AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another daily update whooo :D  

I know I said I'm not a fan of fluff or comedy and I'm bad at writing them but I'm genuinely (and surprisingly) having so much fun writing this lol. I didn't expect that at all. The love and support's been amazing so far - please keep the comments and votes coming! 60 votes already! And 60 comments! That's insane <3

Anyway, same time tomorrow, so enjoy! :)

P.S: My humour/comedy usually has a lot of running gags that tend to pop up quite a lot, so...bonus points if you recognise any of them in the upcoming chapters and point them out haha

7

Jukebox Jams

She was laughing by the door and laughing in the car and laughing when Seulgi pulled out of the driveway and back along the road going toward Hannam in the growing traffic. ‘Oh man,’ Irene said at last. ‘How can we have missed that? Goldman Sachs. That’s actually pretty good, you know? You know, maybe all those stupid stereotypes about strippers being dumb are wrong after all. I think they are. Or at least your friend is pretty smart, wouldn’t you say? Goldman Sachs. That’s gold, Seulgi. Pun or no pun.’

‘Are you finished?’

Irene looked at her. She had been laughing for some time. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Give it a minute and get back to me.’

They crossed Hannam Bridge and Seulgi made west and it was more than ten minutes before Irene even realised. The traffic wobbled in the low cold glare of the early afternoon sun. Irene sat up and peered about. They were passing alien streets some ways west of Seulgi’s apartment. ‘Where are we going now?’ Irene said.

‘To the department. I need to talk to Hongki.’

‘He’s your husband, right?’

Seulgi ignored her. About half an hour later she pulled into the department building’s parkinglot and stopped the Testarossa and went in with Irene close behind her. Some of the others stopped to look at her but nobody spoke. Seulgi went on up to the third floor. Wheein was sat at her desk, pencil in hand, wheeling about on her chair, doing much of nothing. As usual. The others also sitting about, some not even seeing her. And Hongki stood heaving down his desk and shouting mutely behind the glass into his phone and running a hand over his big balding head and huffing. Irene nodded to him as they came into the room. The first thing she saw. ‘That him?’ she said.

‘That’s him. Do me a favour and don’t say a word, please.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

‘Wheein.’

She looked up from the desk and pushed her chair back and shot Seulgi a sort of Welcome Back smile but she didn’t get up. Her desk was littered with files and folders and styrofoam coffeecups and sandwich wrappers still sticky with grease and small dried blobs of cheese and pickles and bits of lettuce. ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ she said. ‘Look who’s already back.’

‘Is he free?’

‘Does he look free to you?’

Seulgi turned to him howling something into his phone like an ape and turned back to Wheein and said, ‘How long’s he been like that?’

‘Dunno. Couple hours, maybe? Are you going to introduce us?’

‘I don’t think that-’

Irene had already extended her hand. She wore a false smile Seulgi didn't much like. A sort of buttery welcome. ‘Joohyun,’ she said, taking Wheein’s own lazy offer of a handshake. ‘But call me Irene.’

‘I’m Wheein.’

‘Oh , you’re real.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Nice to meet you.’

‘And you. You with her now?’

‘Sadly.’

Wheein laughed. ‘I know the feeling.’

‘ me,’ Seulgi said. ‘There’s two of you.’

‘Now, now. Simmer down. Why are you here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be out in the field? Getting stuck in.’

‘We are. But I’ve got some stuff I need to tell Hongki.’

‘Well, granted. But what?’

‘You don’t know?’

Wheein shook her head.

‘About what we found?’

‘Oh, you mean the bodies?’

Seulgi nodded.

‘, we know that. Yeah, it’s a news story now. Travels quick, doesn’t it?’

‘Sure does.’

‘So why are you here?’

‘To tell him stuff.’

Wheein made a gesture with her hands as to say: Yeah, duh. But what?

‘Something we found,’ Seulgi said.

‘You mean apart from the bodies?

‘Information. From a witness.’

‘Is that all you’re going to tell me?’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

Wheein turned back to her desk and picked up one of the cups and drank. No more than a minute later did Hongki come out and stand and motion Seulgi in. She turned to Irene. ‘Stay here,’ she said. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Alright boss.’

