The Taste of Lies Chapter 15

As he was leaving the library, a cold wind blew. The air felt heavy and damp, as if it would rain by tomorrow. The moment he stepped out the main gate, dizziness hit him and Sangtae pressed his forehead.

It was because he hadn’t eaten lunch and had spent the entire day just reading.

He’d skipped lunch because he had no money. Youngmin gave Sangtae an allowance, and with that money, he could have paid for school lunch and still had some left over. But there was no point in paying money to a place that had told him not to come.

He could have bought a convenience store lunchbox, but it felt like a waste to spend money that way. Youngmin had fixed their cohabitation period at one year. Probably because of a job transfer? Or maybe because he couldn’t guarantee where he himself would be in a year. Only God knew where the two of them would end up.

So Sangtae saved his lunch money to build up his independence fund. He could have asked Youngmin for more allowance, but he didn’t want to.

He was well aware that he was indebted to someone who was neither family nor blood. He couldn’t just act spoiled without rhyme or reason.

It was just one skipped meal, after all. Ever since they started living together, he’d been eating proper breakfasts and dinners. When he’d lived alone at his grandmother’s house, he’d survived three days on one pack of ramen. It was only a few months ago that the gas had been cut off and he’d even missed that.

“I’ve got a place to sleep and food to eat now, so it’s not the worst. I need to save more money, though…”

Sangtae adjusted his bag and quickened his pace. He felt anxious. It wasn’t like he had a wad of cash hidden at home, but he wanted to get back as soon as possible.

His body was also starting to feel chilly. He wouldn’t spend money on food to save it, so hospital bills were out of the question.

The bus stop for the direction home was behind the library. Sangtae hurried through the alleyway between the buildings, which was barely over a meter and a half wide.

He usually avoided this path because it was secluded and sometimes groups of unsavory characters would hide there to smoke, but today he had no choice. He was that hungry and that eager to get home.

About halfway through, a strong smell of cigarette smoke hit his nose. Sangtae frowned and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Hey, you.”

A raspy voice called out to him.

Nothing ever went smoothly. The group he’d feared was indeed camped out in the alley, spitting between their teeth and enjoying their nicotine. At a glance, he spotted a few of the guys he’d fought with at the water treatment plant lot last time.

He hated getting tangled up in annoying trouble. But it was already too late to turn around.

“Hey, got any money? Drop some charity and be on your way.”

“Money? I don’t have any, you fuck.”

Sangtae cracked his knuckles as he shot back. The sound was crisp and menacing.

Back at the water treatment plant, he’d gone a few days without food and couldn’t fight properly. Now was different. Sangtae had nothing to fear, and he was even curious how many of them he could take down at once. At his aggressive tone, the guys squatting on the ground tilted their heads.

“Oh, are you Kim Sangtae?”

“Ha, you bastards. If you’ve got eyes, you should recognize me right away.”

The guy sitting in the middle stood up unsteadily. While some of them were still in school uniforms, the one approaching him wore narrow-legged gray suit pants. With legs shorter than a fried chicken drumstick, his shiny clothes looked grotesque.

“Ah, shit. Didn’t recognize you with your hair short.”

“Well, well. If it isn’t Kwak Gicheol from the maritime high school. What’s with that outfit? Fuck, you look like a chicken leg. Did getting your ass kicked by me at the water treatment plant last time rattle your brain? I didn’t even hit your thick skull ’cause I figured it’d just hurt my hand.”

“What?”

“What? You want another round?”

Gicheol charged at him in a rage. With a short neck and broad shoulders, even standing on his tiptoes, the top of his head barely reached Sangtae’s chin.

Gicheol’s under-eyes twitched. His eyelid, which Sangtae had punched last time, seemed to still be throbbing.

Back then, seven guys of similar skill had rushed him all at once. Now all he had were useless first- and second-year underclassmen. He forced a smile and quickly tucked his tail.

“Aw, I was just saying hi. Just a joke.”

He patted Sangtae’s shoulder as if brushing off dust with his palm. Sangtae snorted and glared at his brow.

