Chapter ten
Jo Yun-je fitted perfectly into the sedate and somewhat rarefied atmosphere of The Lounge bar: his tailored dark suit became him like a faultless uniform; he wore a striped silk tie; his black shoes like mirrors.
We sat together in a corner of the room by the plate glass window looking out onto the artificial forest, complete with man-made waterfalls. The place was practically deserted except for a couple of businessmen at the circular bar.
A waiter appeared with two glasses of Jack Daniels on a lacquered tray. Jo waited until the man was out of earshot before he said: ‘This little girl in Pocheon – you didn’t by any chance find out her surname, I suppose?’
‘I’m afraid not’, I said. ‘Seung-li was all I heard. Choi simply said that she was his niece and that she spent most of her time with them’. I sipped my whiskey and lit a cigarette. ‘I suppose the name Seung-li could be a coincidence?’
‘It could be’, said Jo.
‘But you don’t think it is?’
‘Let’s take a look at the facts: Seung-li was the name mentioned by Arsenio, the Cuban sailor who died. Right?’
‘Right’, I said. ‘The chap was delirious and half out of his mind, but I heard him say the name ‘Seung-li’ several times’.
Jo nodded. ‘And, we know that it is most likely his girlfriend. I nodded.
‘Next thing: Arsenio had some sort of tie-up with Park Song-yong and was supposed to pick up his car. Instead, you picked it up and found a pair of spectacles in it. The spectacles belonged to a woman called Mrs Choi Ji-hye who, curiously enough, has a niece called Seung-li’. Jo looked at me quizzically. ‘Don’t you think the link is stretching the idea of coincidence a little too far?’
‘I suppose it is’, I said, ‘but I can’t help thinking of Choi Kyung-lee and his wife. They’re the most harmless looking couple you could possibly imagine’.
Jo smiled indulgently. ‘It’s surprising how many apparently innocuous people turn up on the front pages of the newspapers. We once picked up a North Korean agent who had been a Methodist minister in a border village for three years. However, let’s just run over your description of Choi Kyung-lee again, shall we? Just to see if there’s anything you’ve missed’.
I thought for a moment. ‘I should think he’s about sixty to sixty-five’, I said. ‘About five feet seven; white hair, getting thin on top. Seemed a trifle absent-minded – the professor type. A bit on the shabby side: old trousers, jacket with worn elbows, shoes down at heel’, I think that’s about all.
‘Anything else you can remember about him?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid. He was very taken up with his military collection, of course. Especially one called the Battle of Inchon’.
Jo thoughtfully stared into his half empty glass of JD. ‘And Mrs Choi?’
‘A few years younger than her husband, maybe fifty-five, sixty tops and a bit shorter’, I said. ‘Dark – just beginning to go grey. Short-sighted, I should imagine. Seems to wear the trousers in the family, but one can never really tell. Obviously very fond of the little girl, Seung-li’.
Jo nodded non-commitally, drained his glass, and beckoned to the waiter.
When fresh drinks had been brought Jo said: ‘hasn’t Kim Joo-young any idea where Park might be?’
‘I saw her this morning’, I replied. ‘She’s got a theory that he’s in Singapore, having a holiday at someone else’s expense. I must admit that’s his usual form’.
‘He’s not in Singapore this time’, said Jo decidedly.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. ‘Just why do you want Park Song-yong?’ I asked bluntly.
‘You asked Na that question’, remarked Jo.
‘I know I did, and he didn’t give me a satisfactory answer’.
‘I’m afraid I can’t either’, said Jo composedly; ‘at least, not at the moment. And even if I could, I’m not sure that I would, Moon. Believe me, in this job there are times when it’s best not to know all the whys and wherefores. It’s better just to do the job, avoid complications as afar as possible and not get involved. In many cases, the less you know the better’. Jo sat back in his chair and regarded me almost paternally.
‘That’s not quite as easy as it sounds’, I said with a show of impatience, ‘not for me, at any rate. Park Song-yong and I were partners, don’t forget. That’s why Na gave me the job in the first place’.
‘Well?’
I was finding Jo’s unconcern faintly irritating. ‘I must know something of what’s going on’, I said lamely.