Hongki sat behind the L-shape desk and folded his papers and turned to look at her. He had not gone any less red. The framed photo of his wife lay face down. ‘Before you ask,’ he said, ‘no, she’s not getting a divorce. And she’s not taking the kid either.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘She’s just going away for a few days. To her mother’s, she says. Her mother lives seventy ing miles away! And there’s only one bus! And it only runs twice a week! And it’s always late! And last week it broke down in the middle of a storm and the only people willing to fix it were the local farmers! And they were all pensioners! Getting away from me, sure. But not a divorce. It’s not a divorce, Seulgi.’

‘Yes sir.’

He looked at her and huffed and adjusted his collar and sat straight. ‘That your partner out there?’ he said.

‘Yes sir.’

‘Well. Bring her in.’

‘I’d prefer not to.’

‘You questioning me, Seulgi?’

‘No sir. But still.’

‘Well,’ he said. Shifting and shifting. ‘Alright.’ He put his elbows across the rests of his chair so that his hands were folded in front of him. ‘I want you to tell me everything you found when you went and talked to whoever you talked to. You did talk to someone, didn’t you?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And?’

‘We…’

‘Go on.’

She turned to Irene and Wheein a moment – sat out there talking and laughing – and then back to Hongki.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘We talked to one of the girls at the strip club about the two victims we’ve got. She said she knew who they were – they were regulars. They came in twice a week and she knew them by their names and she didn’t know they were dead. Not until I told her. She said they used to frequent with a third guy.’

‘Did she give you a name? For this third guy.’

‘Yes sir. Mr Sachs.’

‘Mr Sachs.’

‘G. Sachs.’

He looked at her. ‘G. Sachs.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Does this Mr Sachs happen to work for a bank, Seulgi?’

‘I know sir. I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry that she gave you a fake name to cover her own ?’

‘Sir.’

He stood and rested his hands on the table and leant over. She could smell the musk of his cologne, the sort of cologne old men wore to try and pretend they weren’t old men at all, the sort that was so obvious it was almost hilarious in its sincere irony.

‘So we get an anonymous tip linking those two men – dead men – to the biggest robbery case Korea’s ever seen, and you follow up the lead by finding someone who might actually know whatever’s going on, and then you get a fake name from her? And you don’t even realise.’

‘I did realise.’

‘When?’

Seulgi was quiet.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I want you go to and question this girl again.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Meanwhile we’ll let you know what we find about these guys. Who they worked with, who their friends were, their families. I’ve let the whole damn department know that I want everything. I want to know how many mouthfuls it took them to eat their breakfast on a morning. I want to know the names of their grandparents’ dogs. I want to know the names of their grandparents’ dogs’ grandparents. If they ever took a without flushing, I want to know which toilet it was in and how long until someone flushed it. And I want to know which sorry sack-of-toenail clippings eventually flushed it and how much they’re getting paid by the hour to be flushing other peoples’ . You understand me, Seulgi?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And I’m gonna get that, and you’re gonna get something out of whoever you were talking to. And then we’re gonna find this ing painting.’ He rubbed his hair and sat down and opened the second drawer and took out a bottle of pills. ‘They’re for my heart,’ he said. ‘My wife says I should take four a day and not eat rice. I don’t even know what that means.’

‘Sir.’

‘Well. Go on then. Go.’

‘Yes sir.’

She went out and closed the door behind her and stood with Irene and Wheein – Irene and Wheein still muttering about something when she came close. ‘Well?’ Wheein said, wheeling her chair about. The papers on her desk had not moved and her computer was idling and she seemed to have been doing nothing for a long time. Quite like Wheein.

‘What did he say?’

‘What do you think he said?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t read minds.’

‘He told me to go and interview the witness again.’

‘And get a name for this third guy, I guess? Unless you want to follow up on this Mr Sachs. You never know, could amount to something.’

‘How do you know about that?’ Seulgi said. She looked at Irene and Irene looked away and laughed and turned back again. ‘Did you tell her about it?’

‘Of course,’ Irene said.

‘Why?’

‘It was hilarious.’

‘Mr Sachs,’ Wheein said. ‘Mr ing Sachs. Classic.’

