April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (34 page)

Oh no.
I hope he didn’t recognize me at his cousin’s funeral.

I steady my pace as I walk awkwardly to them. From my peripheral view, I can see Joolie, Tailor, and some of the other co-workers working on the massive bar. Sans alcohol and other additions to the bar, the entire l-shaped island is now bleak and uninhabited. It appears as though Joolie and Tailor are in charge of breaking down the furnishing. 

“May,” Naili’s drawl of my name brings me back to reality. Her eyes are twinkling with earnest as though she has a secret she can’t wait to share with me.

“Hello,” I greet her courteously. Behind her, Tailor makes eye contact with me. He waves while Joolie rolls her eyes in exasperation at Naili’s back. I do my best to suppress the smile that threatens my lips.

“I’m going to need you to compile some more data today.” Naili inclines her head forward, occupying my vision. This time around, unlike the fervent stares she usually shoots at me, her eyes are soft. I wonder if Naili knows about my recent kidnapping. There’s no trace of information behind her black eyes.

“Sure.” I am highly suspicious of this data-compiling quest she has going on, but there’s nothing underground in the paperwork.

“Son will help you with the organizational process today. We want every document compiled into a binder and labeled,” Naili continues to instruct me. “Also, the new owner will be here later in the week to hand out severance checks.”

The thought hits me with interest. I will finally get to see who the new owner of The Trax is. I attempt to hide my curiosity.

“Naili, phone call.” One of her people, an older man wearing a complete dark blue three-piece suit, steps out of the hallway. He holds out a black cell phone for her to take.

“Excuse me.” Naili quickly excuses herself. She hurries to the man, takes the phone, and disappears out of sight.

Son and I are now alone. “Hey.” I offer him a smile to reduce the awkwardness. I want to make small talk to distract any thoughts or notions, but Son doesn’t give me much.

“Hey,” is Son’s remark. His eyes are still too bright and attentive. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”
Shit.
Does he know something? Inadvertently, I bite my lower lip to stop the anxiety from reaching my face.

“Let’s get to work.” Son takes on his assistant manager persona and produces a nonchalant gait down the hallway.

I feel my stomach drop as I follow him.

We make our way to the meeting room where the laptop is next to three piles of paperwork. I take my usual seat in front of the laptop while Son opts for the seat to my right. I glance quickly at the pile of paperwork to my right and it’s mostly computation data. More specifically, the data reflect the most recent revenue. I roll up my shirtsleeves and get to work. I am desperate to dive in and reduce the invisible tension in the room. Son follows my lead and does the same. While I calculate and compute, Son organizes the physical evidence comprised of receipts ranging from checks to photocopies of other payment types.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.” Son makes the first casual attempt at a conversation.

“I think it’s been about a week.” I am careful with my choice of words. I am grateful for the light and casual conversation.

“I missed work last week because of my cousin’s funeral.” Son doesn’t miss a beat. His fingers flip through the pile of paperwork indiscriminately, but the emotions that radiate from him are palpable.

I pretend to be having trouble with the excel spread on the computer, mumbling a few, “What is going on with this?” and “This doesn’t make sense,” and finally, “I’m sorry about your cousin Son.”

I can feel the power of his stare at my profile, but Son buys my nonchalant response. “It was a quiet gathering,” he tells me softly. Son’s fingers flick through the paperwork at a rapid pace. “We’re all heartbroken. It was supposed to be a day for family until he ruined it.”

I am in the middle of organizing the spreadsheets by numerical order when I hesitate. The better part of me asks Son, “Who ruined it?” My voice is coarse and airy, giving away too much. But I am a victim to Son’s despair at this point.

Son holds the stack of paperwork in his hands with a sign of defeat on his face. “The gang Boss. He was there. He infiltrated our most private moment. Of course, like the coward he is, he ran away when we spotted him.”

I wait with bated breath for Son to mention the Boss’s female counterpart that day, but he doesn’t. Instead, Son has a faraway look on his face. I can see the sorrow in his eyes and the anger in his heart.

“How did your cousin die, Son?” I ask with apprehension. The sentence is a string of whispers.

Son lowers his head. He releases the stack of paper in his hands. “I told you, the gang leader ordered his death.”

“Because of what?” I feel terrible for pushing the topic further, but the need to know overpowers my better judgment. I want to know even though Choi Sangwoo said he’d rather the family believed it was his fault than have them know the truth.

Son looks up at me. The dark, defensive bar crosses the light in his eyes. “Does it matter? My cousin is dead. The gang leader could have protected him, but he chose to turn his back on him. The gang leader regarded my cousin as another expendable ant in his pathetic army. Then, he had the audacity to show
up at my cousin’s funeral as if he was mourning. He was wearing dark sunglasses. I never got a chance to see his face.”

I can feel the anger and spite rising in Son’s throat. The mix of hate and trepidation spills onto the table and over our paperwork.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say. I don’t know how else to express my sentiments without angering Son. I know it is not my place to give any opinion, but I can’t help myself. Son doesn’t know the truth of the matter any more than I do. I want to tell Son that he’s not the only one in the dark.

“He brought someone with him too.” Son looks up at me, bombarding me with the information. The anger
doesn’t subside in his eyes. “He didn’t bring his entourage. He brought a woman instead. He was trying to soften the blow. That manipulative bastard.”

I focus on the set of documents in front of me, but my stomach’s having trouble keeping all this information down. I can feel the intense emotions boiling inside of me. The look in Son’s eyes tells me he doesn’t suspect it was me, but the tone of his voice is accusing.

“I would like all of these to be exported by the end of today.” Naili is at the meeting room’s threshold; she successfully sneaked up on us. Naili’s eyes are murky as she gazes at Son. Naili holds another stack of paperwork in her hands as she moves into the room. Naili throws the paperwork on the table; it lands in front of Son. The soft gust of wind reminds us of our workload.

