The navigation took him to the address, but it was a weekend and the roads were packed. The calls from the deputy chief prosecutor and the chief prosecutor that had been coming in nonstop had finally started to taper off. Messages arrived that amounted to thinly veiled threats, but he ignored them. He’d catch hell for it the moment he came in on Monday anyway.
Hoooonk —
A car coming from the opposite direction held its ground, horn blaring. It was a one-way street, and the other driver had gotten it wrong — yet he was the one leaning on the horn. Unbelievable. His head was already pounding from last night’s hangover. He held his position, and the other driver flung open his door and got out.
Despite the still-cold weather, the man was in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, his arms and legs covered in tattoos. You shouldn’t judge a person by their appearance, but right now it seemed like the thing to do. Sure enough, the man who had been fuming came over and started hammering on the window with his fist. People passing through the alley stopped one by one, watching with curious eyes.
Heesin rolled down the window with an unbothered expression, and the hulking figure started roaring at full volume.
“The hell! I told you to move! Can’t you see I got here first! Move it, you son of a bitch!”
Without a word, Heesin pulled out his prosecutors’ office access card and held it up.
The man’s eyes grew wider and wider, and he stumbled back with an uh, uh.
“You’re the one who should move. Aren’t you?”
“……”
“Or should we go together?”
Ah! Right, I’ll move. Yes, of course. The man snapped back to his senses, gave a hasty bow, and bolted back to his car. Then he threw it into reverse and retreated the way he had come. Heesin watched and let out a quiet sigh. He turned right immediately and continued on, only for the alley to narrow even further.
Should have parked in the public lot nearby. Squeezing through the tight alley, he eventually arrived at the building he was looking for. Pulling into the parking garage, it was barely wide enough for one car to pass. He’d tried to be careful — it was secondhand, but he cherished that car — but his luck ran out when the right wheel scraped lightly against a corner with a grating sound.
He bit down hard and swallowed the surge of irritation.
“I’m going to lose my mind, I swear.”
Of all the places to pick for a meeting. But who could he blame. It’s my own fault for saying anything goes because I had no appetite. He parked, took the elevator up to the second floor, and spotted the sign that read Pyeonghwa Banjeom. It was as old and worn as the building itself. The owner at the entrance greeted him warmly. Im Gyeong had arrived first and was seated by the window.
“Welcome.”
He returned the cheerful greeting and went to sit across from him. The restaurant was old and dated, but it had clearly made a name for itself — one wall was covered in autographs and photos from various celebrities. Today, though, there wasn’t a single other customer. Watching the owner immediately lock up after him, he gathered that Im Gyeong had rented out the entire place.
“I said pick anything, so I did — how is it?”
He answered with a nod instead of words.
Im Gyeong was wearing a vivid green knit today.
That’s the kind of color grandmothers usually go for….
He poured water into a cup and continued talking.
“When I was going to elementary school here in Korea, I used to come here a lot with a friend. We’d play football and then come here for jjajangmyeon afterward. My mother hated it, but I loved it. It wasn’t this famous back then….”
Im Gyeong glanced around the restaurant, momentarily lost in the memory.
“When I went to Japan, the one thing I craved the most was this place’s jjajangmyeon. I tried to find somewhere like it, but there was just no finding it. So whenever I come back to Korea, I stop by every now and then. See that over there? There’s even a photo of me up there.”
Sure enough, there among the celebrities was a photo of Im Gyeong. A younger Im Gyeong than the one in front of him now. Even surrounded by actors and entertainers, his looks stood out — clearly a face he was born with.
“What did you like when you were young, Kang Heesin?”
He couldn’t readily answer that. What did I like? What do kids that age even like? Pokémon, like Chief Inspector Oh mentioned? With a father who came home drunk every day and turned violent, dreaming had been impossible. Envying a friend, wanting something — even those thoughts hadn’t been an option. All he could do was wait for the day he could escape that hellish life.
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Oh dear. How sad.”
Saying something like that straight to a person’s face. But objectively, it was a sad situation, wasn’t it. While that thought was still turning over in his mind, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the envelope. He set it on the table and slid it across to the other side. Seeing the envelope, Im Gyeong’s brow furrowed slightly. Rather than picking it up, he looked at Heesin.
“I said do as you like, and you went and brought it all the way here.”
“It’s money I can’t accept.”
“Because of the amount? Or your pride? Or are you worried it’ll come back to bite you later as a public official?”
“It’s not an appropriate amount for a condolence gift.”
“Isn’t that for the giver to decide? Since when does the bereaved family set the limit on condolence money? Has funeral culture changed without my knowing?”
He knew that wasn’t what Heesin meant, and yet the man was picking an argument anyway.
Heesin frowned, and Im Gyeong crossed his arms with a pointed look.
“Just take it home. Your finances look tight.”
“I can’t take it. The funeral expenses you covered are in there too, so do whatever you want with it.”
