by Rhys Ford
“Anything you can tell me is fine. What did she speak to you about mostly?”
“She would come to me to talk about her marriage, sometimes. Eun Joon’s husband felt she spent too much money. They did not have children, and she sometimes would shop to make herself feel better. She felt it was her fault they did not have a son. He wanted her to be more frugal. He would get angry at her sometimes”
As a cop, I’d seen women and some men beaten to almost a pulp turn around and swear they loved their spouses too much to press charges. The “reasons” for the beatings ranged from overcooked food to a new dress. Many of the arguments were started about money, and a few ended in death. It wouldn’t be beyond belief that Mrs. Lee’s murder came at the hands of her own husband.
“Did he… hurt her? Did she tell you anything like that?”
“No, he loved her. He would never do that. She might have spent too much money than he liked, but he would only scold her lightly. She had a good husband. He would yell, but it wouldn’t go beyond that,” Gyong-Si insisted. “Wasn’t it decided that it was a robbery? That’s what I was told.”
“Nothing’s been ruled out.” That was the truth. I didn’t want to rule out anything until I was sure the deaths were merely a coincidence. “Just want to make sure every base has been covered.
“Tell me about Madame Sun… what you can, I mean.” I brought my employer into the conversation. If the two were rivals, he’d want to dish dirt about her, but Gyong-Si wasn’t taking the bait. Shaking his head, his frown turned to an apologetic, almost bashful smile.
“I have no quarrel with Madame Sun. We both were students of a great man, Kung Choong-Hoon. She is a sister to me.”
“So you’re not bothered Eun Joon was seeing her as well?”
Gyong-Si gave me another practiced saintly smile. “Of course not. Sometimes a person can discover so much about themselves by seeing another fortune-teller. Eun Joon sought out Madame Sun for some reason. I am certain she would have told me about it if she needed to.”
His entire livelihood was based on his ability to read people and present them with the image they wanted to see. If anyone was skilled at packaging himself, it was Gyong-Si. From his appearance to his mannerisms, he projected the friendly and safe wise counselor. I wasn’t seeing the real man. I was sure of that.
I played the one card I hoped would shake off the man’s mask.
“Are we almost done?” Gyong-Si glanced at a clock on the wall. “I have an appointment soon.”
“Almost done.” I decided to play the trick I had up my sleeve. It wasn’t an ace, but if it made him flinch, then at least it was a face card. “Did you know a woman named May Choi? She was a victim of a carjacking. You might have seen her as a client—”
He cut me off before I could finish. “No, I don’t think so….”
“I thought maybe you would, since her maiden name was Gangjun.” I shrugged as if it weren’t important. “I thought maybe she was a relative or something.”
This time, there was no hiding his flinch. It rattled his face, a visual tic undulating across his cheeks and down to his mouth, rippling his powdered flesh. Gyong-Si fought to control his features, but the rattle spread, widening his eyes and bringing a gasp to his lips. This time, his perky beret lost its battle against gravity and tumbled to the floor, a spread of red felt on the woven tatami mat beneath the coffee table.
“It’s a common name. Koreans… we have so many of the same names. Who is to say if we were related? Now, excuse me. I need to meditate before my next appointment,” he sputtered, but his eyes remained wild at the edges, even as he regained his placid mask. He stood, taking more than a few steps to the door before I could even get out of my chair. “Terry will see you out. Please feel free to contact me again if you have any more questions.”
Oh yeah, there was definitely something there.
I couldn’t push. I wasn’t actually a cop, so threatening to drag him down to the station would have been just that, a threat. I picked up his beret and paused at the threshold before he could fully shove me out, his hand on the door to close it behind me.
Handing Gyong-Si’s hat back, I leaned closer, as if to gain his confidence. “Anything you tell me, I can promise to keep confidential. Is there something you’d like to tell me? Are you afraid of someone? Maybe whoever killed Eun Joon… or May Choi?”
