AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's your daily update again :)  The story's really about to pick up in the next few chapters, so I apologise if you're not all enjoying it (although it seems like a lot of you are, which is amazing).

Just a quick question to finally the put the nail in the coffin. I know a couple of you have answered this before but since I'm stubborn: 

I'm including a Poll with this chapter, asking about when you guys would prefer updates (daily, every other day, weekly etc.) Please go and answer so I can know for sure whether you guys are fine with daily updates or whether you want me to slow down. And don't feel like you're pressuring me if you pick Daily - I've already got everything mapped out and a bunch of stuff pre-written, and I'm a fast writer anyway :)  I love writing daily as much as you guys love reading!

You can find the Poll at the bottom of the chapter. If you can't see it, click here instead.

Anyway, enjoy! I promise I'll make the Author's Notes shorter in future haha <3

9

Our Date Awaits

They stood by the car, Seulgi leaning against the door, Irene not. Looking back across at the CU. They were quiet for a long time. Until Irene decided to broach the quiet. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘We didn’t learn ing anything. Not a thing. Why did we say we did? I have no idea what’s going on.’

Seulgi was quiet.

‘I’m serious. Not a thing. Hoo and He and Ha. Who the are these people? Seulgi. Are you listening to me?’

Seulgi turned to her. Her hair fluttering about her face in the wind, the pipeclaying of her devious eyes watching Seulgi very carefully, the glimmer that was up to no good. Or soon would be. Always would be. It was in her genes, Seulgi thought. In her DNA to be an outlaw, a crook. She learnt the rules to break the rules. The smoking gun. And by God, she was smoking. Seulgi took a deep breath and turned and looked away and Irene giggled. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said. Teasing out the words one by one. What’s. The. Matter. Come on, Seulgi. Tell me. Something got you all hot and bothered?

The worst part was how she knew. It would have been alright if she were oblivious – not alright, of course, but Seulgi could deal with it. She could calm herself down and go on about the day as if nothing was going on and Irene would be none the wiser but no, definitely not. She just had to go and know, didn’t she? She just had to be cognizant of how ing good she looked, or not even – more how she had an effect on others, those that stopped and stared in the streets, kids no older than seventeen elbowing each other and whispering and leering. Phwoar! Look at her. Even Wheein knew. Seulgi could see it in the way she’d eyed Irene. Slowly, with great leisure, careful not to miss any part of her, doing her over a second time and a third. Capturing all of her.

It was frustrating. So very frustrating. If only she were less attractive, less irresistible. Or if only she weren’t a thief. One or the other. But life does that sometimes. Seulgi ran a hand through her hair and turned back to Irene. ‘We should get going soon,’ she said.

Irene held up her hands. ‘Go where?’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To find out something about Kim Taeho.’

‘So, we go to his apartment.’

Seulgi nodded.

‘I don’t like the sound of that. Should I remind you what happened to the first apartment you broke into?’

‘You broke into,’ Seulgi said.

‘Whatever. We broke into. Who cares? Remember what we found? Two guys, Seulgi. Two dead guys! Just laying there on the tiles, being all dead and . You want to find that again?’

‘We’re not going to find that again.’

‘You sure about that? This guy’s White Lotus. That’s some proper right there.’

Seulgi said nothing. The wind was blowing hard enough to hear through the hum of traffic blocked up the intersection. People came past walking dogs and walking kids and pushing kids in prams and talking on phones oblivious to their presence entirely save the Testarossa. Stealing glances at it as they passed on by. And Seulgi seeing them do it, used to it by now. Trying to hide a smile. Yeah. Go on, take a look. Good looking, ain’t it? Sure is. Cost a pretty penny too. She looked back at Irene.

‘This is some , huh?’ Irene said.

‘Uh huh.’

‘Want a smoke?’

‘No,’ Seulgi said. ‘I didn’t think you smoked.’

‘I don’t. Only to look y.’

‘Right.’

She took a cigarette from the carton in the pocket of her shirt and held it to her lips and winked. ‘Is it working?’ she said.

‘No,’ Seulgi lied.

Irene put the cigarette back in the packet and pouted and turned away and then back to Seulgi. She said, ‘Are we going yet?’

‘You literally just ask questions, don’t you?’

‘You just asked a question.’

Seulgi sighed. She opened the car and stepped in out of the cold and Irene followed. She started the engine and pulled out into the traffic while a couple of kids on the corner of the block watched and took photos on their phones. ‘Bet you feel like a million bucks,’ Irene said. ‘All these people watching you.’

