KTSR | Chapter 7

“Is this where you buy the horse racing tickets?”

I could barely make out the sun-kissed skin through the thick fog, not to mention the tattoos covering it with no rhyme or reason.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

As I slowly lifted my gaze from those thick forearms, I saw a man in a Hawaiian shirt and a leather jacket, looking like he was about to embark on a journey.

Unlike all the other customers who had come so far, he wasn’t wearing a hat. He was unabashed, as if he had nothing to hide. His hair was naturally curly and long. Among the men here, who seemed to need to prove their masculinity or die, this would be a point of mockery, but not for him. His wild allure was remarkable.

The man, fiddling with a phone that looked ridiculously small in his hand, looked up at Ijin when he got no response.

Ijin realized later that the man’s features became clearer through the thick fog not because the fog had cleared, but because he had leaned forward.

“What…”

Ijin, taken aback, pulled his head back. The man’s brown eyes, which would glisten like transparent glass under sunlight, didn’t leave Ijin. It felt like being stripped bare.

Before Ijin could slam the window shut in frustration, the man took a deep drag from his cigarette.

“Do you sell anything else?”

“Anything else like what?”

Ijin, waving away the smoke with his hand, asked defensively. Having just dealt with a rich, annoying customer, he was on guard.

The man looked at Ijin intently, silently asking if he really didn’t know. But he really didn’t. Even if he did, he’d pretend not to.

“Like pills or sticks.”

“…”

“Really don’t sell them? I came knowing everything, pretty boy.”

The man probed subtly.

Like the annoying customer before, he called him a pretty boy, a name that didn’t suit him at all. It made Ijin feel dirty.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we don’t have that.”

Is he a cop? Could this be an undercover operation?

Ijin’s mind raced. But even the police can’t be trusted… His paranoid suspicion and caution had grown nightly like a new friend he’d made here.

Ijin roughly turned the window lever. But the man reached through the window and grabbed the lever. His strength was such that the lever wouldn’t budge.

It seemed the man’s patience had worn thin.

“No answer?”

The man flicked his finger. His fingertip precisely brushed where Ijin’s nipple would be.

“We sell tickets. But not what you’re looking for. Is this your first time here?”

Ijin asked through gritted teeth, a question he hadn’t asked any customer before. Neither Ijin nor the man let go of the lever, making it tremble.

Glancing down at the hand struggling, the man chuckled and then swatted it away with his arm. Even though it was a light hit, it felt heavy. Ijin cradled his hand and glared at the man.

“It’s my first time here.”

The man answered without even blinking.

If ‘here’ is his first time, then could he be trash from somewhere else? Still, he looked neat. Despite the cold weather, wearing just a not-so-thick jacket and a Hawaiian shirt seemed a bit mad.

“Is the legal betting the highest?”

“If you’re from another place as a low bettor, go back.”

“Why, will you beat me if I say yes?”

The man openly scanned Ijin’s body.

“With that body?”

Then he sneered, shaking his head. His cheek dimples deepened as he sucked on the cigarette between his fingers.

“Someone else.”

“Someone else. Someone else, huh.”

Mimicking Ijin’s words, he pulled out a wad of cash from his shirt pocket, bound by a rubber band.

“Give me a middle bet.”

“I’ll give you a number plate. Next?”

Ijin asked without explanation. The man leaned back slightly to look at the billboard and asked.

“What group are you in?”

“…”

“You’re a player, aren’t you?”

After exhaling smoke, the man extinguished the cigarette on the window frame. The smell of burning rubber wafted out.

“What number are you?”

Ijin swallowed hard. How did he figure it out? Or was he just guessing?

Seeing no answer from Ijin, the man licked his lips out of boredom. A silver ball piercing was visible on his tongue. Sensing the gaze fixed on him, the man met Ijin’s eyes. It was the first time they had made direct eye contact.

“No quick answer, huh…”

He murmured with a deep laugh. The dimples looked like scars from being stabbed with a knife, and his squinted eyes seemed to calculate how to tear someone apart. And then Ijin squeezed his eyes shut.

