Reseng had been casing the front of the knitting supply shop for an hour. The sign ‘Misa’s Knitting Room’ looked like a child had written it. The shop was on the first floor of a two-storey building on the corner of a quiet residential street. The building itself was old and run-down, but Misa’s Knitting Room had been renovated, decked out with hardwoods and fabrics to look quaint and charming; it was like something out of a Disney movie. Printed on the shop window were the words ‘Knitting, Quilting, Natural Dyes, Crocheting’ and ‘Great Hobby for Housewives!’
At exactly eleven a.m. Misa wheeled up to the shop. A lunch bag dangled from one armrest, and a canvas bag stuffed with fabric and skeins of wool dangled from the other. She dusted off her hands and took out a handkerchief to blot the beads of sweat from her forehead. Mito and Misa’s apartment was a brisk ten-minute walk from the shop with several low hills along the way. Not the easiest of distances for someone in a wheelchair. It had probably taken Misa a good thirty minutes to get there. No wonder she was perspiring. Misa took out her key and unlocked the security gate. She leaned down to retrieve the newspaper and mail sitting in the entrance, flipping through the envelopes before setting them on her lap. She turned her head and gazed briefly at a large, one-cubic-metre box a delivery person had left outside the shop. It was clearly too big for her to pick up without the use of her legs. She left the box where it was and went inside.
Reseng had spent the last several days visiting the suspicious locations Jeongan had circled on the map. But none of them looked like a secret hideout. Dr Kang’s laboratory was no different from any other faculty office crammed with musty old books and papers, and the spot that Jeongan had indicated as his potential hideout was empty. That was to be expected. If Dr Kang had indeed been Hanja’s plotter, then the moment he was dead, fixers would have been sent in to sweep up every last file. Hanja would never let so much dangerous evidence just sit there.
Mito’s apartment was likewise unremarkable, except that, while Misa’s bedroom was spotlessly clean and well-organised, Mito’s room looked like a chimpanzee lived there. The windowsill was covered in panties left to dry, bras dangled from coathangers out the open window, a pair of elephant-print pyjamas lay crumpled on the bed, and ankle socks, their soles blackened with dirt, were strewn everywhere. Underneath the bed was a pair of old-fashioned men’s boxers, the kind only someone’s dad would wear, and a torn condom. Reseng picked up the boxers, covered in dust and hair, and thought, What kind of idiot takes off so fast he leaves his underwear behind? On the desk were medical books and a notepad. Reseng flipped through the notepad, but it contained no evidence that Mito was a plotter.
Craziest of all, Jeongan’s claim that Mito was Dr Kang’s assistant had turned out to be nothing more than speculation. Everyone at the university and the research centre had looked puzzled by Reseng’s questions.
‘Mito and Dr Kang? I thought she was Professor Seonil Kim’s research assistant.’
Officially, then, it was impossible to say whether Mito and Dr Kang had been involved with each other. Jeongan had jumped to conclusions about their relationship simply because Mito had ordered bomb parts and had at some point worked in the same lab as him.
Reseng took out a cigarette. Just as he was about to light it, Misa came back out. She stared grimly at the oversized box and leaned forward to try to lift it. After a few groans, she gave up and tried dragging it. That didn’t work either. Each time she tugged on the box, her wheelchair rolled and threatened to tip her out. After wrestling with it for a while, she paused to wipe her forehead. Reseng tucked the unlit cigarette back into the pack and walked over to her.
‘Would you like some help?’ he asked.
Misa raised her head and stared at him. Her her eyes were as big and innocent-looking as a calf’s. She looked at him in surprise, then smiled radiantly, less a smile of gratitude for his kind gesture and more like she was stifling laughter. What was so funny?
‘Why, thank you!’ she said finally.
Reseng picked up the box. It was definitely too heavy for anyone to manage without using their legs. He waited for instructions from her, but she was still staring at him in blatant amusement.
‘So…am I supposed to just stand here all day holding this?’ he asked.
Finally Misa burst out laughing.
What was so funny? Reseng was seriously confused. Now Misa was laughing so hard she was crying.
