His necklace remains inside the palm of my hand.
CHAPTER FIVE
Nightmares torture me that night. I toss and turn into the wee hours of the morning before exhaustion finally hits like a ton of bricks. Like a zombie, I feel lifeless and neurotic. No matter how hard I try, I cannot fall back asleep and I find myself staring at the gloomy reflections of the sky peeking through my window. Choi Sangwoo’s face continues to permeate my mind. My thoughts dwell on his offer and the eerie, provoking encounter with Mayhem.
Memories and thoughts run through my mind like a script, scrawling and scrolling in red letters. In just one day, my entire world is no longer in equilibrium. One thing led to another and now not only do I owe Mayhem thirty thousand dollars, but I am also associated with Crist. I am not sure if this is final destination or I am the center of a cosmic joke.
When I can no longer stand it, I get out of bed and sit down at my desk. My pride and joy, a Sony Vaio laptop, sit on top of my desk waiting with silent speculation. Abandoned since last semester, the keyboard has collected dust. I try to stay away from social media and technology because I consider them white noise. However, at the present moment, I gather all the tech savvy skills I have. I am silly and gullible, but my fingers are itching to get information.
“Here we go,” I mumble. I switch on the laptop’s power button and sit back. For the first time, I’m excited to see the window’s screen flash on with its familiar chorus.
The trusty Google search engine pops up, welcoming me to the wealth of knowledge waiting for digestion. I feel giddy as I type the simple word gangster. Immediately, Google directs me to more than twenty million results.
“A gangster is a member of an organized crime group. There exist a variety of gangs differentiated by prerogative, objective, and success. The categorization of a gangster depends on his membership in the type of organization. Street, prison, city, and nation gangs vary in degrees of organization and location from low to high. The Japanese Yakuza and the Italian Mafia are two of the most highly organized nation gangs while street and prison gangs are less organized local gangs. Gangs organized around motorcycles and cars are based upon modes of transportation. Street gangs claim neighborhoods while drug gangs traffic illegal substances. A street gangster’s cause is different from an entrepreneurial gangster’s objective. Small street gangs engage in low-level crime; well-structured gangs such as the Triads, Mafia, and Drug Cartels orchestrate complex crime . . . .” I read slowly and carefully. My eyes feel heavy from the amount of information; they burn from the raw black and white print on screen.
I click out of the link and type in gang leader. Another link expands to display a plethora of information. I read to myself. “Highly structured gangs operate formally with leadership falling to the individual or individuals who take control, much like a business or corporation. Such entrepreneurial gangs are intensely private in their illegal, underground transactions. A gang leader, or gang lord, is responsible for the recruitment, management, and orchestration of criminal activities.” I scroll down the screen, over the Mob and Mafia–the Italians and Sicilians. I stop at South Korean gangs. “Gangs in such countries are often highly-organized and entrepreneurial operating with distinctive formal proceedings. In order to join such high-level gangs, potential members undergo initiation ceremonies that may include brutal beatings, killing a police officer, committing theft/larceny, and engaging in sex with members of the gang and so on. Very few members are invited in or blessed-in–family members who are already in the gang . . . .”
Had enough? My conscience looks over her dark glasses, narrowing her eyes at me. The amount of information is beguiling at the same time it is disturbing. Boldly, I continue with my investigation and type in Crist gang. Despite the amount of general information about gangs, the search for the specific gang yields weak results. There is one recent news article about their brawl with Mayhem, but nothing beyond what the news anchor stated yesterday. As I continue my search, nothing of significance comes up about Choi Sangwoo. The lack of information doesn’t surprise me. Sangwoo doesn’t seem like the type who would allow such information about him to float freely online. There are articles, however, of a family-owned business–Choi International Incorporated. The company has investments and ties with the national banking system, along with travel and commerce industries. There is no history about the company’s origins or the current CEO. In fact, CII is a private company with only one CEO and no board. It seems as though any adverse or negative reports no longer exist.
