You Have the Right to Remain Silent
“You can start by telling us your name,” Hyukjae addresses the shifty-eyed man seated across the table.
The man starts to say, “Park Ju--” before his lips clamp shut and he narrows his eyes suspiciously at Hyukjae.
“Park Ju--?” Hyukjae prompts.
“The name’s…Leeteuk,” the man decides finally, leaning back in his chair. “Yup. My name’s Leeteuk.”
Hyukjae raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You just said that your name is Park Ju-something,” he points out. Why is it that the people who can’t lie for shit still insist on lying anyway?
“I changed my mind,” the newly christened Leeteuk says, crossing his arms as though daring Hyukjae to contradict him.
Sungmin flips neatly through the contents of a manila folder. “Leeteuk,” Sungmin reiterates, tapping a line of handwriting that looks like chicken scratch no matter which angle Hyukjae turns his head. “Better known as Park Jungsu. You were apprehended for causing a ruckus at the crime sce--”
Leeteuk or Park Jungsu or whatever-the-hell-his-name-is shoots up out of his chair, upturning the piece of furniture. “How do you know my name?” he demands, gawking at them and running his fingers through his dyed hair. “You read my mind, didn’t you?” he whispers, horrified, shuffling backwards.
“No, we didn’t read your mind,” Hyukjae assures him patiently as Sungmin stands up slowly with his hands raised unthreateningly. “We just want to ask you a few questions as to why you were contaminating the--”
“I knew it!” Jungsu-or-whoever accuses, pointing a shaky finger at them. “You are all using telepathy to get the information you want from our heads so you can manipulate us! It’s some new scam you concocted in those secret underground labs of yours by the capital, right? Right?! You crazy people! The government cannot be trusted!”
He flings himself at the one-way mirror and bangs his fist against it, hollering about corrupt officials and the need to get more tinfoil hats. Through the earpiece, Hyukjae hears Henry, the intern observing from the other side of the mirror, shrieking in surprise.
“He was brought in for urinating on one of the police vehicles,” Sungmin grumbles as he goes to restrain Park Leeteuk-or-whatever before poor Henry faints from shock. “Of course he would turn out to be a complete lunatic.”
Eunhyuk pinches the bridge of his nose and valiantly attempts to ignore his budding headache. Off to the side, Sungmin brings down Mr. I-can’t-decide-on-my-own-name with a flying tackle, the two of them crash-landing in a heap of tangled limbs and bellowed obscenities.
Today is going to be a long day.
-
Once they place the crazy guy in more capable hands (i.e. not theirs) and sympathetically let a traumatized Henry rest at Sungmin’s desk, they go on to interrogate the next suspect. Or, they would be interrogating the next suspect if they can understand a single thing that he is saying.
“What the hell happened to our translator?” Sungmin hisses to Hyukjae as the foreigner continues to sprout out strings of rapid-fire Mandarin. “I thought we hired one a few months ago.”
“Siwon went on an extended vacation last week to Fiji,” Hyukjae whispers back, warily eyeing the suspect whose name, according to the file, is apparently Han Geng. “Something about finding himself.”
Sungmin snorts and leans back in his chair. “More like finding himself a harem of bikini-clad natives with a specialty in applying suntan oil and giving massages.”
“Tell me about it,” sighs Hyukjae enviously. “We haven’t had a vacation in years, and yet we’re the ones stuck here even though the only Mandarin words I know are ‘judo,’ ‘chop suey,’ and ‘Chinese checkers.’” Sungmin begins to point out that those aren’t even actual Mandarin words.
But Han Geng perks up at the second term. “Zásuì?” he asks excitedly.
Hyukjae and Sungmin exchange a hopeful glance. “Uh, yeah! Chop suey!” Hyukjae repeats. “You.” He points at Han Geng. “Know.” He taps the side of his head. “Chop suey?” He mimes eating out of a bowl with chopsticks shovel-style.
Han Geng nods and all three of them grin at each other, relieved that they’ve found some common ground.
“Let me try,” Sungmin offers enthusiastically, and proceeds to rattle off a bunch of words that Hyukjae recognizes as the take-out menu for the Chinese restaurant down the street. An unorthodox (and pointless) method of interrogation, but at least it gives them something to talk about.
And talk they do, until the evil-satanic-demonic-Devil-turned-lawyer named Heechul waltzes in, expensive leather suitcase in hand, and breezily informs them that his client is done answering questions and will be leaving pronto.
“Hey, you can’t take him,” protests Sungmin, half-rising from his seat. Hyukjae is busy hiding behind Sungmin and avoiding Heechul’s eyes. “We’re holding him for questioning!”
