by Paula Stokes
As we pull into the next station, more people get on, but not so many that anyone has to stand. An older woman holding hands with a boy about five or six steps into our car wearing a paper surgical mask over her mouth and nose. She sits next to me.
The boy stands in the aisle, secure between her knees. The bottoms of his shoes light up as he stamps his feet. “Eomma,” he exclaims. The Korean word for “mommy.” He points at something in the station as the train starts to move. “Eomma,” he says again. The woman shushes him and he falls silent. He looks over at me with sad, dark eyes. I give him a tiny smile.
“Why are there people wearing masks?” Jesse asks me in a low voice. “Is there some sort of flu going around?”
I shake my head. “Most people don’t take sick days here unless they can’t get out of bed, so they wear the masks in order not to infect others.”
“A third of the people on this train are sick?” Jesse asks dubiously.
I glance around. I hadn’t realized how many people were wearing masks. This was fairly common even when I was little, so it doesn’t stand out to me. “They wear them for other reasons too, like to block out the pollution or keep their faces warm. I’ve heard that girls wear them when they don’t feel like putting on makeup or sometimes just because.”
A pair of high school girls holding hands and wearing matching Hello Kitty masks get on at the next stop. “Wow, they even have them in designs,” Jesse says.
“Koreans are a fashionable people,” I say with a grin.
When we arrive at Gangnam Station, Jesse is astounded by the main level. Corridors snake off in several directions, filled with shops selling clothes and shoes and souvenirs and all types of food.
“It’s like an entire underground shopping mall,” he says.
“More or less.”
We make our way through the long rows of shops and eateries—a sprinkling of which have opened for business—and exit the subway tunnels. As we walk past the front of the UsuMed building, I slow down and look around, being sure to capture ViSE footage like Baz instructed. Jesse snaps some photos with his cell phone, like he’s a tourist out for an early morning stroll.
We cross the street to a red-and-gray building called Shinsa Tower. Inside, there’s a coffee shop with a banner in the window advertising something called honey bread. It smells delicious. I pull Jesse over to a corner and we stand next to a giant potted plant, scanning the doors and the lobby. While Jesse pretends to be checking something on his phone, I record as much information about this building as I can without arousing the suspicion of the security guard who stands next to the alcove where the elevators are located.
Jesse and I repeat this pattern at the buildings on either side of UsuMed, pausing in the Hyundai building to buy coffee and the lobby of the Woori Bank to use the ATMs. All we have left to do is gather info on the actual UsuMed building. I stride up the steps, pause for just a second in front of the main entrance, glancing down to capture whatever information Baz is hoping to get about the door locks. There’s a coffee shop in here too, located next to the back entrance. I stride toward the elevators, where a couple men in rumpled suits are clutching cups of coffee. They look less than thrilled to be working on a Saturday. Jesse hangs back near the entrance to the building—probably trying to get some pictures of the different doors.
I pretend to be studying the directory of what businesses are in the building—all the floors seem to be owned exclusively by UsuMed except for the main floor, which has a restaurant in addition to the coffee shop. The directory tells which departments are located on which floors. I notice floors B1 and B2 are marked private, with B3 being the first of two levels designated for parking.
The elevator dings and the men move forward, one of them giving me a quizzical look as I step away. I motion for Jesse to join me and we exit out the back of the building, him taking a few pictures and me looking everywhere to capture as much as possible on the ViSE.
“What now?” Jesse exhales a puff of mist into the chilly air.
“Feel like doing a little shopping? I need to get some clothes, and we might as well pick up some things for the apartment while we’re out.”
“I’m up for whatever,” he says. “Should we hit up the shops at the subway station?”
“We could.” I adjust my wig to cover my ears. It’s eerie how the weather here is exactly like the weather back in St. Louis. “But if you don’t mind shopping outside, how about we check out the most popular market in the city?”
“Sounds good to me,” Jesse says. “Lead the way.”