‘But you do know what’s going on; we’re trying to find Park Song-yong’.
‘That isn’t enough’, I said. ‘I want to know why I’m looking for Park and what’s going to happen when I find him’.
‘One thing at a time’, said Jo placidly. ‘Why should you worry about what happens to him? He’s no friend of yours’.
‘That’s where you’re wrong’, I protested.
‘But damn it, man’, said Jo patiently, ‘he wrecked your business, and he owes you a stack of money. Hardly a basis for a beautiful friendship’.
‘That’s as maybe’, I said. ‘But I know Park better than most people and, strange as it may seem, I still have a soft spot for him’.
‘It seems strange enough’, murmured Jo.
‘I was damned annoyed when he didn’t turn up at Sinjang-ri’, I went on, ‘but I’ve cooled off a bit since then. He’s liable to do the craziest things, yet I have to admit I can’t help feeling some sympathy towards him’.
‘I see’, said Jo. ‘I know what you mean, of course. I’ve had friends like Park Song-yong, too’. ‘Well, what happens now?’ I demanded.
Jo put down his glass. ‘There’s only one thing I can tell you’, he said, obviously choosing his words with care. ‘If you really like Park Song-yong as much as you say you do’ – he broke off and rapped the wooden arm of the chair gently with his fingertips – ‘then you’ve got to find him. You’ll certainly be doing him a favour – a big favour’. He got up from his chair and compared his watch with the clock on the wall. ‘And now you’ll have to excuse me; I’ve got a lunch appointment’.
‘There’s just one thing, Jo’, I said. ‘What shall I do with Park’s car?’
‘Have you got a car of your own?’
‘Not at the moment. I had to sell it’.
‘Then I should go on using Park’s’, said Jo.
Back in my flat I tried to think detachedly about Park Song-yong: Song-yong, who, whatever his faults – and they were many – feared nothing on two legs or four; Song-yong, whose get- rich-quick schemes were the talk of a dozen clubs and cocktail bars; Song-yong, who always had a ‘red-hot one’ to beat the favourite; Song-yong, whose charm had even overwhelmed Kim Joo-young. I wondered what Jo had meant when he said I’d be doing Song-yong a favour by finding him.
My reverie was interrupted by the telephone. I walked over to it and lifted the receiver. ‘Yes’, I said. ‘Who’s that?’
‘I just seen your advert online’, said a throaty voice with a rough accent. ‘What advert?’ I demanded, slightly taken aback.
‘In AutoMart.com, mate. The Genesis Coupe. Sounds just the sorta mota I’ve been looking for’. ‘I think you must have got the wrong number’, I said. ‘I haven’t advertised any car for sale’. ‘Now, wait a minute’, said the voice.
‘Yes’.
‘’ave you not got a Genesis Coupe 200 Turbo D, one owner, thirty thousand on the speedo?’
‘Yes’, I said, ‘but what –’
‘Well, what are you going on about then?’ interrupted the voice aggressively. ‘Your advert’s online in Auto-Mart. Right?’
‘Wrong’, I corrected.
‘Look, I’m a busy man, mister’, said the voice in the tone of a man whose patience is sorely tried. ‘Get yourself sorted out an’ call me back, will you? Seong’s the name, Seong Jeong- ryong. Ring me back on this number’. There was a click as he ended the call.
Obviously the man was referring to Song-yong’s car: the details were correct, even to the mileage on the speedometer.
I touched the Google icon on my phone and searched for AutoMart. I scrolled through the adverts, and there, near the bottom of the page I read: Hyundai Genesis Coupe 200 Turbo D One owner. 30,000 miles. Offers. And there at the end was my cell phone number.
I stared at the advertisement for a moment or two. Someone knew that I had Song-yong’s car, and evidently wanted it badly. I made up my mind quickly, and hit return call.
The same voice answered: ‘Yeoboseyo! Seong Jeong-ryong’s Garage’.
‘My name’s Moon Han-sang’, I said. ‘You spoke to me a few minutes ago about the advertisment in AutoMart’.
‘Ah!’ said Seong. ‘So you’ve recovered your memory, ’ave you?’
‘Are you interested in the car?’ I asked.
