by Un-su Kim
Reseng picked up the bomb casing from Old Raccoon’s desk and started to leave.
‘Go and see Hanja,’ Old Raccoon said. ‘If you want to live.’
‘And if this wasn’t Hanja’s doing?’
‘Doesn’t matter who ordered it. You’ll live if you talk to Hanja.’
‘It’s that simple?’
‘It’s that simple.’
Old Raccoon went back to his reading. Reseng looked at him for a moment—he looked like he’d shrunk since the last time Reseng had seen him—before closing the door behind him.
THE MEAT MARKET
Dirty, rank, wretched and revolting. That was the meat market.
Pointless compassion and sorrow, endlessly spawning apathy, and aimless pent-up anger swept around like dead leaves in late autumn until ultimately self-combusting. The final stop for fallen lives. Forgery experts, money launderers, murderers-for-hire, unlicensed physicians, loan sharks, smugglers, cleaners, pimps, insurance fraudsters, drug dealers, organ traffickers, arms dealers, disposers of corpses, assassins, hunters, mercenaries, trackers, fixers, thieves, fencers, hustlers, felons and crooked detectives, whistleblowers and turncoats—all of them mingled with brokers of every variety, panting like horny dogs on a hot summer day, sniffing around for whatever might make them some money. A home for those who had hit rock bottom so hard that you wished there were a gentle way to say, ‘Hey, maybe in your case suicide isn’t the worst idea?’ but instead they chose to forge ahead and give life one last shot. That was the meat market.
The meat market was the most capitalist of the markets, which meant you could buy anything as long as you had the cash. Nothing there was forbidden by law, justice or morality. That wouldn’t fit with capitalist principles. So products stymied by law, justice and morality squeezed their way through loopholes into the meat market. You could buy anything there—from a human eyeball, a kidney, a lung, a liver and other human organs, to homemade bombs, poisons, Southeast Asian and Eastern European women, cheap drugs imported from Myanmar and Afghanistan, and guns smuggled off US military bases. If you were lucky, you could even purchase cheap equipment and weapons that former KGB agents had sold to the Russian mafia for a song. There you could buy revenge, joy, ruin, resurrection and rehabilitation. Five hundred bucks slipped into the right hand bought you an illegal immigrant from Vietnam who would kill whomever you told him to, and the purchase of a corpse—or someone willing to become a corpse—netted you a clean break from your own shitty life. Money launderers could scrub your hidden stash clean of its dirty origins and, surprisingly, even clean up your own dirty past. By purchasing a brand-new face from an unlicensed plastic surgeon and buying a fake name and fake history from a forger, a hideous criminal who ought to have rotted in prison for fifteen years could strut right through downtown Seoul and begin a new life. So, naturally, a married woman with an eye on her soon-to-be accidentally deceased husband’s life insurance and a desire to live life to the fullest raised no eyebrows in the meat market. After all, it was the sort of place where a man who’d sold every organ he could spare only to blow the proceeds on gambling would drag his barely eleven-year-old daughter to ask if he could sell her organs too. That was the meat market.
The only things not bought or sold here were cheap emotions that no one cared about (compassion, sympathy, resentment) and powerless, depressing words (faith, love, trust, friendship, truth). Neither honour nor credit were used as collateral. Far from it. The meat market had no truck with any such beautiful sentiments—not there, among the lowest of the low.
Thanks to the rock-bottom lives drifting in from all over, you could always hear the sound of a life collapsing in the meat market. When you thought about it, few places held as many tears. And yet no one there paid any attention to tears. No one wasted their energy on pointless sympathy.
The clueless complained: Why not just haul them all off to jail? But that was absurd. The meat market could never be locked up. It was far bigger than any prison, and prison was just another meat market. Like the oases that appear only when rain falls in the desert and that disappear just as quickly, the meat market rose from nothing and flowed forth of its own accord; it was a tumour that formed faster than it could be cut out. The smart prosecutors and detectives took advantage of the meat market. They knew full well that what they were after were the golden eggs, not the goose that laid them. Just as butchering the goose meant no more eggs, if they slaughtered the meat market, they’d be stuck sucking their thumbs, and anyway the meat market was far too vast ever to be contained.
