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DOWNTOWN. chapter twenty-seven | connections.
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I parked in front of the drive-in theater, seeing Chaeyoung's BMW in the corner. As I narrowed my eyes to see his figure, he was watching the screen, eating fried chicken that sat in a container on his dashboard. I opened the passenger door, startling him. "Oh, fuck, it's you," Wooyoung checked the time. "I didn't think you'd get here so early. I was enjoying the Titanic."
"You can't even understand the words."
"They have subtitles for a reason. Get in," I stepped in without hesitance, leaning my seat back. The open windows settled on a subtle breeze, blowing through the car and turning us red. In the car compartment, he reached for a file, slamming it shut after. Throwing it onto my lap, I took the pile of papers that slipped from its edges.
I read the titles for each paper, names that I don't even want to comprehend. I looked through each picture, each criminal report, and every statement the police had collected over a five-year period since she died. Then, I saw her–Hyerin's face before it was stained with blood and tears. "They're on probation. He got six years, the others, four. Since your friend wasn't declared dead by homicide, they're only charged with assault–and since they were minors at the time, prison wasn't much of an option."
They didn't even go to prison. Revolting. Wooyoung sighed, taking out Hyerin's file. "The police found her by the mouth of the river, down by the suburbs. They concluded suicide, but after finding a pack of cocaine in her pocket, addressed with his name, they made their deductions."
"How do you have this?" I questioned, sounding manic. "How do you even know about this?"
"...Connections," Was all he said, crossing his arms. "Don't worry. I don't affiliate with them, rather, they used to be in contact with me a long time ago."
"Drugs, huh," I murmured, causing Wooyoung to nod. "What were you, then? A dealer?"
"A lackey," He scoffed. "Do you think that lowly of me to be a drug dealer? Seriously?"
I shrugged. "I only assumed."
Wooyoung took a sip of his drink, placing it back in the cupholder. "Since I pried into your life, let me tell you something about me," He snickered. "Being a lackey isn't only serving someone physically. I had emotions shared by another man, every flick on the head becoming a ricochet of bullets on my skin. I lost people because of my negligence, and I lost the person I served to my own hands. If there's anyone who knows your position best–I'd hope it would be me."