‘Are you ever going to do some work?’ Seulgi said.

‘Who, me? Probably, at some point. But not right now. I’m busy.’

‘Busy.’

‘Busy not being busy,’ Wheein said.

‘Uh huh.’

‘There’s a lot of stuff to do around here. Just none of it ever gets passed on to me. Why do I have to sit writing out witness reports and copying them up and signing them? And then co-signing them. I don’t even know what the point of that is. Why can’t I be out in the field like you?’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Sure. Beats sitting here.’

‘I’d rather sit here,’ Seulgi said.

‘Would you though? Really.’

Seulgi didn’t say anything. She turned to Irene and nodded.

‘You’re going?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So soon?’

‘We’ve got work to do,’ Seulgi said.

‘God, you’re always so serious.’

‘That’s exactly what I told her!’ Irene said.

‘Can’t switch off, can you?’

‘She’s so boring, man. She just reads and every now and again she’ll go: Let’s go. I’m driving. It’s like being chauffeured around by a piece of plasterboard. But much prettier.’

Wheein laughed. ‘She’s fun,’ she said, motioning to Irene. ‘More fun than you, at least. Although, I suppose it balances out in the end. Kinda like good cop, bad cop, right? Except it’s more: fun cop, dry cop.’

‘That’s pretty good,’ Irene said. ‘I like that.’

Seulgi wasn’t listening. She watched Hongki grow purpleheaded behind his desk again, yelling into his old phone and slamming the desk every now and again as if to remind himself it was actually there, a great caricature of anger. She looked back at Wheein. Spinning on her chair with no real care or anything. Then, to Irene: ‘Come on.’

Irene said nothing. They went out and Wheein waved a lazy goodbye and then they were gone. The sun had begun already to fall in the coming evening. She climbed into the car and started the engine without a word and pulled out into the copper dusk and didn’t even notice Irene was grinning from ear to ear in the seat beside her. The traffic had started to pick up in rush hour and the streets jagged and zigzagged with cars ascended far and high on the avenues while people on bicycles passed briefly by her window whenever she stopped.

‘She was nice,’ Irene said. ‘Wheein, I mean.’

Seulgi didn’t respond.

‘She was telling me a bit about you. Nothing deep or anything. But about how boring you are, really. She said basically you don’t do anything except wear that frowny face all the time. And why is that, honestly? Because she’s right.’

Seulgi said nothing again. She turned the car through Songpa, fifteen minutes from Amsa in the rising and distant thrum of cars.

‘Seulgi. Come on, Seulgi. Tell me, spill it to me. I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Are you finished?’

Irene giggled that ever-present giggle, the one at the back of the throat that made Seulgi’s hairs stand on end whenever she heard it, the one that said without saying anything that Irene was up to no good, that she was trouble, that even being around her for too long was dangerous – that Seulgi might fall into it. And it’d be a lie to even pretend she wasn’t. ‘Seulgi,’ she said. ‘Seulgi.’

‘What?’

Irene didn’t say anything. She leant over and pressed something on the dashboard and out popped a CD from the discdrive. She took it and looked it over and laughed.

‘Best Groovy Tunes. Nice name. Who even says Groovy anymore? Maybe my granddad. Maybe your friend Wendy.’

‘Don’t ever touch my stereo without asking.’

‘Why does this car even have a stereo?’ Irene said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought something this old would.’

‘It’s not that old.’

‘Point remains.’

‘I got one fitted,’ Seulgi said.

‘Of course you did. Can I play it?’

‘No.’

‘Please?’

‘No.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Irene said. She leant over and put the disc back in and closed the drive and played it anyway.

‘What are you doing?’ Seulgi said.

‘Good tune right here. That's Tears For Fears.'

'I know.'

She forwarded to the next song.

‘Didn’t I just say not to mess with anything?’ Seulgi said.

‘I’m not messing. It’s just music. Come on. This is a good one. Jackson 5? You’ve got good taste, sweetie. Better than I thought. Is it all like this?’