‘Well, I wasn’t phoning about your ’ealth’, said Seong with weighty sarcasm. ‘Bring ’er round an’ let’s ’ave a dekko at ’er’.
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘Off the Seouloegwaksunhwan expressway at Hwon-dong. Seong Jeong-ryong’s Garage – you can’t miss it’.
‘What time would suit you?’
‘Any time, mate. I’m ’ere all day, and ’arf the ruddy night!’
Seong’s Garage proved to be an unimpressive establishment. In the sales yard were three cars, their prices optimistically chalked on the windscreens, and a battered pick-up. There were two petrol pumps, and behind them a small concrete and glass structure, which I presumed did duty as an office.
Seong was filling a customer’s car from one of the pumps. He was a stout and disreputable individual in his mid-forties. He wore overalls, boots, and, incongrously, a Burberry cap. Mr Seong, like his clothes, was an odd mix. He inspired in me an immediate feeling of mistrust.
When he had finished at the petrol pump, Seong walked towards me, wiping his hand on the seat of his overalls. He looked at me with little friendliness in his expression.
‘My name’s Moon Han-sang’, I explained. ‘You telephoned me about the Genesis Coupe. D’you want to have a look at it?’
‘Might as well’, nodded Seong, and we walked over to the car together.
He shuffled round the car, examining the bodywork. Then, breathing heavily, he inserted his bulk into the driving seat and started the engine. He listened for a moment, grunting non- committally.
‘Not bad’, said Seong a moment later, with his head under the bonnet, ‘seen worse’. Then he faced me. ‘Wotcher want for it?’
I assumed a slightly vacuous expression. ‘Oh, I don’t know’, I replied vaguely. ‘What do you think?’
Seong tilted his hat to the back of his head and regarded me with extreme disbelief. ‘Stone the crows! You’re a right one, you are. First you forgets about your advert, and now you don’t know how much you want for the bloody car!’
‘Well, I hadn’t given it a lot of thought’, I said airily. ‘I only decided to sell it on the spur of the moment’.
‘If you ain’t got a price in mind’, announced Seong, ‘I’ll make you an offer. Nine million won’. I hesitated.
‘Good price for an old car like that, y’know’, Seong went on. ‘You wouldn’t get no ’igher anywhere else – take my word for it’.
‘Oh, I don’t know’, I said.
‘I do’, said Seong with certainty. ‘Nine million won. What about it?’
I still hesitated. ‘Is that the highest?’
Seong’s eyes narrowed. ‘I never said that, did I? You say you ’aven't given it much thought, so I makes you an offer. Can’t say fairer than that, can I? I ain’t in this business for fun, y’know’.
I pretended to ponder the matter deeply. ‘I’m sorry’, I said at length, ‘I’m afraid nine million doesn’t interest me’.
Seong’s face fell. ‘Oh, don’t it. Well, you must ’ave some idea what you wants for it. Gimme a figure’.
‘You make me another offer’, I suggested, smiling at him benignly.
He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. ‘All right, then – ten million’. ‘How much?’
‘A round ten million. That’s top weight’.
‘Ten million, eh?’ I said. ‘That’s quite a jump’.
‘Well, she’s in fairish nick, I s’pose’, conceded Seong graciously. ‘Tyres an’ everything seem okay’.
‘Oh, they are’, I agreed. I was beginning to enjoy myself. ‘Is it a deal, then?’
I did some quick thinking. Someone wanted this car rather badly, I imagined, and it would be interesting to see just how far they were prepared to go. Seong, no doubt, was only a go- between. With a feeling of mild sadism, I decided to make him sweat a bit.
I shook my head regretfully. ‘I think I can do better than that’, I said. ‘Not with Seong Jeong-ryong, you can’t’, was the indifferent reply.
I sighed and turned away. ‘Well, I’m afraid I must be off’.
But Seong was having second thoughts and having them quickly. ‘Ere, ’ang on a minute-’ I turned round again. ‘Well?’ I said blandly.
‘Now look, mate’, said Seong, ‘I’ve offered you ten million won, an’ a very fair price, say wot you like. What more d’you want?’
‘I want nearer fifteen million’, I said calmly. Seong’s face assumed a purplish hue. ‘You – what?’