Testing my luck again, I type in Mayhem gang and the search results are scarcer. There is no gang listed or associated with the name Mayhem. No single business entity has the name Jaewon attached to it either. It appears as though this second gang lord is even more mysterious and intensely private than Choi Sangwoo.
I slump in my chair. The amount of information dances in front of my eyes. I am not sure what to think now that I have informally educated myself about this underground society. If anything, I am more apprehensive about the gang lords. Everything they do is above, below, or behind the law; they do not uphold the law. As I continue searching, more research articles about violent gang crimes trickle through the links. Some gangsters die never knowing who their Boss is; others kill, maim, steal, and cheat as Son warned me about. I can no longer handle the heaviness of the research. I decide it is better to switch the screen off and forget it.
AFTER A THIRTY MINUTE SHOWER, I finally emerge with an aching index finger. I take off the gauze to reveal a deep, linear cut right down my index finger. Fortunately, the doctor told me that as long as I keep the cut clean, it isn’t going to scar or be infected.
I wash the cut thoroughly and replace a new Band-Aid on my finger. When my mind wanders back to Choi Sangwoo, I do my best to shun the thoughts. I follow my usual morning routine and make my way back to my room for my cell phone. Just as I expected, Lina has left me a message that she wants to meet at Mula. I am not due at The Trax until later in the afternoon, so I reply a quick yes to my cousin.
“May! Breakfast!”
From the depths of the kitchen, I hear Eunhye’s morning call.
“You’re up early,” I greet her when I enter the brightly lit kitchen. I sit on a stool at the small island counter.
Eunhye is dressed in her multi-colored scrubs. She is bustling between the stove and sink, putting away utensils and cooling off the freshly cooked toast. Eunhye’s hair sweeps out of her face in an elaborate bun, but her tired eyes can’t hide the exhaustion of working fifty hours a week.
“I’m leaving for work soon. The hospital called and they need me as soon as possible.” She places a plate of toast, complete with scrambled eggs and salad in front of me. “Eat. Do you have work today?”
I stare at my mother with a wave of emotion. Not only does she work hard, but my mother is also one of the most giving people in the world. Just watching her in the frantic state of preparing breakfast before heading off to work makes my problems feel insignificant. Life continues despite the cracks and potholes that I seem to encounter lately.
“I have work today. Thanks mom,” I tell her when I reach for the coffee maker at the end of the counter. I need some coffee. My intuition rubs her hands together in anticipation. I pour myself a cup of coffee, enjoying the pungent smell.
“At Sansachun or The Trax?” Eunhye glances at her wristwatch before she sits down at the other end of the kitchen counter. Her plate of food is stacked with eggs and salad. It is her favorite breakfast.
“The Trax,” I answer. I take a sip of the black coffee and cringe at its potent taste.
“What happened to your finger?” Before I can stop her, Eunhye has my finger under her control. Fortunately, I have taken the gauze out. Eunhye will never let me live it down if she knows I went to a hospital that wasn’t hers.
“I cut myself yesterday.” I make the decision to lie to her. I don’t make eye contact with my mother, afraid that she will be able to read my
façade. I pretend to pick at my plate with the fork.
“Why didn’t you go to my hospital? I could have taken a look at it.” Eunhye lets go of my finger. She observes the rest of my hands before her eyes move back to my face. “Did it happen at work?” My mother raises an eyebrow. I already know where she is going with her questions. This is the perfect opportunity for Eunhye to provide yet another reason why I should quit The Trax. Eunhye has been actively trying ever since I started; she has been against The Trax since day one.
“No.” I am starting to feel worse as the conversation goes on. “At Lina’s. We were cooking at her house and I cut my finger.”
Eunhye gives me a weary look as she snaps, “The two of you together is always trouble.” She ends it at that and doesn’t pursue the topic any further.
