Human Butchers (4)
“...Scared? What are you muttering to yourself?”
“...The blood clot said not to butt in. Since we're here to drink, we gotta drink with the boss. Hey, Ma Chung-hwa, don't play dumb—come over here and pour me one.”
He propped his shoe up on the table and beckoned Ma Chung-hwa, who was sitting among his underlings. The room went dead silent for a moment. Even the punk who'd been picking a fight with me gaped, speechless. Smart bastard—he'd fallen back behind Wang Yong, acting like just another thug.
Ma Chung-hwa's eyebrow twitched at being called out, then he burst into laughter. Murderous intent rippled through the air.
“Ahahaha. This is fun, real fun. You know me? Well, damn, who knew the Republic of Korea's public security had a cop this entertaining! Guess I gotta pour you one.”
He thudded over and filled my glass. It overflowed in seconds, soaking the table. Liquor streamed down the table leg, wetting my pants. Only after dumping the entire bottle on the floor did he lean in close to my ear and murmur so low no one else could hear.
“You? You're the one who pickled my two boys?”
Sharp instincts, as expected from a guy who'd expanded his crew in a flash. The corner of my mouth curled up with the same ghostly ki.
“Why waste good cognac like blood? I told you—detective pay can't afford this shit. Damn, my pants are soaked. Hey, Liu Zhongping, grab a towel over here. And you, Jin Shuwang next to him—crack open a fresh bottle of cognac...”
I stood, brushing off my clothes with exaggerated gestures. Liu Zhongping—the thug who'd started shit with me—froze. Jin Shuwang, who'd been fishing for his sashimi knife, had his hand down already. Empty.
Someone gulped hard.
“Liu Zhongping, head home for Spring Festival this year. Your mom's not doing well. And Jin Shuwang—you don't have to run anymore. Heard your debt collector got knifed. Debt's a scary thing, huh? Dragging you all the way to this far-off Korea to earn foreign cash.”
I crunched on some dry snacks, chuckling.
“Oh! Want some piping hot news? Korean cops and Chinese public security are teaming up. Your home turf in Heilongjiang's underworld is done for. Meaning... your lives are going straight to hell. You know what happened to those two punks the other day, right? Brain-dead out of nowhere? Decide now. Zone out like idiots and end up veggies, or get dragged back to China and die quietly in some cell. If you wanna live, turn yourselves in now. You know Republic of Korea cops are soft. I'm out.”
“Who the fuck are you selling medicine to? What the hell are you?”
Wang Yong's iron grip seized my collar as I turned to leave—I hadn't even noticed him closing in.
“Me? Republic of Korea cop. Or in your terms, public security. But think of me as the reckless kind.”
I grabbed his collar right back and growled low in his ear.
“And... you two. You and Ma Chung-hwa. Don't turn yourselves in. Ever.”
“This fucker. Pickle him today?”
“Enough! Let him go. It's not just today.”
Wang Yong's hand loosened at Ma Chung-hwa's voice. His eyes narrowed, gleaming. The face of a viper pondering how to devour its prey.
“Public security sir. We'll let you go nice today. See you again.”
* * *
My grip tightened on the wheel. Scenery blurred past at high speed.
In the original timeline, Ma Chung-hwa's gang gets wiped out in 2015. Up till then, China had been lukewarm on Korean requests about their Joseonjok mobsters here. Despite our cops' repeated pleas for cooperation, they'd stuck to the lame excuse that they couldn't control them.
But as tensions rose between China and the US, and their financial crisis kicked off, the Chinese government started responding eagerly to our requests. Smooth relations with Korea mattered now. That's when the underworld centered in Heilongjiang crumbled. Ma Chung-hwa's Dallim-dong crew got busted at the same time and deported back to China—or so I remembered.
I decided to pull that 2015 history forward by two years. Their future was set. But it wasn't the future I wanted.
Now that I'd stepped in, they deserved a far more hellish end.
I'd met with Gangnam Police Chief Lee Myeong-ho on my father's intro—he was Dad's direct junior. He sent over every scrap of intel on Ma Chung-hwa's crew straight to me.
Roughing up those two rookie surrender monkeys first? That was my warning shot. A signal that the Republic of Korea wasn't some pushover.
Now, I'd squeeze their windpipes bit by bit. Give 'em back the exact same treatment they'd dished out.
* * *
“Ever since that cop left, the boys have been off. Three of the lower guys went dark.”
Wang Yong's voice dripped worry.
“What he said didn't sound like bullshit. Checked with the homeland—public security's really been crawling all over our turf.”