She flicked through the songs and back again while Seulgi drove. Every now again she’d stop and point to nothing and nod her head and say: This is a good one, and complement Seulgi’s taste again. And Seulgi just sat there silently while she did because, well, what else could she do? Reach over and take it out? Irene’d just put it back in. Like a child, almost. Doing whatever she wanted. She pulled the car into the end of the lot in Amsa about half an hour later, a five-minute walk from the club. Then she cut the engine and the music and sat there in silence.

‘Why’d you do that?’ Irene said.

‘We’re here.’

‘Well. It looks light outside to me.’

‘It’s nearly seven.’

‘What time does it open?’

‘Nine,’ Seulgi said.

Irene sat back. ‘Want something to eat?’

‘What?’

‘You hungry?’

‘Not really.’

‘God,’ Irene said. ‘Is that all you can do? Answer in two or three words? Can you not give me a full sentence or anything? Yes, hello. Me Seulgi. Me speak not much. Why use big word when small word better?’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I don’t know. How about anything at all?’

They were quiet a minute. Seulgi sat with the glovebox open and the folder in her lap and Irene playing with her nails and watching the dim flickerlight burning of the night. A squat sun bled somewhere in the world and the traffic filled and disappeared and filled again. ‘What’s your favourite album?’ she said. ‘Come on, Seulgi. Work with me here. Give me something to do.’

‘We’re supposed to be working.’

‘In a couple hours, sure. But not right now. So, what’s your favourite album?’

Seulgi folded the documents away and rubbed at her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and heard Irene only chuckle in response. This one was a little different. It wasn’t that throaty hum but more a pitched acknowledgement of minor victory, like: Got ya, Seulgi! Thanks for that. As if in getting Seulgi to even speak she’d won. ‘Name one,’ Irene said. ‘Actually, better than that. Name your favourite artist. If that makes it easier.’

‘I don-’

‘Don’t say you don’t know. That just kills the point of it completely. That’s the ultimate conversation ender.’

Seulgi threw up her hands. ‘The Jackson 5, I guess. I don’t know.’

‘Favourite song?’

‘Blame It on the Boogie.’

‘What’s your favourite TV show?’

‘I don-’

‘Actually, never mind. That’s too obvious. Too easy.’

‘What?’

‘I mean, come on. The car, the suits. I bet you wear pink shirts as well, don’t you?’

‘What are you ta-’

‘Miami Vice,’ Irene said. ‘It’s gotta be.’

Seulgi gave a shy shrug.

‘See? Knew it. And I bet your favourite movie’s the remake as well, isn’t it?’

‘It wasn’t as good,’ Seulgi said. ‘It wasn’t anywhere near as good. It didn’t have the right atmosphere or anything about it. And they completely ruined the Phil Collins scene, when they’re driving through the street. Completely ruined it. And not to mention the actors – I mean, they’re good, but you can’t replace Don…’ she turned to Irene and trailed off.

‘Knew it,’ Irene said, that winning grin on her lips.

‘Why does it matter?’

‘Never said it did.’

‘Why are you laughing then?’

‘I’m just teasing you.’

‘Why?’

‘No need to get so defensive. Come on.’

‘What about you?’ Seulgi said. Irene just waved her off.

‘No favourite movie?’

‘I don’t really have a lot of time to watch them,’ Irene said.

‘Too busy stealing things?’

‘Too busy enjoying myself.’

‘Movies are enjoyable.’

‘Sure. Some of them. I just can’t be bothered watching them.’

‘That’s really weird.’

‘She says, while sitting in a white Ferrari, while talking about how much she loves Don Johnson.’

‘I don’t ing love Don Johnson.’

Irene said nothing. They were quiet a while, neither doing much. Irene with her head propped up against one hand by the window and Seulgi pretending to read the case files and really doing nothing except thinking of Irene next to her. That in and of itself was pretty bad, she thought – forget the two dead bodies and the trail of lies and the biggest theft case in Korean history, yeah, forget all that. What about Irene!

They sat for a while not really saying anything. Every now and again Irene would pipe up, asking a question about something Seulgi didn’t care to answer. Like a voice in the back of her head. They were quiet again. They watched the traffic distend in the wingmirrors. Just after nine they got out of the car and Seulgi locked it and they set off down the street. ‘Have you got the gun?’ Irene said. ‘Did you pick it up? Or is it in the car?’

