by Rhys Ford
He also smelled. Like a fifteen-day-old gym sock left in a closed-up wet locker reek.
“You!” His lips peeled back, and I inhaled a whiff of cheap alcohol on his breath. Gyong-Si reached for me and slapped his hands on my chest. He couldn’t get his feet under him, and he tilted, skewing off balance. “Get out of—”
I caught him before he stumbled to the floor. He must have been close to three hundred pounds of drunken pain, because my arms strained under his nearly dead weight. Close up, he reeked even nearer to high heaven than a six-week-old dumpster of trash left out during a heat wave. Sharp bites of pain erupted along my side and across my shoulder, and I must have squealed because Bobby was through the door before I had the chance to dump Gyong-Si on the carpet. He hesitated at helping me once he caught wind of the man’s odor.
“Dude, grab his arm,” I hissed. Gyong-Si twisted, his eyes rolling back far enough I could see their whites. He gurgled, and I began to worry he was either having a fit or was about to toss his stomach out. “Help me get him to the back, at least.”
Bobby ducked down and hoisted most of Gyong-Si’s weight on his shoulder. “Grab that curtain out of the way. Show me the way to the bathroom and we can dump him into a hot shower.”
“Man, I don’t think a volcano’s going to be hot enough to burn the stink off of him,” I muttered, but I held the beads back so Bobby wouldn’t get tangled up in them. Gyong-Si’s foot wasn’t as lucky, and his ankle got caught, dragging a few strands down when Bobby moved forward.
“Not Mardi Gras,” Bobby grumbled. “Get those off of him—”
“Stop fucking moving, then,” I muttered back. After loosening the strings from Gyong-Si’s leg, I tossed them aside and followed Bobby’s staggering progress down the hallway. “Go straight. I think he lives in the back.”
We found the bathroom, a fairly large retro-styled space with a shower big enough for us to toss Gyong-Si in on his ass and turn the water on. Bobby sniffed at his hands, headed to the sink, and stole some of the hot water supply to wash up. Gyong-Si came to life after a full minute of being under the spray. Sputtering, he flung his arms about, slamming into the glass walls, and from the way he was yelling and pounding, I was halfway afraid he would break through the shower enclosure.
Bobby finished drying his hands with a hand towel embroidered with pink seashells and tossed it onto the closed toilet seat. “That’s your mess there, Princess.” He jerked his thumb toward the floundering Gyong-Si. “I’ll be outside. Maybe I can catch a game on that TV in the front office.”
“Really? Fuck it.” I was already talking to Bobby’s back, and I opened the shower door, rolling up my sleeves in preparation for battle. Drawing the line at Gyong-Si’s pouchy briefs, I got him mostly stripped, then worked some of the stench off of his skin with soap and a rough scrub cloth. I left him under the pounding water to find him something clean to wear.
It took me a few minutes to go through the carnage of his studio apartment, but eventually I found another tracksuit—a green and orange monstrosity—left in the dryer. After digging out a pair of clean underwear from the wrinkled laundry in the dryer drum, I returned to find Gyong-Si precariously balanced on the toilet. He’d gotten one leg out of his briefs, and I was hailed with a full view of his shriveled cock and balls when he spread his thighs to get the other side off.
“Jesus Christ.” I held up the track suit to block my view. Turning my head, I tossed the clothes in his general direction, not caring if they landed in the puddles of water he’d managed to track all over the black-and-white hexagon-tiled floor. “Get dressed. I’ll see if I can find some coffee in this shit hole you live in.”
He took long enough in the bathroom that I was not only able to start a pot of coffee but also dig out the living room area. I tossed an armful of clothes into the wash, measured out soap, and began a holy reckoning on the sweat-and-beer-soaked fabrics. Collecting the various bottles and trash around the place took me another few minutes, but by the time I was done, I could more than likely sit on the couch without either catching a disease or getting pregnant, and the soured-onion smell of unwashed man had faded a bit from the air.
Thankfully, Gyong-Si hadn’t found the Crocs again or I would have beaten him with one of them.