‘Not really.’

‘Come on. No need to lie about it.’

Seulgi ignored her. She drove to the address about twenty minutes east and in the jams it took double that and Irene spoke barely at all, for a change. ‘He lives with his father,’ Seulgi said. ‘Apparently he’s in poor health, so Taeho looks after him. It’s a two-room apartment, one bathroom. They’ve lived there seven years. They don’t own the place – they still pay monthly rent. Their landlord is sixty-three. He owns three apartment blocks. Taeho works on a construction site about fifteen minutes from his house. Nobody knows if he’s there or not since he doesn’t have any friends. His father’s name is Kim Taejin. That’s who we’re looking for. Kim Taejin.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Irene said.

‘Because you were going to ask sooner or later. Does that about clear it up?’

‘Yeah. I guess so.’

‘Good.’

Irene sat there a moment. She looked at Seulgi until Seulgi turned to her and then she gave a curt and expecting smile, a deviant grin. ‘What?’ Seulgi said. And before Irene had time to say anything: ‘You’re not playing any music.’

‘Okay.’ Irene sat back.

‘I want to hear you say it.’

‘What am I, a kid?’

‘I don’t care. I want to hear you say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘I won’t play your music, Seulgi.’

‘I won’t play your music, Seulgi,’ Irene repeated, leaning over and playing her music.

‘I just said don’t!’

‘Yeah. Well. I like this one. Do you have any Cher? Love Cher. She’s one of those artists you forget you love until she comes on, you know? I totally forgot about all of her stuff. I don’t even mean as an artist either. Like, you stop listening to her, you stop remembering she exists as a person. Know what I mean? It’s weird.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘It’s like that guy, what’s his name?’

‘Who?’

‘Hulk Hogan.’

Seulgi looked at her.

‘You know who I mean?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Seulgi said.

‘I totally forget he’s even a real person until I hear his name. Then I remember him completely. It’s so strange. Why are some people like that? Suppose it’s a psychological thing, maybe. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s something to do with why they’re famous. It’s not like they’re Z-listers or anything.’

Seulgi ignored her. Irene leant over and changed the song and sat back in her seat again.

‘Stop doing that,’ Seulgi said. ‘Leaning over. It’s dangerous.’

‘Well I’m sorry. But I’m not listening to that one again. Not Cher, I still like Cher. Whatever that other one was. Why is it all foreign music, anyway? Got no Kim Gun Mo on here on anything?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, this one’s a good one.’

‘Irene.’

‘Never was much of a Robbie Williams fan. Never really was popular in Korea. But I know this one.’

‘Irene.’

‘What?’

‘Turn the music off. Please.’

‘Why?’ Irene said. And after a moment formulating a sort of proper response Seulgi just sighed and rubbed her pounding head and fell silent again, defeated. What could she say? Irene wouldn’t listen regardless so what was the point of it really? Just delaying the inevitable. She smelled perfume again. Jasmine, other undernotes.

‘I don’t mind this,’ Irene said.

‘Mind what?’

‘This. It’s kinda like a wild goose chase all over the city.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s pretty self-explanatory, sweetheart.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Yeah, I was wondering – why don’t you like it? Is it, like, a psychological thing or something? Does it bring back traumatic memories from your childhood? Because if it does then I’ll totally stop, you know? And you should’ve said something. But if not then…well. Whatever.’

‘I just don’t like it,’ Seulgi said.

‘That’s no reason at all. People don’t like a lot of things, but they’ve got to stick with them anyway. That’s life.’

‘You could just stop calling my sweetie.’

‘I could,’ Irene said. And then a silence hanging, speaking for her. Saying: I’m not going to though, am I? And grinning for her too, smirking over at Seulgi, coaxing her forward, grabbing her by the collar of her polo and unfastening the top button and pulling her close enough to breathe on and laughing in her ear and pushing her away again. That’s what that silence did, alright. That’s what it was doing to her. Seulgi coughed into her hand. She’d stopped the music and Irene made no attempt to play it again and sometime later they pulled up across the street from the apartment block and stepped out bearing the brittle cold and wincing in the wind. Some girl across the street an icecream looked at the Testarossa for a moment and then moved away. ‘This is pretty cool,’ Irene said. She slapped the hood of the car.

‘Don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’

‘Touch my car.’

Irene giggled. ‘You’re that protective of it, aren’t you? It’s almost cute. Like you.’

