Rocket Man's Bodyguard
'Rocket Man's comrade's bodyguard?!' ……………
"This is seriously good."
Catalina kept spooning it into her mouth as she spoke.
"Glad it suits your taste."
"No, really. Way better than El Pollo Loco. They say it's the best around here."
'Not by that much.' But for someone who'd only been eating canned food, this was a feast fit for a king.
After the meal, I did the dishes while looking around. It was called a safehouse, but the cleanliness was abysmal. Dust coated the floor in a thin white layer—who knew how long it'd been since anyone swept—and trash rolled around in the corners.
'Even if we're only staying three or four days, this environment is a bit much...'
Ma Hyuksu had even worked a cleaning gig before. Time to put that experience to use. I grabbed a broom and mop right away. Luckily, they were in the corner of the living room.
I started by picking up the trash. Empty shell casings, torn wrappers, unidentifiable scraps of cloth. I stuffed it all into a massive black trash bag—big enough to hold a person—and piled it in one spot.
Then I swept. Clouds of dust billowed up. Catalina got up from the sofa and headed to the bedroom. Probably because of the dust.
I finished sweeping the floor and started mopping. The mop turned pitch black at first. I rinsed and wiped, over and over. About two hours later, the living room looked like new. Now I could finally see what color the floor was supposed to be: light brown tiles.
"What? Was this place always this big?"
Catalina had come out from the bedroom and was looking around the spotless living room.
That's when I noticed something on her knee. She'd switched from cargo pants to dolphin shorts today, which made it visible: a haphazardly applied gauze pad, with blood seeping through.
"When did you get that scrape?"
"Yesterday. Sliding under the bench you were sitting on."
"Did you disinfect it properly?"
"Just rinsed it with water and slapped on some gauze?"
The safehouse was one thing, Santa Esperanza another. Given the overall hygiene here, infection risk was high.
I fetched the first-aid kit from the shelf.
"Lift your leg up a bit."
"It's fine. This is nothing—this happens all the time."
"It could get infected and you'd have to amputate."
I was exaggerating a little, but Catalina obediently sat on the sofa. Peeling off the gauze revealed a deeper wound than expected. I cleaned it first with saline solution. She winced but held still. I soaked cotton in antiseptic and wiped around the edges.
"Coño! That hurts!"
"Just bear with it a sec."
I applied antibiotic ointment, wrapped fresh gauze around it, and secured it with tape.
"There. I'll change it again tomorrow."
Catalina bent and straightened her knee. The gauze stayed put, perfectly fixed. As I started to stand, she was staring at me with a weird expression.
"What?"
"Nothing... just. You can cook, clean, even do first aid. Is there anything you can't do?"
"It's nothing special. Just stuff you pick up living life."
She suddenly let out a chuckle.
"Hey, wanna be my kept man?"
"Huh?"
"Kidding, kidding."
She waved it off with a laugh, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before shifting to the TV.
"Haha, funny joke."
I brushed it off with a laugh. Obviously just a joke.
……………
On the third day, 5 a.m. Catalina set the bag down in the middle of the living room. That black duffel bag. The one I'd pulled from the public restroom, carried for 40 minutes—easily at least 15 kilos.
"Today's the day."
Short and to the point, but the meaning was clear. Delivery day had arrived.
I got up from the sofa and stretched. Three days cooped up in this cramped safehouse had me itching to move. In a place where I couldn't even properly open the windows, all I'd done was cook for Catalina and handle the chores.
"Sling the bag over your shoulder and walk. Get used to the weight."
I shouldered it. Still heavy. My back curved forward.
"No good. Straighten up. Walk naturally. Can't look like you're carrying something heavy."
'Easy for you to say. Could you walk naturally with a 15-kilo bag?'
But she wasn't wrong. If I looked suspicious, I'd be a target. In this godforsaken city, becoming a target meant getting that much closer to death.
"Let's go."
……………
Catalina, masked and capped, led the way. I followed behind with the bag. The streets were already muggy, even in the early dawn hours.
'Hard to believe people actually live in a place like this.'
Bullet-pocked walls, shattered windows, men standing watch at corners even at this hour. Luckily, they left us alone. Maybe because of Catalina's intimidating aura, or because it was obvious we were on some job.
I lost count of how many alleys we turned into. About an hour later, a massive warehouse appeared on the city outskirts. The entrance was guarded by men with assault rifles.
"La Luna Negra."
