“Follow my lead,” he tells me. Sangwoo reaches down and grabs my hand.
Oh hell no. Slap his hand away and run! I force my thoughts to think about thirty thousand as I follow Sangwoo’s lead. His grip is strong and commanding. Don’t be a slush, my intuition groans.
Sangwoo leads the way down the rough terrain and the plateau. We walk through a myriad of tall trees along the inconsistent terrain. There are various birds chirping above, hidden behind thick branches and plush outer layers of the field. Streaks of sunrays cascade the entire clearing. As we continue walking, the voices traveling through the forest become more pronounced.
Finally, we enter a clearing. The beautiful view of the terrain is divided into an anointed area. We are now on an incline where the flat land meets a small hill. There are approximately sixty people gathered in front us, facing the pivotal point of the area. The family members are wearing black from head-to-toe.
Without a word, Sangwoo merges into the crowd and we disappear with the bodies at the bottom of the hill. To the right of us, at the top of the hill stands a priest. He’s wearing a black vestment and holding the Holy Bible against his chest. At the center of the scene, right in the middle of the hill is an area for the intimate family members to gather. Next to it, brass and gold bars confine a distinctive coffin. Its lid is closed and a symbol is marked on top of it.
The realization hits me like a rolling train. We are at a funeral. In fact, we are crashing a funeral. What is going on?
“He was my best friend.” A woman stands facing the coffin. She sniffles over the microphone stand positioned at her forefront. She’s dressed in a long, black dress with a large, black floppy hat that covers most of her head. She’s crying profusely behind her large sunglasses as she comments, “I know that heaven gained a new Angel, but it breaks my heart that the Lord took him too soon. He was my best friend and my son.”
A wave of cries travels through the crowd. An older man grabs the older woman in a tight embrace. She breaks into uncontrollable sobs in his arms.
The priest steps up to the microphone again, signaling the end of the funeral service. Family members bow their heads with grief. The old woman is hysterical now as the man attempts to calm her down.
A million thoughts and questions bombard my mind. I steal a glance at Choi Sangwoo, who has reduced himself to a statue. He doesn’t move or breathe; his facial features are expressionless and deadpan.
“It is time for us to say our final goodbyes to our beloved Leon.” The priest gestures a hand towards the coffin.
One-by-one, family members approach the coffin. They file in a line, allowing adequate time and space for each individual to say their goodbyes. Some family members place flowers on top of the coffin while others simply place their open palms on top of it as a gesture of farewell.
Sangwoo, who is still holding my hand, takes two steps back as more family members surge forward. Why does he want to be here to see this? Does he know the family members or the person inside the coffin?
“Goodbye, cousin.” A familiar figure approaches the coffin next.
I let out an intangible gasp when I see who it is. Son!
Son is holding the hands of an older family member. He is dressed in a complete black suit with eyes focused on the closed coffin.
“My cousin was a Crist member . . . . His Boss ordered his execution.” The memory of our conversation that day at The Trax floods me.
I feel sick to my stomach as I watch Son place a single rose on top of the coffin. He holds onto the older woman who was crying earlier. Son’s eyes are beet red, and according to his facial features, he hasn’t slept at all.
I slowly withdraw my hand from Sangwoo’s hold. He stiffens next to me, but doesn’t react. I watch Son step back from the coffin. He watches the rest of the family members say goodbye. When the goodbyes are over, the process of lowering the coffin into the ground begins. Cables, controlled by a metal bar with levers, lower the coffin slowly.
“Oh god! My son!” The older woman screams again. Grieving family members do their best to hold her back.
My heart hurts as I watch. This is too cruel. I can’t watch this anymore. How can watching other people’s suffering amount to any empathy or sympathy? I have to get out of here. I don’t know what lesson Sangwoo is trying to teach me, but I want to avoid this painful training session.
Without realizing that I will give myself away by doing so, I turn and run back to the clearing. All I know is I want to get out of here as soon as possible. I can no longer stand how taxing it is on my mental, physical, and emotional psyche.
