Parking the vehicle a few blocks down from where he was supposed to be, he thumbed the motorcycle’s engine off. Quickly fixing the straps of the guitar case on his back before he readjusted his cap and mask to fit properly over his features. Ensuring he was completely covered up before he slipped off the vehicle and began his fastened pace to the agreed meeting spot at the correct time underneath the concealment of that moonless night. The darkness that covered his tracks as he jogged from the street’s sidewalks, to the hiking trails behind, until that familiar building came into view.
He slipped down the muddy pathway off the hiking trail, coming to the wood slabs that protected that house’s backyard from any spying eyes or troublemakers looking to cause a bit of havoc. Though not that it truly mattered anymore whether or not there were walls that offered a theater of security to only keep the undetermined away. Jisung hopped up, gripping onto the top of the wooden fence as he planted the balls of his sneakers onto the surface, despite the albatross of the rifle on his back weighing him down, he easily hoisted himself up and over the top of the barrier. Gently landing down into the small backyard of that hauntingly empty house. Aside from the trimmed grass and the brick inlay of the empty patio the sliding glass door led into, that backyard was barren of use.
As they agreed that day in the beef bowl shop, that man was waiting for him around the corner of the house. Where the thin strips of fence narrowed between the alleyway created by the unoccupied house and the neighbor’s with light pouring through their windows; The bounty hunter stayed flattened against the wooden planks of the fence to not be spotted, sitting crouched and scrunched with his knees tightly to his chest as his hands idly fiddled with the strings of the black hoodie he wore. While his outfit was composed entirely of black to stay blended into the background; Black cargo pants, black boots, black hoodie, black face mask, he still had that sky blue Doreamon keychain clipped to his side belt loop with the keys attached to the loop. Again… This guy and his Doreamon keychain… Why did he keep bringing it everywhere with him…?
They exchanged a brief look. Nothing more than a passing glance as Minho weaseled himself upright, standing up to wander to the house’s wall where a side door was hidden there against the wedged space. Jisung propped his shoulder up against the wall as Minho dug for something in his pocket. Producing from it a hand towel with, again, a Doraemon patterning to the fabric, and from that bundle of a hand towel what Jisung recognized to be a torsion wrench and a few different types of rakes. Lock picking. The bounty hunter picked a rake and the torsion wrench, pocketed the bundle again, before he crouched in front of the side door’s lock and got to work on fiddling the door open.
After a moment of his skilful motions something in the lock clicked, the door’s handle responding when Minho’s hand checked to twist it open.
“Creepy you know how to do that,” Jisung commented lightly, watching the other stand up straight once more to pocket the tools where they belonged.
The bounty hunter hardly spared him a glance, instead bringing out his phone to tap the flashlight on. The beam illuminating the darkness that greeted them as he pushed the side door open and stepped over the threshold, “It’s just one of those things you have to learn in this line of work.”
I suppose so, Jisung thought to himself as he kept an eye on Minho’s back retreating further into the shadows.
Whipping out his own burner phone to press the flashlight on and following after Minho into the vacant house, Jisung was quick to close the door after. Ensuring the handles were locked in the case anyone had the wise idea to tail them, he then aimed the beam of the flashlight into the room around them. Where the beam of light from Minho’s own phone acted like the warry rays of a lighthouse casted out over rocky shores or like searchlights that combed over streetlights to find a criminal on the run. Jisung checked their surroundings, the faint scent of concrete and brakes that lingered in the heavy air, this room was obviously an unused garage attached to the large house. There wasn’t anything else to it. Big. Hollow. Nothing. He did one last sweep before joining the bounty hunter again as he finished picking the lock of an inner door and led them further inside.
Opening up to a laundry room. Freshly polished tile floors stained with muddy shoe prints leading out to the garage. Both the washing machine and the drier beside collecting dust on their tops. The baby blue bottle of laundry detergent knocked over onto it’s side, the cap undone, as the liquid inside had long spilled out and glazed over with a hardened film over it’s puddles dripped down the pristine side of the washing machine. Staying close to Minho while Jisung double-checked for any other signs, they continued on. From the laundry room, into the hallway, the opened door of the adjacent bathroom, continuing on the carpet in their dirt coated shoes leaving their trails behind as they entered the living room and connected kitchenette.
