"Let me off here," Hongjoong told the taxi driver. He paid his fare and hopped off, features hidden in the shadow of his trilby. It was still early for most rumpots to go mafficking in the streets. Perhaps Park merely met a contact there? 

But if they preferred a pour house over a legal establishment, they couldn't be too clean. 

Subtle, Hongjoong crossed the road. If he stuck to himself, no one should question his presence. Even detectives needed some giggle juice sometimes. But if Park noticed him, Hongjoong would need a damn good excuse for why he was following him.

Paying attention not to let things come that far, Hongjoong made his way inside. His eyes scanned the run-down joint for the widow, but couldn't spot him among seedy tables and dim lights. As he slinked up to the bar, Hongjoong scrunched his nose at the scent of vomit and cheap booze. He ordered a drink and disappeared into a shadowy booth, only pretending to sip as the tang alone was sharp enough to make him tear up.

Slow jazz crackled in the speakers of the old jukebox. The sound of the cars rushing past on rainy streets was dulled by walls covered in crumbling posters. Since few patrons came with company, the clicks of glasses and the rustle of broadsheets were loudest. Mute, the barkeep polished his glasses and poured drinks. He didn't seem to be a source of information, so where had Park gone?

There was a back area behind a black curtain which Hongjoong wasn't sure he should try to access without being invited to. The detective dragged his eyes over the other customers. A pack of jujus was left on a table in passing. The sneaky exchange of a briefcase under two chairs. The scent of tobacco was as thick as the crime originating from a corner of men discussing recent politics. 

Though London was full of places like these, they were impossible to contain. Even if the police stormed every single speakeasy they knew of now, new ones would form right behind their backs. The lower and middle classes organised their criminal deeds in the shadows while the upper class wallowed in expensive gowns and swanky balls.

The difference in social standing was glaring and Wooyoung Jung of the local police force once told Hongjoong that respecting the law and dealing behind doors was the best they could ask of these bindle punks. 

Hongjoong called his mind to slow its displeasure with his surroundings. He was alone and surrounded by morally susceptible strangers. If he tried to police every inch of this place, he would quickly get stabbed and left to bleed out. His focus needed to be on Seonghwa Park. Never be distracted from your target. 

Hongjoong pretended for another sip. The sickening sweetness of tobacco had him scrunching his nose. It tickled in his airways.

The click of heels had Hongjoong's ears perk. They originated from the curtain he eyed earlier and from the shadow of his hat; he listened for their path. 

The curtain rustled. A melodious chuckle replied to something another had said. Then, the same smooth voice Hongjoong heard in the graveyard: "I'll see you next time."

This time, Park didn't sound whiny with his theatrics. His drawl was low and velvety, addictive like a long sip of rich wine. It caressed Hongjoong's nape with a misleading softness, like the swishing tail of a fox, before it dug its teeth into its prey. 

Hongjoong hoped to blend in with the peeling leather bench behind him. But something about him must have stood out, be it his posture or his orderly clothing among rugged, mothy suits. The click of heels halted on the worn wood beside him and Hongjoong held his breath. He prayed Park was looking at something else. The fur lining of his coat unveiled black sheer stockings ending in black heels and his gams were long and slender, like those of a woman.

Hongjoong's lungs protested. He tried to exhale his gasp away in a sip, twisting into his booth and away from Park. But a rich chuckle gave away that he was being watched.

"What a coincidence, Mister Kim," that untrustworthy voice purred. "Drinking for courage before our little rendezvous?"

Caught, Hongjoong lifted his eyes to Park. Now that he tried to hide, it became clear he had been tailing the widow. The twinkle in Park's eyes was cold and mocking. Playing a game with the detective.

Gritting his jaws through the embarrassment, Hongjoong nodded his head to the bench opposite him.

"Sit with me. We might as well meet here."

No use in hiding now. Park knew.