“What’s going on?”
“Who are you?!”
I hear the shouts directed at me. I stop dead in my tracks and turn just in time to see sixty pairs of eyes on me. What have I done? Panic sets into me fast and hard. The older woman in Son’s arms points at me. Her gaze sets on Sangwoo.
“Gangster!”
“That’s the gangster who killed my son!”
Shouts and screams ignite in the clearing as the family members realize Sangwoo’s presence. The older woman launches herself in our direction.
Sangwoo faces me. The expression that crosses his face freezes my heart.
“Run!” Sangwoo shouts.
I turn and run, but not before capturing Son’s face. Please don’t recognize me, I pray. I surprise myself at the speed I am running. Maybe I do have what it takes. Oh don’t kid yourself, my intuition croaks with horror. Just keep running!
I hear Sangwoo behind me and before I know it, he catches up.
My chest hurts from the burst of energy. When we reach the car, Sangwoo runs to the passenger side first. His hands are on my waist as he pushes me in the car. Then, Sangwoo rounds the car to the driver’s side. The Range Rover Evoque roars to life as Sangwoo releases the brakes and spins the car in the opposite direction.
I am breathless when I look at the review mirror. Some of the younger family members step into the clearing, but they disappear behind the cloud of dust the Evoque leaves behind. Sangwoo speeds away from the clearing with expertise.
“I’m sorry. I panicked.” I realize the severity of what I have done as Sangwoo’s jaw sets into a fine line. His sunglasses are off and he is less than pleased. “I didn’t know you were going to take me a funeral.”
It becomes apparent that Choi Sangwoo is the passive-aggressive type. He contains his emotions well, but the dark expression on his face gives way to the temper radiating inside. “You put our safeties at risk,” is his tense comment.
My eyebrows come together in anguish. Did he not hear a word I said? He is blaming me for what happened. How could he kill someone and then show to his funeral? Is this who he really is?
I am shaking from head-to-toe. I know I will regret it if I don’t ask, so the words stumble out of my mouth with traction. “I know one of the family members. Son, I work with him at The Trax. Did you kill his cousin?”
An obscure look marks Sangwoo’s face. The car reduces its speed and comes to a complete stop at the edge of the mountain. In my state of panic, I hadn’t noticed that we are now on the other side of the mountain. A beach stretches beneath the plateau the car is on. The view of the baby blue ocean, white sand, and green trees are magnificent. It’s all a huge contrast to the atmosphere in the car. I am immune to the moment and the beauty. I have a gang leader to answer to.
Sangwoo leaves the engine running and turns to me. His facial expression is somber. His brown eyes are a fiery tone. “He was my gang member. He died for the gang during a job. I came to pay my respects.”
I am beyond conflicted. “Why did you take me here then?”
“Because you will be working for me. This is the reality that you will have to face,” Sangwoo answers so simply that it makes me feel as though I should already know the answer. “There is a reason why I have been harping about privacy and anonymity. When I don’t take certain measures to protect myself, I will always be the source of anyone’s cont
ention. When a member of mine dies, the family will always call me as the executioner. They don’t know the truth behind his death. Only I do. But I will not tell them the truth just so that they will like me. I’d rather they blame me than know the true gruesome details of what their son did that caused his death.”
I am breathless at Sangwoo’s account. How can his explanation be so simple on this side of the coin?
“You didn’t kill him,” I whisper. My eyes lock his brown eyes into a stare.
Sangwoo lowers those brown eyes away from me. When he looks up, emotions circle them. “I didn’t kill him. If I did, as morbid as this may sound, there wouldn’t be a funeral for him.”
“How can I trust you?” I search Sangwoo’s face for the answers. What started out so innocently is now turning into something deeper and darker than I anticipated. How was I to know that Brown Eyes would turn out to be a hardcore gang leader?
“Trust that I will help you repay your debt to Mayhem. That should be your only concern when it comes to trusting me.” Sangwoo sits back in his seat. “The rest of the chips will fall into place.”
