April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (28 page)

From inside his pockets, Sangwoo retrieves a key fob that light up a sleek, black Range Rover Evoque. It reminds me of a military car with its hard shell and steel exterior body. I open the passenger door with apprehension. Leather on leather is the best way to describe this exotic car. This is the fourth car I have been in with him. I climb inside the Evoque while Sangwoo glides with ease into the driver’s seat.

The conversation switches from a difficult acquisition to the present moment.

“I am headed there now. Clear my schedule for today. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.” Sangwoo ends his conversation with a clipped tone. He doesn’t wait for Ren to reply before he hangs up the phone and pockets it into the side of the car.

“Are you ready?” He turns to me with a calm demeanor. Sangwoo eyes my seat belt before he starts the car. The engine roars to life, barely making a sound inside the hard leather interior.

“Yes,” I answer.
Not that your answer matters
. My intuition shakes her head.

The Evoque cruises out of the intricate underground parking with great agility and torque, nailing every right and left of the elaborate underground maze. The exit is at the end of an incline angled forward like a spiral. The deep colors of the morning light spread over the front windshield as Sangwoo maneuvers to ground level. He straightens out the wheel and the sleek vehicle rounds the back of the building in an unmarked area. In under a minute, the car merges back out to civilization.

“You will be trained to drive automatic and manual transmissions. It is important that you are able to drive any type of car under a short moment’s of notice.” Sangwoo dishes yet another staple to my job description.

“I’m going to be a driver too?” I am not sure I can even drive one type of car much less a variety of them. If the type of cars he has been driving is any indication at all, Sangwoo is going to be deeply disappointed when he sees me behind a wheel.

“Don’t worry. You won’t be first pick when it comes to driving, but it is still a necessary skill I want you to have.” The corners of his mouth lift into a playful smile. “There are other things I want you to learn first. And I want to know your limits and boundaries as well.”

Oh. What have I gotten myself into?
I am under the vast impression that I will be stapling paperwork for him. But this gang leader has bigger plans for me to be out on the field with him. He is going to encounter not only surprises, but also regret.

I peek at him from the corner of my eyes. Thank goodness for thought anonymity. Sangwoo focuses on driving and cannot hear my thoughts. Gauging the speed of the oncoming cars, Sangwoo turns the Evoque onto the Gyeongbu Expressway with ease. He guides the car into the merging lane, and the passing cars switch out of its way.

Now that we are on the highway, in a swift movement, Sangwoo touches a small compartment above the driver’s seat. The small compartment clicks open at the touch of his fingers to reveal the objects hidden inside.

Sangwoo grabs one and transfers it to me. “Put this on,” he tells me with authority.

The designer sunglasses are large and circular; it is the kind I have seen old movie stars wear to hide half of their faces. I examine the letters on one of the legs and the elegant scribble of
Persol
runs along its side. Even the material feels expensive and high-end.

“Why do I have to wear this?” I ask him as I peek over the top of the sunglasses.

“Goes back to the importance of anonymity, May.” Sangwoo puts on a similar pair, but aviator style. “There is a lot you need to learn about working for me. You will be doing many things that I ask you to do without questions. Know that I always have a legitimate reason. Trust that I won’t guide you wrong.”

Here we go again. Gang leader complex. “Even though the questions are innocent enough?” I cannot allow the notion of absolute authority to wane over my free speech rights.

Sangwoo answers my question with an assumption. “You must be thinking I’m a difficult person,” he states.

“Not really. Just bossy,” I confess. Feeling herded, I push the sunglasses onto my face. The dark tint turns my colorful world to shades of gray and dread. Now I look exactly like how I feel inside.

Sangwoo chuckles as though privy to a private joke. “Just the tip of the iceberg. I am sure if you do a survey on my employees, they would choose other adjectives to describe me.”

“Are all of your employees . . . members?” I don’t know how else to phrase my curious question.

