by Asia Olanna
Twisting over slightly in the back of the van, I wrangled with the key in my free palm. Using my fingers, I managed to slip the key in. Of course, I couldn’t really see anything. And it felt like hours had passed before the key actually went through the hole.
When it did, I groped around for the cuff latch, and thought about what to do next. I couldn’t just free myself and not have a plan.
As the van roved on, thoughts percolated in my mind about what to do. I could jump him. I could swing the knife right into the back of his neck. I could signal Bit-na with my eyes. She kept looking at me, glancing over for some sign that I had gotten free.
Sly, like a fox.
This Bit-na chick was much more than I thought.
“Oh really?” she said. She had been busying Kyung-min with conversation. I did not know what they were talking about. It did not interest me. “That’s really funny…”
I slipped the latch down, pulling my first wrist free. I barely made any moves to alert Kyung-min. He too was watching me, but had distractions flying all over his brain. Every facet of him consumed by Bit-na.
She looked at me again, and I flashed my free hand. Then I turned over to my side, the cuff slouching off my body.
I faced Bit-na now. Time slowed down. To a crawl, the world came.
The trees outside, nothing more than a blur.
What I could do now was kill Kyung-min. And get us out of here.
The pocketknife came out easily enough. I practically slit my wrist on the edge of the blade.
Bit-na glanced at me one last time, her eyes looking at the wheel.
Someone would have to stop the car while I handled Kyung-min.
And all in one motion, I jumped forward, taking the dagger in my hands, and driving it down into Kyung-min’s back. He screamed, swerving off the road, but Bit-na gripped the wheel before it could drive us all into a tree. She corrected the trajectory, not at all making a sound, like a ninja, working in tandem with what she knew best.
Trickery.
Deception.
I pulled the knife free from Kyung-min’s back, plunging it against his throat, dragging it down against his chest. Kyung-min screamed, his arms jutting upwards, flailing about his head. I twisted the knife here and there, like I knew how, making sure to really give it to him.
He squirmed, reeled backwards, and slouched against the headrest. My blade deep inside him, I pointed right at Bit-na.
The van was going at about 50 mph, slowing itself to a crawl, although it would still be a while.
“Don’t point the knife at me,” she said, the wheel still in her hands. “Point it at me, and then I’ll kill both of us.”
I dropped the knife.
“Now what do we do?” She sounded conflicted about what she had already done. “I know. We can go and get your Hae-il.”
“That sounds like a good deal,” I said. “And where is he?”
“Back at the house. Where we just left.”
The van came to a trembling stop. A neutral role. Bit-na hopped out of the vehicle, going around the grill side, and then pulled open the driver’s door. I got out as well, watching around in the forest, wondering if anyone had seen what went on only moments ago. We could’ve been shot on spot. The Twin Swords did not play.
“Let’s get rid of the body,” Bit-na said, not missing a beat. I took the pocketknife, and stashed it underneath my foot, squeezing it between my sole and the rubber of my shoe. I stood, helping Bit-na pull out the rest of Kyung-min.
What remained of him.
She looked away. “I didn’t like him anyway. He was such an ass. Always pretending to be so chivalrous. A lot of these guys are simply nasty. Not the type of people you’d ever want to know for too long.”
“Does that include me?”
“Well,” Bit-na said, wiping her hands on her pants. “Kind of. But you’re a little bit different. I think of you as being nicer than the rest. At least that’s what word on the street is.”
So people knew. “I want to get rid of the Double Dragons,” I said. “Is that the rumor?”
“There are all sorts of rumors. But yeah, that’s the main one. That you want to get rid of the Double Dragons. And I figure it’s better to pair off with you in the long run, considering I know how to take down the Twin Swords from the inside.”
“Why exactly are you helping me?”
“That’s personal,” Bit-na said. “When you’re part of a gang, everyone has a vendetta. You can never last too long at the top. I’m pretty sure Oh-seong and Hyun-jun expected me to betray them. But I’m not sure if they knew I’d be so fast on it. Let’s just get going.”
We pulled the body the rest of the way off the road, and then hid it behind a tree. Carving out a small ditch by the side of a trunk, we covered Kyung-min’s face in leaves. Bit-na took a lighter to the leaves, and lit them.
“It’s better off that way,” she said. “Serves that son of a bitch.”
Clearly she had some sort of repressed feelings for these guys. They had pissed her off, or even done worse to her. I wanted to comfort her. But how appropriate would it be to do so?
Not so much. Not in front of a burning body, and when we had to head back to the house we had just abandoned.