I am pleasantly pleased with Eunhye’s reaction and try to hide my smile the best way I know how. I pick up the cup of coffee and take another sip. The hot moisture along with the caffeine rush soothes my mind. “Mom,” I call to her, “maybe next week you and I can take a day off and go do something together.”
Eunhye’s eyebrows come together in immediate surprise. “What brought this on?”
I don’t expect her to agree right away, but I also don’t expect the astonishment on her face. “We work seven days a week mom. I was just thinking we could take a day off to relax and have fun.”
“Oh honey.” Eunhye gets up from her stool and begins cleaning her area. She has devoured her breakfast throughout the course of our conversation. “You know I would love to take time off from the hospital, but it’s not a good time right now. If I’m not taking care of patients, I have paperwork to do. The list never ends.”
Something similar to disappointment comes over me. I know she has to work, but I feel sad by the circumstances. I keep my eyes focused on my teal green coffee mug. “I understand. I was just suggesting.”
“Hey.” Eunhye wraps her arms around me. “I will still try ok? You and I are both working hard towards improving our lives. I promise you, we will get to spend some time together soon.”
I look up at my mother’s kind eyes and feel guilty. If only she knows what I am going through.
“I know mom,” is all I can say to her.
“Ok. Be good.” Eunhye plants a kiss on my forehead. She glances at her watch again and makes a face. “I better go. I’m going to be late. Can you clean up before you go to work?”
“Yes,” I answer simply. I take another swig of the coffee, hold it in my mouth for a few seconds longer, and then swallow. The black coffee is still hot. It burns all the way down my esophagus and into my stomach. There is nothing like this feeling in the world.
“Oh, I forgot to ask you,” Eunhye starts, “have you seen Choi Sangwoo since last weekend?”
My head snaps up faster than it should at her question. “Why?”
Eunhye scrunches up her nose. “I thought I saw him last night when I came home. It must have been close to midnight, but I saw a very fancy car parked at the front entrance of the apartment complex. Granted the car windows were too dark for me to see, but I would recognize those facial features anywhere.”
Did Sangwoo sit in his car hours after we said our goodbye? Curiosity and flattery strike me. My conscience is twirling in the middle of the room on her tiptoes.
“I don’t think that’s him.” I am doing well with all the lies today. “Why would Choi Sangwoo sit in his car until the early hours of the morning?” I add a scoff to make it seem even more ridiculous.
Eunhye purses her lips together momentarily; she only does that when she scours for answers that are not obvious. “I don’t know. I just thought it was him. He hasn’t contacted you?”
“No.” I keep my answer as concisely as possible.
“Hmm, I bet money he will contact you. He obviously liked you very much.” Eunhye makes another silly face.
“And how can you tell that by meeting him only one time?” I entertain the notion with her.
“Because I am old and wise, my child.” Eunhye spreads her arms in an exaggerated manner. “Besides, I saw the way he looked at you. It was the way your father used to look at me.”
“Mom, trust me, Choi Sangwoo does not like me.”
“Maybe you’re not ready to like him back.”
“I don’t think so, mom.”
“You do like him, don’t you?”
“I hardly know him.”
“Don’t deny. Remember, in therapy we–”
The conversation has fallen into an automatic mode of talking without censorship. When the mentioning of therapy slips from her tongue, Eunhye stops speaking. For a brief moment, we hold our breaths–afraid of one another’s response. The silence we vowed to keep about our broken family history exposes itself. The simple slip-up brings back painful memories for us.
I look away from Eunhye at the same time she lowers her eyes. The emotions grapple inside me. Why is Eunhye so careless to bring the subject up? Didn’t we promise never to mention it again, and pretend that it is only the two of us in this family composition?
At the same moment, the familiar ring of Eunhye’s cell phone breaks through my thick fog of thoughts.
‘That’s my phone.” Eunhye turns toward the living room for her bag.
I’m glued to my stool with only two sips away from finishing my coffee. I am lost in a trail of thoughts as I listen to Eunhye’s muffled voice. When she returns, it is as though the restart button activates.
