Scapegoat

1.2 million won was a small price to pay for revenge, Kibok reassured himself, and the Russian agreed.

"You pay this guy what again? 30 million won? What is another million or so to get back money he stole from you and humiliate him, put him in hospital?" Ioseph asked through closed teeth and wide lips.

Only Kibok wanted to do more than put Louis Madison in the hospital. The Russian probably knew it, too. Kibok Bae didn't want to "put him in hospital," at least not for long. No. A steel pipe or any other similarly blunt object could perform that task no problem.

What Kibok wanted was to murder the man who had destroyed him, and the gun the Russian was selling was the perfect means to such an end. Kibok didn't care about the money he had lost, not really. Not anymore. Let him keep it, he thought. What good is 30 million won -- 100 million won, a billion won -- to a dead man, anyway?

Sitting in the corner of a near-empty Haebangchon dive bar, the two men discussed the transaction. The city was eerily quiet due to the Chuseok holiday, but regardless of the date or number of patrons in the bar the two men enjoyed a conspicuousness unique to their location. A Korean man talking furtively with a Russian -- or a Zimbabwean, or a Brazilian -- might raise eyebrows in other areas of Seoul, but not here. He could be holding a conversation with a cross-dressing Pygmy and no one would bat an eyelash, Kibok knew. Which is why he had spent, at first, every weekend after Louis Madison's deception was revealed, and, later, every evening after his wife's suicide, here, in Haebangchon.

It took months to get in touch with the Russians. Kibok's poor English played a factor, but it was mostly because a well-dressed, middle-aged Korean man inquiring about purchasing a handgun raised obvious questions, even in Haebangchon. Hell, especially in Haebangchon. Surely, anyone with even an ounce of intelligence would immediately turn and walk away after such an inquiry, afraid that he was being set up by the police. Thankfully for Kibok, however, crime and intelligence don't always go hand in hand, and through sheer persistence, good luck, and the idiocy of strangers, he was eventually put in touch with Milan, the man who would introduce him to Ioseph.

Their first meeting did not go well, at least not for Kibok. Ioseph, a wiry, almost-skeletal man whose age could not be approximated, reacted to Kibok's handshake offer by extinguishing his cigarette into the palm of Kibok's extended right hand, and it grew worse from there. Smiling maniacally, the Russian proceeded to strip Kibok naked, beat him about the face with the sides of his fists, and then whip him with the Russian's own belt until Kibok (at first) was begging for life and (finally) lost consciousness. Ioseph carried the limp man's body into an alley, threw him onto a pile of garbage bags, and spit on him, calling him every crude epithet in the Russian lexicon.

Their second meeting went comparatively better. Kibok and Ioseph got prodigiously drunk and slept with two hookers. Each. Kibok, of course, footed the bill. This endeared him to the Russian, although Kibok was unaware of the fact, was still terrified of the man.

This, their third meeting, was all about business; and while the Russian sipped a vodka martini, Kibok slowly groped a glass of club soda in the palm of his damp, scarred right hand. Kibok supposed he should consider Ioseph his tormentor, but compared to the damage Louis Madison had forever inflicted upon him the scar on his hand and Ioseph's beatings were necessary, subtle annoyances -- obstacles he had to face en route toward his ultimate goal. In fact, Kibok wanted to kiss this man, this benevolent Russian. For hidden within the black leather bag at the man's feet was power. Power that he would weild in front of Louis Madison's unbelieving eyes before shooting him square between them.

Kibok removed a thick white envelope from the inner pocket of his sports coat and nervously placed it on the table. The Russian swallowed Kibok's hand with his own and swept the envelope away like a magician performing a trick.

"We are good now, yes?" Ioseph smiled, his broad mouth spanning nearly the entire bottom half of his face. "I don't know you, you don't know me. Pick up bag and pay bill after I leave. Have fun, don't shoot yourself by accident."

And with that the Russian was gone.

Kibok stayed for another fifteen minutes, smoking and occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see the bartender, a bald, fat man with glasses, talking to the lone customer besides himself, a plump girl, also bespectacled. Finishing his drink, Kibok picked up the bill, his cell phone, and the black bag Ioseph had left. He placed a single 50-thousand-won note on the bar and walked out before the the bartender could harass him about change.

When he got to his motel room, he stashed the bag under the bed and slept fitfully next to it on the heated floor.

Louis Madison. Louis Madison. Liar. Deceiver. You don't think I know your name, but I do! Bet you don't think I have a gun, either, but I do! It's waiting for you, right next to me, more comfortable than this hard pillow. I am going to shoot you in the face, Louis Madison. I am going to shoot you in the face and laugh, the same way you must have laughed after you stole my life out from under me.

---

It is May 21, 2007. Kibok Bae is desperate. Frantic. He is 37 years old. His wife, Imin, is 35. She is frigid, and no army of fertile seeds can resurrect her dead womb. Kibok has tried, unsuccessfully. Always unsuccessfully.

They consider adoption, but both sides of the couple's family shoot down the idea before it has a chance to take flight. What is wrong with her? Kibok's parents ask. What is wrong with him? Imin's parents question.

Kibok has a plan. His wife is dubious, but he sells her on the idea like the virtuoso salesman he is. They will buy a baby. On the Internet. There are plenty of women willing to be surrogate mothers, he insists. If the money is right.

It's an easy sell. Imin agrees once Kibok has found a surrogate. The price is steep, but they can afford it. 30 million won is a small price to pay for mental well being, they agree. And the baby will be so cute.

Imin goes to Gangwon-do two weeks later to meet the mother, a 23-year-old university student. She reports back that everything appears to be on the straight and narrow. The mother is healthy, attractive, and intelligent, her sole flaw being her mistake of becoming pregnant too soon in life. Kibok beams. They will have a child. They will name it Haengbok, regardless of its gender.

But first they will move to Gangwon. They'll tell their parents that Kibok has been relocated. Kibok will quit his job, hoping to get a new one after the baby is born. Imin will wear maternity clothes and stuff pillows under her dresses to maintain the facade. No one will know that the pregnancy was faked.

---

It is March 17, 2008. Kibok holds a hunter's knife against Kang Mijeong's throat, demanding the name of the baby's father. Mijeong is still recovering from the delivery and cannot answer, despite her terror.

March 18, 2008: Kibok returns. This time, Mijeong is far more lucid, far more candid. Weeping, she gives Kibok a name: Louis Madison.

---

"Honey, are you going out again?" Imin asks.

"I have to. I have to find that bastard," Kibok says.

"Don't. Leave it alone. I'm tired of all of this."

---

It is July 20, 2008. Kibok comes home after a long night of investigative work. He has an address, finally. Louis Madison's moment of truth has nearly arrived. But not before Kibok Bae's. Imin has hanged herself in the shower stall, the emergency fire escape rope her noose. Her legs are blue and fat.

---

It is March 16, 2008. Kang Mijeong has just given birth, delivery time 10:03 PM. Kibok and Imin wait in the appropriately titled room until the doctor tells them they can go in and see the baby, a boy. The nurses all look like they've seen a ghost.

It is March 16, 2008, 10:25 PM, and Kibok Bae has just born witness to a cruel joke. For Kang Mijeong has given birth to a Caucasian child.

---

This gun is loaded. This gun is loaded, Mr. Madison, for you.