‘I’m sorry. So sorry! Once I start laughing, I can’t stop. Oh my. Wow. I don’t know what came over me. Please come in.’
She wiped her eyes and opened the door, then skilfully guided the wheelchair between a chair and a sewing machine and pointed to a round, wooden table.
Reseng set the box on it.
‘You’re Reseng, right?’ Misa asked, the laughter not yet faded from her face.
Shocked, Reseng said, ‘You know my name?’
‘Of course I do! You’re my sister’s boyfriend—how could I not know your name? We talk about you every day up in the attic.’
The words boyfriend, every day and attic swirled around inside Reseng’s head. What on earth was going on?
‘Your sister said I’m her boyfriend?’ Reseng frowned.
‘What? You’re not? Are you another of my sister’s crushes?’ Misa now looked like she was going to burst into tears at any second. ‘I knew it. I knew she was turning into a stalker again.’
Misa picked up a piece of wool from the table and twisted it around the tip of her finger, then dropped it on the floor. She looked so crestfallen that Reseng almost felt bad.
‘No, I, uh…I only said that because I thought I was the one with the crush.’
‘Really?’ Misa’s eyes widened.
‘Of course.’
He smiled at her. Her face immediately lit up like a child’s.
‘Oh, where are my manners? Please have a seat!’
She offered him the chair next to her. He sat down, still confused.
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Trouble? Don’t be silly.’
Misa gave him another big smile and wheeled over to a small kitchenette that had been added to the corner of the shop. The sink and counter were set low to accommodate her. While she prepared the tea, he took a quick look around.
Though you might expect a place where people worked with fabric and wool to be messy, the inside of the shop was as neat and charming as Misa herself. A cabinet along one wall held tidy stacks of cloth, quilting supplies, knitting needles and wool, and fabric samples. Displayed on another wall were tablecloths, aprons, dolls, bags and other quilted objects. The items all had little signs in pretty handwriting: either ‘For Display’ or ‘For Sale’. The centre shelf, which had a sign that read ‘Petting Zoo’, was lined with various soft toys. There was pants-less Winnie-the-Pooh, his stomach sticking out, and Chester Cheetah giving the thumbs-up, with a speech bubble that read: ‘You are Zeus, god of the sky. I am Cheetos, god of the snacks.’ Staring blankly at Reseng were Tom and Jerry, Papa Smurf and a whole gaggle of his Smurf buddies, as well as all the Teletubbies, their arms in the air as if they were about to lead everyone in a round of calisthenics. Reseng caught himself wondering nonsensically, Do they belong in a petting zoo? Another shelf, labelled ‘The Garden’, held a display of quilted cacti, carrots, watermelons and strawberries. A pair of Brother sewing machines sat next to each other facing the window, and two mannequins dressed in hand-knitted vests appeared to be having a friendly chat in the corner. But there was no sign of any staircase leading to an attic room.
‘What brings you to our shop? Are you meeting my sister here?’ Misa asked while washing fruit.
‘Yes,’ Reseng said absent-mindedly.
‘When did she say she’s coming?’
‘Soon.’
Another sign said ‘Bathroom’, in front of a curtain over a doorway. Reseng pretended he was having a look around and drew the curtain back. At the end of a hallway no more than five metres long was a bathroom. He walked down the hallway and opened the door. Other than the stainless-steel handrails on each side of the toilet and the low sink for wheelchair access, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He closed the door and walked back. Just before the doorway back to the shop, he stopped in front of a large built-in wardrobe. Wondering why anyone would install a wardrobe there, Reseng opened the door and found it stuffed with clothes. He pushed the clothes to one side and rapped his knuckles against the back wall. It sounded like an empty wooden barrel. He ran his fingers along the edge and at the very bottom discovered a handle for a sliding door. It slid open to reveal a steep, narrow set of wooden stairs. He stuck his head out of the curtain and checked the shop. The sound of running water was still coming from the sink.
‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom?’ he called.
‘Go ahead!’ Misa said cheerfully.