‘I said I wanted fifteen million won’.
Seong pointed a dirty and trembling forefinger towards the Genesis. ‘For that? You must be up the wall, mate’, he spluttered, ‘you’re round the bloody bend! That coupe ain’t never worth fifteen million won!’
‘I didn’t say it was’, I grinned. ‘I said that’s what I wanted for it’. He stared at me balefully. ‘I’ll give you twelve’.
Again I shook my head. ‘Sorry, Mr Seong’.
He took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I wanna be fair about this; I don’t wanna be difficult –’
‘Of course not’, I murmured.
He spoke with a sudden rush of words. ‘I’ll give you twelve an’ a half’.
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort’, I said firmly. ‘If you want the car you’ll pay what I’m asking for it. You’re really very lucky to be getting it so cheap, you know’.
For a moment I thought I’d gone too far; Seong appeared to be on the point of having a seizure. ‘But the bloody thing ain’t worth anything like fifteen!’ he blustered. ‘Christ, I can get a new one for about sixteen and a half!’
I realised the time had now come to start probing a little.
‘Ah’, I said meaningfully, ‘but you don’t want a new one, do you?’
Seong’s pendulous jaw stuck out. ‘Wot the ’ell d’yer mean?’
‘I mean’, I said quietly, ‘that unless I’m very much mistaken, you want this particular car. Am I right?’
Seong shuffled his feet awkwardly. ‘Well, I dunno about that’, he said. ‘I certainly want one l ike it’.
‘Why?’ I asked bluntly.
‘Cos I got a customer waiting for it, that’s why’. ‘Why doesn’t he buy a new one?’
‘God, ’ow should I know why he don’t buy a new one? I never asked him’.
‘Let’s get this straight’, I said. ‘You mean that your customer wants a Hyundai Genesis Coupe 200 Turbo D with thirty thousand miles on the clock? I suppose he didn’t also specify the number of the car, did he?’
Seong continued to fidget. ‘All ’e said was that it ’ad to be like this one: a Genesis Coupe 200 Turbo D – same colour – same year – same mileage’.
‘Very odd’, I said mildly, but I now felt I might break him down at any moment. ‘Well, there you are. It’s yours for fifteen million won’.
‘Bloody ridiculous!’ snorted Seong.
‘I don’t think so’, I said. ‘Tell me, Mr Seong, who is this customer of yours?’
He looked at me almost pityingly. ‘Don’t be daft’, he said bitterly, ‘think I’m going to tell you that?’
‘Why shouldn’t you?’ I asked innocently.
‘And ’ave you go be’ind me back an’ do a deal with him? Not much!’
‘Strange though it may seem’, I told him, ‘I wasn’t thinking of that’.
‘Not much you weren’t!’ said Seong in tones of immeasurable scorn. ‘Think I’m stupid or somethink?’
‘Well, to prove my point’, I said reasonably, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you tell me who this customer of yours is, you can have the car for fourteen million’.
Seong considered this proposition thoughtfully. For a moment I thought he was going to agree. Then – ‘There’s a catch somewhere’, he decided.
I shook my head. ‘No catch’.
‘Must be’, said Seong. ‘Stands to reason’.
He thought deeply for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, mate’, he said at last. ‘That’s more like it’, I said encouragingly.
Suddenly Seong was all smiles: a state of affairs, I reflected, which hardly increased his charm. His voice too was calmer, like a river after rapids. ‘I’ll give you wot you’re asking’, he said. ‘Fifteen million won’.
I swore mentally. At one moment it had almost looked as if Seong was going to come out with the information that I wanted. I said: ‘No catch?’
‘No catch’, affirmed Seong positively.
It was obviously no use trying to pump him further at the moment. ‘All right’, I said, ‘it’s a deal’.
The level of Seong’s shoulders descended visibly and his smile broadened. ‘You got a damn good price’, he said grudgingly. ‘I ’ope it’s a decent runner?’
‘It is’, I said feelingly.