‘Almost cute?’

‘What, you offended by that or something?’

Seulgi was quiet. A heat rising in her face. She took her phone out and checked the time. Just gone five. A cool blue hue circled the rim of the world and the sun seemed almost to be burning up and everything had taken on a hazy purple glare. There were black cars parked along the kerb just up from the Testarossa – a hearse, two other vehicles. And a fourth. They stood looking up at the ascending columns of windows glimmering in the afternoon cool. Then they crossed the road and went on through into the lobby.

It was long and wide and had a checkerboard tiled floor and white walls and a single staircase on the right. They stood a minute waiting for the others to pass down from the first-floor landing. There were six of them, four men and two women all dressed in black and garbed in funeral attires and hobbling down the stairs. The men wore white silk gloves. The four men carried a coffin on their shoulders and they had been crying. They refused to look up. They sniffled morosely. At the back a woman maybe sixty or sixty-five staggering cronelike and dabbing at her eyes behind the black veil and sniffling as well. All sniffling. And the woman at the front coming down the stairs ahead of the procession wore a similar black mesh veil and lace gloves and she had not been crying, not at all. The coffin lid gleamed in the faint light. It smelled of roses and cheap air freshener and boot polish. They could see on top of the coffin an embossed gold print that read KIM TAEJIN. Seulgi smiled and nodded to the woman coming ahead of the procession and the woman smiled back gravely and stepped aside while the others passed.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘How can I help you today?’

‘We’re looking for a Mr. Kim Taejin,’ said Seulgi.

‘Oh.’

‘What?’

‘Well. I’d say you’ve just missed him.’

♣   ♣   ♣

They sat eating ham and cheese sandwiches out of paperpackets and drinking cold coffee from styrofoam cups in the car, out of the cold. They said nothing. When they were finished Irene handed the wrapper to Seulgi and she stuffed them in the glovebox and the domelight and took out a bottle of water and drank about a quarter and put it back. Then Irene laughed. Seulgi looked at her.

‘Sorry,’ Irene said. ‘I know it’s super inappropriate. I mean, a guy’s just died and everything. Or, well, not just died, you know. But died recently. I shouldn’t be laughing – it’s pretty rude, really. But…. What are the chances?’ She laughed again. Then she pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to sit a moment without laughing and found it was futile. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You’ve got the worst ing luck.’

‘We do.’

‘Can’t believe he died on us like that.’

‘I mean…’

‘I can’t blame him,’ Irene said. ‘If I had choice between listening to you ramble on with your notepad and your little pencils and dying a painless death in my sleep? Well…let’s just say I hope you come to the funeral.’

Seulgi made a Ha-ha with her face and Irene just smiled.

‘Want a drink?’ Irene said.

‘No I absolutely do not.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m pretty sure.’

They were quiet a while. Irene with her arms folded. Almost childlike. Then she leant forward again and said, ‘I thought it’d be a lot more interesting than this.’

‘What?’

‘This whole thing. I thought being on the right side of the law for once would be exciting, you know? Like, we’d get to be doing proper things. I know, I know. We’ve seen two dead guys. I haven’t forgotten, before you pipe up and start mouthing off again. But I mean, it’s mostly just going from one house to the next and asking people the same questions and sitting about while you ring a couple guys and then tell me where to go next. Be honest with me Seulgi. Is this all it is? Is this all you do?’

‘Most days, yeah.’

‘Jesus, how do you cope with it?’

‘It’s my job,’ Seulgi said.

‘Yeah, but I thought a case this big would be a bit more…I don’t know, involved? You know what I mean?’

‘Not really.’

‘It’s like we’re at a dead-end now. I mean, what do we do? Go back and ask that clerk the same again? About Hoo and He and Ho and Fee and Fi and Fo and Fum. Or whatever. We can’t exactly talk to the guy’s dad now either, what with him being dead and all. Any other family or relatives?’

Seulgi shook her head.

‘No mum? No wait, you said about her. Never mind.’ She was quiet a while. The car smelled of ham and cheap coffee and Irene’s perfume. ‘I know someone,’ she said.

‘You know someone.’

‘Yeah. I mean, I know a lot of people. But I know someone who might be able to help us, and let’s be honest we need all the help we can get, right?’

Seulgi made no response but in the act said all she needed to say. ‘Right,’ Irene said. ‘There’s this girl I know, few years younger than me. She might only be like nineteen or something, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. You ever heard of Kim Seungri?’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi said. ‘The SK Telecom guy.’