Reseng slipped off his shoes and held them in his hand as he closed the cupboard door and crept up the stairs. It was pitch-black inside. He slid his hand along the wall until he found a light switch. Other than the lack of windows, there was nothing remarkable about the room. A Japanese-style tatami mat lined the floor, and the only furnishings were a low desk and a single mattress. The desk held a lamp and a laptop computer, and the mattress had a single blanket and pillow.
Reseng turned to look at the wall behind him. He froze. The wall was covered with hundreds of photos of Reseng. Not just photos, but X-rays, medical records, online order receipts, copies of his bankbook, his resident registration card, his medical insurance card, his driver’s licence and even photocopies of his utility bills. Each photo had the date, time and place written on it in permanent marker. There was so much data on him that he felt like he was looking at his very existence, cut up and pinned to the wall.
Reseng stared at the photos of himself. Those who didn’t know him would have thought they were of his everyday life, but in fact there was nothing everyday about them. Several had been taken just before Reseng had committed an assassination, and several just after. Not only that, but the black Samsonite attaché case that Mito had zoomed in on in some of the photos was the same briefcase that plotters used to send him dossiers. The briefcase also held any weapons, drugs or other items he needed to complete an assignment, and was always returned to the plotter once the job was done. Mixed in with the photos of Reseng were photos of targets he’d taken out.
So Mito was a plotter after all.
Reseng checked the time. Five minutes had already passed since he’d told Misa he was going to the bathroom. He took out his Swiss Army knife and used it to remove the hard drive from the laptop, then slipped the drive in his pocket and screwed the laptop casing back on. After one last look around the room, he turned off the light and crept back down the stairs. He closed the cupboard door and stole a peek inside the shop. Misa was sitting at the table set with coffee and fruit, waiting for him. Reseng slipped into the bathroom, flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Then he shut the door noisily as he left.
‘Must’ve been something I ate. How embarrassing, getting the runs right after meeting someone for the first time!’ Reseng babbled as he rubbed his stomach.
Misa covered her mouth, laughing. He couldn’t help thinking that her smile lit up the room.
‘The coffee got cold. It tastes better when it’s hot,’ she said.
‘That’s okay. I’ve always been a lukewarm sort of guy anyway.’
Reseng took a sip. It was good, rich with a bold flavour and aroma.
‘It’s delicious! Kenyan?’
‘Ethiopian.’
‘Ah, you’re supposed to be able to guess the beans’ country of origin from the taste alone, but I’m still not hip enough.’
Misa laughed again.
‘You laugh no matter what I say.’ Reseng’s face turned serious. ‘Am I that ridiculous?’
Misa looked flustered. ‘Oh, no! I’ve always laughed easily. You’re not ridiculous or anything. I just like to laugh.’
‘Actually, I am kind of ridiculous. Everyone says so.’
Misa stared at him for a long moment until he finally asked, ‘What is it?’
‘What do you like about my sister?’ Her expression was serious now.
Reseng stared up at the ceiling. What did he like about her? What on earth was he supposed to say?
‘Hmm, well, first of all, Mito is pretty and smart. And she knows everything about me. She knows me so well, it’s almost shocking. And she always tells me what to do, even when I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.’
Misa looked satisfied with his answer.
Just then someone burst into the shop, calling out in a loud, giddy voice. ‘Oh, darling Miiisa! I finally finished that oversized jumper!’
Reseng looked up and stared in surprise. Waltzing into the shop was none other than the cross-eyed librarian. She froze and stared right back at him.
‘This is Reseng!’ Misa was like a little kid eager to show off her new prize. ‘Mito’s boyfriend! She wasn’t making it up this time!’
The librarian nodded almost imperceptibly in response. Reseng slowly stood and glared at the librarian. Her eyes filled with fear and she looked away. The door opened again and this time it was Mito. She quickly took in the librarian frozen on the spot, Misa smiling brightly and Reseng standing between them with a deadly serious expression. She seemed taken aback but not the least bit scared.
‘Reseng! Nice to see that cute arse of yours is still in one piece,’ she said with a grin.
He stared at her, flabbergasted. ‘You. Crazy. Bitch.’
The words sprang out of his mouth of their own accord. Misa gasped.