“I’m heading to work now. Afterwards, I’m going to play poker at Dongwan’s house. If you get home before I do, turn off the light in the fish tank ok? You’ve been forgetful about that.” Eunhye begins packing her items. Ordinary day, ordinary conversation. Just like that, we sweep everything under the rug once again.
“Ok mom. Have a good day,” is all I can I say.
Im Dongwan is Eunhye’s best friend from childhood. Mr. Im doesn’t have any children and lives alone in a house not far from here. Ever since I can remember, Mr. Im and Eunhye have been very close. They spend most of their time watching dramas, playing cards, eating, telling stories, and acting like the teenagers they once were. Together, they have been through a lot. Eunhye appreciates Mr. Im very much because he was there when she really needed him, when our family was going through the problems. At least once a month, Mr. Im holds a poker game at his house and Eunhye always makes it a point to support him.
As though she read my thoughts, Eunhye gives me one last smile before she leaves the apartment. I stay rooted with my cup of coffee. I hear the distinct ringing of my cell phone from my bedroom. I have to snap out of it quickly. Time is ticking.
I clean up my area and prepare to leave.
LINA WANTS TO MEET AT Mula, a local milk teahouse we frequent since middle school. Its distinct interior of blue and yellow colors attracts many teenagers as well as college students. Mula has private booths and partitions for study sessions and confidential conversations. It is close to the perfect meeting place for Lina and me given the circumstances.
Mula is only two blocks away from my apartment so I end up walking there. When I enter the bustling store, I scan the area for my cousin. There are five people standing in line waiting to order. Others fill the open tables, including the seating area by the window. Even the cushioned sofas near the exterior walls are unavailable.
I decide to round the main area towards the partitions.
I find my cousin sitting at the last booth. She is wearing a black baseball hat to match her black leggings and droopy black T-shirt. Lina twitches lightly when I round the partition. When she sees me, Lina relaxes.
“Thank God. I thought you were a vampire,” she says with a nervous glance behind me. Her reference to gangsters doesn’t escape me. Lina’s voice is a mixture of apprehension and breathlessness. “Did anyone follow you?”
I look around Mula. Nothing seems amiss. “Not that I know of.” My intuition has her brown detective coat on.
“Sit down. I g
ot you a drink.” Lina pushes the original honey milk tea towards me. The liquid at the bottom makes a clear streak on the wooden brown tabletop.
I notice that Lina’s halfway done with hers. I am slightly alarmed at my cousin’s need to stay inconspicuous. I’m not as nearly prepared as she is. Compared to my cousin, I am too casual for someone who owes a dangerous gang lord an obscene amount of money.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Lina strums her fingers on the table. Her anxiousness and apprehension is contagious.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, taking note of the fact that my cousin is on the verge of falling to pieces.
“I’m not.” Lina shakes her head. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. I’m feeling mad, sad, guilty, and everything in-between. I wanted to call you a million times, but I knew you needed to rest too.”
I listen to my cousin’s confession with a heavy heart. “What about Spyder?”
“He’s staying at my house for now. I told my parents he got hurt and there’s no one at his house to take care of him, especially with his parents gone. So my mom let him stay in the guest room. He’s still sleeping. He’s in a lot of pain,” Lina recounts softly. She makes a frustrated face. “I can’t wait until he gets better so I can kill him the right way.”
I shake my head. I want to ask Lina how my aunt and uncle are responding to Spyder sleeping over, but refrain against it.
“You and me both,” is my remark. My eyebrows burrow together in frustration. “Lina, why did it get so bad?”
Lina remains silent. She doesn’t want to talk about her poor decision in a partner. From the very beginning, Lina’s been Spyder’s first line of defense. I don’t expect my cousin to let her guard down when it comes to her no-good boyfriend, but I don’t want her to make excuses for him.
April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions Page 14