regular, who smiled too and nodded. I felt roundly mocked. “So, what type do you want?” Standing up, the old man placed a dozen sheets ofA4 paper stapled together on the table in front of me. It was a list of guns, complete with photographs.
“As long as it’s guaranteed to kill, I don’t really care,” I answered.
I heard the regular giggle.
“What’s so funny?” I turned to him and demanded, my irritation showing in my voice.
“Hey, watch your mouth. Yang here is a pro,” the old man warned. “He just pulled off a pretty flashy gig, so he’s hiding himself in the urban bustle as they say.” The way he dropped this almost made him sound like a proud father.
“So you’re the one who did the section chief of that bank?” I baited.
Yang’s facial expression remained unchanged. “Maybe, maybe not. But that was one helluva job,” he said with an air of utter composure. “I apologize if I offended you, but what you said was so bizarre.”
“What did I say?”
“There’s no such thing as a gun that is guaranteed to kill.” Yang’s eyes seemed to pierce right through my heart. “What kills is not the gun but the person who wields it. The issue is you. Am I wrong?”
Suddenly the sound of an infant’s cries filled the room. It was coming from behind the sliding screen right in front of me.
“Ah, crap,” the old man said with a grimace and stood up. “My daughter’s just divorced and moved back home. She leaves the brat here so she can go hang out with friends. Sorry, could you just wait here a minute?”
He opened the screen and walked through. I could hear the old man comforting the child. He seemed to be changing its diaper. The child quieted down.
I put out my cigarette and immediately lit another.
“You gonna kill the guy who screwed up your face?” Yang asked.
I didn’t answer and continued to smoke.
“Congrats on finding a motive.” Yang smiled faintly at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you been wandering these streets for years in search of amotive?”
“What motive?”
“A motive that will allow you to do what you’ve been wanting to.”
“What’re you talking about? What do I want to do?!” I nearly shouted. I could tell I was becoming agitated, but the reason eluded me.
“Hey, calm down. It’s just that your ideal version of yourself is at odds with who you really are. Nothing to be ashamed of,” placated Yang. It reminded me of the therapy sessions I attended for some time right after I quit the force. “Before you stands an unlocked door. You’re dying to get in, yet you’re afraid of walking through because you know you’ll never get out again.”
Yes, I know
.
“Why not quit knocking on that door waiting for a response? No one’s going to answer you. You’re the only one who can decide.”
Yes. I’m the only one
.
“You know there’s no place for you anyway outside of the door. So just open the door and walk right in. That’s all there is to it.”
A sense of relief washed over me. I felt as though I’d been granted permission.
“An F1 racing car is meaningless if the driver is a novice. No matter how hefty a gun you might have, if you can’t pull the trigger when the moment comes, all it is is dead weight. It all depends on you.”
Yang’s words echoed pleasantly in my chest.
“All in all, a gun is just a tool. You don’t choose a tool on account of your goal, you choose it on account of your method. In order to kill, you don’t need a gun. A craft knife from a stationery store will suffice. Don’t you agree?”
I do
.
I asked Yang, “So you don’t need a motive?”
“Right, I don’t. I’ve already found my place.”
Where Yang was at certainly seemed comfortable. The sliding screen opened and the old man emerged.
“Oh boy, sorry for making you wait. So, have you decided onwhich gun you want?”
In the end I left the arms dealer empty-handed and paid a visit to a stationery store.
8
It was around 3:00
“As long as it’s guaranteed to kill, I don’t really care,” I answered.
I heard the regular giggle.
“What’s so funny?” I turned to him and demanded, my irritation showing in my voice.
“Hey, watch your mouth. Yang here is a pro,” the old man warned. “He just pulled off a pretty flashy gig, so he’s hiding himself in the urban bustle as they say.” The way he dropped this almost made him sound like a proud father.
“So you’re the one who did the section chief of that bank?” I baited.
Yang’s facial expression remained unchanged. “Maybe, maybe not. But that was one helluva job,” he said with an air of utter composure. “I apologize if I offended you, but what you said was so bizarre.”
“What did I say?”
“There’s no such thing as a gun that is guaranteed to kill.” Yang’s eyes seemed to pierce right through my heart. “What kills is not the gun but the person who wields it. The issue is you. Am I wrong?”
Suddenly the sound of an infant’s cries filled the room. It was coming from behind the sliding screen right in front of me.
“Ah, crap,” the old man said with a grimace and stood up. “My daughter’s just divorced and moved back home. She leaves the brat here so she can go hang out with friends. Sorry, could you just wait here a minute?”
He opened the screen and walked through. I could hear the old man comforting the child. He seemed to be changing its diaper. The child quieted down.
I put out my cigarette and immediately lit another.
“You gonna kill the guy who screwed up your face?” Yang asked.
I didn’t answer and continued to smoke.
“Congrats on finding a motive.” Yang smiled faintly at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you been wandering these streets for years in search of amotive?”
“What motive?”
“A motive that will allow you to do what you’ve been wanting to.”
“What’re you talking about? What do I want to do?!” I nearly shouted. I could tell I was becoming agitated, but the reason eluded me.
“Hey, calm down. It’s just that your ideal version of yourself is at odds with who you really are. Nothing to be ashamed of,” placated Yang. It reminded me of the therapy sessions I attended for some time right after I quit the force. “Before you stands an unlocked door. You’re dying to get in, yet you’re afraid of walking through because you know you’ll never get out again.”
Yes, I know
.
“Why not quit knocking on that door waiting for a response? No one’s going to answer you. You’re the only one who can decide.”
Yes. I’m the only one
.
“You know there’s no place for you anyway outside of the door. So just open the door and walk right in. That’s all there is to it.”
A sense of relief washed over me. I felt as though I’d been granted permission.
“An F1 racing car is meaningless if the driver is a novice. No matter how hefty a gun you might have, if you can’t pull the trigger when the moment comes, all it is is dead weight. It all depends on you.”
Yang’s words echoed pleasantly in my chest.
“All in all, a gun is just a tool. You don’t choose a tool on account of your goal, you choose it on account of your method. In order to kill, you don’t need a gun. A craft knife from a stationery store will suffice. Don’t you agree?”
I do
.
I asked Yang, “So you don’t need a motive?”
“Right, I don’t. I’ve already found my place.”
Where Yang was at certainly seemed comfortable. The sliding screen opened and the old man emerged.
“Oh boy, sorry for making you wait. So, have you decided onwhich gun you want?”
In the end I left the arms dealer empty-handed and paid a visit to a stationery store.
8
It was around 3:00
Similar Books