For a moment, they all just stood there. No one spoke, no one moved. He couldn’t piece it together. Plotter, librarian, knitting-shop owner—what on earth were these three mismatched women doing together? And in this ridiculous shop, of all places, watched over by Papa Smurf and Winnie-the-Pooh and all the Teletubbies? He felt like a ball of wool that had been slowly unravelling, only to suddenly tighten into a tangled knot. The librarian let out a tense sigh. Reseng couldn’t get over it. As surprised as he was by Mito, he could not grasp why the cross-eyed woman, the same docile librarian who’d been cooped up in The Doghouse all that time, was here. Had she gone over to Mito, or to Hanja? No, that wasn’t it. Now that he thought about it, the librarian had been knitting up a storm ever since she first came to the library five years ago. That meant she’d been in cahoots with Mito from the start.
Mito was the first to speak. ‘Let’s talk somewhere else.’ It was a voice to soothe an angry child.
‘I prefer it in here. Misa and I were in the middle of a conversation, it’s a pretty shop and, you know, there’s just something special about this place.’ Reseng mimicked knitting with his fingers and looked up in the direction of the attic room.
‘Besides,’ he added, smiling at Misa, ‘our sweet Misa went to all this trouble to serve coffee and fruit. It’d be a shame to leave now.’
Misa gave him an anxious, confused look as she chewed on her bottom lip. The librarian kept looking fearfully back and forth between him and Mito.
‘That’s right,’ Misa said, making an effort to keep her voice light. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but you two should stay and work it out over a cup of coffee.’
Mito slowly walked over to the table as if she had no choice. The librarian stayed where she was but kept a careful eye on Mito, who pulled her over by the arm.
‘Misa, would you mind making us some coffee too?’ Mito asked with a smile.
As soon as Misa went to the kitchenette to make more coffee, Mito leaned in close to Reseng and hissed, ‘My sister is not a part of this. Let’s go somewhere else.’
‘We’re all a part of this.’ Reseng said, his eyes locked on the librarian’s. ‘Because we’re all connected by the most amazing coincidences.’
The librarian turned to avoid his gaze. Mito pushed her face right up to Reseng’s ear. ‘Mess with my sister and you’re dead.’
Reseng glared back at Mito’s face, which was far too close to his own, then leaned back, his nose in the air. ‘Oh-ho, aren’t you scary! I thought you two were like those singing, dancing Silver Bell Sisters, but it turns out you’re just a couple of goons. Guess I should call you the Silver Bell Goon Squad instead?’
Reseng stared at the two of them. Misa paused in the middle of taking a coffee cup from the cupboard and turned to call out, ‘Sis, you didn’t eat breakfast! Would you like some toast?’
‘No, we’re leaving now.’
‘I’ll have some!’ Reseng said cheerfully. ‘Some delicious toast made by Miss Misa!’
Mito looked daggers at him. The librarian sent her some sort of signal, and Mito winked back, as if telling her not to worry. After a moment, Misa returned to the table, carrying a tray with toast and two cups of coffee in one hand and steering her wheelchair with the other.
‘Reseng, you work at a library, right? Sumin works at a library too,’ Misa said, trying valiantly to break the tension.
‘Yes, I know. Sumin.’ Reseng kept his eyes on the librarian as he spoke. ‘We used to work at the same library, in fact. Back then, our jobs were different, but now it seems Sumin and I are doing the same thing. It’s nice to see her here. There’s always so much to talk about when you meet someone in the same line of work as you.’
The librarian looked sheepishly at Misa and nodded. Reseng picked up the toast and took a huge bite.
‘Wow, now that is delicious! If I’m in the area again, can I come back for more toast?’
‘Of course!’ Misa said with a smile. ‘Drop by any time.’
Mito glared at him. An awkward silence descended over the table. Misa kept glancing around at the others. She looked like she wanted to change the subject but couldn’t think of what to say. The librarian was no less tense than when she’d first arrived. Mito drummed her fingers on the table across from Reseng. After a moment, she spoke.