Despite the soaking, he was bleary-eyed and worn when he sank down onto the futon next to me and picked up the cup of hot coffee I’d left for him on the table. He hadn’t shaved, and the scruff on his head sparkled in places where he’d missed it with the towel.
At least he smelled better.
I let him drink a few sips of the coffee before I started in on him. “Okay, let’s talk about why you tried to kill me with your stench.”
“You told me you were a cop. Then I find out that bitch sent you to spy on me.” It was a bitterly flung accusation and one I easily punted back to him. “But then the real cops came by. That’s when they told me about… my daughter.”
“Vivian? That daughter?”
“So you knew?” he said accusingly. “Did she tell you about her? Park Hyuna Sun? She told you before the cops told me?”
“Probably only by a few hours, if that,” I replied, leaving off the details of being with Vivian when she died. It was Madame Sun who’d needed that comfort. I wasn’t sure how much of Gyong-Si’s tears were as crocodilian as his shoes.
“Then you came here to what? Gloat?”
“I came over here to ask you who else you got pregnant, if you even kept track. Hong Chul’s grandfather, Bhak Bong Chol, kept some records of other women you slept with.”
“Ask anyone. That Bhak Bong Chol was crazy.” Gyong-Si twirled his finger by his temple. “He would stand out in the middle of the road wearing only his underwear and scream at the cars parked too close to his house.”
While I might have agreed a little bit with Gyong-Si after reading some of Bhak’s notes, that wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “Look, I already know about Eun Joon Lee. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt you by killing Vivian? Maybe one of those women? Or their husbands?”
“Eun Joon Lee? What are you talking about?” Gyong-Si spluttered, flicking coffee drops from his fleshy lips. “I had nothing to do with Hyuna Sun’s daughter because I didn’t know. Not until the police told me. If I’d known—but that doesn’t matter either. It is too late. What does it even matter?”
“Because last night, someone tried to kill Park Hong Chul’s little girl, and I think that person is trying to lash out at you.”
My words seemed to shock Gyong-Si, and what little color he had left in his face drained out, leaving him waxen. From the red splotches and broken veins on his cheeks, his most recent drunken binge hadn’t been his first. His hands shook, and I took the mug from him and set it down on the table before he upended its contents onto the floor.
“I didn’t know—” he stuttered. “I don’t know who would do that. I… when the police came here, they wanted to talk to me about Vivian, and… they said they would be investigating me… because I’m having sex with my clients, but I told them I am not!”
“Isn’t that what happened in South Korea? Isn’t that why you left? Because that’s what Bhak suspected, that there were too many women you’d violated and you were chased out.”
“I violated no one!” His Korean slipped over his words, blurring their edges. “The women I had sex with… back home… you don’t understand what I—”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I angled myself on the couch to face him. “Tell me what’s going on, and maybe I can figure out who’s trying to kill the people connected to you. Let’s start off with May Choi. You knew her, didn’t you? Was she your niece or another daughter?”
“She was my cousin, my father’s sister’s girl,” he mumbled. “I never met her. I promise. I tried to talk to her when she moved here, but May wouldn’t meet with me. I am dead to my family. That’s why I told you I didn’t know her. Even to someone that young, I’m nothing.”
“Becau
se you pretend you’re gay? Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”
“Pretend?” Gyong-Si’s fleshy wattle flapped when he shook his head. “I am not pretending.” He caught my sidelong glance and cleared his throat noisily. “Yes, I act more… colorful when I am with a client, but that’s to put them at ease. Most of my customers are women, and it makes them feel safe. Korean women—more traditional women—are uncomfortable if left alone with a man. If they think of me as harmless, they will do business with me. I have to make a living.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I honestly didn’t know how to feel about how a man portrayed himself in order to gain business or even if I was qualified to judge. Even though I knew I couldn’t live a lie on the scale Gyong-Si did, neither could I condemn him for making that choice. In some way, he was doing what Jae did, covering up who he was in order to survive.
