiar as that of an old friend.
10
David Credit Information Company was located in the E—Building at the northern end of Mapo Bridge. The twenty-five-story building had three entrances: one door in front, one to the left that opened on to a park, and one to the right that opened on to a sidewalk. According to the directory in the first-floor lobby, the building housed a total of thirty-two businesses: the first and second floors were occupied by a bank while the third through eighth floors were mostly medical clinics, which meant that the building got a large number of visitors throughout the day. David Credit took up the entire seventeenth floor and had a security system that prevented anyone but employees from entering any part of it except for the customer service department.
A little past eight thirty in the morning, the subway station exit was crowded with people on their way to work. Su-ho Lee appeared right on schedule. He never headed up to the office right away but instead would pop into a food place next door to buy some kimbap or grab a snack from the convenience store in front of the park. Judging by the fact that he ate breakfast on the go every day, Se-oh had assumed at first that he lived alone. But now she knew most people grabbed breakfast on the go. She decided against jumping to any hasty conclusions whatsoever when it came to Su-ho Lee. Thinking she knew anything for certain was likely to cause her trouble.
Her goal was to learn as much as she could about him. She would collect data, compile statistics, extract probabilities. She would turn him into a subject from which assumptions and predictions could be safely drawn. She wanted her plan to succeed. That was what sustained Se-oh in the present, in which her past was lost to her entirely and her inner self had completely vanished.
She kept losing him at lunchtime. It was impossible to keep her eye on all three entrances at the same time, and she couldn’t just stalk every single man dressed like him on the off-chance that it would be Su-ho. In fact, there was always the possibility of him not coming out of the building at all. There were several restaurants down on the first basement floor.
He usually went to lunch alone; other times he was in a group of up to four people. They appeared to be always the same people. He never met anyone separately for lunch. As a group, they usually went out for hangover soup, and on hot days they ate cold noodles.
Whenever she missed him on his way out to a restaurant, she waited in the park. Twice a week or so, he would stop by a convenience store after lunch and then head there. Usually, he bought cigarettes and coffee or yogurt.
To one side of the park was playground equipment, including a slide and a seesaw; to the other was some simple exercise equipment. There were plenty of benches, too. Su-ho always sat on the side of the park with the exercise equipment, where he would chain-smoke for the remainder of his lunch break before returning to the office via the entrance closest to the sidewalk. Around 2:00 p.m., he would reappear at the building’s front entrance and head out somewhere. That was when his real work began in earnest.
She joined him on his subway rides, through every transfer. She seldom got lucky enough to be able to follow him to the end. It was so easy to lose him. He walked fast. And there were many days when she couldn’t find a good hiding spot from which to keep an eye on him. She’d lose him while trying to avoid being spotted by him on his way back.
Each time she found herself wandering through yet another unfamiliar neighborhood and braving the afternoon heat in order to tail Su-ho, she wondered where this had all begun. Not that everything necessarily had to have a beginning and an end. But Se-oh was sure that there must have been some clear starting point. A single point that had determined everything. A point of divergence from everything that had come before. A point in time that she could look back on after much more time had passed and say that that was the point from which everything had changed.
Was it the moment she’d heard the name Su-ho Lee? As soon as she heard Detective Kim say his name, Se-oh had immediately inferred that Su-ho was responsible for the explosion at #157. Once the thought was in her head, no other hypotheses would present themselves.
While tailing Su-ho, she thought mostly about her father. She thought a little about herself, too. She’d thought she’d known her father well. She’d believed that he would never have made the choice he’d been accused of making. She’d had no reason to think otherwise. She had been confident in what she believed.
But no longer. She was beginning to understand that the life she’d known up until now was an uncertain thing, always abruptly halting or changing direction and sliding toward parts unknown.
Since there was a starting point, there also had to be an end point. In other words, there was now a future that could not be predicted. She had no idea whether it would leave her happy or sad. Life would run its course regardless, with some purpose or resolution, determination or will to action. It was better than being stagnant.
In the meantime, Se-oh had pictured what Su-ho would look and sound like, had imagined his school background, his hobbies, his family and friends. She’d thought about him so much that when she finally did lay eyes on him for the first time, she was certain she had the wrong person. The Su-ho that she’d imagined had broad shoulders, a well-defined chest, forearms that bulged with muscles below his rolled-up sleeves, large, thick hands that could palm a basketball, black hair, and a tanned face.