This is the passive-aggressive gang leader complex in action. It is as though Sangwoo is implying he owns me now that I have agreed to be part of his gang. I have yet to sign the initiation contract, but I can already feel the distress.
“I’m not made for this,” I confess to Sangwoo. “Maybe there is something else I can do in exchange for the money.” You sound desperate and cheap May, my intuition taunts. I do my best to ban her. “I can work at your company. I can file and make copies. I’m good with paperwork. I’m not good with being on the field,” I continue with my plea.
Sangwoo’s jaw line tightens at my alternate suggestion. “We can talk more about it tomorrow. You’re shaken up,” he concludes.
The tone in Sangwoo’s voice makes me reconsider pushing the subject. I cost him his safety, and now I am insisting for a more radical change. I really shouldn’t push him more than possible right now. But, where is the justice for me?
“I’ll take you to work.” Sangwoo starts the car again. The discussion is over.
I resign to my seat. I barely catch a glimpse of the beach beneath us as Sangwoo drives away.
CHAPTER NINE
Sangwoo is quiet and forgiving during the car ride to The Trax. The equilibrium restores slowly between us. If I can read his thoughts, I am sure Sangwoo is more mindful of what I can stomach. I want to tell him, “I told you so!” but refrain against it. Perhaps Sangwoo will rewrite this whole initiation contract and let me off the hook. I am perfectly fine with stapling and filing in a cubicle at his office. Why can’t he understand that? Who am I going to scare out in the underground world? I’m only going to get myself hurt and take people with me in the process.
“We’re here.” Sangwoo brings me down to reality.
“Thanks.” I remove my seat belt slowly. I am still recovering from the funeral incident. I don’t want to see Son if he comes into work. I’m not ready to face him so soon.
Sangwoo leans across his seat. “I will call you tomorrow. We can start going over the initiation contract. Any concerns that you have,” he pauses, “we can discuss tomorrow.”
Give me more time! my conscience shouts. But all I can do is mumble, “Ok. Thank you for the ride.”
“Goodbye May.” His voice returns to its soft tenor.
I manage a small smile as I step out of the car. I close the door behind me.
Slowly, the Range Rover Evoque pulls away and merges back into the traffic.
My cell phone rings. Absentmindedly, I pick up.
“Where have you been all morning?” Lina demands across the line.
“Lina,” I breathe into the phone.
“What’s wrong?” Lina is alert to my distress.
“I met up with Sangwoo,” I remind my cousin.
She gasps inaudibly into the phone. “To sign the initiation contract?”
“Not exactly.” I do my best to dodge all questions until I figure things out for myself first. “I’ll tell you more later ok? I have to head into The Trax.”
“Ok. Call me when you leave. Spyder’s been calling and leaving me messages all day, but it’s not to get back together. Something is up. Mayhem’s gang is getting more aggressive about the money,” Lina says with urgency.
Immediately, I remember the meeting with Mayhem. There wasn’t any urgency or aggression in his reminder that the loan is due on Saturday. Maybe his members are taking matters in their own hands. Hundreds of guesses encircle my thoughts.
“I’ll call you after work Lina. I’m sure Mayhem’s not going to go back on his words about giving us until Saturday,” I reassure my cousin.
“I hope so.” Lina is breathless on the other side of the phone line. “Have a good day at work.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you later. Bye.”
I hang up the phone and walk to The Trax. Please don’t go to work, Son. My body is heavy with guilt and shame. I am shocked, confused, anxious, and emotions all rolled up into one. I don’t know what to do with the turmoil I am feeling inside. It has been nonstop with Choi Sangwoo and Mayhem. What am I going to do?
When I reach The Trax, the venue is vacant except for employees. Naili closed down The Trax as soon she made the announcement. The public had no time to say their goodbyes.
The first person I see when I enter is Tailor. He is wiping down the bar with white cloths. Bottles of various shapes and sizes are stacked in a robust pattern on the counter. Tailor is clearing all the alcohol content.