‘Whenever two people date, misunderstandings are bound to occur. The man does something, thinking it’s no big deal, but it hurts the woman’s feelings. Or a single careless word from the woman hurts the man’s pride. That message I sent you wasn’t because I wanted to end it for good. I just meant that we should take a break and think things over, decide what we want in the future. But I guess you couldn’t wait and decided to come running back? And to my little sister’s shop, of all places? Aren’t you embarrassed?’
Reseng stared at her. What the hell was she talking about?
‘What? You dumped him? Of all things!’ Misa looked at Reseng in shock.
Reseng shook his head. Mito continued.
‘But since you came all this way, let’s go get a drink. If there’s been a misunderstanding, we’ll thrash it out. And if there are things you need to get off your chest, I’ll listen. Or if there are things you’ve been wanting to ask me, you can ask.’
‘Misunderstanding?’ Reseng glowered at her.
‘She’s right, Reseng.’ Misa squeezed his arm. ‘Have a drink with her and let all your feelings out.’
Mito stood and grabbed her bag. The librarian stood too.
‘Stay here,’ Mito said. ‘Why interfere in someone else’s relationship?’
‘Yes, Sumin! Stay and make Pikachu dolls with me.’ For some reason, Misa sounded extra excited about that idea. The librarian sat back down hesitantly.
‘Shall we?’ Mito said to Reseng.
Reseng crossed his arms, tipped his head back, then let out a deep sigh and stood up. The librarian sat hunched over, her eyes fixed on the floor. He stared at her for a moment before turning to Misa and smiling.
‘Thank you so much for the delicious coffee and delicious toast. Oh, and the fruit, too.’
‘Come by again, Reseng.’
‘I definitely will. Besides, I have to talk to Sumin, too.’
Misa smiled brightly at him.
Mito took Reseng to a place in the market that served blood-sausage-and-rice soup. Mito seemed to be a regular. The owner greeted her by name as she came in. Mito headed for a corner table and called out her order.
‘Auntie, could we get two orders of spicy stir-fried tripe with a side of liver and blood sausage, and two bottles of soju?’
The owner brought over the two bottles of soju, two beer glasses and a small bowl of sliced onions and peppers marinated in soy sauce.
‘Drinking in the middle of the day?’ she asked.
‘This guy says he’s in love with me and won’t leave me alone,’ Mito said, feigning arrogance. ‘So I decided to throw him a bone and let him have a drink with me just this once.’
The owner gave Reseng the once-over.
‘A handsome boy like this begging for a date? Better watch yourself, girl. Don’t come sobbing to me like you did last time.’
When she returned to the kitchen, Mito filled her beer glass two-thirds full of soju and knocked it back. She picked up a slice of onion and chewed on it noisily.
‘Acting tough for my benefit?’ Reseng asked.
‘I always drink fast. I don’t live a life of leisure like you. I have to work, and study, and love, and because life is sad, I have to drink. But I don’t have all the time in the world to get drunk.’
‘You must be busy. Because on top of all that, you’ve got people to kill.’
Mito snickered.
‘Let’s get to the point,’ he said. ‘Why’d you put a bomb in my toilet? That’s the part I don’t understand.’
‘To tell you to think about your life. You don’t seem to give a shit.’
Mito sounded flippant. She chomped on another slice of onion, then poured half a glass of soju for them both.
‘Are you trying to get revenge for your dead parents?’ Reseng asked. ‘Are you so full of hatred that you’re going on a killing spree and taking out anyone who has anything to do with plotting?’
Mito stared at him speechlessly for a moment then burst into laughter. ‘See, what’d I tell you? You don’t think. Pull that pea-sized brain out of your arse for once and think outside the box. Look at the big picture. Like world peace, or the future of humanity.’
Reseng wondered what made her so cocksure. She’d been caught in the act of plotting by one of her targets. And by a trained assassin, no less. She was small, maybe 160 centimetres tall, and couldn’t have weighed more than fifty kilograms—clearly no match for him. She could be dead any time between leaving this restaurant and returning home. But she looked perfectly calm. And not fake-calm either. Where did this unfounded confidence come from?
‘It seems to me you should be feeling pretty nervous right about now,’ he said.