“On what grounds?” Heechul scoffs. “Being a hot foreigner with a nice ass? Please, that’s a lame excuse even for you guys.” Rolling his eyes, Heechul marches out of the room, waving his hand in a dismissive farewell. “Let’s go, Hankyung.”
Han Geng rises from the chair, its legs scraping against the concrete floor, and smiles. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure discussing Chinese cuisine with you, and I hope we never meet again. Later,” he says merrily in perfectly fluent Korean before sauntering out after Heechul.
Hyukjae and Sungmin are left staring at the door contemplatively until Sungmin breaks the silence. “So Han Geng could speak Korean all along.”
“Looks like it.”
There’s another long moment before Sungmin speaks again. “And I suppose he was here for being a hot foreigner with a nice ass?”
Hyukjae checks the paperwork. “Yeah.”
“I see.”
“…”
“…”
-
Their coworkers bring in the third suspect.
“Remind me again why we are stuck in the interrogation room all day even though this isn’t even our case,” grouses Hyukjae in hushed tones as he drops yet another thick manila folder onto the table.
Sungmin deposits a duplicate file on his side of the table, and then nearly trips in his haste to catch the folder before it slides onto the floor. “Because,” he huffs, blowing a strand of hair away from his face, “Officers Youngwoon and Kibum decided that they couldn’t be bothered to stay indoors when there are so many more people to catch.”
“So we get saddled with the interrogations and the extra paperwork,” Hyukjae finishes, folding himself into the tiny chair.
Nodding, Sungmin slips into his seat. “And not to mention we’re still in hot water because of the inheritance case from last month.” He fixes a disappointed and reproachful glare at Hyukjae.
“Hey,” Hyukjae protests. “The old bat said that she’d never seen her husband’s hidden will before. How was I supposed to know she was lying?”
This draws a disbelieving sniff from his partner before they turn their attention back to the person across from them. Hyukjae notes that the man has the most exquisite eyes he’s ever seen, eyes that are emphasized even more by copious amounts of eyeliner and accompanied by an incredibly intense gaze.
Even Sungmin seems mildly taken aback by the powerful staring. “So,” he clears his throat as he gains the man’s full attention. “It says here that your name is Kim Jongwoon. Is this correct?” Jongwoon nods slowly, eyes never leaving Sungmin, who shifts a bit uncomfortably in his seat.
Still smarting from the comment about that dratted inheritance case, Hyukjae tries to redeem himself by coughing lightly to rescue his partner. Here comes the smolder, he thinks as Jongwoon leisurely directs a powerful look his way. “And why, in your opinion, are you here?” he asks, mentally berating himself for not looking through the file beforehand.
Jongwoon leans forward, elbows thumping noisily on the table, and sticks his face right up to Hyukjae’s. And only then does Hyukjae realize that not only is Jongwoon emitting a rather familiar stench, but his dilated and bloodshot eyes are also decidedly fixed somewhere past Hyukjae’s left shoulder.
“Duuuuuuude,” slurs Jongwoon, breathing an alcohol-and-drug-laced puff of air right into Hyukjae’s face, “this place is the shit.”
Oh, that’s why.
Jongwoon decides that Hyukjae’s lap is an excellent receptacle for vomit, throws up, and passes out on the table, leaving an aghast Hyukjae with a uniform that will have to be burned and a partner who is most unhelpfully pinching his nose shut and laughing his head off.
-
“Whew!” Shin Donghee wrinkles his nose and waves a bejeweled hand in front of his face, the bangles on his wrist jingling with each move. “Smells like the last guy in here upchucked something nasty. Ooh-whee! That boy can peel paint!”
“Oh do be quiet,” grumbles Hyukjae irritably. The only spare uniform available is two sizes too small and stretches very tightly across his chest and nether regions, making it quite unpleasant to sit, move, or even breathe.
“Please excuse my partner,” Sungmin apologizes to Donghee, who has his eyes scrunched shut from the lingering sour odor. “But you say that you have information about the murderer in this case?”
“Why, I do!”
Hyukjae and Sungmin exchange an inconspicuous and triumphant fist bump. “So can you give us a clue as to where he is or something?” Hyukjae urges.
Donghee waggles his eyebrows, nearly tipping over his feathered turban in the process. “Even better,” he brags. “I can give you…” He whips something out of his long flowing sleeves. “A description.”
The two detectives gape at the round object that Donghee rests on a small velvet cushion. “A crystal ball?” Hyukjae questions dubiously. He moves in for a closer inspection. “Some hocus-pocus piece of magical glass is going to lead us to the murderer?”
