Expansion (17): The Prison Line

After finishing the setup for the job, I grabbed a bolt cutter from the factory and opened the container. Once I cut through the seal, wooden crates were stacked neatly inside. The first one I opened held hats—wide-brimmed Mexican hats. Disguise, obviously. The next crates contained traditional Mexican outfits. I pried open three more and found the same kind of clothing. Unease crept in, so I smashed the crates open with a crowbar. Thankfully, ponchos appeared near the middle. I exhaled in relief, and the security team behind me let out a collective sigh as well. Suddenly I felt a little guilty.

I pulled out one poncho and shook it open. Something heavy tugged at the hem. A sewn seam ran along the edge. When I snipped the thread, a plastic bag weighing about a hundred grams dropped out. I divided the work among the security team and we got started. One person pulled out ponchos, two extracted the product, and one sorted the goods while folding the ponchos. After an hour our movements synced and the pace picked up. Once any job becomes familiar, it tends to finish quickly. Another hour later, everything was roughly sorted.

We packed the product into ten bags—the kind people call “007 bags”—and asked Eun-seong to deliver them to Itaewon right away. I stressed that he should hand them off immediately; holding onto that much product any longer was asking for trouble. The last time we moved ten kilos, the fee alone was a million dollars. A hundred kilos going wrong would be catastrophic. Bling had once told me that in this business, credit was worth your life.

Since the delivery would arrive around noon, I gave them two million won in operational funds and told them to rest nearby once the handoff was done. Color returned to the team members’ faces. How hard had our deputy team leader been working them?

Once the security team carrying the product left, I contacted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Gonzales.

I suddenly felt less inclined to pay. It felt like high-fiving someone only to get slapped in the face halfway through. Still, when the money hit the account the next day, I figured one slap was worth it. A day’s wage for that kind of volume was nothing to sneeze at.

After wiring the remaining funds from the US military contact to Gonzales via SkyBank and donating the leftover traditional Mexican outfits to a welfare organization, I was finishing up when I received good news from Hamo.

Sorry. I was stuck with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them too. Maybe have the guys wear them or hand them out locally?

The organization’s submersion was my submersion. I dove so deep I felt ready to punch through the floor. These days were good, though. In my first year most classes had been in-person, but by second year everything except a few subjects had switched to online. Something about adapting to campus life and building relationships. I embraced the new normal and switched all my major courses back to in-person except Marriage and Family. That one only met once a month anyway, so it was basically the same as online. Of course, that plan fell apart the moment I started meeting the law-school junior.

The first assignment was due tomorrow. Suddenly it felt annoying. I pushed the bother onto tomorrow’s me and rolled around on my studio floor. While chatting with Miju on the phone and browsing the community, she complained that pharmacy school experiments had started and she was busier than ever. She kept whining about all the places she wanted to visit, and I felt sorry for her, trapped by lab work.

A post had gone up on the community. The translation was rough because of Skylight’s nature, but I could understand the gist. The level of detail made me wonder if posting something like this would get someone arrested.

That pretty much summed up the whole thread. Even the profanity translated. Whether it was AI or the translation engine learning, it was getting better. Most of the replies came from mainland users making the same argument. What made me chuckle was that nearly every comment boiled down to the same complaint: how could anyone sell product that good at those prices?

Our stuff really was good. Made in Korea—well, not opium, but still. Browsing the community made me realize how small our country’s slice of the global market really was. There was almost no mention of Korea. I vaguely remembered one post looking for Bling. Most activity came from the US and Latin America, with smaller shares from China, Southeast Asia, and India. Surprisingly, Africa was absent. I’d heard they produced a lot of product there too, using it to arm rebels, but it didn’t show up here.

While I was lounging around, Powersun messaged me. His temperature had risen quite a bit. Similar to Hamo. I didn’t really want to take the call… but our organization was currently in hibernation, so I figured I should at least exchange pleasantries.

I already felt uneasy. Hamo had already turned him down. I switched to another phone and asked Hamo what was going on.

As expected, Powersun wanted to grow the organization again.

I told him I’d listen first and decide after hearing the details.

Powersun had a junior who’d worked under him for about a year. The guy was a low-level civil servant supplementing his income. Last year he’d passed the correctional officer exam. Correctional officers worked in prisons, and prisons, apparently, were gold mines. A pack of cigarettes that cost next to nothing outside would sell for ten or even a hundred times that inside. What about drugs that were already hard to get on the outside? The price became whatever you named.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I kept nodding along as he spoke. Some of the junior’s seniors were already involved, making extra cash. They’d bring in cigarettes and get paid—basically delivery guys. When bigger jobs came up, they’d get treated to meat and drinks. Eventually they offered to bring him in too. That was how he’d built his own line and now wanted to start supplying product himself.

Powersun went on to explain the risks and benefits. He’d always had a talent for this kind of work—especially the sales side. Since correctional officers were civil servants, there was a rotation system, meaning nationwide infrastructure. There was also an established hierarchy among those already in the business, from the lowest ranks all the way up to wardens. He wanted to use that network and work with me.

They’d already started testing.

I hung up and fell into thought.