“I left Seoul because I couldn’t live as a man there—the kind of man my family wanted me to be.” The broken look I’d seen on my lover’s face was mirrored in Gyong-Si’s expression. “I tried. There wasn’t a woman around me I didn’t try to seduce, but even as I had sex with them, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted… what I needed. I left to come here because I thought I would be free, but instead I’m still living a world of lies. They are just different lies.”
“Couldn’t you just be… who you are?” I saw the answer in his eyes before the question was even fully out of my mouth. It was the same question I’d posed to Jae time and time again. While I believed life would be easier if he—and Gyong-Si—were honest with themselves, I knew that wasn’t the case. “Okay, what about Eun Joon Lee? She was pregnant when she was killed. You telling me that baby wasn’t yours?”
“I haven’t touched a woman since I left Korea.” His insistence was hot and furious. “I counseled Eun Joon Lee because she and her husband wanted children but they were unsuccessful.”
“So this was a miracle birth?”
“No, she had an affair,” Gyong-Si muttered under his breath. “I told her not to. I knew what it is like to live a lie, but she wanted a child, and, well, she was not getting any younger. She slept with a man she met at church. Eun Joon wanted to give her husband a child. I told her that it was wrong of her to cheat on him when there are other ways to get a child.”
“Is that what you fought about that day? The day she was killed?”
“Yes.” The wattle shook vigorously this time. “I told her she had to tell her husband the truth. Or….”
“Or?” I pressed.
“Or I would tell him.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, turning his face away from me. “It was my fault she left early. If I’d only spoken to her more calmly, Eun Joon would have seen reason and those men wouldn’t have been there when she returned home. It is my fault she is dead. Both Eun Joon and… her baby.”
“What about in Korea? When you slept with her there? Bhak wrote that she got pregnant then too. What happened to the baby?”
“I never slept with Eun Joon. Not here. Not in Korea,” Gyong-Si protested. “She became my client here. I knew her mother. She came by to visit, and I gave her a reading for free, only because of our connection. She liked what I had to say and became a client, but there was nothing between us beyond that.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but I was going off of the words from a dead man. I didn’t know Bhak Bong Chol’s state of mind when he wrote down his suspicions. There was a distinct possibility he’d been driven more by outrage and revenge than anything else. Gyong-Si’s hurt was palpable. I was going to have to readjust my opinion of the man blubbering on the couch.
“Who besides the family knew Hong Chul was your son?” I shifted gears, hoping to find something to chase down. From what I could see, Gyong-Si truly was broken up by the women’s deaths and Abby’s stabbing. If the murders were connected to him, I was going to worry about his mental health. Already unstable from alcohol abuse, he didn’t look like he could take much more. “Who out there wants to hurt you?”
“I don’t know.” Gyong-Si pursed his mouth in thought. “I would have said Sun, but she never would have killed her own daughter. I was surprised she gave Vivian away. That doesn’t… sound like her.”
“What happened between you two? Could this be connected to her husband? Maybe someone from her past? Do you know?”
“Her husband was a friend of mine.” He picked up his coffee again. His hands were steadier this time, and he cupped the mug tightly. “We… she and I… were both students when we… made Vivian. I was trying so hard to be normal. We got drunk one night after a session with our sunbae, and we found ourselves in a private room. I didn’t think about her husband… my friend. Instead, all I could think of was trying to be a real man. I didn’t know she got pregnant, but then I didn’t know about Hong Chul either. Not until Bhak Bong Chol told me later. If I’d known, I would have married Hong Chul’s mother. It would have made my family very happy.”
“You did try to extort money from him after Abby was born,” I pointed out.