Donghee slaps away Hyukjae’s hand without even looking. “Yes. This hocus-pocus piece of magical glass, as you so quaintly put it, will lead us to the murderer. And--” He breaks off with a gasp and jams his nose right up against the crystal ball. “And I can see that evil bastard right now!”
“What? Already?” Sungmin’s brows shoot up in bewilderment. “I thought you were going to do a mystic chant or a special ritual to hone your senses or something.”
“Yes, yes, some other time,” Donghee mumbles impatiently. “Now, I hope that one of you lads is good at drawing because I’ve no idea when this image will disappear.”
A quick game of rock-paper-scissors crowns a disgruntled Sungmin as the day’s sketch artist, so he dutifully whips out a thick pad of paper and sets to work with a stubby pencil as Donghee tells him in detail about the ugly man with the sharp jaw line, red hair, and milk mustache in the crystal ball.
Hyukjae just sits back and twiddles his thumbs until he hears Sungmin utter a surprised, “Huh.”
“You’re done with the sketch?” Hyukjae inquires, having not paid attention at all during the entire session. Sungmin wordlessly turns the pad of paper in Hyukjae’s direction, and it’s Hyukjae’s turn to let out a befuddled, “Huh,” as he stares at an impressively accurate depiction of his likeness.
“Well? How is it? It’s good, right?” asks an eager Donghee. “That’s probably the clearest image I’ve ever seen in the crystal ball, and I’ve been in this business for a long time.”
“It… looks a lot like my partner here,” Sungmin says truthfully. Donghee examines the sketch, brings his line of vision to Hyukjae, glances at the crystal ball, brings his head up, peers down again, and moves his eyes back to Hyukjae.
“Oops,” he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Seems like I’ve been describing your reflection this whole time. Shall I try again?”
Donghee is thrown out of the station faster than he can say, “Tarot cards.”
-
“So much for that,” groans Sungmin, throwing an arm across his eyes. “We should’ve known a lead like that was too good to be true.”
“And since when have we ever been lucky?” Hyukjae counters petulantly, scrubbing his upper lip with a crumpled napkin. Why did no one inform him that he had been flaunting a milk mustache since breakfast? “At least we don’t have to interview any more phony psychics this afternoon.”
“True that.” Sungmin pushes himself away from the wall and follows Hyukjae into the interrogation room, where a very anxious and very tall guy is waiting.
“So,” Hyukjae intones, slapping a hand on the tabletop as he sits down. The guy squeaks and jumps a little. “What’s your name?”
“Zhou Mi,” he blurts out, eyes darting between Hyukjae and Sungmin. “Or Mimi is fine. Though my friends call me Gentleman Mimi. Like Lady Gaga, you know? I made it up myself, ha ha ha. Or they also call me Fashion Gentleman Mimi because I like fashion and I’m fashionable and I’m planning on writing a book about fashion which I’m about halfway done with and--”
Sungmin holds up a hand. “Okay, we got it,” he interrupts, seeming as though he would love nothing more than to strangle Zhou Mi into silence. “First question. Do you know why you’re here?”
Zhou Mi shakes his head vehemently. “Nope. Not at all. I haven’t done anything wrong, you see. Ask anyone! They’ll say that I’ve been a good citizen all my life and that I kiss babies and help old ladies across the street. Though there was that time where I really wanted drown my neighbor in his own pool because he wouldn’t stop brag--” He stops abruptly and his eyes widen. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said that, right?”
Hyukjae shrugs wryly. “Should you have said that?”
The suspect lets loose a weak, nervous laugh. “Uh, I don’t know? I mean, people think about killing other people all the time, don’t they? And that was the only time I thought about hurting someone… No, there was also that one year in high school when I had to sit next to this guy with the most atrocious outfits. Or maybe that other time when I was in line and this woman just wouldn’t stop shoving me. Or perhaps--” He pauses again, an expression of alarm crossing his face. “I’m not here for the murder case, am I?”
“And if we said yes? Because you were spotted running away from the scene of the crime,” mentions Sungmin nonchalantly.
Zhou Mi waves his hands frantically. “Nonononono, this is a big mistake,” he babbles, stammering in his panic. “I would never kill anyone! Well, maybe I want to kill my neighbor sometimes, but that’s not the point! Besides, even if I am the culprit, I’d take more than one life because where’s the fun in being a murderer when you can be a serial killer? And--” He abruptly clams up again, slumping down. “Ooh, I really shouldn’t have said that,” he bemoans miserably.
Jotting down a few notes, Hyukjae allows the corner of his lips to turn upwards. “Anything else you would like to tell us?”
There’s a brief pensive moment. “Um, I’d like a lawyer, please?” Zhou Mi requests meekly, shoulders drawn up to his ears.