A fairly standard scene their flashlights combed over. A couch, a TV, a coffeetable, some shelves for storage with picture frames and plants ontop, a few photographs hung around the walls of the living room, plus the kitchen that Minho took more interest in; The bounty hunter immediately roaming over to the marble top island, the plain beige cabinets, glancing around the space, opening and closing the refrigerator door. Jisung didn’t pay what he was doing much mind aside from acknowledging he was there. Instead turning his own flashlight to comb over the couch. The last location Changbin had been in for a prolonged before he was kidnapped. The location that, Jisung had been planning to kill him on.
If he had succeeded that night. If he hadn’t hesitated to consider his opinions as he usually did. If he didn’t hesitate to allow his trigger happy finger to tug back on the rifle’s release, if he didn’t waste a second to think. How different would this scene be? Where his flashlight lit up the deserted ivory cushions, would their fabric be stained and splattered with copper instead? With a crimson color like rose petals that would’ve dried into a scene of a horrific crime, would it have made headlines? Would his laptop and USB have been recovered by Minho? Would they also have been stained with the blood of a martyr? All those documents and files he stole from underneath their noses, would they have been written in one more person’s blood?
That cash would’ve lasted me for years.
Jisung squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away from the couch to rid himself of an image that haunted him no matter the times he’s seen it.
Fuck me.
With a soft sigh, he stepped away. He looped his hand around the strap of the guitar case to take the weight off of his back. Setting it against the closest wall to him, where he and Minho could both keep an eye on that expensive rifle, but it wasn’t as if he could use a long-range weapon like that in such close quarters anyway. Tracking people in such close quarters with a precision rifle as large as that would’ve been too impractical, too dangerous, too messy, and too worrisome if the scope was misaligned. Too much. He left his rifle there on the wall, patting the top of the guitar case a few times to tell it to stay put, before he addressed the bounty hunter, “What am I supposed to look for?”
“Dunno. Usually I look for signs of them trying to escape,” Minho’s head popped up from where he was crouched behind the kitchenette’s marble as he looked to offer Jisung a lopsided shrug. He stood up, the flashlight from his phone following after him turning over his shoulder as the beam swept across the tile, the shadows daring to invade on his body as he turned to the sink instead, “Doors left open, windows being locked, if the television is hot then it was running before, if the air conditioner is on or dishes aren’t put away usually they left in a hurry, or if it’s clean like this they knew they had time to cover their traces. Then I can start tracking them based on urgency and direction of escape.”
Unlikely they would find anything useful in this house then. Or, the likelihood of Minho finding anything that could be useful for him to start tracking down Seo Changbin and his kidnappers was extremely slim from what he was saying. Jisung trailed his eyes over the blank screen of the television, his silhouette in the reflection almost ghostly in the warped angle the refracting screen casted him as , “But we both saw him leave in a hurry that night. He ran. He tried to escape, and ran right into whoever it was that kidnapped him.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“There’s no dishes in the kitchen sink or on the drying rack, and the drying pad beneath it doesn’t have any soap stains or moisture spots. There’s not much food in the fridge, just enough for a day or two. And…” Minho turned the sink on, taking his glove off briefly to dunk his hand underneath the flowing water. Waiting for a second more before shutting the faucet tap off. He stepped back, swiping the water from his hand off onto his pants, “And no hot water. Older houses in neighborhoods like these are usually heated with city gas that has to be turned on. You’re telling me he would have enough time or remember to turn the gas off while he was running? Obviously not, he didn’t bother with it to start.”
Changbin didn’t use the dishes. He didn’t purchase a lot of groceries. He didn’t trouble himself with dealing with the gas water heater.
So…
Jisung quickly clicked the pieces into place, and guessed with a hum, “He didn’t think he would be staying for long?”
“Clever boy, that’s a smart assumption,” The bounty hunter hooked his leather gloved finger around the mask to tug the concealment from his face. Snagging it down around his chin as he flashed Jisung a confident little smirk and the purr of the compliment, “You’re a natural at this, aren’t you?”