“What do you want?”

“This is the trendy style in Seoul. Go to a nightclub—all the big shots dress like this.”

He wiggled his pointed-toe shoes like he was showing them off. The alligator pattern stamped on the purple enamel glittered in the sunlight.

“What’s a Gangwon-do kid doing going all the way to Seoul for a nightclub instead of Chuncheon? …Do you have that much time? What about school?”

“I got cut.”

“Cut? Expelled?”

“Yeah. Good riddance. What would I do graduating from maritime high school anyway—go work on a deep-sea fishing boat? If I go to sea, I’d never get to see suits like this.”

The silver-scaled suit and fake alligator shoes seemed to please Gicheol greatly. At any rate, the hostile vibe from him had disappeared. As long as he didn’t block the way, Sangtae had no business with him.

“Yeah, take good care of your fancy clothes. I’m leaving.”

“Wait, wait. Ah, why are you so impatient? This hyung-nim here has something to say to you.”

Sangtae pushed aside the body blocking him and tried to head to the bus stop, but Gicheol came close and familiarly draped an arm over Sangtae’s shoulder. Given the height difference, it was more like hanging onto him than a shoulder hug, but the way he was pretending to be chummy made Sangtae’s mood turn foul.

“Tch, you gonna move that pig trotter or not?”

“Pig— Sangtae, I mean, Sangtae hyung-nim.”

Swallowing the insult of having his hand called a pig’s foot, Gicheol kept up his fabricated expression. He had a job to do. A task assigned to him by the hyung-nims—if he failed, he might get beaten black and blue. That fear had taught him social skills.

“Hyung-nim, ever think about doing a job?”

“A job?”

Sangtae paused. He’d been thinking about money just before running into Gicheol in the alley. As if reading his thoughts, Gicheol grinned, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, put it between Sangtae’s lips, and took out a lighter.

“Cut it out. If this is about that candy transport job you offered last time, I already said no. Who doesn’t know you’ll end up dead if you get tangled up in that?”

“Candy” was slang for crystallized methamphetamine. He’d heard that ever since the casino opened over the mountains, outsiders had been looking for that stuff.

They say it wipes away fatigue so you can sit in front of a slot machine, calm as can be, without eating or sleeping, even while dribbling shit and piss.

The local gangsters preferred high school punks like him as couriers. Since they were young—even if they were punks—security guards and police paid less attention to them. And even if they got caught, the punishment was lighter.

Sangtae pushed the lit lighter away with his hand, broke the cigarette, and threw it on the ground. Gicheol’s face scrunched up.

“You little shit, seriously…. I’m telling you it’s fine because you’ve got a big shot backing you. A high-up person, a high-up person.”

“Who? Say their name.”

“…I don’t know the name either.”

“You’re a hopeless bastard, you know that?”

Sangtae shook off Gicheol’s hand and strode forward. He kicked aside the small-timers squatting in his way, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked straight ahead. Gicheol, panting, followed and grabbed Sangtae’s collar just as they were about to escape the narrow, dark alley.

“There is someone, I’m telling you! The hyung-nims said so. …No, wait, you son of a bitch, let me finish. If you’re that damn picky, would I be asking you to transport candy? I’d be too scared you’d take the stuff and run to the police station.”

“Then what kind of job are you bothering me with?”

“A nightclub waiter.”

Afraid Sangtae might bolt, Gicheol answered quickly.

“A nightclub? Don’t tell me—the Water Nightclub?”

“Yeah.”

Sangtae blinked as if he’d misheard. Surprisingly, Mukhyeon did have a nightclub. It had opened during the mining boom, and now it had degenerated into a run-down colateque frequented only by old men, but it was there nonetheless.

Its name was “Good Water Nightclub.”

“Who goes there? Unless they’re paying ten thousand won just for entry.”

He’d clearly gone to Seoul with the gangster hyung-nims and gotten into candy too. Dismissing Gicheol’s words as nonsense, Sangtae scowled.