Hyukjae and Sungmin share amused looks. Ah. Now he wants a lawyer.
-
The next guy is hot. Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hooooooooot. There has never been a better looking Lee than this Lee Donghae, muses Hyukjae, discretely wiping drool off his chin. Well, except for myself, and maybe Sungmin.
“Lee Donghae,” Hyukjae starts off since his partner is too busy oogling Donghae, “do you know why you’re here?”
The hottest suspect to ever grace the interrogation room shrugs. “Because you guys would love to see me in handcuffs?” he guesses, coyly playing with one of his gloves and winking suggestively at Hyukjae.
From the other side of the one-way mirror, Henry makes a noise reminiscent of a strangled chicken, while Sungmin coughs embarrassedly and Hyukjae fights the urge to concur that, yes, he would very much love to see Donghae in handcuffs.
“Perhaps another time,” he says a bit too loudly. Okay, so that still came out a little wrong, but now he knows that Donghae has a very lovely smile. He slides over a picture of the murder victim. “We were informed that you know the man in this photograph.”
Donghae covers Hyukjae’s hand with his own and gazes deep into Hyukjae’s eyes. “I don’t know who that guy is, but I’d sure like to know you,” he insinuates, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Gulping, but somehow managing to smirk back, Hyukjae leans forward and whispers huskily and boldly, “Dinner tomorrow at the Italian place a few blocks down at seven? My treat.”
“It’s a date then,” purrs Donghae, eyes twinkling brightly.
Before they can start making out (and maybe progress even further) over the table, Sungmin’s eyes suddenly bulge out in recognition. “Hey, aren’t you my third cousin's brother's wife's step-niece's great uncle twice removed?” he inquires, delighted.
Donghae scrutinizes Sungmin for a few seconds before he breaks out into a huge smile and pulls away from Hyukjae (to Hyukjae’s great disappointment). “Oh wow, Cousin Sungmin!” he exclaims. “What a small world! I haven’t seen you since Grandpa Soo Man’s birthday party… When was that?”
“Seven years ago,” Sungmin supplies, standing up to give Donghae a manly hug that most certainly does not include gratuitous groping from both parties. “The old geezer kicked the bucket a while back.”
Shaking his head remorsefully, Donghae turns his face upwards and blinks back tears. “And to think that he still owes- owed- me a new apartment for blowing up my last home during a cooking experiment,” he laments mournfully.
“And me, a new car for crashing my old one into the side of a bank,” Sungmin adds, getting misty-eyed. “It’s just so tragic!” They both go in for another round of manly hugs that most certainly does not involve unnecessarily fondling.
“Hem hem!” Hyukjae coughs loudly, reminding them of his presence.
They separate. “Right,” declares Sungmin solemnly, clapping both hands on Donghae’s shoulders. “Take good care of my partner from now on. I give you two my blessings.”
Donghae reaches up and pats Sungmin’s hands. “I was thinking he would take good care of me,” Donghae reassures, “but okay, and thanks.” This is the cue for an enthusiastic group hug with all three of them.
“Er, I thought we aren’t allowed to date people who are involved in the case?” asks a perplexed Henry through the earpieces.
“Of course we are!” chorus Hyukjae and Sungmin simultaneously, grinning at each other. What Henry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
-
Hyukjae has never been more scared in his entire life. As far as he can recall, nothing- not engaging in shoot-outs and car chases across the city, not any encounter with Heechul, not even that one nightmare where clowns took over the world and forever halted the production of strawberry milk- has ever instilled such fear in him than the person sitting not three feet away.
Kim Ryeowook.
Such an innocent sounding name belonging to an innocent looking person with an innocent expression and an equally innocent rap sheet, but Hyukjae just can’t shake the feeling that he needs to run away, vacate his flat, leave the country, or anything to get away from their latest suspect.
Ryeowook smiles sweetly at him, and Hyukjae finds himself desperately wanting to cry in his mother’s arms, never mind that he hated his mother who has long since passed through the pearly gates.
But one of them has to be brave, and since it’s obviously not Hyukjae, it’s up to Sungmin to kick off the interrogation. “Kim Ryeowook,” he greets, fighting the shivers creeping up and down his spine as the person in question turns his way. “You were spotted in possession of an item that is similar to what our team has identified as the murder weapon.” Sungmin hands over a clear evidence bag, trying to not tremble in fear when Ryeowook’s fingers brush his.
A beatific smile graces Ryeowook’s face as he carefully picks up the switchblade and lovingly examines it from all sides. Hyukjae has a sudden epiphany that the switchblade, even encased in a plastic bag, is extremely dangerous in the right hands.
And Kim Ryeowook has the right hands.