“Good-bye, Detective,” Gyong-Si hissed as he lightly pushed me out of the door. “Give Terry your number, please. Please excuse me. I have to… prepare.”
Finding Terry seemed like a good idea. Gyong-Si needed to protect his interests, but Terry looked like the kind of guy who was only interested in protecting himself. There was a good chance I’d get more out of him than I did his boss.
The problem was, Terry was nowhere to be seen when I walked out into the front room. I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke coming through one of the side windows, descended the steps, and sought out its source, assuming it was Gyong-Si’s receptionist getting a drag in before the divine Mr. G came out to look for him. All I had to do was follow the smell and I found Terry huddled up against a storm drain spout, inhaling as much of a menthol cigarette as he could in one pull.
What Gyong-Si coughed up wasn’t much on the surface, but there was definitely something brewing under the man’s skin. May Choi hit a nerve, but only after I revealed her maiden name. Strange I’d get a bigger hit from May Choi’s name than his rival’s. It was something I’d have to chase after. As soon as I shook Terry down for information and hit Jae up for some loving.
There’s a split second when walking up on someone when their face is bare of all artifice. What I saw in Terry’s appealing face was cynicism and a weariness I’d only seen on whores way past their prime. There was a tightness to his face, a thin layer of disgust with his job… his life… hell, maybe his underwear chafed, but something was ruffling Terry’s perfectly gelled feathers.
His dark eyes were hooded, and he tilted his head back slightly so a swirl of smoke obscured his lips when he exhaled. It was erotic and obviously staged so often it’d become a habit. He must have used that gesture countless times to pick up guys at a club. If I’d met him a few months ago, I would have bitten on his lure, but a checkup on my cock told me it had apparently moved on to reading War and Peace or watching Wheel of Fortune. Either way, it couldn’t be less interested in the lean, handsome young man draped against the wall in front of me.
“This in-love thing kind of sucks,” I muttered, stalking up to Terry. “Hey, can I borrow you a second?”
Terry straightened up, stubbed out his cigarette on the sidewalk, and tucked the butt into a sun-bleached soda can. Giving me a nod, he pulled his pretty Asian boy act on, slithering it over his face and body like it was a one-piece bathing suit and he was about to be painted on a WWII bomber.
“Hello again.” From the raspy come-hither in his voice, I expected him to wend his body around my legs, demanding to be scritched behind his ears. “What can I… do for you?”
Having been eyefucked before, I had my thanks-but-no-thanks smile on the deck. Pitching it out, it hit home and deflated Terry’s ego gently. He wasn’t really interested. I was just the only warm-blooded male in his orbit, and since he’d figured out I played on his team, I should have been a sure bet.
I wasn’t. But it didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate the mental reach around.
“Hey, Gyong-Si said I should leave my card with you.” I made a show of patting my pants and grimaced. “But I think I left them at my desk. How about if I give you my cell and you can call me if he remembers something about Eun Joon Lee that might be of interest?”
“That would be great.” Terry wasn’t taking the no-thank-you to heart, sidling up to press as much of his body against me as he could. His hand brushed dangerously close to my inseam, and I ducked, slapping at the air as if a bee were buzzing by me. Moving away a few steps, I put enough distance between my uninterested dick and Terry’s wandering fingers.
Terry rolled his eyes and tapped a cigarette out of his pack. He stopped and glanced at me. “Do you mind if I…?”
“No, go ahead,” I assured him. Resting my shoulder against the outer wall of the bungalow, I glanced back to the front door as if I expected Gyong-Si to come barreling out. Dropping my voice down to a whisper, I said in what I hoped was my most seductive voice, “Anything you want to tell me?”
I didn’t have much hope for my seductive voice. I couldn’t get the cat to come to me even when I held an open can of white albacore, so I nearly choked on my tongue when Terry began to sing.
“About Gyong-Si or Eun Joon?” Terry brushed a bit of ash from his arm. “Because I can tell you a lot about him.”
“If you want to talk about him, I’m happy to listen,” I promised.