In a back room of a smoke-filled billiards hall, Ma Chung-hwa's core crew huddled.
“Is that so? You check him out? Who the hell is he?”
“Dug around—he's pretty famous. Top of his class at the police academy, went straight to violent crimes. Nabbed Yoo Hyeong-cheol right off the bat.”
A mid-level boss next to Wang Yong bent low as he answered.
“Who's Yoo Hyeong-cheol?”
“Some psycho who ate human flesh and killed folks—big noise here about him being a psychopath. Back in our Heilongjiang? Shit, he'd get some upright citizen award or whatever bullshit.”
“Yoo Hyeong-cheol's no issue. But this guy's interesting. Police academy top grad volunteering for violent crimes... What I wanna know is if he's some fame-hungry punk riding public opinion, or a real psycho betting his life to take down guys like us. Wang Yong.”
“Yeah.”
“Can't have it. We gotta pickle this fucker! Letting him run wild's too risky. We've put up with cops dying 'cause this country's police are soft, but... You go yourself. Take some sharp boys. Make it clean, no traces.”
* * *
Starting the real fun now? Took longer than I thought.
A black Starex trailed my Jeep toward the site. I'd sensed the eyes on me every trip these past few days. Not trained precision—something sticky, filthy, like rancid killing intent.
A few days back at Ma Chung-hwa's hideout, I could've called in the SWAT and swept them all up. No matter how tough, they were just knife-wielding mobsters. Armed cops would've crushed them easy.
But aftermath's the problem. Hard to prosecute Chinese nationals under Korean law, and if China requested extradition, I'd have to hand back the catches after all that work.
Not what I wanted.
I chose annihilation war from the start. And annihilation means total extermination of the enemy.
I floored the accelerator harder. A thick pile of clothes caught my eye in the passenger seat.
* * *
“Sniff sniff—fuck, this blood smell won't fade. Hey, didn't you wash it?”
One of the Starex goons dry-heaved, yelling at the crew.
“Wash it? We've done it dozens of times. Still won't go. This stench...”
“Sweat, shit, piss—none of that bugs a real pro. You newbies got a ways to go. Heh.”
A vet with over three years in the gang shrugged and laughed. Wang Yong's eyes stayed locked on the Wrangler ahead.
He'd considered a fake collision in some empty spot, but shook it off. Military-grade vehicle up front. Sure, the Starex was bigger, but no edge in a smash-up with a van like this. If the cop ahead spotted the tail and called backup, shit hits the fan.
This was a time game.
Today! End it today.
Wang Yong shut his eyes briefly, resolve hardening. No way he'd fail a tail, but staring too hard made his eyes ache.
* * *
The Wrangler veered onto a quiet rural road in Gyeonggi's Wangju. Speed picked up—like it knew it was tailed.
“Floor it! Lose him and we're dead!”
“Bro, why's this fucker peeling off to some dead-end road? Not like he's singing on his way to hell... Looks like he clocked the tail.”
Wang Yong wondered too. Lure? Hesitation hit, but no turning back.
No other choices!
His lips pressed tight. The Wrangler slammed brakes, pulling into a fertilizer plant lot. Spotting the Starex, the driver bolted inside. Dust exploded from his frantic steps.
Goons rushed after, but the door was locked tight. One pulled a hand axe and hacked the iron handle. The rusted blade looked nastier than a honed edge—made for smashing, not slicing.
Clang.
A few swings and it burst open.
“You rat fuck, hide again!”
“Heh. No time. Let's move!”
Thrilled goons poured in—then Wang Yong's instincts screamed warning. Hardened from underworld life, his crisis sense.
“Stop! Don't rush!”
Too late. White surged at them. High-pressure water blasted the charging thugs. Force knocked some flat. It pooled ankle-deep around Wang Yong in the back.
“W-what the fuck?”
Wang Yong whipped around wildly. A mocking voice drifted over.
“Been waiting. First time my heart's raced like this waiting for a man.”
Him. Up on the second-floor stairs, hose in hand, chuckling.
What the hell's that?
Silver, thick like a spacesuit. As Wang Yong's gut screamed danger and he eyed retreat—BOOM! A steel safety net slammed down over the entrance. No way out.
Thud thud. He descended. That annoying grin still plastered on.
“Alright, line up nice and quiet. Head into that over there.”
He gestured to a container box where plant workers rested or pulled overtime. Small, but sturdy—no escaping without outside help.
“You fuck. What makes you think—today I take your head!”
The goon who'd smashed the door lunged with his axe. Or tried. A tiny sound froze him.
Click!
Crisp metallic snap. Zippo lid flipped, tiny flame flickering up.