* * *
Namdaemun Market is both the oldest and largest market in all of Korea. Jesse rests one hand on my back as we exit the subway station and head toward the nearest gate. Tall buildings, both traditional and modern, line the busy streets. Vendors crowd the sidewalk selling dumplings, noodles, and dried fish. Korean flags, with their bright red-and-blue yin-yangs, flap in the breeze above their carts.
We reach Gate Five and turn in to the market proper. Tibetan prayer flags hang from wires that stretch across the path. Saturday is a prime shopping day and people are streaming in and out. It’s chaos, but at least the crush of bodies provides a little shelter from the cold. I take Jesse’s hand so he doesn’t get swept up in the quick-moving shoppers. He scans the rows of market stalls selling everything from squid jerky to T-shirts to electronics.
“This place is huge,” he says.
“Better selection than the subway station, and the prices are good.” I pause just inside a stall while Jesse checks out some military surplus gear. There are displays of camouflage pants and tops along with duffel bags and other army items—most of it American. I wonder if the soldiers sell their excess stuff before they get discharged.
The vendor hurries over and speaks to me in Korean. I tell him Jesse is just looking but then ask him if he sells knives. I need to replace the ones I left in Los Angeles.
“Only these.” He leads me over to a case of folding pocketknives, most of them small enough to fit on keychains. “Anything else requires a permit.”
Jesse comes up behind me. “Looking for new knives?”
“Yes, but they only sell pocketknives here. Bigger knives require a permit.”
“Baz can probably hook you up.”
“True,” I say, but I’m only half listening. Across the crowded market aisle, in a booth selling pots and pans, a woman wearing a black wool jacket and a green scarf seems to be staring at me. She’s also wearing a pair of wide sunglasses and a paper surgical mask, making it impossible to determine what she looks like. My heart starts pounding and I have to tuck my hands into my pockets to hide the fact that they’re shaking. What if she works for Kyung? What if he already knows that we’re here?
“Winter?” Jesse has picked up on my sudden change of mood. “You okay?”
“Come on.” I keep my eyes trained on the woman as Jesse and I leave the stall, but she turns her attention to a display of rice cookers and makes no move to follow us. I toss a glance back over my shoulder as we turn the corner onto a main aisle of the market, but the woman has disappeared from view. Stopping at some large square bins that run down the middle of the market rows, I quickly pick out some clothing to replace the stuff I left behind in Los Angeles.
As the clerk is putting my purchases in a plain black bag, I feel a prickling sensation. Sure enough, I catch a glimpse of a splash of green in my peripheral vision. I turn, ever so slightly. It’s the same woman. She’s looking down at her phone as she stands in line at a food cart, but I swear I felt her eyes on me a second ago.
“I think we’re being watched,” I murmur, just loud enough for Jesse to hear.
“What?” He furrows his brow. “By who?”
“There’s a woman down the row, at the food cart with the gray-and-white tarp roof.”
“There’s a lot of women at that stand.” Jesse starts to move closer for a better look but I grab his hand.
“Don’t,” I sa
y. “It’s the one with the green scarf. If she doesn’t know we’re onto her, we can follow her. Maybe she’ll lead us right to Kyung.”
“I thought we were going to find Kyung at UsuMed,” Jesse says softly, but he turns his focus back to me. I pull out my phone and pretend to be showing Jesse something on the screen. Slowly I lift the phone so I can snap a picture of the mysterious woman. The ViSE I’m recording might be helpful, but I need a photo if I want to zoom in.
The woman is still wearing sunglasses but I feel our eyes meet for a split second. Without warning, she steps out of line and starts hurrying away from the cart. The back of her scarf sparkles in the sun. It must have some sort of reflective threads woven into it.
“Damn it.” I loop my shopping bag around my wrist and start to push through the crowd after her.
“Winter!” Jesse is trying to follow me but he’s too big to navigate the crush of people.
