The Symbol Of Darkness

③Wait

The maze Jungkook and his whole squad had fallen into affected them profoundly and retained them at a standstill, trapped at an impasse. They gained what they pined to for so long; a case that was correlated with Jin Mo. But that only instigated more scattershot, mangled pieces they had to interlock to originate the puzzle that would lead them at least somewhere.

Kim Taehyung. This name remained inscribed in his head like an abiding, vexatious itch he couldn’t reach to scrape it away. And of course it was accompanied by a tsunami of questions he couldn’t find the answers to. Who was he? Why did they try to kill him? Why couldn’t they find anything about him? How the hell could they find him? 

Thankfully, they made some progress with Jay’s homicide. They tracked the car that exited the parking lot from the CCTV around the area and discovered an angle where the killer’s face was visible. With his picture, although it took time, they succeeded in identifying him.

Yoon Jong Hoon. A relatively new drug dealer in Seoul, a gang leader, with surprisingly no criminal record. The intel they gathered also included his plans about getting into firearms trafficking. If the assumption that Jay was one of Jin Mo’s men was correct — which Jungkook strongly believed it was — it meant he was put next to Jong Hoon to extract information. The fact that Jong Hoon killed him only supported that speculation, and his attempt to also kill Kim Taehyung indicated that he worked with Jay. 

In other words, Jay was a snitch and Kim Taehyung assisted him; Jungkook was sure of these facts. 

Despite their exertions for the past two weeks to find Jong Hoon’s whereabouts and hunt him down, they struck in a deadlock again. They put him on the wanted list, and Jungkook knew it was just a matter of time before they obtained a clue about him, but he needed results fast. Catching him would assist him in getting to that Kim Taehyung, and maybe it would lead him to Jin Mo, too. 

Jungkook was more frustrated than ever. Having two languishing cases in his hands — one he could possibly get information soon, and one he pursued for years and no matter the corresponding cases, he couldn’t iron it out — was like a stranglehold, constricting his neck. It obstructed his breathing, as though his airways were being crushed shut by an iron fist, searing his lungs and leaving him helpless, grappling for a simple drag of air. 

And what always salved that unlivable feeling was to bring another form of burning in his chest that vitalized his entire existence. The alcohol’s burning.

 
Seated on a stool at his usual bar, he guzzled shots of soju one after the other, feeling the bitter drink creep within him in palliative ripples. It washed out all the acute, suffocating emotions until all that was left was a heat in his core and a dizzying mist in his head. 

The said head was currently laid on the counter, eyes gently closed, arms drooping among his bent legs — a stance he often assumed when he wanted to stonewall the rest of the world from him. Dregs and sherds of thoughts roiled in his mind, but he couldn’t claw at one, couldn’t unfold one and delve into it as they slipped through the cracks of his turbid brain. 

One hand wormed out and swam over the counter, seeking his shot glass. He got hold of it and tapped it against the wooden surface to notify the bartender to pour him another drink. He waited motionless for a spell, giving him enough time to complete his task, and he heaved himself to a straighter position to gulp down the shot.

His closed eyes twitched with the spasm of bafflement crossing his face since he felt no warmth sprawl through his insides as he held the shot glass tilted over his mouth. It was fucking empty. 

He whacked it down the counter without breaking it and unsealed his eyes. They zeroed in on the bartender, Derin, who stood in front of him, leaning against the counter, and he scarcely attained to choke back a glare of deadly gorge.