To control the strange twinge of an unusual feeling that struck at the inside of his chest, Jisung offered a bland nod of a response and turned his back fully to Minho. Returning himself to coursing his flashlight around the living room for anything else he could find to help. Just business. Keep it business. Stay strictly business, his off mannerisms were nothing more than casualties to break the tension. Forcing his concentration off of the gaze sinking through his body to the other side, and into his own thoughts to not slip underneath the siren’s spell of those devoid eyes, Now that I think about it, Changbin did leave in a rush as if he knew someone was coming for him. But how would he have known to leave when he did? Was it a message on his computer? A trap?
Purposefully shutting the faucet flow of his own potential emotions firmly off before they overflowed inside of his chest. Not the time. Not the time. Not the time. He was a coworker. A colleague. Nothing he said meant anything serious. It’s dangerous to blindly believe in someone’s words in their world. Truthfully, it’s dangerous to even turn his back to the borderline stranger still hovering to open and close cabinets in the kitchenette for any other hints of where their target could’ve gone. Still, as long as he was careful. As long as he kept an eye on the outline from the corner of his eye as he continued roaming around the gloom of the eclipsed house. Where the hazy glow from the end of his phone led him farther down the rabbit hole.
Who’s house is this anyway? It doesn’t belong to Changbin.
Leading him from the living room and the kitchenette Minho was stomping around in cheerfully by himself, around the sharp edge of a corner, to a steep carpeted stairwell he glanced back to his partner upon spotting before heading up the steps. Every footstep he took on the ledges creaking underneath his weight. This house really must have been a few decades old. Though kept in well maintained condition; The carpeting he left mud on seemingly freshly inlaid onto the floors, the paint covering up the walls looked newly painted on without any flakes or discolorations to show a flicker of age, the L-shaped hallway of the second story that stretched in front of him had the scent of cleaning agents. Lemon-scented. Four doorways. All closed shut. He removed the blue pen from his pocket and rolled his sleeve back, hurriedly taking notes down on his inner forearm.
He checked the doorways next. Pressing the doors open to stick his head inside before closing the entrance firmly again. It wouldn’t be much, but if someone lunged at him from inside, that second or two it would take for them to open the door might spare him enough time to react. Two bedrooms, only a bed and a desk inside with no other notable decorations undisturbed as dust settled atop the wood surfaces. The third doorway was a full bathroom. Sink, toilet, showerhead, bathtub, though fully loaded with toiletries and towels, none of them seemed to be used. The shampoo and conditioner still filled to the top. The tooth brush in the holder dried out. The one towel unfolded from the stack was hung up neatly on the towel rack. Again, not a drop of water to be seen, but if Changbin used it before he left the water must’ve dried by now.
He finally went to the last door, the last bedroom at the end of the hallway and what must’ve been the master bedroom. Taking one glance around the wider space before he stepped inside to inspect the room further. No desks in this room, only one large bed and clean nightstands, not to mention the walk-in closet in the corner of the room or the doorway leading to the attached bathroom. Still, none of that was particularly interesting to him. Not as interesting as the bedsheets on the mattress themselves. A rich color he only realized to be a musty fern green when he hovered his flashlight over, the sheets were made the same as the other rooms. The only difference was the sheets on the side closest to him were rumpled. As if someone had laid down and tried to fix the bed afterward.
Was this where Changbin slept?
Jisung furrowed his eyebrows together, moving the comforter back as took his glove off and pressed the back of his hand into the mattress.
It’s warm…?
The rumpled sheets were warmed.
Someone had been laying there.
Jisung slipped his glove back on, cautiously stepping away from the bedside as he spun his gaze around the room. He set his phone down, flashlight up on the mattress.
Where?
Checking to see where they could have gone off to.
You must be here, where?
Jisung quickly glanced to the door leading to the attached bathroom. He marched up to it,
And as he was about to reach for the handle, the door swung open and a man tried to charge for him.
For some reason, his first instinct was to kick the door back at him…?
