Rising Temperatures

A month had passed. Over the course of that month, after a few more deals with Blueandgreen and the senior, and pounding the pavement to move product, I finally understood through bitter experience why the board’s main customers sat at 36.5 and 36.6 degrees. Once you secured a direct line, you stopped using the board altogether. Even Blueandgreen had only logged onto the Skylight app to meet me after his previous supplier washed his hands of him. The senior had been the pure “don’t ask” type, though my gut told me his supply chain was also in trouble. And now my own temperature had climbed to 36.7. Heh heh. Three successful transactions and it went up. So the 36.6 guys on the board couldn’t even manage three deals? Or was it volume-based? I had no clue. Couldn’t they just spell out the achievement conditions like Steam? Give me the damn card already. Hurry up and raise it.

Oh, Blueandgreen. Fast response.

A close hyung once told me that after smoking once, unless you were addicted, the thought wouldn’t cross your mind for several days. He’d bought enough for ten sessions. Was he hooked already?

Look at this kind heart of mine. The heavens really are on my side.

Was this how business expanded? Blueandgreen seemed far better at it than me. But as I kept supplying him exactly as he asked, a problem surfaced. My inventory was drying up. People’s hearts are treacherous things. No matter how grateful he was at first, the moment the supply ran out he might drop me without a second thought. I still had more than half of what he’d given me left; if it came down to it, I could call the old boss. The margin at his price, though, was nonexistent. I couldn’t supply at these rates. A perfect dilemma. Once the remaining stock sold, I’d have to shut it down. One kilogram really had been too much for me. At least it was a valuable lesson.

A week slipped by like that. Then the phone registered under my real name—the one without the app—rang for the first time in ages. Thinking it was spam, I picked up. It was the hyung I had been waiting for with bated breath.

“Where are you?”

“Hyung, why haven’t you called? I was going crazy from the stress. I’m home, lol. If I’m not out delivering, I’m at home.”

“GS in front of the city library. Two o’clock.”

“Got it.”

We met at the same spot as two months earlier. In the time between, I had lived through every possible human experience and finally understood why the song “All the Vicissitudes of Life” existed. Two months that taught me there was no one worth trusting, yet the world was still worth living in.

Once again the heavy Mercedes pulled up in front of the convenience store.

“Hello?”

“Get in.”

“Yes.”

We drove in silence for twenty minutes and arrived at a reservoir much like the last one. I grumbled that it would have been nicer if it were the place where we had sworn our brotherhood, then followed his back. He looked smaller somehow.

“How much did you sell?”

“Yes! Three hundred and seventy grams out of the piece you gave me. Revenue is forty-seven million won!”

“Take four million off that. And I’m giving you another piece.”

“Sorry?”

Buying and selling truly was all the vicissitudes of life. I had studied hard enough to get into Seoul National University. It felt like the moment I was about to give up on the college entrance exam, only for my parents to tell me to retake it. There was no end in sight. Still, I couldn’t refuse.

The moment I got home I opened the banking app and hit withdraw. When I entered forty million and thirty-six million appeared after fees, I could only curse the operator. Thieves. Then the notice I had seen before popped up with a confirmation button. Holding back tears, I pressed it. Whatever. Hyung told me to. And because the fee stung, I refreshed the board and pretended to be a seller again, but today was another dry run.

Obviously cash pickup. Don’t you know anything else leaves a trace? Are you stupid?

Time to ride the express bus again after so long.

In the afternoon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠another message arrived.

These guys really are sloppy about the strangest things. Give out personal info and you get caught. Still, who would bother catching a small-timer like me? But cut open the belly? What the hell did that mean?

“Hello?”

“You answered fast. Where in Seoul? I’d like to finish this quickly if possible. Aigoo, someone’s impatient.”

“I’m from Gyeonggi Province, so it’ll take me about two hours. How about Gangnam?”

“Fine. I’ll wait in front of exit eight.”

To guard against any possible danger, I loitered around exit eight. Any undercover detectives pretending to be civilians? Any angels descending from the sky? If something felt wrong, was that a detective? Idiot.

Ten minutes before the meet, a woman who looked like a high-schooler stood waiting, phone in hand. I observed her. Then I circled the area once more. She was still standing in the same spot, so I sent a confirmation message.

“Where are you? I’ve arrived.”

The reply was instant.

“Waiting in front of exit eight.”

Must be her. Approaching directly might look suspicious, so I watched for another three minutes. I checked whether she was signaling anyone or making calls. But the woman who had been answering my texts and doing nothing suddenly stopped touching her phone the moment I got close. The second I saw that, I turned naturally and walked away.

Still suspicious, I circled once more and confirmed she was still there. Feeling danger, I changed the location.

“Sorry, I’m not familiar with this area. Could you come to exit one? I’ve been driving around the underground roadway.”

I played dumb. The woman frowned and headed down to the underground roadway. I tailed her carefully, confirmed she was waiting at exit one, and circled once more. After securing my safety in my own way, I approached slowly and spoke politely.

“Are you Babodol?”

Passersby nearby snickered as they walked past. Why? I only said the username.

“What? My ID is Barbie. Barbie, like the doll? You don’t know?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry. So you’re—”

“I’m busy, so take this and sign.”

She thrust a pink paper bag and a receipt-like slip at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

“Here you are.”

I scrawled a signature no one could decipher and handed it back. She shot me a look like I was garbage, spun on her heel, and disappeared into Gangnam Station.

She’s the one who put “idiot” in her username, yet she looks at me like that.

When I opened the pink paper bag, I understood the glare. It was a living doll. A real doll.

“Those Skylight sons of bitches.”

Only then did I realize why the bank had told me to cut open the belly. The money was stuffed inside the doll. After slicing open the living doll lady’s stomach, retrieving the cash, and heading home, my anger still burned. I almost bought a can of beer at the GS in front of the city library. The moment I stepped out of the convenience store, as if he had sensed it, hyung called.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes. I’m at the GS in front of the city library.”

“Wait there.”

I went back inside, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bought a bag of shrimp crackers, sat on the plastic chair out front, and began stakeout duty as customer number one. While I waited, the heavy Mercedes rolled in. I started toward it, but the window slid down and he beckoned. I stepped closer. At least open the door.

“Money.”

“Ah, here.”

The window closed and the car drove off. Wasn’t that a bit much? Damn, what a terrible day. When I get home I’ll wash my feet and sleep. On the way I stepped in wild-dog shit from Bongdam.

So that’s how it worked. I pressed received. My temperature rose to 36.8. Nice. I was starting to feel the tropical heat too.

While I kept trading steadily with Blueandgreen and was beginning to enjoy the taste of this life, the senior who had gone quiet—the very man who had helped me live like a human being again on Skylight—finally reached out.

“Hehe, thank you. Order today as well? How much do you need?”

“What? Senior, I only have two customers—you and Blueandgreen. What am I supposed to do if you act like this?”

“I’m sorry. I really will die at this rate. What should I do?”

“That was because you posted on the board, senior—”