Seungtae had waited a long time for a chance to nab Taeju. Of course if he really wanted to, he could get him right away and terrify him. He could turn him over to the civil court for violating traffic laws, and get him sentenced with a fine and community service. He was only a broke teenager without a lawyer, educated parents, or any clue about human rights abuses. But what Seungtae wanted was to put the noose around Taeju once and for all.
Taeju’s driving was bold and magnetic. A motorcycle takes on different styles for different drivers, and Taeju’s driving was like an effortless, dashing cursive. He turned corners smoothly—at a deep angle, without slowing. Even when patrol cars came at him from all directions, he wasn’t thrown off balance; instead, he continued to make quick judgments and lead his crew. To do that required being able to read the police’s next move. In the game that the biker crews had started on the baduk board of the city, victory or defeat depended on this battle of intellect. If the police force’s strategy worked, the crew would break up and the night would die down.
The general public trusted that the police had pitched camp in order to arrest the biker crews, but that wasn’t true. All the police did was cut off their tail and slowly drain their strength. Trying to arrest them would be an expensive, inefficient strategy for maintaining public peace. The bikers’ leader combated this pressure by trying to maintain the group and continue riding. But an exceptional leader would reattach the tail that the police had cut off and regain strength.
As the police tried one strategy after another to take hold of the situation, the other drivers on the road became only vague obstacles. A large-scale motorcycle rally is like the Crusades. The participating feudal lords and their knights never pledged unconditional fidelity to the king; if something displeased them, they returned to their kingdom. The leader’s main role in a large crew made up of smaller crews from the metropolitan area was to command and direct the other bike leaders, but it was impossible to hear anything over the explosive sound blanketing the night streets. The leader’s riding skill was his only form of leadership, so his strength plummeted if he wasn’t visible.
This was Taeju’s weak spot. He was a leader impatient with the slow ones in the back. If the tail was snipped off here and there, he would be left brashly speeding off on his own. By two in the morning this kind of motorcycle rally lost momentum and broke up. The smaller crews that had been cut off inevitably roamed the streets until they were caught in police traps, or parted ways, exhausted.
Recently a snitch that Seungtae had planted came in with an important tip. This kid became a spy after Seungtae smacked him around and threatened to send him to reform school. He had collected a few of these little spies. There was even one kid who turned over an entire list of riders from the previous night’s motorcycle rally. In any case, the snitch told him that Taeju had a Yamaha R1 that was stolen from a shop in the Chungmuro neighborhood. The situation was complicated: the shop where the bike had gone missing was, of all things, one that Taeju knew well. As soon as the owner called him, Taeju got his kids moving and tracked it down. Within four days the thief caught by his crew handed over the bike to Taeju and fled. The problem was, Taeju hadn’t returned the bike to the shop owner and continued riding it. A Yamaha R1 could do that to you. The shop owner hadn’t turned Taeju in to the cops and seemed to be hoping that the biker would return it on his own.
“Are you sure Taeju has it?” Seungtae asked the snitch.
If they could recover the stolen property before Taeju returned the motorcycle to the owner, the police could get him as an accomplice in burglary.
“I tell you, it’s huge!” The snitch even pinpointed where Taeju was staying.
Seungtae said, “Kid, here, that’s worth five coupons.” In the future, if the snitch was caught for a minor offense, he would be released without any problems, up to five times.
As soon as Seungtae confirmed where Taeju was, he got moving. He had to catch him before Taeju returned the bike or sold it overseas—stolen motorcycles regularly ended up the next day at the port in Pyeongtaek, and the day after, on a cargo ship headed for Cambodia. From a distance Seungtae saw Taeju smoking a cigarette and chatting. Definitely a Yamaha R1. As soon as the kids started moving, Seungtae got on his bike and followed. The gang drove conservatively through the city’s evening rush-hour traffic, then made its way down to the Han River walkway. The kids bought instant ramen at a convenience store and hung out some more. Meanwhile, Seungtae called the nearest district police station.
He said, “Come by as if you’re doing your usual inspections. They’re not wearing helmets so you can get them for that, first. Since it’s a stolen bike, there’s a chance they’ll run for it. If they do it’ll be difficult to catch them, so make sure you have support. The kid with dyed red hair is Oh Taeju—don’t let him get away, no matter what. Weapons? I don’t think they’ll have any. Yeah, I’m here with them, but now isn’t the best time to approach them.”
The local force did as Seungtae had instructed and the arrest went smoothly. Afterward, Seungtae followed the patrol car. He ate a sandwich at a café near the district station, then walked in while the four bikers were being coerced into making their statements. The kids looked at Seungtae as the traffic officers saluted him.
Seungtae asked, “Who stole it?”
Taeju angrily protested, “But it’s not stolen!”
“You’re lying, you’ve got a motorcycle registered as stolen.”
“Someone I know had a bike stolen, so I recovered it for them.”
“Then why’re you riding it? You should’ve gotten it to its owner . . .”
Taeju hesitated, unable to think of what to say. “I was planning to return it . . .”
“When? Next year? Even not returning money you find on the street is considered embezzlement of lost property.”
Taeju frowned and lowered his head.
“Hey, look at me. You don’t recognize me?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Hey, Oh Taeju! You don’t recognize me?”
Only then did Taeju begin to guess that the inspection might not be an accident. “Who are you?”
“The pig on the Harley-Davidson. You really don’t know who I am?”
Taeju carefully studied Seungtae, then glanced at the Harley parked outside. His suspicions were being confirmed.
Taeju asked, “You didn’t come ’cause you got called, did you?”
Seungtae requested that the kids be transferred to the main police headquarters. And Taeju needed to buy time on his home turf and slowly cook up a plan.