“I found this on the side of the road,” Ryeowook clarifies sincerely, eyes big and round in the perfect picture of pure saintliness. “I wanted to turn it over to the police so that no one would get hurt.” He tosses it up and snatches it out of midair, and Hyukjae and Sungmin are unable to hide their flinching, much to Ryeowook’s amusement. “Besides, this a common switchblade that has been manufactured by a large company for the past several decades and distributed to numerous stores worldwide.”
“I see,” say Hyukjae and Sungmin together. Two big lies.
Ryeowook sighs, gently setting the bag back down on the table, fingers lingering on the plastic. “It means,” he explains kindly, “that anybody could’ve bought this knife.” He folds his hands in his lap angelically. “So, am I free to leave?”
Never have they ushered someone out so quickly with that much kowtowing and sucking up. It’s rather embarrassing.
-
“We. Are. Done!” cries Hyukjae, tossing his stack of paper in the air. Henry makes a pained noise and scurries to gather up all the loose sheets before anyone steps on them.
Exhaling noisily, Sungmin stoops down to help out their overworked intern. “For today, at least,” he reminds Hyukjae. “You can bet that Kangin and Kibum will be hauling in another truckload of suspects for us to question before running off on another wild goose chase.”
Grimacing, Hyukjae accepts the collected papers from Henry and pats him absently on the head before dismissing him. “I could’ve sworn that our budget doesn’t allow for so many mistakes, but whatever. It won’t be our fault if they get fired for incompetence.” He slyly cocks an eyebrow in Sungmin’s direction. “And I hear that you have a date with the janitor kid, Kyuhyun, tonight.”
“Internal Cleaning Supporter,” Sungmin corrects. “And yes, I do, so I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow!” Waving goodbye, Sungmin chases after a gangly figure pushing a cleaning cart around the corner.
Hyukjae shrugs on his overcoat and strolls happily out the door, heading for the nearest subway station.
And several hours and a few hundred miles later, he’s standing in a dark alley that has been abandoned for the better part of a month due to some construction work taking place nearby. After a long day at the office, it’s nice to be standing up and moving about.
Especially since there’s a bound and gagged person, bleeding from several shallow cuts, sprawled on the ground before him.
Crouching down, Hyukjae none too gently yanks the gag out of the middle-aged man’s mouth. “You know,” Hyukjae complains conversationally, observing the man gasp for breath, “I had the most horrid day at work today. I had to interview a bunch of complete morons, and one of them even had the nerve to throw up all over me.” He grabs the man by the collar and yanks him up to eye-level. “It was disgusting,” he deadpans, extracting a switchblade from his pocket with his free hand.
“You!” the man splutters, surprisingly articulate despite his split lip. “You’re the murderer that they were looking for on the news this morning!”
Hyukjae unceremoniously shoves the man backwards and stands up, brushing off his pants. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner,” he singsongs, waggling a finger at the man. “Though I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for second place because somebody else figured it out already.” He snaps out a casual kick to the man’s abdomen, indifferently watching as his prey curls up with a choked groan. “Good thing my coworkers aren’t a superstitious lot or I’d be in big trouble.
The man coughs weakly. “Why are you doing this?” he rasps, unconsciously scooting away from Hyukjae, terror radiating from his every pore. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t even know you!”
Tilting his head to one side, Hyukjae purses his lips as though in deep concentration. “Because I can,” he concludes eventually, gummy smile bright and very much present. He bends over and roughly stuffs the gag back in the man’s mouth, who immediately struggles to put some distance between them. “And because being a serial killer sounds so much nicer than just being a plain old murderer.”
Hyukjae flips open his well-used switchblade and advances towards the whimpering mass cowering against the brick wall. Whistling while he works, Hyukjae cheerfully wonders what he should wear for his date with Donghae tomorrow.
-END-
A/N: And here's to spreading the insanity. Thanks for reading! ^.^
The man starts to say, “Park Ju--” before his lips clamp shut and he narrows his eyes suspiciously at Hyukjae.
“Park Ju--?” Hyukjae prompts.
“The name’s…Leeteuk,” the man decides finally, leaning back in his chair. “Yup. My name’s Leeteuk.”
Hyukjae raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You just said that your name is Park Ju-something,” he points out. Why is it that the people who can’t lie for shit still insist on lying anyway?
“I changed my mind,” the newly christened Leeteuk says, crossing his arms as though daring Hyukjae to contradict him.
