The First Client

"Mr. Park Kyung-chul's case... that is, Ms. Park Ajeong's father's case... we've more or less pinned it down as a financial dispute involving loan sharks."

Her voice was strangely calm — less like a detective at a precinct than a neighbor passing along the latest gossip.

Fuck. Why the hell is she telling me this? She was briefing me on an active investigation, and I was nothing but a person of interest.

"......What? Why are you telling me this...."

"It's about your girlfriend, so I figured you'd want to know."

"She's... not my girlfriend."

I waved my hands, hastily denying it. At my answer, the corner of Oh Sae-ah's mouth lifted once more, faint and knowing. A piece had moved one square on the chessboard.

"Ah, that's right. You did say you didn't know what the two of you were."

Oh Sae-ah nodded as if she'd just recalled a forgotten fact, and went on. Her voice was still soft, but a blade-like sharpness hid beneath it.

"Even while living together with Park Ajeong, I mean."

Even while living together. She pronounced those words slowly, deliberately, and with perfect clarity. She was probing a razor-thin line, waiting for me to slip. Go silent or look flustered here, and I'd be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠playing right into her pace.

I hung my head and put on the most clueless, genuinely bewildered expression I could manage.

"B-but, Inspector... why are you suddenly asking me that...."

Oh Sae-ah answered by lifting the coffee cup from the table and taking a slow sip. Her gaze, over the rim of the cup, never left me. A moment later she set the cup down and smiled faintly.

"No reason, really.... Just a neighbor's idle curiosity?"

Neighbor. The word circled through my head. Was this a clear warning — I'm watching you like hell, and I know exactly where you live? Or a declaration of war?

I lifted my head and scanned my surroundings. A straw. A glass. The edge of the table. A plastic tray. Every ordinary object that entered my field of vision flickered through my mind as a murder weapon — stab her eye out with the straw, slash her throat with the broken glass, drive the corner of the tray into her temple.

The demons in my right arm whispered, delighted.

Under the table, my fist clenched of its own accord. The pain of my nails digging into my palm was the only thing that let me keep my grip on reason. Not now. Not yet.

I forced a smile onto my face. It was probably a hideously, pathetically servile smile.

"Heheheh, ohhh, I see....."

I painted on the face of a naive twenty-year-old, simply pleased that the pretty noona next door was taking an interest in him. Oh Sae-ah's eyebrow twitched, just barely, before a faint smile settled across her face.

"Well then. See you around, neighbor."

With that, she stood first and walked out of the cafe. I didn't wipe the idiotic smile off my face until her back had completely disappeared.

Every ounce of strength drained from my body. Inside my head, two voices screamed at once. Kill her and run.Give up and turn yourself in. Murder and flight. Suicide and confession. An endless storm of extreme options tore through my mind, and all I could do was stare blankly at the cheap sugar syrup sitting on the table.

I don't know how much time passed. When I finally came back to myself, I dragged my exhausted body home.

The familiar third-floor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hallway of the apartment building. I stood in front of my own door and, for a moment, stared at the tightly shut door of unit 302 across the hall. Then I opened the front door and went inside.

A familiar air filled my lungs, nothing like the suffocating tension outside. Park Ajeong wasn't lying in bed the way she always did. She was sitting at the low table, and my laptop was open in front of her.

"You're a little late today."

"Things came up. I'm hungry. Feed me."

I dragged my tired body over and sat down across from her.

"Forget that. Come here. I've got something to show you."

I reluctantly got up and squeezed in beside her on the other side of the table. The moment I leaned in to look over her shoulder at the laptop screen, a stale, sour stench of cigarette smoke clinging to her hair and clothes hit me in the face.

"I told you not to smoke in the house."

"I smoked on the balcony."

"The balcony is the house."

"Whatever. Just look at this."

She ignored me and pointed at the laptop screen. The bright light of the display washed over her expressionless face and my exhausted one at the same time.

"What is it?"

"Our first client."

"What?"

What the fuck is she talking about?

I looked at the monitor. A chat log from an anonymous messenger app I'd never seen before filled the screen. The conversation scrolled on and on. Condensed, it amounted to this:

I stopped scrolling and looked at Park Ajeong. She was still staring at me with those empty, emotionless eyes. This crazy bitch had been haggling over the price of a human life on a phone app. And threatening the other party on top of it. Did this insane woman even understand what she'd just done?

She was still staring at me with those empty, emotionless eyes. As if to say, Your turn.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

The question, laced with profanity, slipped out before I could stop it.

"About what? We need the money. That's a fact."

She answered as if she were stating the most obvious thing in the world.

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

"Hey, even so — and who the fuck is this asshole anyway?"

I pointed at the username Client_77 on the laptop screen.

"Someone I found digging through social media."

"......"

Her answer was so casual that for a moment I couldn't process what I'd just heard.

"What?"

"Her posts were screaming suicide, so I DMed her first."

