The Plotters
Page 21
‘You’re a funny woman.’
‘Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re a funny guy.’
‘But why me? You could’ve had your pick of assassins in the meat market.’
‘You’re cute.’
She gave him the same innocent look as before. He returned it with a look of supreme irritation. But Mito didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, as she took another sip of soju and another bite of tripe. Much to his aggravation, she kept chewing slowly and mechanically before finally swallowing and speaking again.
‘I need someone who can go back and forth between Old Raccoon and Hanja. Someone who can put them on edge, shake them up, egg them on. You’re perfect for that because you’re Old Raccoon’s son and Hanja’s brother.’
‘I am not Old Raccoon’s son! And I’m definitely not Hanja’s brother,’ Reseng yelled, before he could stop himself. The owner paused in the middle of chopping green onions to stare at him. Embarrassed, Reseng lit another cigarette. Mito laughed, shook her head, and took another sip of soju and another bite of tripe.
‘You’re not eating? We have to finish all the meat so she can make us fried rice with the leftover sauce.’
Reseng stared at her. How could she talk about fried rice at a time like this? Seriously, what planet was she from? As he watched her talk around a mouthful of pig intestine, he felt like planting his fist in it.
‘So, what makes you think I would help you?’
‘Because you’re not going to survive this without me. I’ve prepared the most wonderful plot just for you.’
‘Well, isn’t that something. Lately I’m surrounded by people telling me I can’t survive without them.’
‘Plotters keep a pre-roster, a list of information on people who are likely to become targets so we can move quickly once an assassination date is set. And you’re on it.’
‘Did Hanja put me on it?’
‘Maybe. Though it could just as easily have been someone else.’
Reseng inhaled deeply on his cigarette, and slowly exhaled.
‘Thank goodness I’m only on the pre-roster,’ he said. ‘But even if I were on the main list, I still wouldn’t dream of crawling under some chick’s skirt and begging for my life.’
Mito sneered at him. ‘Why, because you’re a man? Your problem is that damn Y-chromosome of yours. Women have two lovely, flexible X-chromosomes that balance each other out, but the only thing your stupid Y-chromosome is good for is getting hard-ons and flying off the handle.’
‘I’ll figure my life out on my own, so worry about yourself. From what I see, you won’t last long. To say nothing of your little sister Misa in that wheelchair of hers. How is she going to run away in that thing?’
Mito gave him a look. ‘Don’t you dare joke about my sister with that filthy mouth of yours.’
Her eyes were like daggers. Reseng suddenly pictured Misa’s bright, innocent smile as she’d laughed at his jokes and patted his shoulder. He held his hand up to show he was sorry. Mito picked up her glass and drank the rest of the soju.
‘Why are you so fixated on Hanja and Old Raccoon anyway? Is it revenge for your parents? Or for Misa’s legs—’ Reseng stopped himself before he went any further.
‘I did start this initially because of them.’ Mito refilled her glass. ‘But I don’t know who killed my parents, and I don’t care anymore who was behind it. I’m not looking to get personal revenge on the dogs who paralysed my sister. They’re probably dead already—killed by people like us. People who kill human beings and go home afterwards to shovel dinner in their faces and take hot baths and tuck themselves into bed and fall asleep peacefully, as if the things they do mean nothing at all. Dirty, ugly, revolting people like us. Cowardly, weakest-of-the-weak people who say, “We had no choice because that’s how the world is and because life is hard and because we have no power.”’
Mito took a swig of soju.
‘So you’re going to change the world by getting rid of all the hitmen?’
Mito stared at her glass and didn’t answer.
‘Will killing Hanja and Old Raccoon change the world?’ Reseng continued. ‘It’s just an empty chair spinning in circles. The moment the chair is empty, someone else will rush to sit in it. Killing them won’t make a difference.’
‘You’re right. Getting rid of a few measly hitmen won’t change anything. That’s why I’m planning to get rid of the chair. So that no one can sit in it.’