‘He does deserve to die, doesn’t he?’
The fifty-something housewife with the short perm was staring pleadingly at Minari Pak. The bruises around her eye and on her cheekbone had not yet faded. Minari stared back at her impatiently.
‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ he said. ‘A creep like that is just begging to get knocked off. That’s why this is your chance. You can get rid of him and make a fresh start. Find yourself a new husband.’
‘Sis, he’s giving you good advice. You just have to be strong,’ said the younger woman next to her. Minari’s decoy.
‘He ruined my life!’
The older woman was practically reciting lines from a soap opera. She started sobbing. Fat tears dripped from her eyes as she squeezed her rolled-up handkerchief. She looked like she’d had a rough life. Her forearms were thick, presumably from manual labour, and her skin was rough and darkened from being in the sun. Dressed in a polka-dotted two-piece suit that might have been in style thirty years ago, she looked nothing like the kind of person you’d expect to find in the office of a contract killer, hoping to murder her husband. When she wouldn’t stop sobbing, Minari gave the decoy a look that said he was going to lose his mind any second. She patted the woman on the back and shot a look right back at him that said, Don’t fuck it up now!
‘Let it out, sis. There, there. It’s okay to cry in front of him. You can trust him,’ the decoy babbled.
Reseng chuckled. He’d been reading a newspaper at Minari’s desk the whole time. Were they really telling her to trust a hired killer? The older woman seemed to go along with it, because she started wailing even louder. Minari took out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, the look on his face clearly saying, Ah, to hell with this shit.
Reseng put down the newspaper and looked at the three people seated around the coffee table. Minari and his decoy looked ridiculous; neither of them had any clue what to do with the woman. Minari let out a long plume of smoke, his eyes fixed on the shopping bag at her feet. It probably held bundles of cash that she’d brought as a down payment. It was a pretty lucrative take, given the small scale of Minari’s business. And the job wouldn’t be all that hard, either. The decoy would have already put in months of work convincing the woman to hire a killer. She had to pick a mark, find out everything she could, approach her carefully and become close friends. Then, when the time was right, she had to stealthily plant the idea: ‘Why do you put up with him? There are options…’ Then she would fall back on that old chestnut: ‘Everyone gets one shot to turn their life around.’ But that’s a joke. Life is a tangled knot years in the making. No one unravels it in one shot.
The woman kept crying, oblivious to Minari’s impatience. Why was she crying? Did she feel bad for her husband, now that she was intent on killing him? Or was she feeling bad for herself, having worked her fingers to the bone to support a husband who did nothing but beat her? Was this last-minute guilt? She was sitting in the office of a hired killer with a shopping bag full of cash. She had to prove to Minari how pure and weak she was, like a sprig of baby’s breath, and how justified her anger, her tears spilling like the petals of a daisy. Then she had to give her reasons. But there was no need to prove anything to someone like Minari Pak. No need for reasoning. On the scale of hired killers, Minari was a lowly hyena, and he would do anything as long as you paid him. No matter how strong her reasons were or how awful her husband had been to her, none of that made an
y difference to how Minari did business. The show of waterworks made no difference either. If her husband were to come in the next day with a bigger bag of cash, then Minari would click his heels and dispose of her instead.
The woman dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and looked up.
‘Couldn’t you just reason with him? Killing just seems so…’
Minari stared at her like he’d just been hit in the head with a hammer. He was about two seconds away from flipping the table. But he couldn’t blow it now. He took a deep breath.
‘Reason? Listen, lady, what makes you think it’s worth reasoning with him? Need another knock in the head to wake you up? Once a man starts hitting a woman, he doesn’t stop. You can’t fix him. We looked into him, into all of his gambling, drinking, womanising. He could be reborn five hundred times and he’d still be a dog. You’ve handled it so far because you’re young and your bones are strong, but as you get older and you start to get that—what’s it called?—osteoporosis, after you get osteoporosis, what do you think’ll happen when he hits you? If he beats you when your bones are riddled with holes, hot packs won’t help. Nope, they sure won’t.’
