The Taste of Lies Chapter 25

A dubious gaze shifted from Sangtae to Mr. Shin, who sat to his right. He had heard of such things happening—young kids, not the real killers, confessing to murder under the instigation of gangsters.

They commit the crime themselves and pass the responsibility on. What the price of that transference might be was unclear, but gangsters hand these kids something akin to candy. A convenient and vile method.

The boy showed no sign of guilt whatsoever. His attitude was strange for someone who had killed a man. To Detective Kang, he was either not the killer, or a murder maniac—one of the two. His mind was troubled.

“Write it down. That I killed the chief. Shall I say my name again for you?”

“The kid says he killed him with his own hands. Won’t the people’s staff listen to the people’s words? Are you wasting my tax money?”

Mr. Shin also chimed in for Sangtae. So, to Detective Kang, this situation was suspicious. His presence was the biggest reason for his doubts. He must have been given quite the sweet candy. Detective Kang moved his fingers and typed the three characters “Kim Sangtae” into the suspect box.

“Why did you kill him?”

“That bastard—”

A rough tone slipped out. Mr. Shin jabbed Sangtae in the side with his elbow.

“The chief kept beating me with his belt like I was a dog. I thought I was going to die.”

Sangtae quickly corrected his address. But the gist of his words didn’t change. The police chief had used violence.

“So you killed him?”

“I had to live too. In the process of trying not to get hit, it just happened…”

An accidental killing? He recorded Sangtae’s words verbatim as the motive.

“Detective, just take a look. Words are complicated.”

Mr. Shin added. He turned Sangtae around and pulled up his white t-shirt to expose his lower back. Bandages were wrapped tightly around it.

Detective Kang narrowed his eyes. Violence was already familiar to him. So he could imagine all the more clearly how much violence Sangtae had been subjected to. On his shoulder blade, uncovered by the bandages, red marks as thick as two adult fingers were tangled together. These were the marks left by wielding a belt like a whip.

“Don’t just look at that—look here too.”

Mr. Shin pulled the t-shirt back down and sat Sangtae upright again. Then this time, he lifted his chin and tilted his head back. Bruises, dark and blue, also remained on Sangtae’s neck.

He pointed with his hand so the horrific marks could be seen more clearly. It meant his neck had been strangled too. Mr. Shin spoke again.

“There were a lot of customers yesterday. This kid normally only worked as a bouncer outside, but we were short-handed, so we brought him in as a waiter. You know as well as I do, Detective, that police—especially high-ranking ones—have noble tastes that ignoramuses like us find hard to accommodate. He got severely chewed out, so…”

“Being chewed out means I did something wrong, Boss. I didn’t do anything wrong. That bastard chief—no, Detective. Just think about it. No matter if it’s a nightclub, does it make sense for a cop to drop his pants and come at someone?”

Sangtae lost his temper. The investigation room, which had been buzzing all along, fell silent at once.

Everyone’s eyes turned to the three of them. Not just the police, but even victims and complainants here for other cases reacted instinctively to the words “the chief dropped his pants.”

Detective Kang tapped his keyboard with a troubled face.

The motive for the killing was written in the statement as “accidental assault while trying to avoid sexual harassment or sexual assault.” He had a feeling his white hair would grow even more.

Last night, Youngmin had fallen deeply into sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sangtae lay face down, holding his breath, and counted from 1 to 100. He repeated it three times, then raised himself up.

The first thing Sangtae did was flip the light switch up. To confirm whether he was really asleep or just pretending, turning on the light suddenly was the surest way. If Youngmin actually woke up, he planned to make an excuse that he’d turned it on to go to the bathroom.

His eyes were dazzled by the stark white incandescent light. Sangtae squinted. But Youngmin remained still. He hadn’t even loosened his folded hands over his chest, and lay asleep without the slightest movement.

He turned the light off again. Sangtae crept on his knees and sat down beside Youngmin.

A vertical wrinkle was etched between his brows, with his glasses off. Sangtae reached out his finger and gently stroked the space between his eyes. With the wrinkle smoothed out, Youngmin’s face looked much more at ease.

Taking the opportunity, Sangtae picked up the glasses by his head and put them on his own nose. Thinking his vision might spin dizzyingly, he squeezed his eyes shut and slowly opened them. But contrary to his expectation, there was no prescription.

“Why do you wear them if your eyes aren’t even bad?”

Folding the temples and setting them down, Sangtae grumbled. Even speaking aloud, Youngmin remained as silent as Snow White sleeping in her coffin.

Sangtae gazed down at him quietly. Once the thought of Snow White crossed his mind, he truly felt like a prince and Youngmin like Snow White. From now on, Sangtae was going to save him, so it wasn’t an incorrect analogy, Sangtae thought.

Impulsively, Sangtae lowered his head. His lips stopped before Youngmin’s, leaving only the thickness of a sheet of paper between them.

The distance between their breaths was so close that even the slightest movement would make them touch. In the stillness, his own heartbeat rang out too loudly. His mouth felt sour. As if just before putting a sweet candy in his mouth, Sangtae closed his eyes.

“Whatever. It’s my last try.”

Suppressing his trembling, he pressed his lips to Youngmin’s. Youngmin tasted of toothpaste. A cool sensation tapped against his lip mucosa.

His thick tongue didn’t know how to move. Sangtae played with it as he pleased. He tickled it with his tongue, bit it, sucked it, gently nipped the tip, and then pulled his face away.

“Thank you for saving me. But this isn’t about repaying a favor. It’s just—because I like you, Mister, that I’m doing this.”

Thinking it wouldn’t reach his ears, the confession was surprisingly light.

Youngmin was a good person. A promising police officer, and the killing was truly a mistake. He couldn’t let his life be ruined by a trivial mistake. Sangtae wanted to clear away his mistake with his own hands.

So Sangtae decided to pay for his crime instead—that is, to turn himself in. His heart felt much lighter. He didn’t feel wronged either.

After all, he was just a punk with a grim future. He’d wandered in and out of police stations and boxes like they were his own home. He even thought that going to prison might be a fitting future for him. Perhaps it was the one thing everyone in Mukhyeon wished for him.

“Goodbye. I really did like you, Mister.”

Dragging his injured body, Sangtae left Youngmin’s house. It was dawn, time for the first bus. Hesitating over where to go, he headed not to the police station, but to the nightclub.

As expected, there had been no report.

Early in the morning, the fog that had rolled down from the mountains covered the streets, making it impossible to see even a foot ahead. But through the gaps in the cool air, the smell of food waste and the sour stench of vomit left by drunks told Sangtae, even with his eyes closed, that he was in front of the Mul Nightclub.

The nightclub, with its sign lights off, had its front door open. This was something that had never happened once during the month Sangtae had worked there. It meant that something chaotic had happened inside. Sangtae stepped into the front entrance, which he normally couldn’t even use.

Walking down the long corridor, a large hall appeared. At the center of the hall was a massive marble table, and there, from Mr. Shin down to the lowest waiter, everyone was gathered.

“So, where the hell would that bastard go?”

“Ugh! I don’t know! I already gave you his home address, isn’t that enough?”

Poor Gicheol was getting beaten for the second time.

It seemed the gangsters had been looking for him. A bouncer who had gone inside with only a corpse left behind had disappeared—it was only natural.

Gicheol had apparently given them his grandmother’s address. Not knowing that Sangtae had left that place months ago.

“Excuse me. Could you stop that?”

Descending the low steps, Sangtae spoke. The gangsters’ heads turned toward him in unison, like iron filings drawn to a magnet. Gicheol’s eyes went wide, and even Mr. Shin glared at Sangtae with narrowed eyes.

“You little bastard!”