Vol 7 Ch 8

On the inside as well as the outside, Kangho Inn was decrepit and sweltering. From the men sprawled like boiled chickens came a stench of sour sweat. Since early morning, the central air conditioning had been broken, and only two stand-alone units were responsible for cooling the heat across two floors. The target temperature was 18 degrees, but the indoor air never dropped below 28.

One man, pressed against a stand-alone unit to cool off, clashed with another who had been drinking at a table. Shouting in their naturally high-pitched Cantonese, they sounded like roaring warriors from a martial arts film.

From what could be gathered, one side complained about the other blocking the airflow in front of the air conditioner, while the other argued that he was only trying to cool off for a moment and what was so unbearable about that.

The commotion died down quickly when Tangbang came down the stairs and barked out, “Deng nei go fai” (You sons of bitches).

Dressed unusually in a T-shirt and jeans, Tangbang, who was usually suited to a changpao, fanned himself irritably with a woven palm fan.

The basement of Kangho Inn had been shut down for months. The Macau police who had been taking bribes from Tangbang had betrayed him. The timing was right after his return from Korea. And had he even managed to meet Joo Hawon during that trip? Not at all. While Tangbang entered Korea, Hawon was flying out to Macau.

When he returned empty-handed, the police barged in under the pretense of a drug crackdown. If they had been taking bribes, they should have handled it themselves, but instead, they shamelessly demanded more. His drug trade had already been shut down, so there was no real issue. But because they were digging into his past sales, Tangbang ground his teeth, swearing he would not leave that bastard officer alone.

He had safely finished the questioning, but decided it was better to lay low for a while, even suspending his odd-job operations. With the basement closed, all the men had moved up to the first and second floors, leaving the place overcrowded.

Tangbang snapped his fan shut with a sharp crack.

It had to be CEO Kwon’s doing. How could a cop suddenly spit out all the money he had taken unless it was part of some scheme? And since it had happened right when Hawon had gone missing, there was no need to think too deeply. If that was how it was going to be, then he would grow stubborn too. Who was going to find Hawon and cause trouble? He only wanted to share a laugh after sticking it to Korea together as partners. Tangbang sneered.

“Move.”

He kicked the chair of the man sitting in the center. It was his Korean subordinate, the one who had spotted Hawon on TV.

“When are they fixing the air conditioning? I’m dying here.”

“Tch. Tell them if it’s not done in an hour, I’ll cut their throats.”

Tangbang rested his legs on the round table and reopened his fan. The breeze it produced was still stifling.

“Oh, right! Boss.”

“What.”

“You asked about Joo Hawon before.”

“And?”

“I saw him in Füssen.”

Tangbang folded his fan again.

“Füssen?”

“Yes, I went there on an errand and saw him wearing a dealer’s uniform.”

Tangbang smacked the back of the subordinate’s head.

“And you’re only telling me now?”

The man rubbed his head with a resentful look.

“I only saw him yesterday.”

So after all that fuss to hide him, they tucked him away in Macau, in Füssen of all places?

To Tangbang, the already unpredictable Kwon Taeha became even more of an enigma. He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt. In a city so unbearably hot, going shirtless was common, but since Tangbang preferred changpao, even his subordinates rarely saw his bare skin.

Across his torso, front and back, were tattoos of figures burning in hellfire. A long scar marked his side, and though there were burn marks scattered here and there, they could easily be mistaken for part of the tattoos.

Humming to himself, Tangbang climbed the stairs. Not long ago, an old man who owned several resorts in Macau had sent someone, asking him to deal with an insolent bastard. The target was none other than Kwon Taeha. Crazy old man. Did he really think no one saw through his plan to pull out if things escalated? Some time ago, Tangbang had cleaned up a failing casino executive for him, and since then, the man had been eager to use him for every job. Tangbang had taken the advance fee, but this time he intended to pocket it without lifting a finger. After all the cheap dirty work he had done, he figured he was owed that much.

“That old man’s life is disgustingly stubborn.”

He tossed the crumpled fan into a trash bin.

***

He draped his vest over his arm and loosened his dress shirt. Perhaps because it was peak vacation season, Korean was heard here and there. Füssen, with its theme-park orientation, had more than half its visitors as families. Some fathers, after putting their wives and children to bed, came down to the casino only to lose everything and leave in ruin. It was not rare for gamblers to throw fits, demanding their lost money back. Moderation was best in all things.