‘Why, are you going to pull a knife on me?’ Mito snickered again. Laughing every time someone spoke seemed to be a genetic trait shared by the sisters.
‘And if I do?’
‘You’re not the type to stab a woman to death.’
‘You think you know everything about me because you taped a few photos to your wall?’
‘That woman Chu let live. That pretty, pathetic woman who weighed no more than thirty-eight kilos. We gave you crystal-clear instructions to break her neck, but instead you gave her pills. I’ll never understand why assassins think they’re smarter than plotters. If a forensic scientist specifically tells you not to give someone pills but to break their neck instead, then you can bet they’ve got a damn good reason.’
‘How did you know?’
‘I’m the one who put that bottle of barbiturates in your briefcase. It came back empty.’
‘Then why put it there in the first place if I wasn’t supposed to use it?’ he said, his face changing colour.
Mito looked him in the eye as she said, ‘I wanted to see what choice you’d make.’
She took a sip of soju. Her hands looked rough and calloused; Jeongan must have been right about all the work she did in the marketplace. Reseng picked up his glass and drained it in one swig. Mito gave a faint smile.
‘I guess you’re not going to kill me today. You never drink on assassination days.’
‘You’re my plotter?’
‘No, Dr Kang was your plotter. I was his assistant.’
‘I thought Dr Kang was Hanja’s plotter.’
‘Ultimately there’s no difference between Hanja and Old Raccoon. They look like they’re at each other’s throats, but the truth is they need each other. They’re like the crocodile and the crocodile bird. If one of them gets a big kill, the other picks over the bones. But once this election is over, Hanja is going to take out Old Raccoon. Then he’ll kill you as well.’
The owner came out of the kitchen with a platter of tripe. This time she inspected Reseng at length.
‘Wow, you are one handsome, sturdy-looking fellow! Eat up!’ She set a bottle of lemonade on the table. ‘On the house,’ she said. ‘Our Mito might act like a donkey on heat, but once you get to know her, she’s a good girl with a lot of heart. She’s suffered a lot at a young age. So take good care of her.’
Reseng nodded bashfully.
‘Auntie,’ Mito grumbled, ‘I told you, he’s the one chasing after me.’
‘Who the hell would want to chase after your crazy arse?’ The woman gave Mito a rap on the head with her knuckles. She bowed at Reseng, who found himself automatically rising from his chair to bow back. As the woman turned to leave, Mito picked up a large piece of tripe with her chopsticks and shoved the whole thing in her mouth.
‘Taste it. It’s delicious. Don’t let her mouth fool you—she’s a great cook.’
Mito pushed the platter closer to him. The food looked like someone had sliced up a rubber hose and slapped on some hot pepper paste. That unmistakable tripe smell wafted up from the platter. He frowned, while Mito’s chopsticks never stopped moving.
‘Every time I eat tripe here,’ she gushed, ‘I can’t help picturing God’s intestines. The intestines of a God that human beings have never seen and can’t imagine. The dirty, smelly and disgusting things hidden inside the holy, sacred and divine. Shame hiding behind grace. Ugliness hidden behind beauty. The complex web of lies lurking behind what we think is truth. And yet human beings try to deny that every living thing has to have intestines.’
‘Snap out of it,’ Reseng said. ‘It’s just pig guts.’
‘The closest thing to human organs are pig organs, and since the Bible says humans were made in God’s image, then these intestines must resemble God’s intestines.’
Mito blew on a piece of God’s intestines to cool it off before putting it in her mouth.
‘Did you kill Dr Kang?’
‘Maybe,’ Mito said flatly.
‘By yourself?’
‘How many people does it take to get rid of one fat guy? It’s not hard.’
Mito swallowed the bite of tripe she’d been chewing on and took a sip of soju.
‘You’re stronger than you look. He weighed over a hundred kilograms.’
‘Cranes were invented five thousand years ago. The wheel was invented six thousand years ago.’
Reseng lit a cigarette.
‘You planted a mole, Sumin, in Old Raccoon’s library, killed Hanja’s plotter, Dr Kang, and made it look like suicide, stuck a bomb inside my toilet…’ Reseng mumbled to himself, then added, ‘What the fuck were you thinking? Are you declaring war on all the contractors?’