Catalina whispered it low.
"Our client."
La Luna Negra. Black Moon. The name alone screamed bloodsucking scum... er, criminals.
"Once we're inside, use casual speech with me. Call me Kata. Can't look like a newbie."
She approached the guards, exchanged a few words. One radioed something in. Moments later, the door opened.
"Inside."
The interior was even more grim than the outside. Thick cigarette smoke, walls plastered with cutouts from porn mags.
We climbed the prefab stairs to a room on the third floor. Opening the door revealed what looked like an office. Behind a big desk sat a middle-aged man. Gut bulging, gold chains dangling, shirt half-unbuttoned to show off his hairy chest. In short, a guy screaming, "I'm the cartel boss!" to anyone who looked.
Flanking the boss were bodyguards, hands hovering near their waist holsters.
"Catalina. Right on time."
The boss spoke first.
"The goods?"
Catalina nodded at me. I set the bag on the desk. At his signal, a bodyguard unzipped it and pulled out the contents. He sliced open one package with a knife, dipped a finger in the white powder, and tasted it.
"It's good."
"Excellent."
The boss looked pleased. Then his eyes suddenly turned to me.
"Why'd you bring this chino?"
Chino. That word again. I wasn't even mad anymore.
"My new partner."
"Hmm."
The boss eyed me up and down.
"The Black Widow bringing a partner? Don't they usually disappear after a day or two?"
'Black Widow? The one that eats the male after mating?'
Catalina's shoulders tensed ever so slightly.
"Don't use that nickname. And this guy's special. Ex-special forces from Korea... yeah."
"Oh? Special forces?"
"Yeah. And now he's my partner. Official."
Partner. The word felt a little off. Like she was claiming ownership or something.
'Nah, just bluffing.' Showing off a tough buddy to look strong. In this city, looking weak made you prey.
"No way, Kata. This chino special forces?"
One of the boss's men chimed in. A guy with a thick mustache, looking like some mushroom-munching plumber.
He sized me up.
"Looks kinda fit... but not like one of us. Ever even touched a gun, chino?"
Another piped up.
"Special forces? More like a master's lapdog. We're fighting dogs. What'd the army even teach you?"
Mustache Man snorted.
"Chino special forces—they teach you how to pick bananas from trees?"
'These fucking bastards?'
Being dismissed wasn't fun, especially by criminal trash like this. Then a brilliant idea flashed in my head.
I pulled out my smartphone, opened the gallery, and found the photo. I showed it to them.
"This enough for you?"
The room's air froze solid.
The photo showed Korea's most infamous figure. The one and only guy on the peninsula with the nuclear button. Rocket Man.
And there I was—Ma Hyuksu in a suit, guarding Rocket Man. Right beside him.
Of course, it was fake. AI-generated. One of my 1,500-ish subscribers—a super suspicious diehard fan—made it as a joke.
But damn, modern AI. The photo was indistinguishable from real. I'd even lowered the resolution and smudged it on purpose, so even I could barely tell fake from real.
"Is that... real? This chino guarded Rocket Man?"
Mustache Man's eyes bulged.
"Not your line of work. But I've eaten my share of bullets too. Served about six years."
Not a lie. I did full army service, Han Minseo air force, Ma Hyuksu marines. Adds up to around six years. No connection to the nuke-button Rocket Man, though.
Silence fell. The snickering assholes shut their mouths. Mustache Man backed away three steps. Even the boss, feigning calm, finally spoke slowly.
"You... that photo, what the..."
"Can't say details for security reasons."
I pocketed the phone.
"Just know I'm not here on orders from the 'comrade.' That's all you need."
I said it stiffly on purpose. Catalina poked my side. A glance showed her barely holding back a laugh.
The boss drummed his fingers on the desk. Once, twice, three times. Then finally.
"Got it, Catalina. Your partner's definitely... very special."
'Success! The bluff worked.'
Not that it gained me much beyond saving Catalina's face. But putting these racist criminal scumbags in their place? Worth it.
The boss's hand went to a drawer. I tensed, thinking gun—but out came stacks of cash.
"The agreed amount, Catalina."
He plopped thick wads of $100 bills on the desk.
"Job was perfect. Threw in 30% extra. Call you for the next one."
His eyes turned to me again.
"I'd like to see you again too. Mister—"
"Just call me Chino."
The boss burst out laughing.
"Hahahahaha! Fine, Mister Chino. See you next time."