‘COO of SK. Something like that. Well, it’s his daughter.’

‘You know his daughter.’

‘Sure do.’

‘How?’

‘She’s a trust-fund baby,’ Irene said. ‘Basically, she’s a bit of a spoilt , so he gives her a bunch of money in the hopes that she’ll shut the up and do something with it and keep out of his way, and instead she just acts like more of a spoilt . But I guess she does keep out of his way, in a sense, so…capitalism, right? knows how it works. Anyway. Her name’s Yerim, but she’s one of these prudes that thinks she’s got to have an alias or the bigwigs won’t pay attention to her, so she just calls herself Yeri. Basically all she does is host these big parties for the rich and the spoilt – all her friends, really. All the kids of the chaebols. They just sort of get together and drink expensive champagne and talk in posh voices and laugh at the poor people. You get what I’m saying?’

Seulgi nodded reluctantly.

‘Well, they do rich people things at these rich people parties. And it just so happens that these rich people things include selling and buying artwork. Sometimes, shall we say, away from the law, if you catch my drift. You see where I’m going with this?’

‘You think she’s stolen it?’

‘What? no. Of course not. You think she’d be that stupid? She might be rich but she’s still a kid, really. No, I don’t. But. She knows people. You know, in that rich people sort of way, where they all have this big underground network of people with too much money, doing dumb with the money they’ve got too much of. Like buying and selling illegal paintings and . And before you ask – no, I don’t think she knows about it. But she might. Or she might know someone that might. And she knows me.’

‘You good friends or something?’

‘Let’s say we’re acquaintances.’

‘Acquaintances.’

‘Yeah,’ Irene said. ‘I sold her some stuff before.’

‘Some stuff you stole.’

‘Well.’

Seulgi clicked her teeth. Motioned Irene to continue.

‘Okay. So. She hosts these get-togethers at her house every Thursday night. They’re basically just cover-ups for doing outrageous and getting away with it. Like selling paintings. Or doing drugs. Or whatever. And it’s really more of a mansion. And the best part about these parties is that they’re not really all that secretive once you get to know a couple people. Once you’re in, you’re in permanently.’

‘Permanently.’

Irene nodded. ‘They put your name on a list and then they never take it off. Like VIPs, except everyone’s a VIP, so…I guess no one is? I don’t know. Anyway.’

‘You’re on this list?’

‘Bingo.’

‘So, what?’

Irene held up her hands. ‘I’m just saying. Maybe we should go and check it out. Talk to a couple people. See if they know anything. If anyone does it’ll be the type of people that gather there. Trust me, I’ve been before.’

‘Alright,’ Seulgi said.

‘That’s it? Alright?’

‘What?’

‘No arguing with me about how it’s stupid or something?’

‘Well. It isn’t.’

‘Huh.’ And to that Irene had no other reply. Didn’t even smile. Just gave a sort of appreciative pursing of the lips. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Guess we’re lucky it’s Thursday, right?’

‘Guess we are.’

‘You can’t wear that, though.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘It’s too drab. You’ve got to dress up, you know? And whatever you do, don’t go flashing around your badge. Please.’

‘You think I’m that stupid?’

‘I don’t know. Are you?’

‘No.’

Irene gave a tilt of the head. ‘Best be quick,’ she said. Seulgi started the car and pulled out into the street going northbound towards her apartment. About twenty-five minutes later she pulled into the underground lot and went on up with Irene in tow. ‘Wait,’ Irene said when they by the door.

‘What?’

‘I don’t have anything to change into.’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t bring any clothes. I need to go back to my place.’

‘Well, go on then.’

‘Walk? Are you serious?’

‘Call a cab.’

‘Why can’t you just drive me?’

Seulgi didn’t say anything. She turned the lock and stood in the doorway with her hand resting against the jamb and then said, quietly, ‘ it. Whatever. Go and wait by the car. I’ll be ten minutes.’