Bit-na dug into Kyung-min’s pockets. She pulled out a Makarych, a nonlethal weapon. Something like a Taser, meant to disperse rubber bullets. Manufactured in Russia, it was pretty heavy-duty for crowd control at least.
“They didn’t trust him to do any executing,” she said. “They didn’t want him to be armed. There was a lot of infighting.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. But slowly in my head, I was able to piece together a picture.
The Twin Swords were in just as a precarious state as the Double Dragons.
“Are we going to go back then or what?” I said, waving to the van. I got into the passenger seat. I didn’t want to drive on account of my weakness. Plus, if she were to get a hold of me, she could betray me at any instant while I held the wheel. No bueno.
“I’m not going to go back on you,” she said, wrapping her seatbelt around her waist. “These guys are such losers. And I can’t stand Oh-seong anymore.”
“If there’s anything you want to get off your chest…”
Bit-na adjusted the rearview mirror. She kissed the air, and then started up the engine. “There’s absolutely nothing that you need to know about me right now.”
Pulling back down the road, we went towards the house, a new objective in mind.
Hae-il would have to be saved.
A debt repaid.
HENRIETTA
The plane had touched down at around 9 PM in the morning. Summer heat smacked my face straight up.
Girl, it was hot as hell.
Humidity made my hair all crazy, spiraling it all over my cheeks, down my neck. I had to put a hat on to cover up. I was embarrassed about how I looked, how not put-together I appeared to be.
I would have to deal with it in the apartment later. I hoped it would be upscale, not too dingy or anything. I mean, I wasn’t expecting five-star service.
But at the same time, I wanted to be recognized and legitimate: feel as an artist should, a sculptor.
I had come to Korea for that reason alone—after winning the contest, I thought I deserved the finest. If they were going to put me up for year, then everything would have to be first-class, right?
“How is everything?” Latasha said over the phone. Already excited for me, she wanted to know the details of my life. I had nothing to tell her though. It had only been a couple of hours since we last talked. “Have you found any sweet guys?”
“You really have changed your mind about Korean men? I thought you had feelings about them being racist.”
“Oh,” she said, the static clearing away her voice for a moment. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate you being with one and enjoying your life.”
I shook my head. “You make it sound like I’m g
oing shopping for a doll to play with. These are actual human beings,” I said. “I’ve got to go. I’m really, really tired.” Traveling had exhausted me more than I thought.
“Okay,” Latasha said. “I’ll call you in a couple of days. Skype soon!”
I hung up. Latasha had her opinions about Korea. And so did my dad. But so did I.
Things were already looking up. I noticed all of the men were wearing immaculate suits and ties. And all of the women dressed up in heels, perfectly manicured, their long hair swishing across their tiny backs.
Everyone in the streets so put together and perfect. Flawless skin and smiling always. South Korea seemed to be the place where I could carve out my own little niche.
Fantastic. So different from the United States…
Although I have to admit, I felt inadequate standing next to these tiny angels of women. And these muscular men, who glanced at me and seemed to take little interest.
Was I attractive? Were they staring at me because I was black? Would I be okay in this country in the end? Or would I have to return home with my tail between my legs?
Shaking my head, and psyching myself out, I stood at the curb of the airport entrance with my luggage in my hand. I had about five bags, two in both hands, and three strapped around my shoulders, around my waist, and clinging to my back. Tired, I had to get inside a cab or else I might have fainted.
I read the news on my phone. There wasn’t much I could understand. Some of the news reported that Jong-soo had been found, while others said it was not true. Higher Museum had not sent me an email yet—I had inquired about his whereabouts—and they would get back to me later, they said.
At the very worst, if I couldn’t meet him, I would have to wait.
So, while I was disappointed at the prospect of not seeing him, I was still excited at being able to showcase my beautiful work.
And very proud. Extremely proud. Look at how far I had come! Yes!
Once I flagged down a cab, I squeezed myself into the back with my luggage, sighing impatiently. I didn’t want to be rude to the driver, but he could see I was in no mood for small talk.
And I could barely even understand him anyway.
My Korean was just not up to snuff. Shame on me for moving elsewhere without brushing up completely. But what can I say? Moving to a different country had come blitzkrieg fast.
And I thought anyway that learning the language with the locals would be better than investing time beforehand.
You could only learn the nuances of a language by speaking to other people.
“Take me here,” I said to the driver, pointing to my iPhone map. We were going to a hotel on the Yeoksam-dong side of Seoul.
The driver pulled off a pair of sunglasses from his head and then turned to the wheel. He glanced over at me once, twice. No questions asked though—it seemed he knew I didn’t speak a lick of intelligible Korean.
I wanted to practice though. “Eodiseo osyeosseoyo?” I said.
