President Jin and the Lady, ch 4
President Jin sails, altogether warlike, onward out of Lord Go’s house. His driver scrambles to open the door for him as President Jin answers his phone. His security men enter the car, just as flustered, trying to keep up with him. Jang-goon tells him the cell phone was a dead end, and so were the plates on the car they suspected had taken Aeshin. It had been stolen a few weeks ago from a Japanese Yakuza Oyabun, which rings bells in President Jin’s head. He hangs up, thinking quickly. As he tells the driver to take him to the hospital where the Oyabun is resting, he calls Jang-goon once more. His voice is terse and clipped as he barks his orders. “Work another angle for me. Look up what’s going on with the Yakuza these days. Is there a new player in town? Text me the details.” He hangs up almost without hearing Jang-goon meekly agree.President Jin calls President Lee of the hospital, waspishly calling in the debt he owes him. “I need the room for Gu Dongmae. Get me access. Meet me at the door. I’m there in ten.” He makes one last call before he sits in abject fury, staring balefully out the window.
By the time he arrives at the hospital, the Hospital President had an entire entourage outside with him as they waited for him to arrive. He exits his vehicle, leaving his driver to park, and enters followed by President Lee almost at his heels. His posture is meek, as President Jin radiates ire like an angry bull. “He’s on our VIP floor. Room 205. Should I lead you there?”
President Jin stops short, knowing President Lee is so nosy, he’ll listen at the door if he allows him to stay. “No, I’m sure you have much to do. I apologize if I was brusque on the phone. This is a very important matter and I’m thankful for your assistance. I will remember this.” These words are enough to have President Lee almost on his knees with delight and relief. Only a nurse remains as President Lee allows him to go, bowing deeply and hissing for his subordinates to do the same. President Jin says nothing as he gets on the elevator, staring straight ahead as he plans his strategy. Jang-goon had yet to get back to him with the information he needed, but there is more than one way to skin a cat. He supposes he’ll have to go for a full frontal attack and squares his shoulders.
When he gets off the elevator, the nurse follows him until they’re two doors from room 205, skittishly bidding him farewell. Two men in suits stand outside, clearly keeping an eye out for threats. His phone rings once, and he glances down at brief summary on his screen. With a smirk, he prowls onwards, tossing his head back confidently. The men watch him warily, as though something about his stance is making them nervous. They should be. Once he stands before them, he gives them his most winning smile, and twines his hands together in a show of good faith. “Gentlemen, I’m here to see Gu Dongmae. May I come in?” his Japanese is flawless, as he’d been told the men of the Yakuza often hid behind a facade of ignorance of the local language to avoid unwanted confrontations.
The men share a look, clearly unused to such an amiable remark from a civilian. In his cream suit and ashen hair, President Jin Hyunpil looks well to do and upright. Nothing like their cheap, dark suits and sad sunglasses... which it seems they refuse to remove even when indoors. “We have not been told there would be a visitor,” the man on the right says, sounding tough and resolute. “You cannot go in.”
President Jin’s smile doesn’t falter, unnerving the men. “He wouldn’t have known I was coming,” he replies smoothly. “But he’ll be glad to receive me. Here’s my card. Please, announce me.”
The man on the left is clearly more of a thinker than his partner, taking the card and scrutinizing it. “We said you couldn’t go in,” he snarls, tearing his card to pieces.
President Jin leans forward, turning a blind eye to the way they grip the ill-concealed guns under their suit jackets. “I can make this a very good or a very bad moment for everyone involved,” he hisses, still smiling. “Announce me, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
Just as the men start to draw their weapons, the door between them slides open with a snap. A young man in a black sweater stands there, glowering, and gruffly orders both men to stand down. “Have some awareness,” he snarls, patting the man on the right on the chest. A bright red dot is vivid against the dark suit, unwavering and cruel. It extends from the wide window at President Jin’s back, leading back to two men in plain clothes and large rifles. Both Japanese henchmen instantly raise their hands, letting go of their weapons. The young man looks at President Jin with interest, as not anyone can hire snipers to aim, in broad daylight, into a VIP hospital ward. “I’m Gu Dongmae. What can I do for you?” he asks in perfect Korean, welcoming President Jin into his room.
President Jin jerks his head at the window, and the red dots vanish. The men on the roof move, which Gu Dongmae watches with interest. Still, he allows the older man inside, clearly curious. He limps his way toward the sofas settled around a low coffee table, refusing help from his men. President Jin allows him to lead the way before he takes a seat. He doesn’t need to glance out the wide doors leading to the veranda to see his men set up there, taking aim into the room and awaiting his orders. Gu Dongmae is watching them, too, once he’s settled into his seat.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks, taking President Jin’s card with much more politesse than his minion. He seems to read it twice; a bit disbelieving the world’s greatest conman would have a reason to visit a mafia Don. It rather surprises President Jin that this handsome young man is a Yakuza Oyabun of such a fearsome reputation. But for his messy hair and slight stubble, this youth could pass off for a model.
“I’m looking for a bit of information, and I’ve been told you’re the one to go to.” President Jin says smoothly. “I’ve heard there was some sort of upheaval in your... business. You even lost a few vehicles, I understand. Would you kindly explain the incident in greater detail? The files the Police Commissioner offered were lacking.”
Gu Dongmae doesn’t even blink at the mention of the Commissioner, though he does seem vaguely impressed at how deep President Jin’s roots run. “And what do I have to gain from this?” he remarks, sitting back comfortably into his sofa chair.
President Jin looks at his hands for a moment, before leaning in by placing both elbows on his knees. “I’ve heard you’ve been having some trouble with the men in the harbor and their superiors when it comes to moving your product,” he says lightly, smiling in a friendly way. “I can make them look the other way for as long as it pleases you.”
Gu Dongmae snorts, crossing his arms. “What makes you think I can’t take care of that myself?”
President Jin touches his chin, appearing thoughtful. “Of course you can, Oyabun. But this way, you face no expense for your troubles. Should you require it, I can even supply a steadier stream of peddlers. I’ve heard the local gangs have been troublesome for you recently.”
Gu Dongmae’s lips twitch, his eyes sparkling with humor. “You seen to have much information, for someone who wishes to buy it. Why not rely on your very thorough network?” There’s a touch of sarcasm in his tone, which President Jin does not appreciate. He is running out of time and the pleasantries have worn him thin. At last, his smile falls, and the room seems to grow cold. President Jin sheds his humanity like a cloak, staring at the Oyabun as two bright red dots appear on his chest. Gu Dongmae sits straighter, glaring at the window.
“Oyabun,” President Jin says, and something in his expression sharpens. “This can either be a negotiation among intelligent businessmen, or an interrogation. Which will it be?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a negotiation with a sniper aiming at my heart,” Gu Dongmae jokes, looking amused despite the circumstances.
“You’ll adapt,” President Jin says, smirking. “Now then, what will it be?”
Gu Dongmae watches his expression for a moment, as though reading the threat clearer on his face than in the dots on his breast. He exhales through his nose, the tiniest of smiles escaping him. He mimics President Jin’s posture, putting his elbows onto his knees, one hand on his shoulder. His gaze is piercing and straightforward. “What do you know about Mori Takashi of the Japanese crime syndicate?”