Reseng stared at her. Her face didn’t change.
‘I thought you were a smart girl, but you’re actually just a crazy bitch.’
‘Did you think I was a sane bitch? How could I do this work if I were sane?’
‘You plan to enact justice all on your own? What a joke. Not even the movies are that unrealistic anymore.’
‘Do you know why the world is like this? Because of villains like Old Raccoon and Hanja? Because of the puppet-masters giving them assignments? No. A handful of villains isn’t enough to affect the world. The world is like this because we’re too meek. Because of people like you who believe in resigning yourselves to apathy, who believe that nothing you do can change anything. You dismiss it all as an empty chair spinning in circles. You think that makes you sound cool? It’s because of people like you—who obediently do whatever Hanja or Old Raccoon tell you to do without so much as a peep, worrying only about whether there’ll be food in your bowl, cursing and grumbling over booze and acting like you know everything—that the world is the way it is. You’re worse than Hanja. While you help turn him into an infamous villain, you try to convince yourself that you’re still better than him. You commit every sin in the book and then claim you had no choice. But Hanja is better than you. Because he at least is willing to take the blame.’
‘Brilliant Miss Mito came up with an awesome plot to save the world, but she still needs an idiot like me to pull it off?’
Mito stared at him without answering.
‘If you’d like to know my answer now,’ he continued, ‘it’s no. I don’t care what you’re thinking or what plot you came up with. I will live my ugly, cowardly, disgusting life, just as you said, until the day someone sticks a knife in me and I’m dead. But I don’t care. Because I’ve lived like a worm and I will die like a worm.’
Reseng stood up. He directed his next words at the top of Mito’s head.
‘If you mess with me again, I’ll fucking kill you. That’s your final warning.’
She looked up at him. Her expression was as arrogant as ever.
‘Better grab a Hot Break,’ she said. ‘You’re going to need the energy.’
With that, she took another gulp of soju and ate another mouthful of tripe. The owner was looking over at them, disappointment written all over her face. Reseng stared at Mito for another three seconds and then walked over to the register.
‘How much is the bill?’ he asked.
‘Eighteen thousand.’
He pulled two ten-thousand-won notes from his wallet and handed them to the owner. She looked sad as she handed him his change.
‘I know she’s a lot to handle, but please give her another chance…’
‘Thank you for the food,’ Reseng said and left.
He wasn’t sure if it was from drinking in the middle of the day, but the sun beating down on the marketplace made him dizzy.
FROG EAT FROG
Jeongan’s body arrived at the library over the weekend. It wasn’t Hanja but Hanja’s lawyer who stepped out of the car. Two men dressed in black suits pulled Jeongan’s body from the boot, where it had been shoved in carelessly, and carried it into Old Raccoon’s study. Hanja’s lawyer followed them in. As the men in suits stepped back outside, the lawyer greeted Old Raccoon, bowing a full ninety degrees from the waist.
‘We are just as upset about this as you are,’ the lawyer said. ‘Jeongan crossed a line that shouldn’t have been crossed. We ought to have consulted you first, of course, but the situation became all too urgent…’
‘A line that shouldn’t have been crossed, huh?’ Old Raccoon said, speaking slowly and calmly, like he was admonishing a child. ‘Maybe I’m getting senile but nowadays whenever young people beat around the bush I cannot work out what they’re saying. Just give it to me straight, Prosecutor. What line was crossed?’
Hanja’s lawyer had started out as a government prosecutor. People still called him by his old job title even though he no longer did anything of the sort.
‘Jeongan had a list of the names and locations of our plotters—a good five of them. We think he was planning to make a deal with another company. As you know, that type of information is extremely sensitive, so we…’ He trailed off.
‘Which company?’
‘Some guys from China. They were going to pay him three billion won.’
Old Raccoon scowled. ‘You expect me to believe that? How could Jeongan have had a list of your plotters when even I don’t know who they are? I’m sure you don’t store classified information like that between the pages of a phone book.’
The lawyer hesitated before responding.