“That Bhak Bong Chol—he was an angry old man,” Gyong-Si scoffed. “Bhak tried to give me money to leave Los Angeles because he didn’t want me around either my son or my granddaughter. I’d already told him I would not interfere with Hong Chul’s life. He already had a good father. What would he want with someone like me? I told Bhak if he wanted to give me money, he could invest it in my business because I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Jesus, this is a mess.” If Gyong-Si was to be believed, I was back to where I started, spinning my wheels and chasing ghosts. “Did Bhak talk to you about any of the other women who had your kids? Well, except for Madame Sun. I know he didn’t tell you about Vivian. What about Eun Joon Lee? Why did he think you got her pregnant in Korea?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know her then.” Gyong-Si chewed on his fingernail, thinking on something. “Wait, was he thinking about Joon Eun Yi? She was the only other woman I slept with besides Sun and Hong Chul’s mother. We were lovers for about five months, right before I left. She wouldn’t accept that I… changed at first, but eventually she was fine with it. I think. I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“So she’s been in contact with you?” The name was familiar, but to be honest, most of the Korean names I’d come across sometimes blurred together.
“Terry, my assistant, is her son. It’s why I hired him. She asked me to give him a job.” He rubbed at his face. “I’m tired. I don’t know how much I can help you.”
“Wait, Terry’s mother—” I suddenly remembered where I’d heard that name before. It was the name of the woman who’d spoken to me outside of Eun Joon’s apartment. “Does she live next to the Lees? Next door?”
“Yes.” Gyong-Si nodded slowly. It struck me the man never looked outside of himself and his needs. If he had, he would have realized what was just dawning on me.
“But Terry’s last name is Yi,” I pointed out. While Korean women might keep their last name, their children were named after their father. Terry’s name shouldn’t have been Yi. “Why doesn’t he have his father’s name?”
“I don’t know.” He scraped at his beard with his fingers. “Maybe she married someone with the same last name, as Eun Joon did. Do you know how many people are named Yi? I never thought about it. I only hired him because she called me up and asked me to give him a job. He complains a lot. Not my type. I like my men to be… more like you.”
I knew when Gyong-Si set up shop in Los Angeles. Terry was—maybe—at most a year younger than Vivian or Hong Chul. After doing a round of quick math, I shook my head at the man’s obtuseness. “Gyong-Si, think about it. Terry isn’t just your assistant. He’s your son.”
Chapter 21
“SON of a bitch.” I slapped at the dashboard of Bobby’s truck. “We read the name wrong. She even told me people got their names confused.”
“Yeah, you said that already.” He hit me lightly with his fist. “Stop beating up my truck, asshole,
and tell me where we’re going.”
It was early enough in the day, and I wanted to talk to Joon Eun Yi again. If someone was stalking Gyong-Si’s past conquests, she was going to be on the killer’s list.
Bobby was easily persuaded to come with me. The promise of a cold beer and a hot hamburger went a long way in compromising any plans he might have had for the day. Right after his dick, his stomach pretty much ruled the roost. I’d pay for feeding him the burger and beer with a run around Los Angeles or going a few rounds in the ring, but it was a small price to pay.
I’d see how I felt about making that deal later when I was licking my wounds under a hot shower.
The main street fronting the complex was eerily quiet. Like most LA streets, all of the parking spaces were taken, including the half space people usually left behind a red zone, but no one was out walking. After Bobby drove up the street for the second time, I directed him to the small parking lot behind the apartments. He pulled into a space directly below the Lees’ balcony and gave me the evil eye.
“If I get towed, you’re going to be paying for it,” he barked at me.
“You’re not going to get towed.” Looking around the lot, I gestured wildly. “There’s, like, three cars here. By the time someone wants this space, we’ll be long gone.”
“Shitty things happen to my trucks when I’m with you.” Bobby continued to grumble as we walked to the pass-through leading to the complex’s courtyard. “I should be happy if all that happens to this one is it getting towed.”
“One truck gets blown up and it’s all my fault? One!” Pointing out the obvious—that I’d not been the one to blow his truck up—had no lasting effect on Bobby. His derision continued when we found the passage to the courtyard blocked by a locked security gate. Someone was certainly serious about keeping out the riffraff. Grabbing the heavy chain wrapped around the door handles, he rattled the padlock to see if it could be opened.
Much like Bobby’s mind about my involvement in his dead truck’s demise, the gate remained closed.