Gauging each other's intentions by veiling their thoughts, the two sat together once Seonghwa sunk onto his bench. At the beckon of his fingers, the barkeep brought him a drink to the table. Curiously, Hongjoong eyed the yellow cocktail. The rim of the glass was decorated with the petal of a yellow rose, and Park smiled charmingly at the barkeep when he placed it in front of him. It looked so graceful compared to Hongjoong's lame cup of gin.

"Death in the Afternoon for the lady," the barkeep introduced and Park didn't correct him. 

"Thanks, handsome," he purred before his gloved fingers wrapped around the stalk of his glass.

Park made eye contact when he sipped his drink. Hongjoong guessed champagne, but he could also smell absinthe. A classy drink, refined for a dame, but the irony of its name wasn't lost on Hongjoong. 

Park was full of deceit. 

"Mister Park. Thank you for making time for our meeting, whether it be here or at your residence." In his gaff, Hongjoong might have found better clues, but they were in public, which meant safety. From here, it wasn't a far run to the street and the clubhouse. 

"Of course. Please, call me Seonghwa. We are acquainted now, after all."

"Hongjoong," the detective grunted. His fingers coiled around his cup, holding onto the solid grounding of the glass. Unperturbed by the tension, the jazz rambled away. 

"Well, Hongjoong, now that we are here, you may tell me why you wanted to see me. Surely, Mister Jeong wouldn't implore business queries on a mourning widow." With a composed smile at his peace wrongfully earned, Park tucked his open curls behind his ear. He wore dangling silver earrings today and the black felt of his coat hugged his hips and shoulders.

"I had a few questions for you. Concerning your curse and your life."

When Seonghwa's eyes showed no reaction, Hongjoong continued. "This isn't for work. I am a hobby author and would like to get your story published. Surely, you know how rare your situation is."

"An author," Seonghwa purred. His chuckle drowned behind his cup. "Then you will need even the smallest detail, won't you?"

Hongjoong smiled, bright and waxy. He didn't care if Seonghwa could tell he lied. The widow must have a hunch about Hongjoong's identity already and he knew how suspicious his story sounded.

"If you swindle, I could never tell, of course. For the sake of the story, personal information may be veiled," Hongjoong declared. In his training, he spent a lot of time with Yeosang Kang, the newsshark behind all reports concerning crime and felonies in their district. He often came along to scenes of murder to take pictures and jot down his notes. If Hongjoong learned one thing from the quirky young man, it was to sell every curiosity as an idea for a book and to make the people he questioned feel important.

But Seonghwa didn't want attention. Not on his story of murder. So he contemplated the offer with a hand on his chin.

"My answers are pricey, Hongjoong. What would you offer me for reliving my trauma?"

Hongjoong gulped. The red lining Seonghwa's lips looked like blood. He reminded Hongjoong of the vampires in storybooks. Their lure tempting until the kiss of death. 

"What do you demand?" If he wanted answers, he needed to play Seonghwa's game. But the further he fell into his web of lies, the harder it would become to flee it. 

He coquetted with death. A blinding smile, a hidden blade. If Hongjoong wasn't careful, he was just another stiff Seonghwa needed to get rid of to keep his secret. 

The shine of Seonghwa's eyes followed that train of thought. And his smirk broadened.

"Hop. Take a dosage right here and right now. Once I know you speak the truth and only the truth, you may access my darkest secrets." A coy finger traced the rim of Hongjoong's cup, catching his attention. His heart skipped a beat when his body was treacherously weak to the seduction.

But his mind was sharp.

Seonghwa trickled a white powder into the alcohol, spiking it for his purpose.

Hop. Marijuana; heroin perhaps. Drugs dealt in the shady underworld of London. Another tally on Seonghwa's crime record. 

If Hongjoong declined here, he would lose his last chance. An obsessed author foolishly charmed by the widow had no reason for hesitation, only a hired keyhole peeper would. 

Hongjoong bit his lip. Seonghwa's mysterious smirk awaited him in the depths. 

Choose now:

Accept the drugs -> Go to chapter 21

Decline -> Go to chapter 19