Ordinary tourists usually finished their casino visits having spent about 300,000 won on average. Among them, more managed to leave breaking even or with a small profit than those who lost it all. From what he had seen of the many customers over time, Hawon knew that those who understood their limits suffered the least losses.

About a week earlier, a newlywed couple who had come on a package tour from Korea hit the jackpot. Their package had been Hong Kong to Macau to Shenzhen, but they canceled the rest of the trip and had been staying in Füssen ever since. The travel agency staff also took their cut, of course. They had started with a bankroll of one million won and ended up hitting a jackpot worth 3.5 billion won.

When various media requested interviews, the couple confessed to the hardships they had endured. It turned out the husband worked odd jobs and the wife was a non-regular cashier at a large supermarket. They had come on their honeymoon with money saved little by little without even holding a proper wedding, and their lives had changed.

Their rags-to-riches story, centered on those hard times, spread through the airwaves.

Whether it would remain a temporary phenomenon or not, casino visitors increased and revenue rose accordingly. The advertising effect from the broadcast alone was worth more than 3.5 billion won. In addition, the Füssen ceo , moved by the broadcast, announced that the couple would be provided the VIP-only suite free of charge while they stayed.

Joo Hawon waited for the VIP elevator in Füssen’s Zone 8. The elevator had been stopped for a long time on the first floor.

A casino is fundamentally a business of probabilities, not charity. Naturally, there was an inside reason why the Korean couple had been able to win. Looking at bankroll statistics by visitors from each country, Koreans spent the least. Apparently, Koreans had a low win rate. In that case, the casino operations team would recreate a situation like the one a week before. They would randomly pick a Korean with a small stake and abnormally boost that player’s odds. It was like a lottery, but it planted the expectation that even the have-nots could win in a world where the rich usually gained the spoils. In short, it was shock therapy, something that happened only a few times a year.

As the elevator rose, Hawon checked the time. It was a little past the hour Taeha had given. Inside the open elevator were passengers. Coincidentally, they were the Korean couple who had hit the jackpot. Both carried paper shopping bags full in each hand, probably from the resort’s shopping arcade.

Hawon said, “Excuse me,” and stepped into the elevator. The button for his destination, the 53rd floor, was already pressed. The resort was so large that taking the wrong elevator could easily make someone lost. Füssen was divided into sixteen zones per floor, and about two hundred elevators ran through the resort. This elevator served Zone 8 only.

“Are you Korean?”

At Hawon’s Korean, the husband kindly asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Hawon smiled; he had been standing a little in front of them.

“I think I’ve seen you at the casino table.”

The wife glanced at Hawon’s reflection in the gold-colored door.

“I work at a casino table.”

“Oh, I see.”

There had been many days when the couple had entered the VIP room and only gaped at the stakes without gambling.

“You were in the VIP room, right? Wow, that place is really something. Only big shots go there, it seems. And we— you know.”

The wife subtly boasted that they were the ones who had hit the jackpot.

“Congratulations.”

The elevator stopped at the 53rd floor. As Hawon, who was standing in front, prepared to step out, the husband spoke up.

“Our restaurant reservation time is tight. Could you please take our luggage instead?”

The husband pulled a hundred-dollar Hong Kong bill from his wallet and offered it to Hawon. Hawon was momentarily embarrassed but wore his polite, professional smile.

“At Füssen, staff duties are strictly divided. Casino staff are not allowed to perform tasks outside casino duties. I will call someone to carry your luggage.”

Hawon stepped out of the elevator after finishing his sentence.

“Oh, really?”

The husband who followed gave an unsatisfied reply.

“So casino staff can use the VIP elevator, huh.”

Hawon had taken off his vest just in case, but it was useless; people who recognized his face would notice anyway. He took out his phone, called the lobby, and requested a porter for the 53rd floor. With no excuse forthcoming, the husband abruptly asked again.

“Isn’t this a service issue? I wonder if it’s proper for an employee to be using the VIP elevator.”

“I apologize for that.”

The couple crossed their arms and set their shopping bags down, their faces full of indignation. Hawon felt helpless, wondering what could anger them so much.

“We’ll leave the luggage here. Please deliver it for us.”

“You will need to hand them over in person to avoid problems.”

“Then we’ll have to file a complaint that staff used the VIP elevator.”

Ah. Hawon roughly understood. They were angry that a mere employee had used the same elevator as them. They wanted special treatment.