Then she closed the door and shuffled into the bedroom to pick out an outfit. While she did she thought of Irene. Of course she did. What else would she think of? Wheein? Hongki? The two bodies on the floor of that apartment about an hour away? Sure, it was exciting, and sure it was dangerous, but was it as dangerous as Irene? Or as exciting, even. Did it make her heart jump the way Irene did? And when she closed her eyes was she thinking of Wheein and Hongki and Kim Taejin and the two poor bastards lying in their own blood or was she thinking of Irene by the bathroom mirror, stretching on her toes to see herself in the pale reflection, dressed in almost nothing, the curve of her hips and her thighs and the soft and taut paradox of her legs, and the way her hair fell down her shoulders, and the flush on her cheeks, and the world’s most enticing smirk on her face when she turned around and caught Seulgi there sizing her up by the door? It was obvious which it was. It was far too obvious, and far too inconvenient. What was even worse was what lay ahead. The idea of meeting this Kim Yerim, of mingling at these cocktail parties with the big suits and their fancy games and their alien ways of communication, laughing over bourbon worth more than her car, the thrill of perhaps uncovering something nobody else in Seoul had yet, the exhilaration of maybe – just maybe – solving Korea’s biggest mystery on her own. These were all things she should’ve been thinking of. But instead all that came to her was: I wonder what Irene looks like in a dress.

When she came out into the cold it had just gone nine and Irene was stood leaning against the car.

‘Don’t do that,’ Seulgi said. She opened the car and stepped in and expecting Irene to follow started the car but Irene was looking at her from just outside the passenger door and laughing at her.

‘What? What?’

‘That suit,’ Irene said, bending into the passenger seat. ‘And that pink shirt. It’s not even a polo. How very Don Johnson of you. Wait. No. Oh my god. Oh my god, wait.’ The look on her face now of impending laughter. ‘You’re actually such a nerd. Oh my god, Seulgi. You’ve got a crush on Don Johnson, don’t you? Like, a proper crush. I was just teasing before but wow! That’s what this is. The car. The suits. The pink shirts. It all makes sense now! You want to look like you’re out of Miami Vice. That’s what this is.’

‘Irene.’

‘Hey, do you want me to be Tubbs?’

‘Irene.’

‘I could be, you know? I think I’d make a pretty good Tubbs.’

‘Irene–’

‘Do you get guns in the police? I mean, you must, right? Since you’ve already got one Unless it’s illegal. And I wouldn’t put it past you.’

‘Listen to–’

‘You could get me one of those shotguns like Tubbs. And we could re-enact that scene right at the start.  You know, where they’re going down the street and Phil Collins is playing and everything?’

‘Irene.’

‘What?’

Seulgi looked at her. The beaming in her eyes. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘Forget it. Forget it.’

‘You were going to try and defend yourself, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Sorry, sweetie. That’s pretty indefensible. Let me look at your shoes.’

She leant over and Seulgi pushed her back and she came forward again.

‘Oh my god,’ she said. ‘Sockless loafers. Are you kidding me?’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Sockless loafers.’

‘Gangnam, right?’

‘Seulgi.’

She just looked at Irene.

‘Seulgi.’

‘What?’

‘You’re wearing sockless loafers.’

She didn’t say anything. She thought of kicking Irene out but Irene would resist and she hadn’t even told Seulgi the address of the party yet. ‘Where?’ she said. Irene sat there sizing her up. She looked quite like a stereotype, twirling her hair with one finger, leering with those dark eyes, the glisten of her lips, the lingering taste of her perfume in the small air. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them and Seulgi with all her remaining power refused to look down at them.

‘Where?’

After a moment Irene gave her the address and she turned the car out of the lot fast enough to almost crash it into one of the support columns and then out into the rapidly darkening streets. On the stark white of the hood the bright citylights shimmered like bokeh. She told Irene not to play any music and Irene being Irene turned the stereo on and played her music – The Bee Gees, Jackson 5, a couple Kenny Loggins tracks – until they turned up outside Irene’s apartment not half an hour later. Seulgi stopped the car across the street and killed the engine.

It looked just like any other apartment building. Perhaps a little out of her price range but still. ‘Stay here,’ Irene said, taking up her bag and opening the door.

‘Where would I go?’

But Irene had already disappeared and she was alone. She sat there thinking about nothing at all. Soon she opened the glovebox and picked out the bottle of stale water and drank and put it back. She turned the domelight on and off and on again. She thought of Irene and then she was sweating and she tried to stop but stopping something in perpetual forward progress is no easy task at all.

About fifteen minutes later Irene came out and across the street. Even in the dark pooling between the streetlamps she was easy to spot. She was wearing a black strapless dress and black heels and silver diamond earrings. When Seulgi saw her she turned away and pulled on the neck of her shirt and wiped her face and coughed and turned back again. The moment Irene opened the door she could smell that perfume again, the lurid jasmine tinge so prominent and immediate. Irene sat with her bag between her knees. She looked rather good. Seulgi had to admit it. Her face palely dolled and flushed ever so slightly and her hair neatly tied back and a single strand falling across the left side of her face as if purposely so. The sootblack piping of her eyelashes. The winking shimmer of her brilliant eyes. She looked at Seulgi and smiled an appreciative smile. A normal smile, for once. If such a thing were possible.