Minari stopped mid-rant. His decoy was glaring at him. She took the woman’s hand.
‘Sis, that’s not the issue. You’re way past the point of reasoning with him. Does that deadbeat have any money in the bank? Any retirement money coming? No! Reasoning with him won’t make you rich and it won’t make your life any better. Think about what he’s put you through. You’ve suffered so much. He broke your body, and he broke your heart. It’s not right! If you keep going like this, your life will be nothing but suffering until the day you die. Sis, you’ve got the guts for it! He’s got two insurance policies, so you’ll get to kick back and relax for the rest of your life. And you don’t even have to lift a finger. This gentleman here will take care of everything.’ ‘Listen to your friend,’ Minari added. ‘Stop suffering and start enjoying life. This is your chance to make a fresh start.’
The woman lowered her head and wept again. Minari’s decoy patted her on the back. The woman’s quiet sobs grew louder. She beat her fist against her chest and pulled at her clothes. Minari let out a long sigh and got up from the couch to join Reseng, murmuring, ‘Work is a bitch these days.’
Just then the woman bolted up from the couch.
‘I can’t do it! I just can’t! No matter what he did, he’s still a human being…’
She picked up the shopping bag and bowed repeatedly to Minari. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she said in her nasal, tear-filled voice, and rushed out of the office. The decoy got up in a panic and ran after her.
‘I can’t believe it! Stubborn idiot,’ Minari said, staring at Reseng.
Reseng turned back to his newspaper.
‘I mean, if she’s not going to pay me, why talk my ear off for two hours about her lousy husband? What does she think this is, a domestic violence counselling centre? I can’t friggin’ believe it. Listen to her going on about how that deadbeat husband of hers is a “human being”. What the fuck are we then? Does she think they’re the only “human beings” with problems? Goddammit. Can’t trust anyone these days.’
Minari kicked the garbage bin. Then he sat on the couch and smoked another cigarette. He had nearly finished it when his phone rang. It was the decoy.
‘Bitch, I thought you said she was ready to sign! How’d you screw it up so bad?…What do you mean she needs to think it over? She’s had more than enough time!…She’s having second thoughts about the cost? Crazy bitch. She didn’t seem too worried about money a minute ago…By how much? Son of a—What does she think this is, a farmer’s market?…Just make sure she keeps her mouth shut. Tell her if she talks we’ll kill a bunch of people or whatever.’
He hung up. The office grew quiet. He lit another cigarette and slowly sized Reseng up. Reseng put away his newspaper and looked at Minari. Minari stubbed out his cigarette and stood.
‘Man, it is tough trying to nail down a job. But what brings Your Majesty to this humble office?’
‘Being shut up in the library makes me forget what it’s like out here in the real world,’ Reseng said with a smile. ‘I thought I’d come and find out what’s happening and get some career advice from you.’
Minari’s face darkened.
‘Well, gosh, what sort of advice would I have to offer The Great Reseng? I’m struggling just to make ends meet.’ He pretended to look at his watch. ‘Actually, to be honest, this isn’t a good time for me. I’m supposed to be somewhere.’
‘Busy, I see. Well, then I’ll just ask a few simple questions.’
‘Sure,’ Minari said hesitantly. ‘I hope I can answer them.’
‘Was there a meeting?’
‘What kind of meeting? You mean like a neighbourhood meeting?’ Minari joked, feigning nonchalance. But it was obvious the question had caught him off guard.
Reseng looked at him coolly.
‘I hear there are a lot of meetings these days. For example, meetings with Hanja but not Old Raccoon. I want to know if anything important has been said at them.’
‘There was no meeting. You know those only take place at the library.’
‘Really? Not a single one?’ He narrowed his eyes at Minari.
‘If there was, I don’t know about it. Why would Hanja summon me? All I do is make a living patting old ladies on the back. He doesn’t even see me as human. I’m just—’
Minari stared as Reseng took out a knife and set it on the table. Chu’s handkerchief was still knotted around the handle.