But the real Su-ho Lee was not large or intimidating or menacing. He wasn’t even tall enough to tower over anyone. No one would feel scared crossing paths with him. He spit a lot, but he came off as more scruffy than criminal. He didn’t swagger around giving people the hairy eyeball, or size everyone and everything up with daggers in his eyes. He didn’t wear his hair in a militant crewcut. He didn’t pair suits with T-shirts and sneakers. His eyes were neither shifty nor bulging. His voice was not gravelly.
He stood maybe five eight at most. He always wore black shoes. The soles must have been made of some soft material, as they made no sound as he walked. He was small-framed and skinny. He wore plastic-framed glasses that were a different color on the inside rim than the outside, and he was habitually pushing them back up his nose. Whenever he talked to his coworkers, he spoke slowly and let his sentences trail off.<
br />
He alternated between two suits. Both pairs of pants were so loose on him that the legs looked empty. But not because he was too skinny; the pants were simply the wrong size. The jacket shoulders extended far past his actual shoulders in an outdated style no longer sold in stores. Perhaps he had lost weight very suddenly and hadn’t yet had the chance to have the pants or jacket taken in. He rarely bothered to adjust his clothes after shouldering his bag, so one side of his jacket was usually hitched up all the way to his waist. He wore a loud tie, too, which made him look old and like a hick.
Up close, he smelled faintly of sweat and cigarettes. Emerging from the subway station in the mornings, his hair would look relatively well-combed only to end up disheveled and greasy by afternoon. The dandruff on his jacket was visible. Overdue for a trim, the hair at the back of his head curled up in a slight ducktail. He looked tired, worn down.
But contrary to his air of virtuous exhaustion, Su-ho Lee was not a good person. To put a finer point on it, he was tired because he was not good. He tormented others relentlessly, assailing them with words chosen to coerce and annoy. He badgered them so much to pay off their debts, it seemed as if he were taking revenge for having an unrewarding job. He demanded that they take responsibility while laying claim to their property, and threatened them by casually mentioning the names of their loved ones. He mocked people who’d labored their whole lives with no respite only to be left with nothing but debt. And in so doing, he filled them with resentment toward their families who couldn’t help, or left them feeling remorse for becoming a burden. He made them hate the simple, earnest lives they’d once led.
But perhaps it wasn’t the fault of his disposition or temperament; he didn’t act purely of his own volition or react according to his mood. Most likely he was obeying the strictures of his job, his training, or the general attitude of the company, which emphasized the efficient carrying out of business above all else. That had to be it. Or else he’d deluded himself into thinking that terrorizing your targets through sarcasm and mockery and blame and profanity would improve his collection rate.
But even so, the things a person said and did had a way of ruining them little by little. Whoever he was in the beginning, Su-ho Lee had long since been corrupted. He did not choose his words or shape his actions to meet the demands of his job; rather, the job he’d found suited him.
Detective Kim had suggested that human beings weren’t inherently evil. That they were capable of being honest and well-intentioned and putting others first. Despite the terrible things that happened in the world and the uncertainty of it all, one of the few truths was that, deep down, people were good. But knowing that made no difference to a mind made up. To take action, Se-oh would have to ignore the truth. Because, above all, people are always doing what they said they “would never” do. Because hitting people, lying to them, toying with them, conning them out of their money, threatening them until they thought they were better off dead? That was also what people did.
11
Whenever he found himself on the subway staring vacantly out the window opposite him, Su-ho Lee thought back to the time he’d sat next to the team leader on the subway, after his first assignment outside the office. Su-ho had broken into a cold sweat. The team leader wordlessly handed him a handkerchief. A freshly pressed, checkered handkerchief. It suited the man, who looked like he belonged in the financial district, like a stockbroker, maybe, or an executive at an IT company.
Su-ho had accepted the handkerchief with trembling hands, pretended to dab his forehead with it, then handed it back. The team leader had laughed quietly as he took the still-pristine handkerchief. Su-ho stealthily studied their reflection in the window. A long shadow passed lengthwise over the other man’s face.
“Are you afraid of me right now?” the team leader had asked, aiming the question at Su-ho’s reflection.
“Uh, no, sir.”
That was a lie. He was very afraid. And envious. Su-ho wished he had the same power as this man. The power to slay someone with a single word, to beat someone with only a look, to make your opponent wither at nothing more than the sound of your breath.
The team leader turned to him. Su-ho kept looking straight ahead.
“Listen. If you’re going to do this work, there are two things you absolutely cannot spill. Do you know what those are?”
Su-ho lowered his head. He didn’t dare look the team leader in the eye or his entire body might have started to shake uncontrollably.
“Why won’t you look at me, you little shit? Scared?” The man’s mouth barely opened as he spoke. It looked like he was throwing his voice.
“No, sir.”