‘Well, that’s settled then’, said Seong. He screwed up his eyes: it looked as if he were focusing the perspective glass of reminiscence over years of shady car deals. ‘I’ll tell you a little story about an Equus I pushed last week’, he said. ‘A lovely job it was, an’ all. Well, it seemed that the geezer who wanted to flog this job was a bit windy, so – ’
‘Just a moment’, I interrupted. ‘Won’t your client want to see the car before agreeing to pay my price for it?’
‘You don’t need to worry about that, mate’, Seong assured me. ‘My client trusts me, see? He knows what he’s getting. He knows I wouldn’t lumber ’im with a load o’ shit. You just leave ’er ’ere, an’ I’ll make out the cheque’.
‘No, Mr Seong’, I said firmly. ‘No cheques. Cash, if you don’t mind’.
Seong’s mouth fell open. ‘Cash?’ he said incredulously. ‘Ere, you’re a bit of an ’ard ’un, aint’t yer? Yer don’t think I’ve got fifteen million lying around ’ere in foldin’ stuff, do yer?’
‘Well, in that case, I’ll bring the car down tomorrow morning’, I said. ‘Say about eleven o’clock – that’ll give you time to get hold of the money’.
‘Now, just a minute’, put in Seong, ’ow would it be if you left the car ’ere now and I lent you one of mine for tonight?’
‘Sorry, Mr Seong’, I said, ‘I’m afraid that won’t do. You get the cash here at eleven o'clock and I’ll be here with the car’.
Seong’s expression was now openly hostile. ‘Oh, all right’, he said sullenly. ‘See you tomorrow’.
‘Have the cash ready’, I warned.
Without waiting for a reply I got into the Genesis and drove away.
About three miles from Seong’s Garage I pulled to the side of the road and stopped. I thought that Jo had better know about this. Possibly Na’s peculiar organisation would swing into action as a result of my recent dealings with Seong Jeong-ryong.
When Jo came on the line I said: ‘I think I’m on to something. I’ve just been offered fifteen million won for Park’s car’.
‘Fifteen million, eh?’ said Jo. ‘What’s it worth?’
‘About twelve, retail, so I reckon about ten to me, tops’. ‘Interesting’, remarked Jo. ‘Who made you this offer?’
‘A character called Seong – he’s got a garage out at Hwon-dong. But he’s just the go-between; he’s obviously buying the car for someone else’.
‘How d’you know he’s only the go-between?’ demanded Jo. ‘Because he told me so’.
There was a brief pause. Then Jo asked: ‘How did this man Seong get in touch with you in the first place?’
‘Someone put an advertisement in AutoMart’, I replied. ‘It described Park’s car exactly and gave my telephone number’.
‘Where are you now?’
‘On my way back to Town. Can we meet somewhere? I’ll give you the full details then’.
‘All right’, said Jo. ‘This Seong sounds interesting to me. I’ll call at your flat in about ninety minutes. Will you be there by then?’
I stole a quick look at my watch. ‘I should be if I step on it a bit. I’ll give you the address – hold on a minute …’
‘I’ve got the address’, said Jo. ‘I’ll see you in an hour …’
I unlocked the front door of my flat and went in. Jo was standing facing me in the entrance hall, one hand on a small table.
He took a step towards me; I could see that all the colour had drained from his face and his mouth hung open stupidly.
‘Jo, what’s the matter?’ I exclaimed.
He swayed slightly. For a moment the idea came to me that he might be drunk. When at last he spoke he seemed to be forcing out every word with a fearful effort. ‘Moon...listen...the Battle of Inchon …’
‘What about it?’ I asked.
Jo was catching his breath with a shuddering gasp.
‘I...want..you...to...’ His eyes glazed as he spoke and he stumbled forward into my arms. I did not need the sight of the hilt of the knife driven between his shoulder blades and the darkening patch of blood spreading over his coat to tell me that Jo was dead …
For a moment, sheer, blind panic had me in its grip. I had not expected the assignment to be confined to an atmosphere of gentlemanly sleuthing, but I was hardly prepared to encounter violent death at this early stage.
I pulled myself together and ran into the drawing room. As I picked out my cell phone from my pocket, wondering whether to contact Ross or the police, some instinct prompted me to look towards the mantelpiece...
On it stood a battered tobacco tin … and with a sudden spasm in the pit of my stomach I realised I was looking at the memento from the Battle of Inchon!