‘We don’t yet have all the details on how he got his hands on it. Once we do, the boss will come in person to give you a full report.’
Old Raccoon unzipped the body bag the rest of the way. There were seven knife marks in Jeongan’s throat, chest and stomach.
‘Did Hanja give the order?’
‘The boss is currently abroad.’
‘Then who did?’
‘I gave the order to subdue him and bring him in, but Jeongan is not an easy person to catch. I guess our guy slipped up.’
‘Slipped up…’
The lawyer snuck a glance at Old Raccoon’s face and said, ‘He will be soundly punished for it.’
Old Raccoon gave him a contemptuous look. ‘Soundly? Meaning you’re going to kill him?’
The lawyer covered his mouth with his fist and pretended to cough as a look of embarrassment crossed his face.
‘Or was it your plan all along to swap my knight for one of your pawns?’ asked Old Raccoon.
Reseng gritted his teeth at the mention of chess. The lawyer still had his fist over his mouth and the same awkward look on his face.
‘We’ve lost three of our plotters in the last two months alone,’ he said courteously. ‘We don’t know for sure whether Jeongan had anything to do with it, but this is a very sensitive time for us. And it’s election season. We trust that you understand our position.’
Old Raccoon cocked his head at the mention of three dead plotters. He rolled up his sleeves and examined the stab marks on Jeongan’s body with his bare hands. The predator had taken his prey down slowly, starting on the outside of the torso and working his way to the centre as the prey lost strength. Both Trainer and Chu had been dispatched the same way.
‘The Barber?’ Old Raccoon said.
‘No, sir. It was a young knifeman. Former Yakuza…’
The lawyer was quick with a lie. Old Raccoon snorted. He felt the spot where the knife had pierced Jeongan’s heart, almost certainly the fatal stab.
‘Impressive knife work for a young guy. What’s his name?’
The lawyer hesitated, obviously trying to make up a name on the spot.
‘He calls himself Dalja.’
‘How old?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘Very young. Alright, bring me his body and we’re square. We can’t let him think it’s okay to threaten the library and get away with it. It’ll go to his head.’
Reseng stared at Old Raccoon in surprise, but Old Raccoon’s expression didn’t change. The lawyer thought it over and nodded.
‘It’s a deal. Once it’s taken care of, I’ll compile a situation report and have it delivered to you.’
‘I don’t need any goddamn report!’ Old Raccoon suddenly yelled. ‘What do you think this is? The government?’
‘Forgive me.’ The lawyer hung his head.
‘You can go. We’ll deal with Jeongan’s body.’
The lawyer gave him another polite, ninety-degree bow before exiting.
When he was gone, Old Raccoon finally allowed himself to reveal his grief. His ramrod-straight body seemed to collapse in on itself. He braced his hands against the table and stared at Jeongan’s face for a long time before resting his palm against the young man’s forehead.
With his eyes still fixed on Jeongan, he asked Reseng, ‘How did Jeongan get the list of Hanja’s plotters?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘No guesses?’
‘None.’
Jeongan might have stumbled upon it when he found Dr Kang’s hideout. But were the plotters likely to leave a list of names and addresses lying around for anyone to stumble upon? Not a chance. Mito must have planted some bait in Jeongan’s path. And he’d taken it. Like an idiot. Did he really think he could sell a list of plotters without getting caught? It was a fool’s errand.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Old Raccoon asked.
‘If you don’t know, then I don’t know,’ Reseng said.
‘Was Jeongan taking orders from someone else?’
‘He was tracking bomb components, but it had nothing to do with the plotters.’
‘Three plotters are dead, Jeongan was attacked, everyone’s got their swords drawn like all hell is about to break loose, and I know nothing?’ Old Raccoon yelled, his eyes bloodshot.
‘That’s what you’re angry about?’
‘What?’ Old Raccoon glared at him.
