head back. “Hello.”
English. Great. My Korean was rusty.
I paused by a small white sack that lay half open. Inside lay minced leather strips.
“Bear gallbladder,” the woman said.
I picked up a small slice and sniffed it. “Pig.” If it had been a real bear gallbladder, she wouldn’t have let me pick it up. “Do you have bear?”
The woman reached under the table, pulled out a small wooden box, and opened it. Dried leathery strips. Could be bear gallbladder.
The woman snapped the box closed. “When were you born? What is your sign? You have nice pale skin, but the eyes are not so good, yes? We have snake glands for the eyes. Dried cicadas, make it into soup, it will make your eyes stronger. Or does your man need help in bed? I have something very special for that. Not like all those dried-out dog parts over there.” She grimaced at the stall across the street. “I have a sure thing. Want to see?”
I nodded.
Another box appeared as if by magic. I looked inside. Rhino horn. The genuine article, too.
“I’m looking for a rare thing.”
The woman pondered me. “How rare?”
“Very rare. Keong Emas.”
“The Golden Snail.”
“I will pay well.” I reached into my hoodie and showed her the money, just a hint, but it was enough.
“Keong Emas is powerful magic.” The old woman stared at me. Her eyes were cold like two pieces of coal.
“Makes it easy to recognize a fake,” I told her.
She let out a short little grunt and called out something in Korean, too fast to follow. “You go inside now.”
I stepped over a small crate containing a pair of frightened rabbits, and went inside. Cages lined the walls. Monkeys, dogs, birds. Big frightened eyes. They screamed and shied away from the bars at my approach. I clenched my teeth. I just had to get the snail. Just get the snail.
An adolescent boy came through the curtained doorway and waved to me.
“
Come this way.”
I didn’t want to go that way.
The boy waved at me. “Come! Come!”
Crap. I followed him through the curtain. A long dark room smelling of blood. Great. We kept going, farther from the street, deeper into the house. I was probably walking into a trap, but I had to get the snail. This was the only way. As long as Jim stayed awake, he would get me out. He would. Of course he would.
Another set of curtains and I stepped into a large room lined with tables, supporting a medicine man’s smorgasbord, as if a dozen street vendor carts had vomited their contents into the room. Boxes, wicker, wood, and plastic. Bloated glass bottles, skinny glass vials, jars containing powders and liquids. Dried herbs, in bundles and packets. And bones. So many bones: bear bones, wolf bones, tiger bones. Bastards.
An Asian man sat at the table, wizened and old, dressed in dark clothes. Behind him a white man leaned against the wall. He was tall and beefy, and his fatigue jacket made him look rectangular, like he was made out of bricks. A short reddish beard hugged his chin. A red NC State baseball cap covered his hair.
In the right corner a large cage sat covered by a tarp. A blond woman stood by it, leaning on a baseball bat. She wore jeans and a huge man’s T-shirt with an oversized blood drop and the words DONATE BLOOD on it. The T-shirt was threadbare and patched in a couple of places.
Something moved in the cage. I could hear it breathing in long, labored gasps. People moved in the outer rooms, too, to the right of us and behind, making small noises. A lot of people. At least eight, maybe more.
I just had to get the snail. That’s all. Just get the snail and save Jim.
The old man regarded me. I wouldn’t bow to this asshole. My back would break.
“You want to buy Keong Emas.”
“Yes.”
The boy who brought me here walked over to the far table and brought a wicker box to the old man. The man opened the box and removed a glass tank with five snails inside. Each had a dull brown shell.
The old man offered me the tank. “Choose
English. Great. My Korean was rusty.
I paused by a small white sack that lay half open. Inside lay minced leather strips.
“Bear gallbladder,” the woman said.
I picked up a small slice and sniffed it. “Pig.” If it had been a real bear gallbladder, she wouldn’t have let me pick it up. “Do you have bear?”
The woman reached under the table, pulled out a small wooden box, and opened it. Dried leathery strips. Could be bear gallbladder.
The woman snapped the box closed. “When were you born? What is your sign? You have nice pale skin, but the eyes are not so good, yes? We have snake glands for the eyes. Dried cicadas, make it into soup, it will make your eyes stronger. Or does your man need help in bed? I have something very special for that. Not like all those dried-out dog parts over there.” She grimaced at the stall across the street. “I have a sure thing. Want to see?”
I nodded.
Another box appeared as if by magic. I looked inside. Rhino horn. The genuine article, too.
“I’m looking for a rare thing.”
The woman pondered me. “How rare?”
“Very rare. Keong Emas.”
“The Golden Snail.”
“I will pay well.” I reached into my hoodie and showed her the money, just a hint, but it was enough.
“Keong Emas is powerful magic.” The old woman stared at me. Her eyes were cold like two pieces of coal.
“Makes it easy to recognize a fake,” I told her.
She let out a short little grunt and called out something in Korean, too fast to follow. “You go inside now.”
I stepped over a small crate containing a pair of frightened rabbits, and went inside. Cages lined the walls. Monkeys, dogs, birds. Big frightened eyes. They screamed and shied away from the bars at my approach. I clenched my teeth. I just had to get the snail. Just get the snail.
An adolescent boy came through the curtained doorway and waved to me.
“
Come this way.”
I didn’t want to go that way.
The boy waved at me. “Come! Come!”
Crap. I followed him through the curtain. A long dark room smelling of blood. Great. We kept going, farther from the street, deeper into the house. I was probably walking into a trap, but I had to get the snail. This was the only way. As long as Jim stayed awake, he would get me out. He would. Of course he would.
Another set of curtains and I stepped into a large room lined with tables, supporting a medicine man’s smorgasbord, as if a dozen street vendor carts had vomited their contents into the room. Boxes, wicker, wood, and plastic. Bloated glass bottles, skinny glass vials, jars containing powders and liquids. Dried herbs, in bundles and packets. And bones. So many bones: bear bones, wolf bones, tiger bones. Bastards.
An Asian man sat at the table, wizened and old, dressed in dark clothes. Behind him a white man leaned against the wall. He was tall and beefy, and his fatigue jacket made him look rectangular, like he was made out of bricks. A short reddish beard hugged his chin. A red NC State baseball cap covered his hair.
In the right corner a large cage sat covered by a tarp. A blond woman stood by it, leaning on a baseball bat. She wore jeans and a huge man’s T-shirt with an oversized blood drop and the words DONATE BLOOD on it. The T-shirt was threadbare and patched in a couple of places.
Something moved in the cage. I could hear it breathing in long, labored gasps. People moved in the outer rooms, too, to the right of us and behind, making small noises. A lot of people. At least eight, maybe more.
I just had to get the snail. That’s all. Just get the snail and save Jim.
The old man regarded me. I wouldn’t bow to this asshole. My back would break.
“You want to buy Keong Emas.”
“Yes.”
The boy who brought me here walked over to the far table and brought a wicker box to the old man. The man opened the box and removed a glass tank with five snails inside. Each had a dull brown shell.
The old man offered me the tank. “Choose
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