Dirty Secret (31 page)

The wheel rattled a bit when I’d hit it, and a chunk of mud fell off the hubcap, landing near my feet. Resting my hand against the tire, I pressed on the outer rim again, and was rewarded with a tell-tale rattle. I took a quick peek under the car’s bumper to see if Li was where I’d left him. He hadn’t moved an inch.

I’d actually formulated a plan. Sitting complacent and drowsy near one of the support columns was an old Lincoln Continental. It was an aging monster, tired and worn after years of battling Los Angeles traffic and the hot California sun. Its sides were battered, scarred from daily combat. A long red mark ran along its powdery, faded lime green, a coup counted against a lesser opponent.

It was a glorious beast, and I thanked it and God for its sacrifice.

Having an older brother who pretty much sucked at any sport involving throwing a ball, I spent a lot of my childhood playing odd games as Mike struggled to find something he was good at. He’d finally grown old enough to handle a weapon, so the weekends of mind-numbing faux-sports thankfully came to an end when my father pitied him enough to take him to the gun range. Still, I had Mike to thank for my rusty disc-golf skills when I yanked off the Continental’s hubcap, stood up, and aimed for the back of Li’s head.

Hubcaps are dangerous things, especially ones made from Detroit steel. Retention notches over time fray, breaking off into dozens of corroded tiny knives, and more importantly, the outer ring could slice through a chunk of soft meat like nobody’s business.

The old monster’s tire covering flew, cutting through the air as if it were an original pie plate made in Bridgeport. Its sharp crenulated edges made a whistling sound as it flew, startled Li, and he turned, his eyes going wide when he saw the spinning metal disc. His mouth slack, he took a step back, but the hubcap merrily whistled on. Tilting slightly, it struck Li hard, snapping his head back. Blood gushed from the gaping wound running down his throat and soaking his shirt in a torrent of red.

I sprang forward, slamming into him with my shoulder. Pain shot down my arm, and my chest cramped under my scarring when his torso folded in half and smashed over my bent-over body. Twisting up, I grabbed his wrist to yank the gun away, and he wheeled away, unsteadily flailing about for balance.

The sparse years of boxing with Bobby taught me a lot about inertia and momentum. My childhood with Mike, however, taught me that when an opponent went down, that was the time to kick the shit out of him… no matter what good sportsmanship said about the matter. Seeing as Li had a death-grip on his gun, I opted for the older brother school of warfare.

I clenched my hands together, brought them up over my head, and brought them down on Li’s face. Repeatedly.

He lost a tooth first. The gun came next, quickly followed by his consciousness.

Standing, I kicked the gun away and shook out my hands. Blood dripped from cuts on my knuckles, and my palm stung where the air struck skin I’d abraded when throwing the hubcap. My knee ached a bit, and I belatedly realized I’d struck the Continental’s fender when I’d attacked Li.

“Sorry, old man, but I really needed to hand Li his ass. I didn’t have any other choice.” I saluted the car before bending over to rest my hands on my knees to catch my breath. “I’ll buy you a car wash. Looks like you need one.”

Boots echoed from the stairwell, and a small phalanx of blue uniformed men poured out into the garage. Weapons drawn, the one in front shouted for me to let go of my weapon and get down on the ground. Sighing, I held up my empty, bloody hands for them to see and nodded to the prone, gasping man lying like a tribute in front of the Lincoln.

“Where the hell have all of
you
been?” I asked tiredly. One of the cops twitched nervously, and I frowned at him, nodding at his drawn gun. “And I swear to God, if you shoot me, you better fucking kill me, because if you don’t, my boyfriend sure as hell will.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I
HAVE
hunted and gathered for you, my love,” I announced as I came through the front door with two hefty orders of
bún thịt nướng
. “It’s not wooly mammoth, but I think we’ll be okay.”

Jae didn’t even look up when I came into the living room and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He did, however, look more interested in the kiss than the food. At least I had that going for me.