Though his tone was still teasing, the atmosphere was quite different from when he called him ‘pretty boy.’ This might be the man’s true nature.

“I won’t answer… It’s against the rules…”

Ijin mumbled. Rules. The man echoed the word and laughed, as if he’d heard something ridiculous.

“If I cared about rules, I wouldn’t have come here. Right? Whisper it in my ear because I can’t hear your mumbling.”

No sooner had he finished speaking, than the man, despite his muscular build, moved with alarming speed. The sound of the air being sliced was heard as his hand reached out. Ijin thought he’d lose at least one tooth this time.

“Wow, boss!”

If Kkeobi hadn’t rushed in, he would have really been hit.

There are idiots who think they’re good fighters just because they can’t control their bodies, but this man was clearly not one of them. He was ready to beat someone up in an instant and then stopped just as quickly. It was chilling.

“Why did our boss come here, for a scrap car? Did you come to scrap something?”

Kkeobi first threw up a smokescreen at the man. The man, with a lazy irritation, muttered:

“I came to buy tickets.”

The man spoke slowly.

“Everyone here seems to not understand…”

“Oh. You were looking for tickets. How many did you buy? This guy’s new, so he’s a bit harsh. I’ll sell them for you. What can I give you?”

The man looked down at Kkeobi, who was acting like he was in a marketplace, and said in a low voice, “Problem Car 2.”

At those words, Ijin, with his head down, opened his eyes wide.

The man knew all the codes. And whether it was by chance or not, he picked exactly his number.

When Ijin finally came to his senses and looked up, the man was already gone.

Staring blankly where the man had disappeared, Kkeobi smacked Ijin on the back of the head.

“Damn it, you worthless piece of shit. You can’t even earn your keep, yet you come out here to suck on sweets? Suck my dick, you piece of shit.”

Oh, what an ignorant bastard. Can’t say a word without cursing. You should stop wasting air and die.

Ijin grumbled to himself as he rubbed his aching head.

From the racetrack to C.C. was a twenty-minute drive. The racetrack was called Colosseum, and C.C. was named Trevi. Although they had different owners, they were essentially run by brothers from the same family, making them part of the same gangster organization.

C.C. had a resort attached, so people buying corporate tickets usually stayed there. Those below that level might sleep rough, go to motels, or even sleep in their cars, each to their own. Ijin thought that the guy in the Aloha shirt from earlier in the day, not having a corporate ticket, would probably stay at a motel.

“Why are ticket sales like this today?”

The team leader expressed his frustration. Kkeobi, clasping his hands in front of him, made an excuse about the weather.

“The weather’s cloudy, and it’s off-season, isn’t it?”

“Since when does gambling have an off-season or peak season, you dumbass?”

The team leader, with his foul temper, picked up a heavy crystal ashtray and put it back down. Ashes scattered.

“We might need to find a new route.”

Kkeobi scratched his head vigorously.

“We might need to hire people. Spread the word nationwide… and so on…”

The team leader, hearing the mumbling, hit his chest in frustration.

“Spreading people across the nation would cost more, you idiot. Do you carry a pumpkin instead of a head?”

“But coming here itself is quite an effort. With the new highway construction causing closures and roadblocks, the big shots find it inconvenient.”

They could do it online.

Ijin thought pitifully about Kkeobi and the team leader with his head still lowered.

Now that many people carry phones, if they could take orders by phone, they’d sell much more. No need for middlemen, which would attract more customers.

However, since Ijin wanted this business to fail, he naturally didn’t offer such advice. Even if he did, they would’ve mocked him, asking what someone like him knows.

“Think harder, you bastard. We need some smart people here.”

The team leader smoked his cigarette aggressively. His lips, fitting his nickname ‘Ppochi,’ were tight and petty.

Since there was no order to leave, Kkeobi cautiously asked:

“Uh… about the new executive director coming…”

“Seems he’s sent from headquarters because ticket sales are this bad.”

How bad could this executive director be that even this vicious team leader seemed subdued and somber?

“They say he increased sales in Gangnam by five times. Still, they say he couldn’t move up from the Kangwon-do casino… Anyway, he’s a legend, a legend.”