“Hey.” Tailor flashes his bright smile at me. “You’re just in time. We’re closing up. Naili wants everything packed and taken down. The new owner will be coming sometime next week with our severance checks.”
My stomach sinks slowly. This is all happening too fast. I never realized just how emotionally attached I am to this place until now.
“Are you okay?” Tailor leans forward and waves a hand in my face. He studies my expression.
“I’m fine.” I snap out of my trance. “Where’s Joolie?”
“She’s in the back.” Tailor points nonchalantly. “Everyone has an assigned area. Son is out tonight. He’s got a family function.”
My throat tightens at the mentioning of Son. I just saw him, I want to tell Tailor but I keep my mouth closed. Poor Son is grieving over his cousin. Although Sangwoo clarified the role he had in the death, I can’t help but feel for Son’s pain. Even though he’s overbearing when it comes to work, Son is a good soul and doesn’t deserve this pain. All of this is so discombobulated! For once my intuition’s not whining, but reflective.
I look up just in time to see Naili step into the center area. Her red polish and brazen hair, forming a large halo around her distinctive face, is hard to miss. Naili scans the room and when she sees me, she strides over.
“Uh oh,” Tailor mumbles under his breath. He withdraws to the bar counter and picks up another glass to clean.
“Hello,” Naili’s greets me with a whimsical tone. She scans me briefly, seemingly content with my ordinary appearance. “Maybelline, am I correct?”
“Yes. Hi.” I take note that Naili has no desire to be friendly with me.
“Son told me that you have been in charge of data input for the past few months, so I am assuming you are familiar with our system.” Naili’s need for confirmation resonates in her tone.
“Yes,” I answer frankly. “I track the inventory system and other paperwork.”
“Great.” Naili clasps her hands together. The feign smile crosses her lips. “I will need your help in compiling all the forms, data, and other related paperwork for the new owner to survey when he’ll come next week.”
This is all happening too fast and too soon. “Sure.”
“Follow me.” Naili motions for me to trail her down the hallway. Just when I think she is going to lead me to the dingy computer, Naili points with a manicured hand towards the meeting room. Inside, on top of the wooden m
eeting table, is a newly polished laptop with a stack of paperwork.
“This will be your office for today.” Naili points to a chair.
Once I settle myself in, Naili hands me the stack of paperwork and shows me how she wants it organized. She is meticulous, detail-oriented, and focused. I develop some respect for Naili’s professional demeanor, although occasionally I catch her staring at me in an off-guard way. In all, however, Naili is a businesswoman and she knows exactly how to delegate work.
Fifteen minutes later, by the time Naili leaves me, I have at least ten things to do before my list ends. But as the evening wears on, I am grateful for the amount of work to keep my mind off Sangwoo, Mayhem, Lina, Spyder, Eunhye, and everything else. I get up once for a water break during the shift. Naili comes to check on me before she leaves and is pleased with the progress I make–her business mindset for my professionalism.
When I finish compiling, organizing, stapling, labeling, and printing The Trax is quiet. I turn off the laptop and stretch.
When I return to the main floor, Tailor and Joolie are haunting the bar. The other co-workers have already gone home.
“I have an interview with them tomorrow morning,” Joolie is saying when I reach her. She nurses a dark drink in her hand. When she sees me, Joolie pats the stool next to her.
“An interview?” I sit down next to her when Tailor hands me a Bola glass with clear liquid inside.
“It’s a Gin and Tonic light.” Tailor gives me a wink.
I am not much of a drinker. In fact, I am not particularly partial to the taste of alcohol. I often wonder why people do it to themselves to swallow such a rubber band taste. But after the day I just had, I guess it wouldn’t hurt.
I thank Tailor and take a large gulp. The refreshing palate travels down my throat and burns my esophagus. It soothes my rampant thoughts for the time being. Tailor made me a light, fruity version of the real Gin and Tonic.
“The Grove wants me to interview with them. If all goes well, I’ll be safe when this place closes down next week,” Joolie refers to another underground club not far from here. “What about you, are you looking for a new job?”
April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions Page 25