It was noon on the day after Li decided it was a good day for me to die, and I’d spent a few hours in the office doing invoicing and trying to track down more gay Korean men to give money to. I was going to hand the list off to a Seoul investigator Seong hired to discreetly contact the men living there.

Putting the food down on the no-sex-zone storage chest, I nudged Neko out of the way so I could sit down next to Jae. He’d taken over the room to work in, something I liked him doing on the days he didn’t have shoots. It was kind of nice to know Jae was in the back while I worked in the office out front.

It was very domestic, and not something I was going to share with anyone, especially not Bobby or Mike.

Jae’s laptop was open and on the crate, with black wires crawling across the floor to connect it to a server box. The television I’d wanted to watch the game on last night was playing what looked like the news with a placid, pretty young woman speaking very seriously about what looked like the grand opening of a restaurant. A bright red and yellow banner scrolled on the bottom of the screen, white hangul flashing about something important. Of course, from what I’d seen of Korean television, a sale on cabbage was sometimes considered to be the most vital piece of information anyone needed. They also had the weirdest commercials I’d ever seen.

“What’re you watching?” It was out of my mouth before I even thought about it. “Sorry, stupid question. Let’s try, how was your day?”

“Okay,” he murmured, setting down his tablet.

I hooked my arm around his waist, and Jae moved over, lifting up to straddle my thighs. Resting his arms on my shoulders, he hooked his hands behind my head and sighed, touching my forehead with his lips. He didn’t sound fine. He didn’t sound bad, but fine definitely wasn’t on the menu.

“What’s up?” I’d say I stole a kiss, but one cannot steal what is freely given. “Hey, I didn’t get shot.”

“About time,” he grumbled at me. “And nothing, really. Spoke to my mother. I sent her what I could from the Kwon party. They paid me anyway, even though I told them not to.
Hyung
insisted I keep it.”

“That was nice of them,” I said. “Especially considering all the shit they’ve been through.”

“Yeah, David’s mother also sent over a fruit basket and a check. She wants to pay for getting the car cleaned.” Jae shrugged. “I feel bad about taking it. I already steamed the carpets. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Keep it,” I insisted. “He threw up down the back of my pants. I had recycled soju in the crack of my ass. I demand you be compensated for the lack of freshness of my butt.”

His smile was bright enough to chase away the gloom lurking outside, and his soft, low chuckle was molten chocolate on my tongue when I kissed him.

“You’re crazy.” Jae hugged me, pressing himself tightly against my chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him there, enjoying the feel of him on me.

The news woman cycled away from the restaurant, and was now focused on an array of enormous chrysanthemum wreaths lined up in front of a glass building. Kwon’s face appeared on the screen, followed by a smaller picture of Helena, smiling as she’d been the last time I’d seen her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I loosened my hold on Jae so he could slide across my lap and look at the television. “Is that about Kwon?”

“Yeah, he’s
chaebol
, remember? That’s his family’s company headquarters. They’re showing the memorial wreaths coming in from other families and companies. He was the oldest son. It’s kind of a big deal he died.”

I was sorry Kwon died. Even an asshole like him shouldn’t have had his life end the way it did. Even more so, Helena’s passing was senseless. Their family now had a gaping wound where two people existed, because Li Mun-Hee was obsessed with a man he couldn’t have.

“What’s she saying?” I leaned forward, keeping a hold on Jae’s waist so he didn’t slide off my lap.

“I thought you spoke Korean now.” He smirked at me.

“Only the words I want to know,” I replied smoothly. “Actually, only the words I can use. The rest, I have you for.”

“Huh.” Skeptical didn’t begin to describe the look on his face.

“Answer the question. What’s she saying?” I grabbed a pinch of his ribs through his shirt where he was ticklish. “Who’s that putting the flowers down?”

“Um, Park Dae-Su,” Jae replied. “That’s Shin-Cho and David’s uncle. The Parks are showing good face.”