‘This was Chu’s knife. I never understood before why Chu used a kitchen knife. But now that I’ve tried it out, I can see why.’
Minari’s gaze shifted back and forth between Reseng and the knife. Was Reseng bluffing, or was he really going to stab him? Reseng could hear the gears shifting inside Minari’s head.
Minari forced a smile. ‘C’mon, this isn’t like you.’
‘No? Then what am I like?’ Reseng looked him straight in the eye.
Minari turned away. ‘You know, it’s not news that Hanja’s going after Old Raccoon.’
‘That’s not what I asked,’ Reseng said. ‘Give me specifics.’
‘Like I said, why would Hanja tell me anything? Makes no sense.’
‘Hanja likes you. You never say no to rotten meat.’
Minari clenched his teeth. His pride was hurt. He took out another cigarette. His hand shook as he put it between his lips.
He tried to light it but gave up. ‘Did Old Raccoon send you to kill me because I’m one of Hanja’s dogs?’
Reseng stared back at him without responding.
‘Well, that hurts my feelings, it really does. Tell Old Raccoon that for me. Tell him he’s gone too far this time. He’s got me all wrong. I’m not like that. Since when’ve I ever been that underhanded?’
Minari tried to read Reseng’s face, but Reseng was giving nothing away. Minari started chattering away again.
‘To tell you the truth, a lot of people have been complaining. How many years has it been now since the library had work for us? Old Raccoon can act like a saint all he wants and pretend to survive on grass and dew, but the rest of us can’t. Even when there’s no work, we still have to put something in our kids’ pockets every month, and pay off the cops, and give a cut of our commissions to brokers and to the men upstairs, which leaves us with barely enough to buy a packet of instant noodles. I’m not eating rotten meat, I’m eating shit! And yet Old Raccoon just keeps a tight hold on that client list of his and won’t release the goods.’
The look on Minari’s face said he wanted Reseng to agree with him, but Reseng didn’t budge.
‘Do you know how much better things would be right now if Old Raccoon gave up just a few of his big clients? But that stubborn old man refuses. So, of course, the guys bitch about it. Look how hard it is to make ends meet these days. The complaints add up. Of course they do. The moment everyone gets toge
ther, all they do is bitch about Old Raccoon. But not me! I’m on Old Raccoon’s side. I tell them it’s not right to hold a grudge against him just because times are tough, and I remind them of the good he did for us in the past. I tell them there are ups and downs in every life, and we just have to tough it out. I’m serious! Ask anyone! I’m the only one here who takes Old Raccoon’s side. Tell me the truth—did anyone else from the market bring Old Raccoon a gift over the holidays? No one, right? I, Minari Pak, was the only one. And I didn’t take just any old gift—no, I gave him jukbang anchovies that I purchased myself at the department store. Jukbang anchovies! From Namhae’s signature collection!’
The rant seemed to calm Minari’s nerves a little. He finally managed to light his cigarette and let out a long cloud of smoke.
‘I’ll ask another question,’ Reseng said calmly. ‘Did Hanja set a date?’
Minari looked at him, dumbfounded. ‘I’ll go crazy trying to talk to you. You still don’t get me. Just because I make a living stabbing old ladies in the back doesn’t mean I would betray my elders.’ He shook his head.
A flicker of a smile crossed Reseng’s face. He tapped the knife. Minari stared at the tips of Reseng’s fingers.
‘Would you like to go to Bear’s today?’ Reseng asked.
‘I, Minari Pak, have survived in the meat market for thirty years,’ he declared, abruptly raising his voice. ‘I’ve been through hell and high water. That little kitchen knife of yours is a joke. I’m Minari Pak, dammit!’
He raised a shaking hand to take a drag on his cigarette. Instantly, Reseng picked up the knife and in one swift move sliced off Minari’s fingers. The forefinger and middle finger sailed through the air, the cigarette still between them, and landed with a plop on the desk. Minari stared at his right hand then turned to look at his two fingers oozing blood, smoke still rising from the cigarette. As Reseng raised an eyebrow, Minari blanched and took a step back. Reseng calmly set the knife down.