She said it as casually as if she'd handed a glass of water to someone who was thirsty.

"What?"

I couldn't help making that stupid sound again. I didn't understand. No — I didn't want to understand. She'd gone looking on social media for someone who wanted to die, then reached out first to ask if there was anyone they hated enough to want dead — and whether she'd kill that person for them.

This wasn't a plan. It wasn't a strategy. It was nothing but the impulsive madness of the lunatic sitting right in front of me.

"Oh, and it's not a guy. It's a girl."

Park Ajeong corrected the fact as calmly as if my confusion didn't exist.

"Is that what matters right now?"

My voice was barely short of a scream. Park Ajeong shrugged, then launched into the girl's story as if she were summarizing an article she'd read online.

"Twenty-six. Looks like she's the daughter of a pretty well-off family. Last year she picked up the wrong guy at a Gangnam club."

She paused and looked at me.

"The guy's a professional 'tosser.' He specifically targets kids from rich families, drugs them, gets them addicted, then bleeds them for money. Right now she's completely soaked in the stuff...."

Park Ajeong looked me dead in the eye again, her gaze as empty as ever.

"That's how she ended up wanting to die. But before she goes, she wants to take the bastard who ruined her life with her."

There wasn't a shred of sympathy or pity in Park Ajeong's voice. She sounded like she was observing and reporting on an interesting specimen of the human condition. If anyone ever asked me if I knew a sociopath, I wouldn't hesitate. I'd shout Park Ajeong's name. And I — a man who felt nothing after killing people — wasn't particularly different from her.

"So? You got info on the bastard?"

Instead of answering, Park Ajeong clicked the mouse and opened an encrypted file. A man's ID photo and personal information appeared on the screen.

I studied the face on the monitor. Kim Sung-jin. Twenty-eight.

Anyway, the cops were more incompetent than I'd expected, which meant more free time — and the fact that I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠needed money was still a fact. And a thug who tossed drugs around? Not exactly a pillar of society. The first one had been the same. So had Park Kyung-chul. Every person I'd killed was garbage the world was better off without.

This was just taking out the trash. Trash collection that paid.

"So the money's solid? If this is another one of your lies, we've got a problem."

I glared at Park Ajeong as I asked. She didn't look away. She just shrugged.

"Her parents have money, so...."

"....So it's not solid."

My voice sharpened. But she didn't flinch in the slightest. If anything, she looked at me like I was the pathetic one.

"Then what? You got a better idea? What's a murderer gonna do, get a part-time job?"

Stop discriminating against murderers! Fuck, why can't a guy who kills people work a part-time job?

Honestly, that would be so ordinary it'd be the perfect way to drop off the suspect list. A dismemberment killer and cop assassin, scanning barcodes at a convenience store? A disguise so perfect no one would ever imagine it. I just didn't want to melt my time away at a part-time job when I had no idea how much freedom I had left. Yeah. That was all.

The reason I was betting everything on this uncertain promise wasn't because I had no other options. It was because this was the method that suited the current me best.

I turned my eyes back to the laptop screen. On the display, our next target was smiling back at me.

Alright then.... how the hell was I supposed to kill this bastard?

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

"Just, you know. How to kill him."

"You've got a thing you're good at."

I stared at her, incredulous.

"Slick, shove. Done?"

"Yeah."

"You empty-headed bitch. Using the same method is the same as saying 'come arrest me.'"

"Is it?"

She genuinely looked like she had no idea.

"Yeah. It comes up in crime dramas all the time. Cops look for evidence in the same patterns. And a simple homicide and a serial case don't even get the same investigative manpower."

The moment the word serial got attached, this would no longer be a neighborhood case for Violent Crimes Team 1 at Mujin Southern Police Station. Specialists would come down from the provincial office, or even headquarters. On top of that, if someone else died by the exact same method used to kill a cop in the street? Fuck, the police would swarm in by the battalion.

I sighed and looked back at the laptop screen. Just killing him wasn't enough. This bastard had to die in a way that looked like the work of a completely different person from whoever killed Park Kyung-chul.

"Hmm, then..."

Park Ajeong, who'd been watching me think, opened her mouth.

"What if this time you don't stab him? Just shoot him from a distance?"

"....What?"

"Gun goes 'bang,' done. Super simple."

Park Ajeong made a finger-gun and said it with almost childlike innocence.

You crazy bitch, where the hell are you supposed to get a gun in South Korea...

I was about to snap at her when the words died in my throat. ...Not get. Make. Not obtain. Build.

As if possessed, I pulled my smartphone from my pocket. Gun. Shoot. From a distance. I punched a few words into the search bar, and the world flipped upside down. Even just searching YouTube videos, a shitload of results came up. Projectile weapons made from rubber bands. Crossbows built from PVC pipe. Methods for making long-range lethal weapons were out there for anyone who bothered to look.

I stared blankly at my phone screen. The problem had been solved. Far, far too easily.