“Um—”

Hawon was about to apologize when someone behind spoke in a bored tone.

“Master? What are you doing there, his majesty is waiting.”

Hawon’s head reeled as soon as he saw the face.

“Oh Woosung.”

“Yes, yes, you called?”

Oh Woosung had been reassigned under Hawon as soon as the wounds from Kwon Taeha had healed. Though nominally a subordinate, he did little besides drive or act as a makeshift guard when Wagner was busy.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why would you say that, Master? Am I Oh Gildong who cannot call his master master?”

He spoke so formally it sounded absurdly earnest. Hawon’s head ached at the thought of why Taeha had attached that man to him.

“Is this guy your porter?”

The woman sized Oh Woosung up from head to toe.

“Hey, you f**ker! Who are you calling a porter?”

“Oh Woosung!”

“My lord, if you get that mad your balls will shrink. I still can’t shake my cheap manners, you see. Let’s go, our Kwon Majesty will be enraged.”

Oh Woosung had nicknamed Kwon Taeha ‘Majesty’ on his own, claiming it suited him.

“Hey! You said f**ker. Are you crazy?”

“Why call me f**ker. You look like shit. I’ll fry your mouth with a frying pan.”

“Do you know who I am!”

“I know, I know. Aren’t you the damn couple who hit the jackpot? So what? I’m not even Füssen staff, I’m just a thug, you know?”

Oh Woosung mimed throwing a punch and the husband raised his hand to block.

“Tch, coward acting tough. Let’s go, Master.”

Oh Woosung behaved in unpredictably outrageous ways like this. Rope around his neck or not, his mouth was always barking.

“I’m sorry. A porter will be up shortly to carry your luggage.”

Hawon forced Oh Woosung’s head to bow along.

“Ah! Master! Why should I apologize?”

“Please.”

Hawon clenched his teeth and said softly.

“Sorry, damn it. Take care on the night road.”

Delivering both apology and threat at once, Oh Woosung kept pushing Hawon along while shouting, “Oh my, to think the master carries such heavy things!” Ostentatiously surprised, Oh Woosung took the vest Hawon had draped over his arm.

At the end of the Zone 8 corridor was a restaurant called Heilbronn. The couple’s destination would likely be the same, and Hawon worried he might have to face them again.

“Are you crazy?”

Walking beside him, Oh Woosung grinned grotesquely.

“Of course. How could I work under my master in my right mind? You have to be half crazy.”

“Then go mad with some dignity.”

“That’s true. Since I got slapped on my precious cheek and ended up in a suit I’d never even dreamed of wearing, I suppose I should go mad with dignity.”

“It wasn’t just one slap.”

The veins on Oh Woosung’s temple stood out sharply.

“Of course. At least three, I’d say.”

He bent his back politely in front of the restaurant, telling him to go in carefully. Oh dear, he even dropped his vest on purpose and gave a vile laugh. Joo Hawon let out a small sigh and headed for the reserved table. All he could think was that he needed to get rid of that lunatic in front of him as soon as possible.

Heilbronn, though indoors, carried the full atmosphere of a palace courtyard thanks to its Hof-style design. Surrounding the restaurant were European-style buildings reminiscent of Van Gogh’s “Café Terrace at Night,” and instead of wide dining tables, there were rattan ones fitted with terrace parasols that offered a sense of ease. Iron street lamps glowed here and there, like an open-air café at dusk.

Joo Hawon spotted Kwon Taeha sipping coffee. Over there, inside, right under a street lamp. It was easy to find him since white bodyguards sat at the surrounding tables. Joo Hawon strode forward, and Kwon Taeha glanced down at his watch before speaking.

“You’re late.”

“Only about ten minutes.”

“Do you know how much I lose if I waste ten minutes?”

Joo Hawon pulled out a rattan chair and sat down.

“Why sulk over being kept waiting a little?”

“You should greet me first.”

Joo Hawon rose again and leaned toward Kwon Taeha. He pressed his lips lightly to his cheek before pulling back. Kwon Taeha stared at him in disbelief, as if amused that Joo Hawon had given him a kiss like one might give a child.

“Kisses are for the room.”

“Who’s watching?”

“I don’t like it.”

From Wagner, who was seated in Joo Hawon’s line of sight, he caught a trace of satisfaction. Joo Hawon deliberately ignored it and ordered the same coffee as Kwon Taeha. Feeling a sudden craving for something sweet and soft, he also added a fresh cream cake rather than mousse.