‘It’s in the car.’

‘So you thought not to bring it this time? Finally decided that women and drunks are no threat to the mighty Kang Seulgi?’

Seulgi didn’t reply. The bouncer outside was the same one as before. He nodded to her and to Irene and let them pass and again they were there, as if they had never left, just standing there in the open of the room, smokelit and drenched in neon, an old tune playing far too loud through the speakers – was it Cher? or something similar – and a waitress passing them and two guys puffing on fat cigars on the barstools. Seulgi went up to the counter and said something Irene couldn’t here and came back a moment later and motioned toward the back rooms. The other guy stood there again. Same as old. Seulgi said something to him too and he showed them through into one of the back rooms. It was a different one this time. The walls were yellow not white, the table clear, no ashtray.

‘That’s Cher,’ Irene said.

‘I know.’

Joy came in a couple minutes later. When she saw them she turned as to leave and Seulgi stood and called to her and she stopped. ‘Look,’ she said. She was dressed in a thin shirt and black bra and it reminded Seulgi of Irene if only for a moment. Irene in the mirror. Whoo. Goddamn. ‘Just wait,’ Seulgi said. ‘We need to talk to you.’

‘I’ve already told you everything I know,’ Joy said.

‘We don’t think you have. Please. Sit.’

Joy looked up and about and toward the door and with some reluctance she sat on the plush seat across from them. ‘Is this an interrogation?’ she said.

‘No. You’re free to leave.’

‘But not really,’ Irene said with a smile. ‘As in, you’ve kinda got to stay.’

Joy looked at her and back at Seulgi. ‘What do you want?’ she said.

Seulgi sat forward. ‘We want the name of the third man that came in here with Kim Taeyang and Jang Joonyoung.’

‘I already told you hi-’

‘G. Sachs. Mr Goldman Sachs.’

Irene stifled a laugh.

‘Come on,’ Seulgi said. ‘Be serious with us.’

Joy was biting her lip. ‘Alright,’ she said. She threw up her hands in a strange form of surrender. ‘His name was Fargo. He was a foreigner. Came in here with his cousin Stanley.’

‘Fargo and Stanley. What were their first names?’

‘I don’t know. I just had initials.’

‘Which are?’

‘W and M.’

‘W and M,’ Seulgi said.

‘Yeah.’

‘W. Fargo and M. Stanley.’

Joy nodded.

‘Mr Wells Fargo and Mr Morgan Stanley.’

‘How do you know?’

‘A lot of bankers come here, huh,’ Irene said.

‘Come on, Joy. Stop ing about. This is serious.’

Irene was fighting not to laugh beside her. Joy was quiet a while. She turned toward the door and stood and peered out through the curtain to see if they were alone. Then she came and sat again. Legs folded one over the other, fingers tapping at her bare knee, lips crinkling into a sort of grimace. ‘Look,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘I don’t want to get into any , alright? I don’t want you dragging me into anything. I don’t know anything about any murders.’

‘We need to know what you know. That’s all.’

‘You promise me I’m not going to get into any trouble? This is some shady .’

‘Shady?’

Joy seemed not to hear. She was looking at Irene and Irene was still holding back a laugh.

‘What was his name?’ Seulgi said. ‘The third guy you met with.’

‘You’ve got to promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Alright,’ Joy said – and then, calming herself, voice still dim against the thunder of the music: ‘His name was Taeho. Kim Taeho. He came in here with the other two twice a week. I don’t know anything about him. That’s all, okay?’

‘Kim Taeho?’

She nodded. Seulgi took out her notebook and a ballpoint and began writing.

‘Sorry for this,’ Irene said. ‘She’s still old-fashioned.’

When she had finished she looked up at Joy and offered a small nod of reassurance that seemed to do nothing. ‘What can you tell us about him?’ she said. ‘Anything. About his appearance, mainly. Anything to identify him by.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Anything at all. Just tell us what he looked like.’

‘Well. He had black hair. A moustache. About five foot seven.’

‘That’s a big moustache,’ Irene said.

‘He had a tattoo on his neck. That’s about it.’

‘A tattoo,’ said Seulgi. ‘What tattoo?’

‘A neck tattoo.’