I don’t look back. I can’t. I’m focused on the green of the woman’s scarf. She turns down a row that leads out to the main road and I follow. The woman ducks through the gate and out onto the street. I elbow my way past clusters of old men who are huddled around the food carts, slurping noodles or spearing steamed dumplings on their silver chopsticks.
The woman quickens her pace as she heads for a covered set of stairs. At first I think she’s heading for the subway, but then I realize it’s just an underground arcade—a pass-through for people to cross the street, probably connected to a network of shops that links back to the market itself. A cell phone falls from her hand as she hits the top of the stairs. She bends down quickly to retrieve it and the sleeve of her coat rides up, exposing a black tattoo on the inside of her forearm. I squint, but I’m too far away to see what it is—a bird, maybe.
“Winter!” Jesse grabs my hand from behind and I stumble, accidentally bumping into a man with a cart of persimmons and sending a handful of them to the gray sidewalk. Swearing under my breath, I kneel down to retrieve the bright-orange fruit.
“Sorry.” Jesse looks chagrined as he bends down to help me. “But what are you—”
“Not now. Come on.” I mutter an apology to the persimmon vendor and hurry down the stairs after the woman. At the bottom, the tunnel predictably leads in multiple directions. She could have gone right back up to the same sidewalk or crossed under the street and continued in either direction. There is no one around except for a homeless man sitting with his back against the brick wall, his eyes closed. There’s a stone bowl set in front of him, a few crumpled paper bills tucked into it with a smattering of coins.
“Ajussi,” I say. The man stirs but doesn’t look at me. “The woman with the green scarf. Did you see which way she went?” I ask in Korean, a trace of impatience creeping into my voice.
His eyelids flick open revealing milky, sightless eyes. “I was sleeping,” he mutters.
“Sorry.” My shoulders slump forward as I exhale deeply. Wherever she went, she’s gone by now.
Jesse rests a hand on my shoulder. “What were you going to do if you caught up with her?”
“I don’t know.” I dig into my purse and drop a few thousand won in the old man’s bowl. “Ask her why she was watching us?”
I turn back to the stairs. “If you don’t know for sure she was watching us then why would she run?”
“She didn’t really run, that I saw. She just turned and left the marketplace … Maybe she got a text from someone.”
“So you think I’m paranoid, then?” I call up the photo I took and zoom in on the woman’s face as we head back up to the sidewalk. It’s impossible to even gauge how old she is behind the sunglasses and surgical mask.
“I don’t know,” Jesse says. “I just don’t see any way Kyung could possibly know we’re here already, and I didn’t see that woman at UsuMed. Did you?”
“No, but I was focused on getting in and out of the buildings without arousing suspicion.”
“I definitely didn’t see her. Maybe she just took off because she thought you were watching her.”
I lift my gaze to meet Jesse’s. Concern flickers in his hazel eyes. “Maybe,” I admit reluctantly. But inside I’m not convinced.
* * *
When we get back to the apartment, I replay the ViSE footage, looking for any clues I might have missed. I focus on the woman with the green scarf, but there’s nothing familiar about her. And Jesse’s right: what I thought was her running away was really just her walking quickly.
I pull off the ViSE headset and check out the cell phone picture again, swiping the screen to enlarge the photo.
“What are you looking at?” Baz leans over my shoulder.
“I thought this woman was following Jesse and me at the market today,” I say. “Do you recognize her?”
“Not much to recognize,” Baz says. “Did she approach you?”
“No, but when she caught me looking at her, she left in a hurry.”
Baz shrugs. “Probably just a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” I’ve definitely been on edge since being attacked in Koreatown. Maybe my brain is seeing threats where there are none.
* * *
On Monday, Jesse and I return to UsuMed in the early morning to see if we can catch a glimpse of Kyung. We arrive around seven a.m. but there’s no one coming and going yet.
