TRAIN 247 • Park Jongseong

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟶𝟿: 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

"Ma'am, please lower your voice!" Our manager shushed her with a firm warning. He paused for a moment trying to compose himself, "I will look into it. Please do not concern yourself with--"

"Call the cops!" The woman interrupted him. "If you won't, I would have to."

"No, I will take care of it. You may leave." He said, "And please do not talk about this anywhere. I don't want the other customers to panic."

She warned him, "You better take care of this." I heard click-clack footsteps of high heels walking away as they eventually faded after a distance.

I pushed myself from the counter in an attempt to enter the room and ask our manager about the situation. However before I could move any further, he got onto a phone call.

"Sir, we are in trouble." He began with a formal tone as though he was intimidated, "A woman encountered your recent events. She approached me to file a complain. She wants me to call the police..." Silence. "I thought you should know about this... Oh, should I...?" He paused for a really long time, "Yes sir, I will convey this message." He hung up the phone.

I froze in my tracks contemplating whether or not to enter the room.

What was happening? Who did he call? And what was he implying? I swallowed hard at the thought of--

The manager got onto another call, but this time he sounded completely different from the previous one, "Hey, we have some work for you... Are you fucking drinking!" He yelled into the phone.

I made the worst decision to peek into the room. It was dimly lit with excessive cigarette smoke hazing up my vision.

He roughly rolled up his sleeves as he barked at the person on the other side of the call, "Put that away and fucking listen! Are you near the damn bar?" He waited for a reply, "Okay, listen up. This isn't an easy task, I'm telling you... Some random bitch found out about Mr. Song's 'activity', so we need you to cover it up."

He stepped towards a small table and picked up the half burnt cigarette from its ashtray. He took a puff, "Mhmm," he exhaled lightly, blowing out the white smoke into the air, "No, I don't think money would work. She was too determined to call the fucking cops."

He suddenly stopped talking, and abruptly turned around looking in the direction of the door, but before he could spot me I slipped away to avoid any sort of trouble. Luckily, I was fast enough.

He returned to talk on the phone and I figured he had turned back around, "Money won't work. There's only one option," he paused, taking another puff as I risked another peek into the room but he was looking straight at me as my eyes widened.

"Shoot her down." Our manager said those words as our eyes met.

He saw me.

I tried to avoid or ignore-- or do anything to get me out of the spot, but he called out to me, "Jongseong? What are you doing?" His voice was loud and clear, it was almost threatening.

"Uh, nothing sir. Just wanted to ask if you'd like a drink." I came up with an instant excuse, hoping it was enough. My voice was slightly shaking and my hands trembling. Tiny sweat droplets accumulated on my forehead, but I really hoped he didn't misunderstand the situation any further.

"Did you hear anything?" He demanded with a dubious expression.

"No, sir. Are you on a call with your wife?" I joked with an uncertain tone, trying to switch the topic, "'Cause you look terrified." And to my surprise, he laughed.