“Yes,” Sangwoo answers with surprising ease. “Except for the custodian and cleaning personnel.”

From the corner of my eyes, I can see Sangwoo glancing at me to gauge my reaction. When I don’t make another comment, he adds, “Anyone that comes into close proximity with me is always one of my people or affiliated with us in one shape or form. We all understand the rules, responsibilities, and regulations. It is easier that way.” There is an airy sense of the cultural elite.

“It doesn’t seem like you allow people close proximity. You have your own private entry and exit.” My curiosity about this gang leader peaks.

Sangwoo nods his head to commend my observations. “Like I said, I am a private person.” He keeps it short. I get the feeling that he doesn’t want to make any more comments on his private lifestyle.

My thoughts inadvertently wander back to Mayhem and his loud, obnoxious motorcycle. Not all gang lords choose the reclusive lifestyle like Choi Sangwoo’s concrete walls. Apparently, Sangwoo chooses to be a social outcast in both mainstream and underground standards. A voluntary personal choice.

“Power, money, and notoriety are costly. I am quite aggressive about protecting my anonymity and privacy. It is not necessary for people to know where I am, what I am doing, and who I am with. But in my world, people are always willing to trade blood for the whereabouts of a highly sought-after person.” Sangwoo is calm and collected with a tint of passive-aggressiveness in his description.

“Are you always so selective about people coming in and out of your life?” It really is somewhat sad to see him so guarded. At this point, I start to wonder if Sangwoo knows what it means to be normal.

“Always,” he answers softly. Behind the dark sunglasses, Sangwoo’s facial expression remains poker-faced.

“That’s no life.” My mouth gets away from me.

“Really?” Sangwoo asks, but it is not a question. “How so?” He is more interested in my statement. 

I touch the tip of the sunglasses. Suddenly, it is starting to feel heavy on my face. Sangwoo’s quiet probing intimidates me. A fear slightly boils in the bottom of my stomach, but I brave it. “If you have to live your life in hiding and in fear of being publicly exposed, shouldn’t you rethink everything and do it differently?”

“Easier said than done,” Sangwoo mutters. He shoots me down lightly, giving me the impression that he is indifferent to my advice. Sangwoo faces forward as the car speeds down the highway. “Life as a gangster is drastically different from a gang member, gang associate, and indefinitely a gang leader. If I were to break down my walls, step out of the bubble, and be readily available, a hundred thousand of my people will be at risk of danger and death. It is similar to being the president of a country, although the president of this country answers to my Council on the occasion. This world of mine is a game that politicians, lawyers, and gang leaders play. I am one of the many pillars that hold up the revolving axis. Like I said before, I was born into it. I didn’t choose this life.”

Listening to the somber tenor in his voice, I know that Sangwoo probably questions the existential theory many times over. After three years of studying psychology, I find myself ill informed. If he didn’t choose this life, then what about those who do? My thoughts flash to Mayhem and the dark intensity that surrounds him. It takes a certain type of individual to choose the underground world. Mayhem’s brain will probably be more difficult to pick at.

“I can’t pretend to understand everything about you and your world,” I admit as introspection plagues me. “But I do believe that if you keep yourself so guarded and boxed up, you’ll die. Not literally, but in a very painful and lonely figurative death.”

Simultaneously, the Evoque rounds the bottom of a ramp that exits the freeway. It slowly crawls to the first red light. Sangwoo turns to face me and I see my reflection in his sunglasses. His lips move as though he wants to say something, but slowly resigns. “You sound like someone I used to know.” Sangwoo sounds like a broken record.

Goodness, he is too intense
.
He’s going to mention Dead Girl again!
My intuition scowls. She’s annoyed with him.

I am thankful for the sunglasses to hide behind. The anxiety courses through my blood. There is a subtle tightness around my throat.

“She was close to you?” I brave the question. My insides are coiling with the response.