I buy a coffee for Jesse and a tea for me and then scan the area, looking for a place we can loiter without being conspicuous. I decide upon a bench in front of the Shinsa Tower building across the street. There’s a metal sculpture here that looks to be a fountain, but there’s no water spraying, just a thin coating of ice in the basin at the bottom.
I sip my drink and try to make it seem like I’m looking past the UsuMed entrance, not directly at it. An old woman with a broom and dustpan is sweeping up bits of trash in front of the building.
“How are you ever going to recognize anyone from this far away?” Jesse asks.
The prongs of my recorder headset feel cool beneath my wig. “We can move closer once there are more people out on the street and we won’t be as conspicuous, but something tells me I’ll be able to identify Kyung from this distance.”
Jesse doesn’t respond and I wonder if he’s thinking about the fact that I’m so eager to end the life of another human being. What kind of person has the means and money to hire a competent hit man and says, “I want to do it myself”?
An insane person.
A brave person.
Who cares what kind of person?
I let the voices in my head argue it out for a few more minutes. Finally they grow quiet, but there’s still not anyone showing up for work.
To pass the time, Jesse points out unfamiliar things and asks me to explain them. “Why are there so many guys in skinny jeans?” he asks. “And scarves?”
I grin. “Like I told you, we are a fashionable people.”
He scans the sidewalk as a wave of people who probably all got off the same subway train pass in front of us and move down the street. “So many more scarves than hats or gloves. Do they really keep you warm? Maybe I should try one.”
“I could’ve bought you a Hello Kitty scarf from the market.” I wink. “Miso would’ve approved.”
“Moo!” Jesse exclaims. “I miss that little guy. What’s the first thing we should do for him when we get home?”
“Promise never to call him Moo again?”
“You know he likes it.” Jesse kicks at my boot with one of his own. “Do you suppose by the time we get back he’ll have fallen in love with Natalie and forgotten us?”
“Me, maybe,” I say. “Not you. He loves you.”
Jesse grins. “He has good taste.”
The first wave of employees starts to trickle into UsuMed just before eight A.M. They’re mostly blue-collar types in service clothes or women in secretarial garb. Another half an hour passes and I see a group of men and women in dark suits approaching from the direction of the subway.
“Executiv
es probably start at nine,” I murmur. “Let’s get closer.” We cross the street to the front of the building. Some of the employees hurrying up the steps are wearing laminated badges on lanyards. I break away from Jesse for a second in order to bump into one of them. I want to get close enough to get a good visual of what the badges look like, just in case there might be some way to manufacture a duplicate.
Suddenly I see a flash of green out of the corner of my eye. There’s a girl across the street standing just behind the bench where Jesse and I were sitting a few minutes ago. Is it the same girl from Namdaemun Market? Was she eavesdropping on us? I can’t be sure.
The girl catches me looking at her and ducks her chin to her chest. She turns and hurries off down the sidewalk, the sun reflecting off silvery threads in her green scarf.
Instinctively, I dart out into the street to try to follow her. A horn blares. A bright orange taxicab slams on the brakes, the bumper just inches from my legs. My heart thuds in my chest. Get back on the sidewalk. A truck in the next lane swerves slightly as it screeches past. A couple men on the sidewalk point at me and frown. The cabdriver leans his head out the window and hollers at me.
“Winter, what are you doing?” Jesse rushes to the curb.
I look from him to the other side of the street. More cars are coming. It’s not safe to cross. I hold up a hand to apologize to the cabdriver and turn back to the sidewalk in front of UsuMed. “Sorry,” I mumble, as I reach Jesse’s side. “But try not to yell my name like that.”
“You’re right.” He shakes his head. “That was stupid on my part. I just saw you out in the street and panicked.”
“I thought I saw the girl from Namdaemun Market. The one who was watching us.” Across the street, a steady stream of people moves down the sidewalk, but I don’t see the girl with the green scarf anywhere. “But if I did, she’s gone now.”