‘Maybe I am,’ Mito said innocently, as if she were talking about someone else.
‘War on Hanja? Or on Old Raccoon?’
‘Both.’
Reseng stared at her, incredulous. She still had the same innocent look on her face. He smiled stiffly.
‘A girl like you going to war with those monsters? You’ve got to be kidding.’
Mito put down her chopsticks and wiped her mouth with a napkin.
‘What do you mean by “a girl like me”, and what is so funny about it?’ She glared at him.
‘Hanja and Old Raccoon aren’t going to fall for your tricks like Dr Kang did. They won’t let you toss them off a roof. You seem to think you know this business just because you helped out a plotter a few times. But you are no match for someone like Hanja. You’ll be cremated before you even begin. Stop before this goes any further. In fact, if you stop now, I’ll keep my mouth shut about these little games of yours—for nice, sweet Misa’s sake. As a bonus, I’ll forgive you for the bomb in my toilet.’
‘It’s too late. And I know Hanja and Old Raccoon just as well as you do.’
Reseng took a drag and exhaled slowly.
‘Do you know how long it took me to find you? Less than a week. Hanja will find you much faster. Then you’ll have every single creep from the meat market coming after you with their knives out. Obviously Misa’s knitting shop won’t be safe. So I’m warning you. Those guys won’t be as nice as me.’
‘You didn’t find me. I summoned you.’
Reseng raised his eyebrows and stared at her. She stared straight back at him. She looked serious and determined. Reseng stubbed out his cigarette, filled his glass a third full of soju and swigged it. The soju was hot and bitter in his empty stomach. He grimaced, and Mito tapped the plate of tripe with her forefinger. He stared at her for a second before taking a bite. He’d never tried tripe before. Just as she’d said, it tasted much better than it looked. He took another sip of soju.
‘You’re a funny woman.’
‘Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re a funny guy.’
‘But why me? You could’ve had your pick of assassins in the meat market.’
‘You’re cute.’
She gave him the same innocent look as before. He returned it with a look of supreme irritation. But Mito didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, as she took another sip of soju and another bite of tripe. Much to his aggravation, she kept chewing slowly and mechanically before finally swallowing and speaking again.
‘I need someone who can go back and forth between Old Raccoon and Hanja. Someone who can put them on edge, shake them up, egg them on. You’re perfect for that because you’re Old Raccoon’s son and Hanja’s brother.’
‘I am not Old Raccoon’s son! And I’m definitely not Hanja’s brother,’ Reseng yelled, before he could stop himself. The owner paused in the middle of chopping green onions to stare at him. Embarrassed, Reseng lit another cigarette. Mito laughed, shook her head, and took another sip of soju and another bite of tripe.
‘You’re not eating? We have to finish all the meat so she can make us fried rice with the leftover sauce.’
Reseng stared at her. How could she talk about fried rice at a time like this? Seriously, what planet was she from? As he watched her talk around a mouthful of pig intestine, he felt like planting his fist in it.
‘So, what makes you think I would help you?’
‘Because you’re not going to survive this without me. I’ve prepared the most wonderful plot just for you.’
‘Well, isn’t that something. Lately I’m surrounded by people telling me I can’t survive without them.’
‘Plotters keep a pre-roster, a list of information on people who are likely to become targets so we can move quickly once an assassination date is set. And you’re on it.’
‘Did Hanja put me on it?’
‘Maybe. Though it could just as easily have been someone else.’
Reseng inhaled deeply on his cigarette, and slowly exhaled.
‘Thank goodness I’m only on the pre-roster,’ he said. ‘But even if I were on the main list, I still wouldn’t dream of crawling under some chick’s skirt and begging for my life.’
Mito sneered at him. ‘Why, because you’re a man? Your problem is that damn Y-chromosome of yours. Women have two lovely, flexible X-chromosomes that balance each other out, but the only thing your stupid Y-chromosome is good for is getting hard-ons and flying off the handle.’
‘I’ll figure my life out on my own, so worry about yourself. From what I see, you won’t last long. To say nothing of your little sister Misa in that wheelchair of hers. How is she going to run away in that thing?’