The camera zoomed in on Dae-Su as he straightened the banners on the standing wreath, and he spoke softly to the cameraman, obviously expressing condolences to the Kwon family. Someone off camera asked him a question, and he turned his head slightly, answering them in the same steady voice that reminded me so much of David.

“Fucking hell.” It was a strong reaction to a brief bit on a memorial service, but the resemblance between David and his uncle was pretty remarkable. Looking at the elder Park, I could clearly see what David would look like in twenty or so years. “I’ve got a question.”

“Okay.” Jae disentangled himself from my hold and migrated over to poking at the cold noodle dishes I’d brought home. “Pork and shrimp?”

“I don’t know. I just pointed to the menu and grunted. She speaks fluent McGinnis.”

“So it’s probably those microwave pizza rolls on rice noodles, then?”

“It’s like living on the edge with me,” I proclaimed proudly. “Every day is an adventure.”

“Pork,” Jae announced. He plucked one of the fried spring rolls out of a smaller bag, offering me the open end after he bit into it. “What’s your question?”

“When Koreans name their kids, they follow, like, a formula, right?”

“A formula?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I mean like you and your brother,” I said. “Both of your names begin with Jae. The Park boys are Shin.”

“Yeah, most families use a generation name, so everyone in your… group….” Jae made a face at the word he chose. “They’d all have the same first sound. Not everyone does it, but almost all do, especially if the family’s old.”

“So Dae-Su.” I gestured to the television, but the broadcast had already moved away from the Kwons. “His brothers would all be named Dae-something?”

“Like Dae-Hoon?” Jae poked me in the stomach in mock disgust and went back to digging through the food. “
Aish
, Dae-Su’s Dae-Hoon’s brother, remember?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I gave him a big kiss and stood up, almost stepping on the cat begging by my feet. “Leave me some noodles. I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t forget we’ve got dinner with Tasha at Mike’s tonight,” Jae called out after me.

“Won’t forget!” I shouted back as I grabbed my keys. “I even got a cake.”

A
SILVER
two-seater convertible sat in the garage, its top pulled up in preparation for more rain. The washer and dryer next to the closed back door were churning away, and a plastic basket of crumpled towels and linens sat waiting for their turn in the cycle.

I dodged the light smatter of raindrops as best I could, after I parked the Rover at the curb. Shaking off what I could, I rang the doorbell and waited. The middle-aged Korean man who opened the door was hauntingly familiar to me, and not just because I’d seen him in photos with his husband, William. Funny thing about genetics, sometimes brothers really looked alike, even when seen on a Korean broadcast.

Smiling, I said gently, “Hello, Dae-Hoon.”

I’d taken a chance that he’d be home, after checking his schedule on the college’s website, but sometimes students sucked up more time than expected. I imagined my Ancient History professor still had nightmares about me. God knows, I still had them about
her
.

His reactions were liquid, emotional, and clearly written on his face. There was no denial there. Not even a hint of repudiation. He finally settled on resignation and opened the screen door to let me in. I introduced myself, then followed him to the living area I’d sat in when I’d first visited. Sitting down on the couch, I waited for him to find a place to land, but he wandered a bit, then stared out the picture window at the backyard. A moment later, he seemed to shake himself back to the present and slowly lowered himself into a chair.

“Have you told them?” He spoke in a gentle, encouraging voice, and it was easy to imagine him as a professor. “Do they know… I’m here?”

“No,” I reassured him. “I thought about it on the way over here, but I don’t think I should be the one to talk to them. That’s kind of on you.”

“How are they?” Dae-Hoon leaned forward. “Are they okay?”

I told him about what happened to his sons over the past few days, including Shin-Cho’s dismissal from the military. He sagged back into the chair as I told him about his oldest son’s fall from grace and his subsequent banishment to the badlands of Los Angeles. Explaining the bank glitch, he frowned, hissing in frustration.