If someone asked Claudia to roll over on me, she’d knife the guy before he could finish his sentence. Apparently, Gyong-Si didn’t inspire the same loyalty. It said much more about Claudia than it did about me, but I wasn’t going to argue about Terry’s lack of commitment.
“You’re not a cop, are you?” He assessed me again, the blatant sexual interest in his eyes changing to something more cunning, more suspicious. “Now that I think about it, you don’t dress like a cop. And your hair’s too long.”
“No, I’m not a cop, but I am a private investigator,” I admitted. “I was hired to look into Mrs. Lee’s death. Gyong-Si’s name came up, so I thought I’d come by to ask questions. Sometimes someone knows something they think is really small but it’s the missing piece to a puzzle. I was hoping Gyong-Si might have heard or seen something that could help.”
Terry spat on the grass, aiming away from my feet. “Shit, he doesn’t see anything but himself. He’s an ass. I can’t believe my mom told me to take this job.
“Hell, I don’t care who knows what I think. There’s a job I might get. Pays more, and I don’t have to deal with his shit every day,” Terry scoffed. “He’s not even gay! You know that? He fakes it because the old ladies like it. He even screws some of them too. Someone who knew him back in Korea told me he said it’s to release their inner beauty. It’s all bullshit. I’m glad my mom sees someone else. I don’t want her around him.”
“Was Eun Joon one of the women he hit on?”
Terry’s teeth worried at the tender skin of his lip, and I had my answer.
I prodded gently. “Did her husband know?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m not really sure if they were doing it,” he said, shaking his head. “She didn’t do anything with him last time, but she was pissed off. She ran out of her last appointment. Gyong-Si came out of the back after her. He had a big handprint on his face. I guess she decked him.”
“Did he try to stop her? Say anything to threaten her?”
“No, he saw me and stopped.” Terry shrugged. “Gyong-Si told me he saw something disturbing in her future and Eun Joon got upset and ran out. I knew it was bullshit, but I needed the job. He only hired me because people would think he was having sex with me. Like I’d touch that.”
“How long ago was that? When Eun Joon ran out?”
He named a date and time that chilled my blood. Eun Joon slapped Gyong-Si across the face and, an hour or so later, died at the hands of an intruder she surprised in her home.
There were no such things as coincidences. Not really. Someone knew Eun Joon had an appointment with Gyong-Si that day and hadn’t anticipated her walking in the door. Her moment of outrage and fidelity to her husband killed her.
And I thought my love life was complicated.
Chapter 6
I STOPPED at one of the twenty-four-hour chigae chains in the area. While their assorted tofu soup came with shrimp eyeballs and legs, their kalbi was incredible. I did a takeout order for two servings and a side of specialty mandu, deep-fried dumplings made with kim chee, pork, and tofu. The motherly woman behind the counter told me to sit down, pouring me a glass of hot green tea to sip on while I waited. A couple of panchan dishes joined my tea, and she urged me to nibble, probably to fatten me up for something nefarious.
Picking at the braised jalapenos dipped in red chili sauce, I dialed up Bobby.
“Hey, Princess.” He picked up after a couple of rings, his husky growl hoarse from years of screaming at criminals to stop or he’d shoot. “Whatcha need?”
“Why do you think I’m calling to ask you for something?” I was, but I didn’t like to be called on it. Not, at least, without first getting a hello out.
“Because it’s near the end of the day when you should be heading for that pretty Korean piece who for some reason thinks you’re hot enough to fuck. If you’re calling me, then you need something.”
“Fine, fuck you too,” I muttered. “And yeah, I need you to do something for me.”
I ran through Gyong-Si and his gay-for-pay fortune-telling business. I got to his exploiting his clients for sex, and Bobby whistled in disgust.
“Fucker,” he spat. “Tell me you’re asking me to break his legs.”
“No, sorry,” I replied. “What I’m hoping you can get is some info on the Lees. See if anyone’s been called out to the apartment on a domestic. Everyone says her husband’s a saint, but she was unhappy—about a few things. I’m wondering if he found out about her frequent trips to Gyong-Si and knew about the asshole’s reputation with the ladies—his real reputation.”