“Maybe I should’ve gone for a meal.”

“No, I just feel like snacking.”

Heilbronn, which also served light meals, was reservation-only, and meals had to be pre-ordered. Desserts, however, could be ordered on the spot if not limited in stock, and their taste was exquisite.

The fresh cream cake arrived alongside the coffee and was set in front of Joo Hawon. The round cake, nearly the size of his face, towered with cream like a Christmas tree. On top of the fluffy cream dusted with cinnamon sat slices of fresh mango.

Joo Hawon picked up his fork and cut out a big piece. As the mango covered in cream fell off, he ended up putting it into his mouth in two bites.

“Our Dealer Joo, that’s bold.”

Perhaps only Joo Hawon would eat one of the ten cakes made each day in such a messy way. Regardless, he focused solely on filling himself with sugar. The sponge and cream melted gently on his tongue. Maybe because he talked so much for a living, after work he always craved something sweet or salty. He almost ordered fries but settled on finishing the cake instead.

Kwon Taeha watched curiously as he devoured chunks of cream. He wasn’t usually a big eater, but once he fixated on something, he saw it through to the end.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a bite?”

“Shall I order another one?”

“They said that was the last one today.”

“What’s the point of being a CEO then? If you asked, they’d bake a hundred more.”

“I’ve heard there’s a Korean saying. Even a bean should be split and shared.”

He knew the man wasn’t actually craving the cake. With a resigned sigh, Joo Hawon scraped up the leftover cream with his fork and held it out to Kwon Taeha. He expected him to refuse, but surprisingly, he took the cream into his mouth.

He rinsed away the sweetness with coffee and smirked.

“Not half a bean but the shell, is that it?”

It was a reproach that all he’d been given was the leftover cream from the plate.

“Still, it’s rare to get anything from greedy Joo Hawon.”

“Ceo.”

Joo Hawon called him, his tone suddenly serious.

“Do you really need to keep Oh Woosung under me?”

“Why?”

“He just bothers me.”

“Too insolent?”

“That would be better. He calls you ‘Your Majesty’ and me ‘Master.’ I know why you stuck him with me, but it’s better if he’s gone.”

Joo Hawon assumed Taeha had assigned Oh Woosung so he could vent his frustrations as much as he himself had suffered.

“Train him properly.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why do you think I put him with you?”

Wasn’t it so he could blow off steam? His question seemed oddly out of line with that assumption.

“Because today’s bastard of a boss can be tomorrow’s subordinate. Handling people is a skill too.”

“Oh Woosung isn’t just a bastard. He’s a mad dog.”

Kwon Taeha’s throat rumbled with laughter.

“Do your best.”

He gestured for more cream instead.

“Shall I order another one?”

“Now you think even the shell’s too precious?”

“Here, Mr. Kwon Taeha, eat plenty.”

He scraped up the last of the cream and pushed it straight into his mouth. After sucking the cream off the fork, Taeha suddenly grabbed his wrist. With his tongue still tinged with sweetness, he bit into and sucked at the skin of Joo Hawon’s wrist.

“‘Mr. Kwon Taeha’? Sounds like you’re asking for punishment.”

Joo Hawon felt his wrist ignite. Above his head, where Taeha’s teeth nipped and pressed into his flesh, he deliberately retorted in provocation.

“Shall I be punished in bed?”

This time, Taeha pulled both of his wrists together and yanked them toward himself. He pressed his lips to them with a smack before rising from his seat.

“Not even giving me half a bean, and you want me to exert myself?”

He spoke in a teasing tone. Then he held lightly onto just one wrist. Without another word, he strode out of Heilbronn as if he had no more reason to stay. Then, as though something had come to mind, he stopped mid-step. Releasing the wrist, he walked over to a nearby server and gave a simple order. Afterward, he returned to where Joo Hawon was standing idly. When he held out his hand, Joo Hawon reluctantly took it. It was at least better than being pulled into his arms.

“Why are we always holding hands like children?”

“It’s been a long time since we last did, hasn’t it?”

The words carried a double meaning.

“And why should it be just for children? Adults can hold hands if they want.”

Suddenly, Joo Hawon felt as if his ears were burning.

“But just now, what was that about?”

He asked, since he hadn’t heard what Taeha said to the server.

“What else? Abuse of power.”

He couldn’t make sense of it yet.