JD said, “Thanks,” to the waiter’s receding figure, and took a sip of his stout—hints of coffee and chocolate above the tang of hops.
Khoder drained his glass immediately and started crunching loudly on his ice while Soo-hyun reached into their bag and removed a digital SLR with a compact ultrazoom lens. The camera’s black casing was scuffed and scratched, and a crust of brownish gunk had built up over the shutter-release button.
“Haven’t seen a stand-alone camera in years,” JD said, but Soo-hyun wasn’t listening.
JD and Khoder dug into the food while Soo-hyun made some adjustments on the rear of the camera, raised the device to their eye, and started snapping. When they were done they keyed the camera’s screen and inspected the images displayed there.
“Got a decent shot of the van’s number plate,” they said. “Can you get the driver’s address?”
“Of fucking course,” Khoder said dismissively, bits of shredded chicken launching from his mouth.
Soo-hyun stared dead-eyed at Khoder until he stopped chewing and sat forward in his chair.
He wiped his mouth then pointed at Soo-hyun’s camera: “Look at that piece of shit van. If it was a corporate cleaning service the van would be newer; that shit’s private. Probably some poor bastard contracted to do the work for less than shit pay. It’ll be his van, mortgaged out the ass; he’ll be on the registration.”
Soo-hyun nodded slightly, seemingly satisfied. “Okay, good.” They poured all three whiskeys into one glass and put it on the floor beneath the sheer black curtains, pulled back from the window and bundled up beside the chair. They dropped the curtain into the drink, and looked up at JD. “We need to do it tomorrow night.”
JD choked on a piece of calamari. “What?”
“It has to be tomorrow.” Soo-hyun knocked on the window with a knuckle and pointed to Songdo Stadium. “You know what tomorrow night is, right?” JD stared. “Biggest sporting event in the world?”
“The Olympics?” JD asked, dubious.
“The fucking World Cup Grand Final.”
“That’s happening here?”
“Fuck, bro, even I knew that,” Khoder said, “and I hardly leave the café.”
JD shrugged.
“You uncultured shit,” Soo-hyun said, not unkindly.
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” JD said; “we need more time.”
“Whatever security they normally have at the rampartment complex, tomorrow night it’ll be halved. Fuck, the city’s had to borrow police from Seoul just to cover the game.”
“We need more time,” JD repeated.
“What have you said about the job? Actually spoken out loud? You had to talk to Captain Fuck-Bro here—was that all in person?”
“I said something in-game,” JD admitted.
“And on the street before,” Soo-hyun added. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to piece it together? Everywhere there’s a microphone, they’re listening; everywhere there’s surveillance, they’re watching. We spend a few days casing the joint, and when we finally go for it, we’ll walk right into a pair of handcuffs.”
“Shit,” JD said; they weren’t wrong.
“Can you get the cleaner’s address by morning?” they asked Khoder.
“Give me my phone and I’ll get it fucking now.”
“So, you’re good with the timeframe?” Soo-hyun asked him.
Khoder picked his nose and wiped it on the tablecloth. “Fuck, bro. Sure.”
Soo-hyun turned to JD. “I already gave you building layouts and all the rest—what more do you need?”
“Time,” JD said, but even he heard his lack of conviction.
“We go tomorrow night, time it so we leave the compound right when the game ends, get lost in the crowds.”
JD stared out the window, looking first at the stadium, then at Lee’s enclave. He grabbed his drink and downed the whole thing, stout so thick he wanted to chew.
“Fine,” he said.
Khoder grinned lopsided and Soo-hyun just nodded.
“You’ll see; it’ll all work out.”
“Tomorrow,” JD said, matter-of-factly.
“Tomorrow. You got your plastic containers?”
“Always,” JD said.
“You should box the rest of this food up, no point letting it go to waste.”
“My shout, after all,” JD said, not even wanting to know how much this “planning dinner” was going to set him back. He took the containers from his bag and poured the rest of the chicken and calamari into two separate boxes, then dumped the three small bowls of complimentary kimchi into another.
Soo-hyun took a battered silver Zippo lighter from the ankle of their boot, flicked it open with a metallic chank, and slammed it closed.
“Is that Dad’s lighter?” JD asked.
“Mom said I could have it.”
“It wasn’t hers to give.”
Soo-hyun flicked it open again and lit it with a quick, smooth movement. They put the flame to the curtain—now soaked with whiskey, capillary action carrying the flammable liquid through the entire length of fabric. With a soft whoosh the fire began to climb the curtain.
They flicked the lighter closed and held it out to JD. “Yours if you want it.”
JD just shook his head, mouth hanging open as he watched the flames race up the curtain and lick at the ceiling. “No, thanks,” he said finally. “You can keep the evidence.”
Soo-hyun winked, dropped the lighter back into their boot, and jumped up from their seat. “Fire!” they yelled. “There’s a fire!”
JD swore loudly, shoved the plastic containers into his bag, and tossed it over his shoulder. The three of them backed away from the table, faces lit warm by the pillar of fire. All around the restaurant the other diners dropped their cutlery and stood staring as smoke billowed across the ceiling, black to fit the restaurant’s aesthetic.
A creak reverberated through the floor as the restaurant ground to a halt, followed by a sputtering noise as the building’s sprinkler system came to life. JD held his jacket over his head, but Khoder simply cackled, not even trying to shield himself.
Soo-hyun nodded toward the stairwell, clogged with staff and customers trying to escape, business forgotten beneath the torrential downpour, fearful yells and cries puncturing the steady hiss of artificial rain. The three conspirators rushed toward it, but the host stood waiting for them, holding her shorted-out tablet over her head, makeup streaking down her face with the wet.
“I saw what you did,” she yelled