“Maybe the guy on the case is chasing down the same line,” Bobby pointed out.
“If he is, then great. If not, then I’ll toss it at Wong to chase down.” The hot tea did nothing to wash away the sweet burn of the braised jalapenos, but it was enough to take away some of the sting. “I don’t think Madame Sun has anything to do with this shit, but something’s up. My gut keeps nagging at me.”
“The same gut that took a couple of bullets?”
“Those hit my ribs and chest. My stomach escaped unscathed,” I retorted. “I’ve already promised Jae I wouldn’t get shot again. Anything I find, I’m throwing at Wong and then walking away.”
“Just remember you said that, Princess, because if not, he’s going to stomp your balls to dust,” Bobby warned. “Let me make a couple of calls and see what’s up. You focus on getting into your boy’s pants and forget about stirring up trouble. I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t mind me if I don’t pick up.” My order arrived on the table, and I slipped the waitress enough cash to pay for the meal and leave a healthy tip. “I’m going to go feed Jae and see if I can’t take his mind off of work for a bit.”
THE drive to Jae’s studio was long enough to make me more impatient to see him. Traffic tightened around me until the Rover and I felt like a blood cell trying to squeeze down a hardened artery. From the clusterfuck at one intersection, it looked like Los Angeles ate only fried foods covered in cheese and an extra helping of bacon. I maneuvered the Rover around one of the bloated ground zeppelins the city called a transit bus, broke from the pack, and zipped down a side street.
Forced to move following an explosion that leveled his old place, Jae found a new studio a few miles from my building. With the cost of housing in Los Angeles and his refusal to move in with me, he ended up in a former auto parts store someone converted into a triplex. The store’s parking lot had been large enough to build a narrow apartment building, but there was enough room behind the thick-walled triplex to park. Windows cut up high into the cinder block walls were a feeble attempt to aerate the building, but the city was not known for its cool winds. Luckily, the landlord left the industrial-grade air conditioner on the place’s roof, or I’d have packed up Jae’s things and tossed him into the back of my SUV.
I parked the Rover behind Jae’s Explorer and locked the car up. The entrance to his place was near the street, a small gesture of privacy given by the wooden slat fence built along the sidewalk. He’d taken the long rectangular space at the back of the building, a good choice, given the two square studios in the front were nearly shoved into the butt of the apartments in front.
Faded yellow and red paint flaked off the side of the building, a reminder of its former glory providing antifreeze and oil to the masses. A scatter of ash sat near the front door, evidence of a troubled Jae using the small patio area as a smoking spot. The faint odor of cloves clung to the space, a fragrant and recent echo of my lover’s infrequent bad habit.
As much as I adored Jae, he was next to impossible to get to answer the front door if he was busy. I’d had entire conversations with him sitting next to me as he processed photos on his laptop, only to have him owlishly blink at me when I asked him a direct question. While he spent most of his time at my place, the studio was his niche of independence, somewhere he could slink off to and work without my intrusion.
Well—usually without my intrusion.
I tested the doorknob and was surprised to find it open. Jae was a habitual locker of knobs. Even the bathroom wasn’t safe from his compulsive barricading the world out, but stranger things had happened than him leaving his front door unlocked.
He’d fallen for me, after all.
I opened the door to the heady fragrance of green tea and buttered popcorn. It’d been a while since I’d been to the studio. We spent all of our time at my place—our place, really, since his cat seemed to have gained custody of the bed when we weren’t in it. The front part of the cinder block studio was dedicated to Jae’s photography, and a U of light boxes and low tables took up much of the area. A smaller space in the back of the rectangle was cordoned off by tall bookcases, and a pressure rod hung with glittering plastic beads served as a door between the bedroom space and Jae’s working area. He rarely slept there, using a queen mattress set we’d plopped directly on the floor as someplace to take a nap while he waited for something to process.