“Then answer me. And if you say tears, you’re dead. There’s nothing wrong with a man spilling tears. If he wants to cry, he should go ahead and cry. Why knock yourself out trying to hold back your tears?”
He spoke through clenched teeth, just as he had with the debtor they’d gone to accost moments before. Su-ho had been about to say “tears,” but he quickly changed his answer.
“Sp-spit, sir.”
“Spit, huh? All right, I’ll give you points for creativity. What’s the other thing you shouldn’t spill?”
“R-r-rice.”
“R-r-r-rice?” The team leader laughed. “It’s fucking hilarious watching you stutter.”
Su-ho stared at the window, wondering whether or not he should laugh, too. The team leader laughed with a grimace. It looked a lot like crying.
“It’s not unusual to spit a little when you’re talking. You going to quit your job over a little spit? As for rice, remember that DJ Doc song? It went something like, ‘Do you have to be good at using chopsticks in order to eat? You can still eat plenty even if you’re bad at it.’ I guess from now on you better not drop a single grain of rice when you’re eating with me. If you do, you’re dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
“‘Yes, sir?’ That’s not how real men talk. What’ll become of you at this rate? There’s a fine line between having a positive attitude and groveling. Knock it off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Listen: the answer is sweat and piss. Spilling those are worse than getting your ass kicked by some clown with no money. And you’ve already spilled some sweat. If you piss yourself, you’re done. Got it? So keep that in mind. You’ve already spilled one. Don’t fuck up again.”
Su-ho clenched the muscles in his groin. The team leader laughed and turned to stare at a girl sitting across from them.
From that day on, the team leader’s warning haunted Su-ho. He’d meant that Su-ho had only one shot left. Since Su-ho had already let his team leader see him sweat, he’d have to do whatever it took to keep from pissing himself. He’d have to guard his piss with his life. Guarding your piss . . . What a joke. And yet, the more he obsessed over it, the more he knew that that was his sole task.
They had nearly reached their stop before the team leader spoke again.
“Do you know why our company is called David?”
“N-n-no, sir.”
“For fuck’s sake, where’s your company loyalty? You do know the story of David and Goliath, at least, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s it about?”
“Uh . . . David beats Goliath?”
“That’s all you’ve got to say? What’d you do, go to school in China? What’s the moral of the story?”
“Uhh . . . that no matter how weak you are, as long as you use your head, you can beat a giant . . . or something like that.”
“We’re David, and the debtors we’re collecting from are Goliath. David doesn’t fight Goliath empty-handed. He takes rocks with him. He throws one at Goliath and hits him in exactly the right spot. Goliath falls. Then David rushes in, grabs his knife, and stabs him. The end.”
“Aren’t w-we Goliath?”
“Why would I bother saying something so clichéd? Look, you know how on a contract, there’s Party A who sets the terms, and Party B who follo
ws them? Party A is whoever has something to give, whereas Party B is the one who receives. And he who has something to give has all the power. Debtors give us money, which clearly makes them Party A. They hold the power. They’re like the boss who writes your paycheck, see? You’ve noticed that debtors, those fuckers, never want to give us the time of day? That’s how it always is with Party A. What makes it worse is that they have no actual money, which gives them balls of steel. They’re fearless. And what’ve we got? Nothing but paper. We need stones, five of them, just like David, if we’re going to take them down.”
“Stones?”
“Yes, goddammit, stones. It hurts to get hit by a stone. But what I really mean is we’ve got to cuss Goliath out, threaten him, never let him rest. Understand? When we cuss at someone, we’re not just throwing words, we’re throwing stones. The people we collect from are Goliath. They’re Party A. And we’ve got the rocks to take them down.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What, then, is the knife we use to chop off Goliath’s head?”
“M-m-money.”
“Dumbass, money is what they spill after we knife them. For god’s sake, use your brain! A knife. Something lethal. Something that kills in an instant. What might that be? Family, of course! When you reach the point where you know it’s time to slip the blade between their ribs, you oh so casually mention their family. That’s why it’s important to find out all that stuff about them beforehand.”
Knife. Lethal. Kills in an instant. As Su-ho thought back now on the team leader’s advice, his mouth filled with saliva.
He spat it onto the ground the moment he was off the train. No sooner had he started concentrating on not spilling any more sweat or piss than he was already getting into the habit of shedding his other bodily fluids. He looked around. A heavyset woman walking down the sidewalk gave him the side-eye; she must’ve seen him spit. He rubbed the saliva into the ground with the sole of his shoe, then lit a cigarette and headed off through the shopping district with its gauntlet of neon signs, straight toward Gojan-dong.
The Law of Lines Page 6