“She was the only one I allowed to be close to me.” Sangwoo’s tone is tight. His expression remains guarded. Long, languid fingers adjust the air conditioning button on the car’s instrument panel.

“What did you do yesterday?” Dispelling the momentary silence between us, and opting for a more casual topic change, Sangwoo takes control of the conversation again. He doesn’t seem muddled or disturbed by the fact that I remind him of Dead Girl. Instead, Sangwoo focuses on getting to his destination.

Thoughts race through my mind about my confrontation with Spyder and the surprise meeting with Mayhem. Part of me wants to tell Sangwoo to garner some third perspective and advice, but the other part of me knows that it’s not wise to complicate an already complicated situation. Sangwoo doesn’t need to know that Spyder threatened me, and that my random meeting with Mayhem had only intensified the stress I have about this loan situation.

“I had a family dinner,” is the only appropriate piece of information I can volunteer. I am still trying to come down from our strained conversation.

“Family dinner,” Sangwoo repeats after me with great curiosity. “I thought you said you only live with your stepmother and your father was out of the picture.”

“I never . . . mentioned anything about my father.” Surprise drenches my outer skin. How does he know that my father is not even in the same country?

“You mentioned you only live with your stepmother, so I imagined it’s just the two of you.” Sangwoo stands his ground. The tenor in his voice is factual. He gives me a sideways glance as a reminder. 

Come on, May. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand your family composition. If you only mentioned Eunhye, it isn’t hard to deduce your father’s nonexistence.
I want to hide behind the passenger seat indefinitely.

“I pay attention,” Sangwoo says with light humor. The crinkle in his eyes lets me know Sangwoo enjoys my social clumsiness. “So family dinner, you said. Home cooked meal?”

I don’t know why I am disclosing more information. “Eunhye cooked salmon and a feast of vegetables. Lina and her parents came over.”

“Do you cook?” Sangwoo asks with harbored interest. He keeps his eyes facing forward, but the question feels intrusive and intimate.

“Yes. But I’m better at prepping the food than I am at cooking. I need more time out of the day to learn,” I confess. I can’t fathom why Sangwoo is interested in my culinary skills.

“What’s your favorite meal?” Sangwoo questions further.

“Anything my mom cooks,” I reply. My gaze sets on the moving colors outside my window.

“Eunhye or your biological mom?” Sangwoo stuns me with his candor.

I gape at him.

The concrete road runs out at the end of an unknown turn. The car climbs up a higher plateau. A green, ethereal world surrounds us. The air inside the Evoque cools to match the thick forest of trees outside of its tinted windows.

“Are you always so straightforward?” I don’t answer Sangwoo’s question. Sangwoo has touched a very sensitive nerve of mine and I refuse to let him have the power to shift me.

“Always,” Sangwoo answers shortly. So shortly that I get the impression he’s testing the waters with me. He wants to know my limits and boundaries.

As though he can read my thoughts, Sangwoo gives me a glance again. The sunlight dances on the lens of his sunglasses. This time, Sangwoo’s voice fastens into a lecture. “The first rule of working for me is you have to have a thick armor around your emotions and bars around your thoughts. You’ll learn over time, but the rudimentary rule is that you keep calm and undisturbed when people probe and prod at you for answers.”

Sangwoo’s referral to an imaginary audience is a glimpse into what he has to deal with on a daily basis. I find myself guilty of the same crime. Ever since I met him, I have been asking many intrusive questions but Sangwoo never faltered. He never reveals too much of himself.

“So basically become a human robot,” I state.

“Naturally,” Sangwoo replies. “We are here.”

Still reeling from our conversation, I force myself to look out of the window. We are in some sort of meadow with hues of blue and green. It is breathtakingly beautiful against the mountain terrain. Sangwoo parks the car at the end of a pathway eroded over time by modes of transportation.

Sangwoo places the key fob inside his vest. Then, Sangwoo turns to me with a set expression on his face.