The money had come from selling his wristwatch — the one he’d only just finished paying off in installments. It was probably nothing to someone with money, but it had meant something to him. When he’d bought that watch after becoming a prosecutor, he’d believed his future was wide open.
The moment he finished speaking, Im Gyeong picked up the envelope. Then he pulled out a Zippo lighter and flicked it open. He held the edge of the envelope toward the flame without a moment’s hesitation, and Heesin reached out before he could stop himself.
“What are you doing!”
“You said you don’t need it.”
“You crazy—”
Son of a bitch. He swallowed the rest of it and clamped down on his back teeth. This man was truly impossible to reason with. But he couldn’t just sit there and watch one hundred and twenty million won go up in flames before his eyes. And if Im Gyeong later turned around and claimed Heesin had taken the money, that would be its own kind of injustice.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, the owner approached with a cart.
“Oh my. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”
Heesin pushed the envelope onto the seat beside him and exhaled. Two bowls of jjajangmyeon were set on the table. He’d caught a glimpse of the chef inside kneading the dough by hand, and the noodles were glossy and perfectly springy. He didn’t actually like jjajangmyeon all that much — it was one of the three things they cycled through on all-nighters at the district prosecutors’ office, alongside jjamppong and fried rice.
“Let’s eat.”
Im Gyeong was the first to pick up his chopsticks and lift a bundle of noodles. Watching him split the wooden chopsticks and rub them together between his palms, Heesin almost smiled. The commotion from moments ago might as well not have happened — Im Gyeong took a bite, made a low sound of pleasure, and closed his eyes to savor it. And in the middle of all that, he smoothly drizzled vinegar over his pickled radish.
“Eat before it gets soggy. It’s really good.”
“There’s actually another reason I wanted to meet today.”
“Talk after we eat. I hate being interrupted during a meal more than anything.”
He did as he was told and started eating. It was good, as promised. No wonder even celebrities line up for this. The complimentary jjamppong broth that came alongside it was incredible too. Soon after, the sweet and sour pork arrived — the batter was so crisp he couldn’t help but be impressed. As if he’d never had a single complaint, he finished eating quickly and wiped his mouth.
“Do you always eat that fast?”
Only then did he notice that about a third of Im Gyeong’s jjajangmyeon still remained.
“It’s a habit. When you’re in the middle of work, there’s no time to eat at a relaxed pace.”
It had been the same when he was a child, if he was honest. His father’s drinking and the violence that followed were unpredictable. He’d always been anxious at the dinner table. Eating fast had just become second nature. There was no room to appreciate the taste of food. His hyung had been the same way. That’s why his hyung had always kept digestive medicine close at hand. Their father had resented even that.
He set aside the thought of his hyung that had briefly surfaced and got to the reason he’d come.
“Did you see the article?”
“I did. Weren’t you supposed to be taking the case?”
“There was pressure from above.”
Oh no. Im Gyeong made a sympathetic face. He didn’t reproach him for handing over evidence he had personally procured to someone else. In the meantime, as if on cue, another call came in from Deputy Chief Prosecutor Jo Cheolwoong. Heesin hit reject, switched his phone to silent, and slipped it into his pocket. Then he looked steadily at Im Gyeong.
“So, the thing is—”
This time Im Gyeong’s phone rang. At the repeated interruptions, a trace of irritation crossed his face. He didn’t answer it — instead he handed it to a nearby man. The man stepped outside to take the call. It was in Japanese, so Heesin couldn’t catch the exact words, but the tone was distinctly deferential.
“Go on. So, the thing is — what’s next?”
Heesin extended his hand without hesitation.
“Give me the original.”
Im Gyeong played innocent.
“What do you mean?”
“That wasn’t the original. It was a splice job.”
Did you think I wouldn’t figure that out, you bastard. He’d believed it was real at first. Right up until he’d gone to a specialist just to be sure. And the verdict that came back was that the ledger had been spliced together and the footage had been cut and composited in the middle. Apparently it had been done so skillfully you couldn’t tell without looking closely. But had he taken it to trial like that, he’d have been utterly humiliated. Not that he would have let it get that far.
Instead of answering, Im Gyeong propped his chin on his hand and stared at Kang Heesin. His gaze was so peculiar that anyone watching would have mistaken this for a date.
“Knowing that, why did you hand it over to your superior without a word?”
When he didn’t answer, a smile spread across Im Gyeong’s face.
“You set a trap. To pull the case fully back onto yourself?”
Cunning, Kang Heesin. Then he gave a straightforward nod.
“I’ll give you the original. But come to my place.”
“Why would I go there?”
“Because the original is there.”
“……”
“I’m bored. Come keep me company. Who knows — I might give you something else while we’re at it.”
Ha. If he’d known it would come to this, he should have just brought up the original on the phone when he had the chance. He was regretting it too late, while Im Gyeong was grinning away for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Damn, the urge to wipe that smug smile right off his face — that’s just the petty side of me talking, surely.