‘You’re not angry about Jeongan. Your pride is hurt simply because you weren’t kept in the loop, right? Jeongan is dead! Don’t you see?’ Reseng cradled Jeongan’s head in his hands and turned it to face Old Raccoon. ‘Who cares about your pride? Being informed won’t bring Jeongan back to life, so why do you care whether you knew what was going on or not? It’s obvious the Barber killed him, but you’re settling it by having some other guy killed? What kind of justice is that? I guess we’re all the same to you. We’re all just pieces on your chessboard, so why should you care whether your knight or your rook or whatever goes down? As long as you keep playing, we’re all dead anyway.’
Old Raccoon’s hands shook. Tears fell from Reseng’s eyes.
‘Move him down to the basement,’ Old Raccoon said gently. ‘We need to have the body cleaned and readied.’
X
‘Is that really Jeongan?’ Bear looked shocked.
Reseng stayed silent.
‘Poor Jeongan! Poor little Jeongan! So young! I cremated your father, and now I’m cremating you. What has the world come to?’
Bear stroked Jeongan’s cheek inside the bodybag. Reseng lit a cigarette. Old Raccoon had stayed in the car. Bear collapsed on the ground and wept for a long time before getting up again. He brushed off his pants and checked the surroundings out of habit before going over to the car and tapping on the back window. Old Raccoon unrolled the window a crack.
Bear wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he said, ‘Shall I get started, Mr Raccoon? It won’t be long before the sun comes up.’
Old Raccoon nodded. Bear got the cart from the shed and nodded to Reseng, who flicked away his cigarette and went over to the boot. Together, they lifted Jeongan’s body onto the cart. It must have been true what they said about the dead weighing more than the living; Jeongan weighed a ton.
Bear stopped the cart in front of the incinerator and spread out a mat. He placed a small table on top and set it with a candle, incense, a bottle of rice wine and wine cups. Reseng stood to one side and watched. Bear lit the incense, checked that nothing was missing, then walked back to Old Raccoon’s car.
‘Mr Raccoon, everything’s ready.’
Old Raccoon stared blankly out the car window without saying anything.
After about ten seconds, Bear said, ‘Alright, I guess we’ll get started without you.�
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Old Raccoon gave an almost imperceptible nod. Bear bowed and returned to the mat.
He lit another stick of incense, poured wine into the cup and raised it in offering before drinking it, then bowed twice. He glanced over at Reseng, who got up, lit some more incense and picked up a wine cup. Bear filled it. Reseng raised it in offering and bowed twice as well. Then he stood there as if in a trance until Bear tapped him on the shoulder and cleared away the table and mat. Reseng was still in a daze, so Bear lifted Jeongan onto the tray by himself. Before closing the incinerator door, Bear looked at Reseng once more. Reseng’s face remained blank. Bear slid Jeongan into the oven and closed it.
As the flames rose, Bear brought out a bottle of soju and sat next to Reseng. He took a swig of the soju and offered it to him. Reseng took a swig and handed it back. Bear stared at the oven wordlessly with the bottle in his hand.
Jeongan the Shadow was dead. Jeongan, who’d sworn to live a life no one would remember, who’d vowed to become as light and indefinite as vapour, to live without love or hate or betrayal or hurt or memory, to be a non-presence, like the air itself, was dead. Why kill him? No one would’ve known the difference if they’d let him live. Reseng pictured a shadowless man standing at the top of a tall hill in the desert with the sun beating down on him, and thought, How am I supposed to live without a shadow now?
If he hadn’t called Jeongan, Reseng might have been the next to die. He wouldn’t have bothered calling if Jeongan had been on another job. Jeongan had had nothing to do with this business of the bomb until Reseng involved him. Reseng should have dealt with it on his own. But instead he’d called, and now Jeongan was dead. He’d become a shadow, just like his father, and was being cremated in Bear’s oven, just like his father. Reseng pictured Jeongan’s blood and bones turning to smoke and ash in the searing flames of Bear’s incinerator. Once his ashes were scattered on the wind, he would be forgotten, just as he’d wanted all along.