He responded, in Korean, “From Banpo.”
I had no idea where that was. But using Google Maps, I figured it out real quick. There wasn’t much on Wikipedia, but it seemed to be a swell enough place going by the fountains careening off the edge of a pool in the pictures.
It seemed pretty online, at least. “I’ll have to visit there,” I said in my best Korean, although he didn’t respond to me. Apparently, my best wasn’t good at all.
He just looked offended.
♦♦♦
When we arrived at the hotel, there were already bellhops ready to assist me. None of them addressed to me except in English, although when I greeted them in Korean, they screamed out loud, complementing me. “I didn’t think you could speak so well,” one of the bellhop boys said to me in English.
“Thank you so much,” was all that I could say. Really, I didn’t have the proper mindset to appreciate their appreciation. I just wanted to go to sleep, get into bed, and close my eyes. Standing out on the pavement, tipping my driver, and commanding the bellhops stole most of my energy anyway.
As I walked inside the hotel, I realized how swanky it was. A five-star place? It sure looked like it. With plush carpets, marble walls, and several hanging diamond chandeliers, the hotel seemed more like a resort than anything else.
Especially with the men walking around in swim trunks at night.
Sauna probably somewhere in the back.
Women tottering on heels, nothing but bikinis covering their private parts.
I had forgotten how Western Korea had gotten. How much influence the United States had on their culture after rebuilding their society post-World War II. I could appreciate how far they had come though. They maintained their culture, even through the modernization period.
I followed one of the bellhops pushing along my luggage. Going up about five stories, we arrived at my room down the hall filled with potted plants—the exotic kind, looking like they were taken from the Philippine jungle.
Luscious leaves, palm fronds pouring out of ceramic vases, gilded lips of cups like chalices from an English castle. Definitely high interior design. I loved how the hallways also had couches, made of the finest leather, imported from Italy, if my senses were correct.
The bellhop opened my door, pushing in the rest of my luggage. I got out a tip for him, but he denied me, saying, “Jeongmal areumdawoyo.” He blushed. My Korean was not good enough to understand exactly what he was talking about.
At first, I thought he was referring to my breasts or something—were my nipples showing? Did I have panty liner coming out? I know it sounded ridiculous to think of those things at the time. But imagining myself getting hit on in the middle of a business transaction?
Too unbelievable.
The bellhop left, and I went to attend my luggage. I pulled off each and every bag from the dolly, putting them right onto a king-sized bed. I looked around: a master suite, with more stainless steel countertops and a chrome bathroom. I turned on the faucet, stared at the high-tech bidet.
They really pulled out all the stops for me.
I went and grabbed my laptop. Higher Museum was still only communicating with me via email and text chat. I had a sinking suspicion that the people running the affairs were socially inept: why else would they not call me?
But then I chalked up their difference in communication to a difference in culture. Maybe they were the types of people who simply did not want to deal with my voice? Or a face-to-face Skype conversation.
It was understandable. Not everyone wanted to deal with calls. Not everyone could handle. Even I didn’t like having to prepare myself before an online chat over Skype.
Going over to the shower, I placed a towel onto the bathroom rack. I drew a hot bath, wanting to lull myself into a comfortable mood.
Then I would go into bed and sleep the rest of the night. Grabbing some petal soaps from my luggage, I fizzed the water with a bath bomb, took off my clothes, got my laptop, and sunk in for good hot lounging.
The steam rolled across my skin. My hair soaked up the moisture, relaxing at my sides. I surfed the Internet, scrolling across my screen for hot Korean men. Jong-soo Jeup! Would I really get to meet him still? The latest email from Higher Museum said:
…don’t worry about anything. Jong-soo Jeup is recovering in the hospital. There was indeed a bombing, but we’re getting our popstar ready for another concert soon. Don’t worry, he’s wanting to meet his number one fan for a long time…
So the English wasn’t the greatest. But from what I could put together, Jong-soo Jeup wanted to meet me.
I told my contact, Ming, that I was so excited to meet him as well. I mean, a superstar popstar? Jong-soo Jeup himself? The man who had released double platinum in only a couple of years, and out of nowhere, all the while having poor parents? He was the epitome of self-made entrepreneurship, and that I could respect so much.
I sunk deeper into the bath, dumping off the bomb onto my chest.
I closed my eyes, dreami
ng about Jong-soo.
His chiseled features.
His muscles.
The way he always wore a suit and tie on his album covers, looking so immaculate—the way his spiked hair chopped across his scalp like ocean waters on a seashore, short and quick, powerful waves of hair.
I could dig my fingers into his scalp, muss it up. We would laugh, and I would grab his crotch—