Sungmin flips neatly through the contents of a manila folder. “Leeteuk,” Sungmin reiterates, tapping a line of handwriting that looks like chicken scratch no matter which angle Hyukjae turns his head. “Better known as Park Jungsu. You were apprehended for causing a ruckus at the crime sce--”
Leeteuk or Park Jungsu or whatever-the-hell-his-name-is shoots up out of his chair, upturning the piece of furniture. “How do you know my name?” he demands, gawking at them and running his fingers through his dyed hair. “You read my mind, didn’t you?” he whispers, horrified, shuffling backwards.
“No, we didn’t read your mind,” Hyukjae assures him patiently as Sungmin stands up slowly with his hands raised unthreateningly. “We just want to ask you a few questions as to why you were contaminating the--”
“I knew it!” Jungsu-or-whoever accuses, pointing a shaky finger at them. “You are all using telepathy to get the information you want from our heads so you can manipulate us! It’s some new scam you concocted in those secret underground labs of yours by the capital, right? Right?! You crazy people! The government cannot be trusted!”
He flings himself at the one-way mirror and bangs his fist against it, hollering about corrupt officials and the need to get more tinfoil hats. Through the earpiece, Hyukjae hears Henry, the intern observing from the other side of the mirror, shrieking in surprise.
“He was brought in for urinating on one of the police vehicles,” Sungmin grumbles as he goes to restrain Park Leeteuk-or-whatever before poor Henry faints from shock. “Of course he would turn out to be a complete lunatic.”
Eunhyuk pinches the bridge of his nose and valiantly attempts to ignore his budding headache. Off to the side, Sungmin brings down Mr. I-can’t-decide-on-my-own-name with a flying tackle, the two of them crash-landing in a heap of tangled limbs and bellowed obscenities.
Today is going to be a long day.
-
Once they place the crazy guy in more capable hands (i.e. not theirs) and sympathetically let a traumatized Henry rest at Sungmin’s desk, they go on to interrogate the next suspect. Or, they would be interrogating the next suspect if they can understand a single thing that he is saying.
“What the hell happened to our translator?” Sungmin hisses to Hyukjae as the foreigner continues to sprout out strings of rapid-fire Mandarin. “I thought we hired one a few months ago.”
“Siwon went on an extended vacation last week to Fiji,” Hyukjae whispers back, warily eyeing the suspect whose name, according to the file, is apparently Han Geng. “Something about finding himself.”
Sungmin snorts and leans back in his chair. “More like finding himself a harem of bikini-clad natives with a specialty in applying suntan oil and giving massages.”
“Tell me about it,” sighs Hyukjae enviously. “We haven’t had a vacation in years, and yet we’re the ones stuck here even though the only Mandarin words I know are ‘judo,’ ‘chop suey,’ and ‘Chinese checkers.’” Sungmin begins to point out that those aren’t even actual Mandarin words.
But Han Geng perks up at the second term. “Zásuì?” he asks excitedly.
Hyukjae and Sungmin exchange a hopeful glance. “Uh, yeah! Chop suey!” Hyukjae repeats. “You.” He points at Han Geng. “Know.” He taps the side of his head. “Chop suey?” He mimes eating out of a bowl with chopsticks shovel-style.
Han Geng nods and all three of them grin at each other, relieved that they’ve found some common ground.
“Let me try,” Sungmin offers enthusiastically, and proceeds to rattle off a bunch of words that Hyukjae recognizes as the take-out menu for the Chinese restaurant down the street. An unorthodox (and pointless) method of interrogation, but at least it gives them something to talk about.
And talk they do, until the evil-satanic-demonic-Devil-turned-lawyer named Heechul waltzes in, expensive leather suitcase in hand, and breezily informs them that his client is done answering questions and will be leaving pronto.
“Hey, you can’t take him,” protests Sungmin, half-rising from his seat. Hyukjae is busy hiding behind Sungmin and avoiding Heechul’s eyes. “We’re holding him for questioning!”
“On what grounds?” Heechul scoffs. “Being a hot foreigner with a nice ass? Please, that’s a lame excuse even for you guys.” Rolling his eyes, Heechul marches out of the room, waving his hand in a dismissive farewell. “Let’s go, Hankyung.”
Han Geng rises from the chair, its legs scraping against the concrete floor, and smiles. “Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure discussing Chinese cuisine with you, and I hope we never meet again. Later,” he says merrily in perfectly fluent Korean before sauntering out after Heechul.
Hyukjae and Sungmin are left staring at the door contemplatively until Sungmin breaks the silence. “So Han Geng could speak Korean all along.”
“Looks like it.”
There’s another long moment before Sungmin speaks again. “And I suppose he was here for being a hot foreigner with a nice ass?”
Hyukjae checks the paperwork. “Yeah.”
“I see.”
“…”
“…”
-
Their coworkers bring in the third suspect.