The intense vibe of employer and employee ripples between the two of them. I can feel my scalp prickling from the anticipation of what is going on. If she had overheard the conversation, Naili doesn’t show it. Instead, Naili lowers her gaze from Son and shoots it over to me. “Today is your last day. Make it count please.” Naili’s lips press in a hard line as she reminds us.

Son and I remain silent. Without another word, Naili exits the meeting room.

“There is something underground about that woman too,” Son snarls. The look of disapproval taints his facial expression. He gives me an apologetic look, surprising me with his regret. “Sorry May. I didn’t mean to start talking about my cousin’s funeral. I just feel like out of everyone here at work, you understand me the most.”

Son’s confession colors me with astonishment. “Really?” This is the last thing I expect Son to communicate to me. He was one sentence away from accusing me with fraternizing with the enemy. Now, he says I’m the only person he can vent to here.

I give Son a weary smile. “I understand Son.”

He gives me a subtle acknowledgment in return. 

“Do you have a job lined up after?” I change the subject, hoping for an ounce of subtlety.

Son shrugs, grateful for the change of subject as well. “My family owns a store in Busan. They would like me to help, so I might be packing my bags and heading there by the end of the week.

This is news to me. Son has been morbidly private about his family, especially their affluence. In fact, I don’t know much about Son in the first place. But maybe a change of pace and environment is good for him. “What about you?
Anything lined up?” Son turns the table on me.

I pause shortly from the laptop. “I’m still working my first job,” I lie to Son, feeling my face changing different shades of embarrassment. “I’ll find something else hopefully.” Choi Sangwoo’s face parades across my thoughts.

“I’m sure you will May. It’s weird seeing this place crumble within a week,” Son mumbles in response. “There’s some powerful money behind all this.”

“You think?” I ask him with renewed interest.

Son shrugs again. This time his tone is guarded and he glances at the door to make sure Naili’s not standing there. “The new owner must have black money on his hands. An obscene of black money. He’s making Naili pack everything up in a week
and
giving him all the data about this place. We all know The Trax was doing well. We were gaining momentum. I talk to Naili at least once a day when she calls, but I never saw this coming.”

“You didn’t know The Trax was going to close?” I join Son in his whispering.

“I found out the same day as everyone else,” Son hisses back. “Now, who would have the kind of money that sends people packing in a week?”

The answer is on the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to admit to it. Son has a point. Who has the kind of money to buy this place and reinvent it all within a matter of weeks? Son and I both understand that there is a powerful gang involved. I don’t know why it never crossed my mind before. Mayhem and Crist are not the only two gangs in this country. Perhaps there are more, and I have only met the tips of the iceberg. Choi Sangwoo did mention he has a Boss above him. I shudder to think just how deep this underground world is.

“I just hope the severance check will be worth it.” Son grounds me back to reality from my reverie. “If I’m coming back to pick up a check, it better be worth it.”

“How much do you think it is?” I am curious about this new owner’s affordability.

“Rumor has it the checks will be five digit numbers.” Son’s eyes twinkle with dollar signs. He’s clearly holding out on the rest of us.

“What?” Hope blooms in my heart. Suddenly, my thoughts race off to the finish lines.
More college money!
My conscience claps.

No. Use it to pay Sangwoo back and be free of his damn initiation contract,
my intuition snarls. That’s right. Maybe with the severance check, I can put it towards paying Choi Sangwoo back. Maybe he will take it and I don’t have to sign any initiation contract. Why haven’t I thought about it before? Sangwoo’s more reasonable than Mayhem and will be lenient with the money deadline. The only reason why I agree to the initiation contract is to pay Sangwoo back thirty thousand dollars through labor. But what if I can bypass the contract and the labor by simply paying Sangwoo back thirty thousand on a payment plan? I am sure I can work something out with him.

Bingo!
My
intuition carries out an early victory dance.

“You find the severance check funny?” Son leans closer to grapple with the ridiculous expression on my face.

Little does Son know, I am having an epiphany. “You’re a genius Son. You know that?”

Son gives me a look that lets me know I am foolish, but joins me with a
smile. Absentmindedly, Son passes me the next piece of paper and we bury ourselves in work. The tried tension between us slowly recedes into the air.

“W
E SHOULD GO TO FOX.”

Six hours, thirty minutes, and ten seconds later Son, Tailor, Joolie, and I stand five feet away from the closed doors of The Trax in a quandary. We are deciding where to go to celebrate our last night as co-workers. Tailor and Joolie vote for Fox, a relatively unknown bar just a block from The Trax. Son and I are too exhausted from our data compiling to veto the decision.

“I’ll buy everyone the first round,” Tailor offers first. His eyes are excited and brimming with the thought of drinking tonight. For once, he will not be the bartender responsible for everyone’s intoxicated state-of-mind.

“You should buy every round,” Joolie jokes with Tailor. “Bet you’re excited to be on the other side of the bar instead of always serving people.” She slips her arms around Tailor and motions for us to follow them. Joolie has grown not only closer, but also fonder of Tailor this past week. Perhaps all that time working together has solidified Tailor and Joolie’s otherwise murky relationship.

Son gives me a small nudge to tell me he thinks the same. I return his look with a grin. Together, we set off after Joolie and Tailor who are holding onto one another tightly. We leave the comforts and the confines of The Trax. We do not want to linger around it any longer. Everyone else has already left for the night. Some of the other co-workers opted to leave for the comforts of their homes while others are too upset to celebrate. Our immediate group is left to tend to ourselves. Tailor and Joolie are not particularly upset at the way it’s working out. Son and I, on the other hand, have too many heavy thoughts on our minds to work at it.