‘A neck tattoo.’

‘Uh huh,’ Joy said.

‘He had a tattoo of his neck…on his neck?’

‘No, I mean…whatever. It was a flower, I think. A white flower.’

‘What sort of flower?’

‘What, do I look like a botanist to you? I don’t know. A ing dandelion or something.’

‘Alright.’ She wrote. Then, looking at Joy again: ‘Are you sure you can’t think of anything else?’

Joy shook her head gravely.

‘Man with big moustache,’ Irene said. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult.’

‘Did he ever say anything to you?’ said Seulgi.

‘No,’ said Joy.

‘Nothing at all?’

‘He only spoke a couple words here and there. Never about anything.’

‘Nothing to identify him by?’

‘Well he never spoke about himself.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nice .’

‘Well,’ Irene said. ‘He’s not wrong.’

‘Is that it?’ Seulgi said.

‘A couple more things. Mostly about how good my a-’

‘That, uh, won’t be necessary. Nothing important?’

‘No. I’ve just said that.’

‘Well. Okay.’

‘Is that all? Any more questions?’

Irene sat forward. ‘Do they have a jukebox?’ she said.

‘What?’

‘A jukebox. You know, that you put money in for music.’

‘Does who?’

‘Does this place.’

‘I don’t know,’ Joy said.

‘Do you? Personally.’

Joy looked at Seulgi. ‘Is this important?’

Seulgi made a gesture as to apologise for Irene.

‘Is she your partner or something?’

‘Sadly,’ Seulgi said. ‘Not romantically, if you’re asking.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Well…I mean. We’re partners. But only, uh, on this case. Not…you know.’

Joy didn’t say anything. She seemed still on edge. ‘You know what?’ Seulgi said. Folding her notepad away and putting the ballpoint in her jacket pocket. ‘I think that’s all for now.’

‘For now?’

‘Just something I say. We don’t have any further questions. So, you’re free to go.’

‘This is safe, right? You promise me that?’

‘Nothing’s going to happen.’

‘I’ve just got a feeling,’ Joy said. ‘I’ve got a feeling this is some dodgy you’re getting me in to. That’s why I gave you those false names. I don’t want anything coming back to me. And you said they’re dead. I don’t want anybody knowing I’ve snitched or anything. You know what I mean?’

‘Vaguely,’ Irene said with a smile. ‘Snitches get stitches.’

‘We’ll leave you now,’ said Seulgi. ‘You can go.’

‘Promise me,’ Joy said.

‘I promise.’

Then she stood and disappeared through the curtain into the corridor or another room and they were alone with the music blaring. ‘This is ,’ Irene said.

‘What is?’

‘How can they not have a jukebox?’

‘Why would a club have a ing jukebox?’

‘I think all public establishments should have one by law. It’s just good customer service, really. Don’t you think? Imagine if a bank had a jukebox. You’re there cashing a cheque and suddenly the Bee Gees are playing over the PAs. Or even Cher. I wouldn’t mind Cher again. Hey, Seulgi. Do you believe in life after love?

‘Will you let me think for a minute?’

‘Think about what? It’s pretty obvious what’s going on, isn’t it?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ Irene said. ‘I was just saying it.’

‘Why?’

‘I felt like it was the right thing to say. But speaking of banks…’ she laughed. ‘Mr Goldman Sachs. Wendy was right. Bit of a slow one.’

‘You didn’t pick up on it either.’

‘It’s not my job to. According to you, at least.’

‘What?’

‘You’d rather have me just sat saying nothing and doing nothing.’

‘Because you’re supposed to be Seoul’s smartest crook an-’

‘Thank you.’

‘-And so far you’ve proven absolutely nothing. Just that you can annoy me constantly.’

‘I aim to please,’ Irene said with a smirk, and Seulgi found herself looking away.

‘How about I take charge then?’ she said.

Seulgi motioned to nothing in particular.

‘We go and find out about this Kim Taeho guy, with the tattoo on his neck and the enormous moustache.’

‘It’s not…never mind.’

‘Sound good to you, sweetie?’

‘Don’t call me sw-’

‘Sound good to you, partner?’

Seulgi dropped her shoulders in resignation. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Whatever.’