The heavy door flung at the attacker, slamming into him with a thud and a pained shout from him that resonated in the otherwise stillness of the house. It was enough to disorient and destabilize the attacker as whatever was in his hand before clattered to the ground, long enough for Jisung to guard his hands to prepare himself for a fight before the man came at him again.
Don’t draw blood.
The man swung at him. His punch was sloppy, unclean, and missed Jisung by a longshot when he sidestepped the hook.
You can’t draw blood.
Jisung stepped into his now opened side, and slugged the attacker in the jaw.
End this quietly.
He heard footsteps running up the stairwell toward them,
But he had enough of an opportunity to grapple the stumbling man to the floor (Did he not know how to take a punch? Even Minho handled a fist smashed in his face better), sweeping both of their legs out from underneath them as he hit the carpeted floor along with the man, scrambling to straddle his back and keep him held face down while he tucked the man’s neck into the crux of his arm and choked him.
The attacker kicked for a bit, clawing at his arm to attempt to free himself from the strangling hold.
But Jisung held fast onto him, his own heart thundering with the excitement of adrenaline. Lowering himself more onto the attacker for a stronger grab.
Not letting up even when a phone’s flashlight announced the additional shadow in the doorway, the safety of a pistol flipping on as the bounty hunter groaned gently, “oh man….. Is that necessary?”
When the attacker finally stopped struggling, slumping beneath him as he lost conciousness, then Jisung finally let go of the guy. Sitting up comfortably on the man’s lower back to keep him down just in case, he began to pat down the attacker’ body. Checking for any sort of wallet or phone or any other kind of weapon on him as he offered a nod to ease Minho, “Yeah, he’s fine. I didn’t really hurt him. He’ll be awake when he gets oxygen to his brain again. He’ll be sore. But he’ll be alive.”
“Still, that’s kinda, brutal isn’t it? Strangling a guy out?” Minho lifted his hoodie up, refitting his pistol into it’s proper holster as he stepped over the attacker’s limp arms and legs to check the now nearly broken door of the bathroom. Where the hinge had come undone ever so slightly from hitting the body and a dent imprinted on the door from the force of Jisung’s kick was enough to leave evidence of them behind. The bounty hunter stooped down to the item the man dropped, a long metal pole that had clattered down before he shined the phone’s light onto it and Jisung realized the weapon was a crowbar. While he spoke, Minho carried the crowbar away with him, “You could’ve just… You know… Hit him over the head with the crowbar or… I could’ve shot him?”
“And leave a mess? Cause a scene? What part of stealthy means drawing attention and leaving behind more than a petty crime to be cleaned up. I’d rather not deal with too many repercussions right now,” Jisung murmured the argument in return. Otherwise, he would’ve. Or he would’ve used his stun gun on him if he didn’t think he would need to incapacitate the attacker for longer than the seconds he tased them. Still, he tried to shake off the serious lack of thought and carefulness from Minho’s comment as he continued touching the poor man’s pockets. Finally finding a lump on the inside of his windbreaker. Upon reaching inside, his search rewarded when he discovered the man’s wallet to dig through.
No business cards or anything on his person. But…
Jisung offered the man’s driver’s license up to Minho as he passed by, “There. You’re good at finding information about people, right? Take a picture.”
The bounty hunter just gave a quick scoff of… Surprise? Impress? Something that was a pleasant mix of both. Following his order as he hooked the crowbar awkwardly on his wrist and snapped a picture of the driver’s license before handing the ID back.
Jisung fit the license back into the wallet and slipped the wallet back into the man’s windbreaker. The man groaning softly as he began to stir awake once more, he made sure to pat his shoulder a few times as he stood up from his back, “Thanks for your help, bud. Sorry about strangling you.”
Seeming to be satisfied with what they found, they left through the same route. Down the stairwell, from the living room that Jisung made sure to grab his rifle from, down the hallway, through the laundry room that Minho made sure to take a few seconds to relock, out the garage and the side door into the welcoming crisp of the night air. The chill that pulsed from the autumn dark radiating through the layers of his outfit, at once calming him down as the chill reseeded the discomfort of his pulsing his veins and the heat of adrenaline that coursed through him. The coming blusters that warned of frost only months away, sinking into his hands as he ripped his gloves off and pocketed them, caressing his cheeks as he took his mask off, brushing through the sweaty strands as he removed his cap from his head, a much needed relief as they escaped from that house down the eerily quiet streets.