“Remind me again why we are stuck in the interrogation room all day even though this isn’t even our case,” grouses Hyukjae in hushed tones as he drops yet another thick manila folder onto the table.
Sungmin deposits a duplicate file on his side of the table, and then nearly trips in his haste to catch the folder before it slides onto the floor. “Because,” he huffs, blowing a strand of hair away from his face, “Officers Youngwoon and Kibum decided that they couldn’t be bothered to stay indoors when there are so many more people to catch.”
“So we get saddled with the interrogations and the extra paperwork,” Hyukjae finishes, folding himself into the tiny chair.
Nodding, Sungmin slips into his seat. “And not to mention we’re still in hot water because of the inheritance case from last month.” He fixes a disappointed and reproachful glare at Hyukjae.
“Hey,” Hyukjae protests. “The old bat said that she’d never seen her husband’s hidden will before. How was I supposed to know she was lying?”
This draws a disbelieving sniff from his partner before they turn their attention back to the person across from them. Hyukjae notes that the man has the most exquisite eyes he’s ever seen, eyes that are emphasized even more by copious amounts of eyeliner and accompanied by an incredibly intense gaze.
Even Sungmin seems mildly taken aback by the powerful staring. “So,” he clears his throat as he gains the man’s full attention. “It says here that your name is Kim Jongwoon. Is this correct?” Jongwoon nods slowly, eyes never leaving Sungmin, who shifts a bit uncomfortably in his seat.
Still smarting from the comment about that dratted inheritance case, Hyukjae tries to redeem himself by coughing lightly to rescue his partner. Here comes the smolder, he thinks as Jongwoon leisurely directs a powerful look his way. “And why, in your opinion, are you here?” he asks, mentally berating himself for not looking through the file beforehand.
Jongwoon leans forward, elbows thumping noisily on the table, and sticks his face right up to Hyukjae’s. And only then does Hyukjae realize that not only is Jongwoon emitting a rather familiar stench, but his dilated and bloodshot eyes are also decidedly fixed somewhere past Hyukjae’s left shoulder.
“Duuuuuuude,” slurs Jongwoon, breathing an alcohol-and-drug-laced puff of air right into Hyukjae’s face, “this place is the shit.”
Oh, that’s why.
Jongwoon decides that Hyukjae’s lap is an excellent receptacle for vomit, throws up, and passes out on the table, leaving an aghast Hyukjae with a uniform that will have to be burned and a partner who is most unhelpfully pinching his nose shut and laughing his head off.
-
“Whew!” Shin Donghee wrinkles his nose and waves a bejeweled hand in front of his face, the bangles on his wrist jingling with each move. “Smells like the last guy in here upchucked something nasty. Ooh-whee! That boy can peel paint!”
“Oh do be quiet,” grumbles Hyukjae irritably. The only spare uniform available is two sizes too small and stretches very tightly across his chest and nether regions, making it quite unpleasant to sit, move, or even breathe.
“Please excuse my partner,” Sungmin apologizes to Donghee, who has his eyes scrunched shut from the lingering sour odor. “But you say that you have information about the murderer in this case?”
“Why, I do!”
Hyukjae and Sungmin exchange an inconspicuous and triumphant fist bump. “So can you give us a clue as to where he is or something?” Hyukjae urges.
Donghee waggles his eyebrows, nearly tipping over his feathered turban in the process. “Even better,” he brags. “I can give you…” He whips something out of his long flowing sleeves. “A description.”
The two detectives gape at the round object that Donghee rests on a small velvet cushion. “A crystal ball?” Hyukjae questions dubiously. He moves in for a closer inspection. “Some hocus-pocus piece of magical glass is going to lead us to the murderer?”
Donghee slaps away Hyukjae’s hand without even looking. “Yes. This hocus-pocus piece of magical glass, as you so quaintly put it, will lead us to the murderer. And--” He breaks off with a gasp and jams his nose right up against the crystal ball. “And I can see that evil bastard right now!”
“What? Already?” Sungmin’s brows shoot up in bewilderment. “I thought you were going to do a mystic chant or a special ritual to hone your senses or something.”
“Yes, yes, some other time,” Donghee mumbles impatiently. “Now, I hope that one of you lads is good at drawing because I’ve no idea when this image will disappear.”
A quick game of rock-paper-scissors crowns a disgruntled Sungmin as the day’s sketch artist, so he dutifully whips out a thick pad of paper and sets to work with a stubby pencil as Donghee tells him in detail about the ugly man with the sharp jaw line, red hair, and milk mustache in the crystal ball.
Hyukjae just sits back and twiddles his thumbs until he hears Sungmin utter a surprised, “Huh.”