Mito gave him a look. ‘Don’t you dare joke about my sister with that filthy mouth of yours.’
Her eyes were like daggers. Reseng suddenly pictured Misa’s bright, innocent smile as she’d laughed at his jokes and patted his shoulder. He held his hand up to show he was sorry. Mito picked up her glass and drank the rest of the soju.
‘Why are you so fixated on Hanja and Old Raccoon anyway? Is it revenge for your parents? Or for Misa’s legs—’ Reseng stopped himself before he went any further.
‘I did start this initially because of them.’ Mito refilled her glass. ‘But I don’t know who killed my parents, and I don’t care anymore who was behind it. I’m not looking to get personal revenge on the dogs who paralysed my sister. They’re probably dead already—killed by people like us. People who kill human beings and go home afterwards to shovel dinner in their faces and take hot baths and tuck themselves into bed and fall asleep peacefully, as if the things they do mean nothing at all. Dirty, ugly, revolting people like us. Cowardly, weakest-of-the-weak people who say, “We had no choice because that’s how the world is and because life is hard and because we have no power.”’
Mito took a swig of soju.
‘So you’re going to change the world by getting rid of all the hitmen?’
Mito stared at her glass and didn’t answer.
‘Will killing Hanja and Old Raccoon change the world?’ Reseng continued. ‘It’s just an empty chair spinning in circles. The moment the chair is empty, someone else will rush to sit in it. Killing them won’t make a difference.’
‘You’re right. Getting rid of a few measly hitmen won’t change anything. That’s why I’m planning to get rid of the chair. So that no one can sit in it.’
Reseng stared at her. Her face didn’t change.
‘I thought you were a smart girl, but you’re actually just a crazy bitch.’
‘Did you think I was a sane bitch? How could I do this work if I were sane?’
‘You plan to enact justice all on your own? What a joke. Not even the movies are that unrealistic anymore.’
‘Do you know why the world is like this? Because of villains like Old Raccoon and Hanja? Because of the puppet-masters giving them assignments? No. A handful of villains isn’t enough to affect the world. The world is like this because we’re too meek. Because of people like you who believe in resigning yourselves to apathy, who believe that nothing you do can change anything. You dismiss it all as an empty chair spinning in circles. You think that makes you sound cool? It’s because of people like you—who obediently do whatever Hanja or Old Raccoon tell you to do without so much as a peep, worrying only about whether there’ll be food in your bowl, cursing and grumbling over booze and acting like you know everything—that the world is the way it is. You’re worse than Hanja. While you help turn him into an infamous villain, you try to convince yourself that you’re still better than him. You commit every sin in the book and then claim you had no choice. But Hanja is better than you. Because he at least is willing to take the blame.’
‘Brilliant Miss Mito came up with an awesome plot to save the world, but she still needs an idiot like me to pull it off?’
Mito stared at him without answering.
‘If you’d like to know my answer now,’ he continued, ‘it’s no. I don’t care what you’re thinking or what plot you came up with. I will live my ugly, cowardly, disgusting life, just as you said, until the day someone sticks a knife in me and I’m dead. But I don’t care. Because I’ve lived like a worm and I will die like a worm.’
Reseng stood up. He directed his next words at the top of Mito’s head.
‘If you mess with me again, I’ll fucking kill you. That’s your final warning.’
She looked up at him. Her expression was as arrogant as ever.
‘Better grab a Hot Break,’ she said. ‘You’re going to need the energy.’
With that, she took another gulp of soju and ate another mouthful of tripe. The owner was looking over at them, disappointment written all over her face. Reseng stared at Mito for another three seconds and then walked over to the register.
‘How much is the bill?’ he asked.
‘Eighteen thousand.’
He pulled two ten-thousand-won notes from his wallet and handed them to the owner. She looked sad as she handed him his change.
‘I know she’s a lot to handle, but please give her another chance…’
‘Thank you for the food,’ Reseng said and left.
He wasn’t sure if it was from drinking in the middle of the day, but the sun beating down on the marketplace made him dizzy.