Beside him, Minho seemed increasingly interested in the crowbar he stole from the attacker. Continuously inspecting the metal rod and the jagged hooked ends in his hand as he kept pace with Jisung. An odd look to his eyes that he would almost claim unsettled him. Comforted him in some unusual way than normal too. He couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps a sense of familiarity with the out of the ordinary. Most people didn’t stare at crowbars and weapons as if they were the hottest new ice cream bar on the block. Though Jisung didn’t comment on that weird glint in his removed gaze, opting to not dig too deeply into the strange behavior of the strange bounty hunter Minho walking with him back to where he parked his motorcycle, “That wasn’t a bounty hunter. Maybe another hitman?”
“No. He didn’t fight like a hitman. He didn’t know how to fight. But I doubt a common criminal would be in breaking and entering into that house of all places, so relaxed to be sleeping on the bed,” Jisung recalled the split second of interaction he had with the attacker. No, the man didn’t seem as if he was a hitman. Nor a bounty hunter. The encounters Jisung had with hitmen all ended up in some sort of sprain, ripped muscles, bucketfuls of blood, bruises that dotted his body like mold rotting away his muscles beneath his broken skin, and a chunk of his humanity bitten out from the jaws of the predators that tried to kill him first. They could fight. It didn’t end within one or two punches.
No…
Jisung made that overconfident mistake early when he first started taking orders, from the few street fights he had been in; Believing that fighting another hitman would be the same. He learned his lesson. He learned his lesson from Seungmin who decided to take a shot at fighting him in those earlier days too. Never again. There are certain people in this world you don’t touch.
“I’ll see what I can find with that ID you found,” Minho’s voice snapped Jisung out of his thoughts again. His unusually smooth yet playful tone that always seemed to hide a soft smirk behind his teeth. That, and the clattering of the crowbar he once held off the edge of the road. The sheer drop off on the other side. He chucked the crowbar over the railings casually, not sparing it another glance as the heavy object certainly crashed onto something it wasn’t supposed to below. Jisung was almost tempted to stop and look, but the bounty hunter keep strolling down the road, “Uh, Sweetheart, by the way… How should I…? You know… Contact you…?”
“What? Couldn’t find my number when you were stalking me?”
“I never stalked you, I did a stake out. Very different.”
When they finally reached Jisung’s bike, he propped himself up on the seat. Letting the kickstand balance his weight from toppling over as he removed his phone from his backpocket and handed it off to Minho, “Here.”
The bounty hunter took the phone, but frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s a different phone than the one you were using on Friday.”
“It’s my burner, I use it for orders and work,” The hitman explained, kicking his heels out as he gripped the padding of the bike’s seat in front of him. Staying as balanced as possible despite the threat of teetering over and being trapped beneath wobbling him almost off balance, “Make sure you keep the texts brief and vague. Meet up times and locations only. If I can’t dispose of that phone fast enough and they somehow find it, I’d rather not have evidence to be used against me in court.”
“I understand, I sent myself a text. I’ll keep you updated on what I find with the ID,” The bounty hunter uttered back. He passed the phone to Jisung again, “By the way, you were scary but super hot. I might ask you to strangle me too sometime. But, until then, see you soon, Sweet cheeks.”
And again, that man hurried off in another direction without another word.
And Jisung watches his back from where he sits on his motorcycle. Retreating to who knows where the stranger goes.
Sweet cheeks?
Jisung rolled his sleeves back again, snapping a picture of the notes on his inner forearm with his burner phone as he allowed a soft smile to tug his lips.
What’s with those nicknames…?
Eh? Wait.
Jisung snapped his eyes back to the last spot he saw Minho. The streetlights casting down on the empty sidewalk as no one else was around.
Strangle him?
Is he… okay? Mentally??
▄︻デ â•â•â”一á°.áŸËŽËŠË—
Comment