‘You look good,’ Seulgi muttered. ‘You look…good.’

‘Thanks, Don. Shall we go?’

‘You look…uh.’

‘Seulgi.’

She coughed into her hand. ‘Where is it?’

‘Sinsa. About five, ten minutes. I’ll give you the number when we get there but don’t worry, you’ll see it. Seulgi?’

‘Yeah. Right.’

She started the car and turned off into the empty road without stealing another glimpse of Irene. She could smell her though.

‘I warn you, though,’ Irene said.

‘What?’

‘This Yeri girl, she’s a bit, uh…’

‘A bit what?’

‘You know how your friend Wendy’s a little – how do I say it? – eccentric?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, Yeri’s not. She’s just sort of ditzy, I guess.’

‘Ditzy.’

‘A bit not all there. Don’t worry, you’ll see. If we get in, of course.’      

‘You said we would.’

‘Yeah,’ Irene said. Nonchalance. ‘But maybe we won’t. I don’t know.’

‘You were lying.’

‘I wasn’t. Honest. But still. It’s been a while.’

‘How long.’

‘Like, a year or two? I can’t remember. Since before I was in prison. But yeah, we’ll see.’

Sometime later Irene gave her the address in upneighbourhood Sinsa and she turned the car along the long avenue across the street from the house. In that part of Seoul there were no apartments. At least not really. Just long and tall houses. Not like Korea at all. For the rich and the wannabe-rich. All along the kerb old BMW imports and Japanese Nissans and other expensive foreign cars. She rolled up the street slowly. They could already hear and see a sort of gathering in one of the houses. ‘That one,’ Irene said, pointing. ‘Right there. You fit in well here, Seulgi. You know that?’

‘What?’

‘Your car. It doesn’t stand out. Although, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. You bought it to stand out, right? And now…well. Must for you.’

‘Shut up.’

She pulled the car up in any space across the street and they got out and looked around. Others in formfitting tuxedos were making their way up to the door and other cars came and went and women in fanciful dresses laughed here and there. They went on up to the door, Irene taking point. The man there with a tablet smiled and nodded and took their names and a moment later they were inside without Seulgi even realising what had happened.

‘What was that?’ she said.

Irene winked. ‘I told you I could get us in.’

‘How?’

‘I just gave him my name and said you were my plus-one.’

‘That easy?’

Irene shrugged. They stood in a wide entrance, a long staircase up to a balcony and other rooms in front of them. There were tables stacked with icebuckets of champagne and bottles of whiskey and all sorts of rich-people food – foie gras, caviar, little spinach and egg rolls, cocktail sausages, sandwiches flecked in edible gold. Waiters in red vests shuffled past them absently with platters and trays and disappeared into the other rooms. People stood about smoking cigars, smoking cigarettes, puffing on pipes. Drinking and laughing. Irene took two small glasses of whiskey and handed one to Seulgi and toasted and reluctantly Seulgi drank.

‘How’s it taste?’ Irene said.

It tasted above her tax bracket. She forced a smile. ‘It’s whatever,’ she said.

‘Sure. Whatever. Come on. Let’s go find our mystery host.’

‘You said you knew her.’

‘No, I mean…’ Irene looked at her with a sort of disappointed contempt. ‘You know, for a detective, you sure can be a bit thick sometimes.’

‘What?’

‘It was a figure of speech. You know, just a saying. I know her.’

Seulgi drank the whiskey and put the glass back on one of the trays and shrugged.

‘Come on,’ Irene said. ‘It’s about to be a Richard Nixon.’

‘What? What does that even mean?’

Irene was quiet a second. Contemplative. Then she said, ‘I can’t remember. It was something your friend said. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t even know.’

‘Well. Whatever then. Anyway, want another drink?’

‘No. I’m good.’

‘You sure. You seem to be quite partial to whiskey now.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Well then.’ She took Seulgi by the arm and smiled at her and Seulgi turned away. She could smell whiskey and cigarsmoke and expensive cologne and Irene. Definitely Irene. ‘Come on,’ Irene said. ‘Our date awaits.’