A New Beginning (26)
While running the organization—even back in my pocket-picking days—I had spent a lot of time thinking about locations. I had always moved under the principle that people should hide among people, but at some point the volume grew so large that conditions beyond that became necessary. Once we moved into kilogram-scale transactions, we were bound to stand out, and deals grew steadily more difficult. I was still searching for the right conditions, eliminating places that did not meet them. Because the situation could change at any moment, I needed spots where carrying boxes or bags would not look suspicious, where people exchanging items would not draw attention. A wedding hall was one such place.
On the day of the wedding I arrived at the hall at ten-thirty. Not for makeup. I scouted the layout and the surrounding terrain, knowing something might happen. Of course, the proxy was Eun-seong. Fuck…
Around eleven-thirty Redflag showed up carrying a Yeonpyeong Fisheries box. Strong guy. But he had brought two others with him. Their gait and eyes gave them away immediately—trained. Soldiers. My intuition had been spot-on lately.
I fired the messages off one after another. Redflag took the barrage, then frantically called the two men over. He showed the messages to the one who looked senior, then sent a reply.
When Redflag moved to the second floor I followed the two bodyguards. Those bastards. Sure enough, they circled around the back of the building to enter the hall.
I told Eun-seong to head back to the safe house. I ran down to the first floor, left the cursing Redflag behind with his bodyguards, and withdrew as well. The messages kept coming. What could I do? It was karma. In this line of work, trust is everything. I must have pushed Redflag too hard. Heaven was punishing me.
Yesterday, after pulling out of the site and cracking open a can of beer at home, I got a call from Candlelight for the first time in a while.
This guy still had no intention of raising the temperature. The reason for the urgent call was absurd. Candlelight said he had never been able to sleep without Yankee Candles since he was a kid. While sleeping in the grow house he had knocked one over, and—his luck being what it was—the place caught fire.
Damn it. I told my lieutenant to check inventory and see how much Yeongcheon could cover. Work really did pile up. After the reorganization and the aggressive marketing push, we were running low on stock. Everyone was fired up after their promotions and working hard. Yeongcheon was already at full capacity. This time I had to be the one to reach out—to Redflag, asking him to sell. I also ordered him to set up another farm, using the welfare center my brother had handed over. The location was good. I had received the documents the other day; there was forest land around the center registered under my brother’s name, roughly twenty thousand pyeong. My brother had been rich. When I asked Director Jo—now the finance deputy director—what his surname was, he said Jo, so I stuck with that. The proposal that came up through my lieutenant looked solid, so I approved it. One of the three new business plans was completed with my brother’s help. The second was fundraising. We had to start small. Large lump-sum donations would look suspicious to the tax authorities. Besides, the welfare center was not ready yet; any audit would raise red flags. So we would move slowly. It would look odd for anyone to donate when the place was not even operating. I offered to put in my own money and asked how much was needed. He said he could run it for the time being with the salary and incentives I had already given him. The goal was to secure space for the disabled brothers living nearby, and they would not deliberately take in orphans. The last plan—the factory—was still under consideration. Once the site, scale, and staffing were decided, we would proceed. I told Director Jo and Candlelight to exchange contacts and move forward. Director Jo received instructions related to organizational operations; Candlelight was asked only for his know-how and setup. Candlelight had to keep living as an ordinary citizen. The product loss from the fire was unavoidable, but I told him to be careful so nothing like that happened again during restoration. Since it occurred while working for me, I tried to send money to cover reconstruction and the new farm at the welfare center, but he insisted he had earned enough to handle it himself. When I asked where that kind of money was coming from, he confidently replied that he was making a hundred million won a month.
After setting up the organization I turned the messages back on. Instead of Redflag pleading, there he was on his knees. The terms had also improved. The twenty thousand dollars stayed the same, but he was offering more product—three kilograms each time.
This time we would use the classic method. Tossing it, obviously. I needed him to drive. He had driven well last time, though the crab soup—or whatever it was—had tasted terrible. I had to scare him a little. He needed to feel some fear.
Please, I’m begging you. The farm burned down. Even when told to come alone he said yes; wherever I told him to go, he said yes. Redflag had become an obedient avatar.
I reached the rest area, bought a hot bar, and sent the message. Thirty-three minutes later he replied that he would arrive. About thirty minutes passed. Another message came.
I told him to park in front of the ceramics exhibition hall. Ten minutes after he said he was entering, there was still no reply. What was going on?
Ah, the opposite direction. I had assumed he was coming from the Seoul area. I gave Redflag another round of abuse. What? He was coming from the Gangneung side, so he had to turn around. He said okay, and twenty minutes later another message arrived.
I told him again to park in front of the ceramics exhibition hall. An Avante pulled in and parked there. I watched carefully to see if he had come alone. No one got out. I sent another message.
Only then did movement appear inside the Avante. Through the opening door I could see he had come alone. There were the box and paper bag I had seen at the wedding hall. They looked extremely heavy. What could I do? Karma. I sent the next message.
Redflag could have been an actor. From what I saw, he walked up to the one-ton truck as if it were his own, placed the load in the cargo bed, and returned to the Avante before driving off. Ten out of ten. I watched the scene, then went to eat lunch. Let him stew for a while. An hour later I summoned Eun-seong’s crew to the rest area. I had them park beside the truck, recover the goods, and tear them apart. Why? I had seen it in a movie—GPS trackers hidden in things like that. They track you, come after you, catch you. There was even a whole movie about it. Fortunately, the report came back that there was nothing but the product. I ordered Eun-seong’s crew to make a nationwide tour: Gangneung, Samcheok, Pohang, Busan, Yeosu, Gwangju, Jeonju, and finally Bondam. This time there would be no incidents. If only we had traded with trust from the start. Finally, I told them to place the document bag in the truck bed and depart. After watching Eun-seong’s crew leave and confirming no one was following, I drove the rented SUV out of the rest area ten minutes later. Using the app, I set the return time for the truck to one hour from now. These days, if you pay the rental company a little extra, they handle delivery and pickup too. Then I sent the message.