“You’re done with the sketch?” Hyukjae inquires, having not paid attention at all during the entire session. Sungmin wordlessly turns the pad of paper in Hyukjae’s direction, and it’s Hyukjae’s turn to let out a befuddled, “Huh,” as he stares at an impressively accurate depiction of his likeness.
“Well? How is it? It’s good, right?” asks an eager Donghee. “That’s probably the clearest image I’ve ever seen in the crystal ball, and I’ve been in this business for a long time.”
“It… looks a lot like my partner here,” Sungmin says truthfully. Donghee examines the sketch, brings his line of vision to Hyukjae, glances at the crystal ball, brings his head up, peers down again, and moves his eyes back to Hyukjae.
“Oops,” he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Seems like I’ve been describing your reflection this whole time. Shall I try again?”
Donghee is thrown out of the station faster than he can say, “Tarot cards.”
-
“So much for that,” groans Sungmin, throwing an arm across his eyes. “We should’ve known a lead like that was too good to be true.”
“And since when have we ever been lucky?” Hyukjae counters petulantly, scrubbing his upper lip with a crumpled napkin. Why did no one inform him that he had been flaunting a milk mustache since breakfast? “At least we don’t have to interview any more phony psychics this afternoon.”
“True that.” Sungmin pushes himself away from the wall and follows Hyukjae into the interrogation room, where a very anxious and very tall guy is waiting.
“So,” Hyukjae intones, slapping a hand on the tabletop as he sits down. The guy squeaks and jumps a little. “What’s your name?”
“Zhou Mi,” he blurts out, eyes darting between Hyukjae and Sungmin. “Or Mimi is fine. Though my friends call me Gentleman Mimi. Like Lady Gaga, you know? I made it up myself, ha ha ha. Or they also call me Fashion Gentleman Mimi because I like fashion and I’m fashionable and I’m planning on writing a book about fashion which I’m about halfway done with and--”
Sungmin holds up a hand. “Okay, we got it,” he interrupts, seeming as though he would love nothing more than to strangle Zhou Mi into silence. “First question. Do you know why you’re here?”
Zhou Mi shakes his head vehemently. “Nope. Not at all. I haven’t done anything wrong, you see. Ask anyone! They’ll say that I’ve been a good citizen all my life and that I kiss babies and help old ladies across the street. Though there was that time where I really wanted drown my neighbor in his own pool because he wouldn’t stop brag--” He stops abruptly and his eyes widen. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said that, right?”
Hyukjae shrugs wryly. “Should you have said that?”
The suspect lets loose a weak, nervous laugh. “Uh, I don’t know? I mean, people think about killing other people all the time, don’t they? And that was the only time I thought about hurting someone… No, there was also that one year in high school when I had to sit next to this guy with the most atrocious outfits. Or maybe that other time when I was in line and this woman just wouldn’t stop shoving me. Or perhaps--” He pauses again, an expression of alarm crossing his face. “I’m not here for the murder case, am I?”
“And if we said yes? Because you were spotted running away from the scene of the crime,” mentions Sungmin nonchalantly.
Zhou Mi waves his hands frantically. “Nonononono, this is a big mistake,” he babbles, stammering in his panic. “I would never kill anyone! Well, maybe I want to kill my neighbor sometimes, but that’s not the point! Besides, even if I am the culprit, I’d take more than one life because where’s the fun in being a murderer when you can be a serial killer? And--” He abruptly clams up again, slumping down. “Ooh, I really shouldn’t have said that,” he bemoans miserably.
Jotting down a few notes, Hyukjae allows the corner of his lips to turn upwards. “Anything else you would like to tell us?”
There’s a brief pensive moment. “Um, I’d like a lawyer, please?” Zhou Mi requests meekly, shoulders drawn up to his ears.
Hyukjae and Sungmin share amused looks. Ah. Now he wants a lawyer.
-
The next guy is hot. Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hooooooooot. There has never been a better looking Lee than this Lee Donghae, muses Hyukjae, discretely wiping drool off his chin. Well, except for myself, and maybe Sungmin.
“Lee Donghae,” Hyukjae starts off since his partner is too busy oogling Donghae, “do you know why you’re here?”
The hottest suspect to ever grace the interrogation room shrugs. “Because you guys would love to see me in handcuffs?” he guesses, coyly playing with one of his gloves and winking suggestively at Hyukjae.
From the other side of the one-way mirror, Henry makes a noise reminiscent of a strangled chicken, while Sungmin coughs embarrassedly and Hyukjae fights the urge to concur that, yes, he would very much love to see Donghae in handcuffs.
“Perhaps another time,” he says a bit too loudly. Okay, so that still came out a little wrong, but now he knows that Donghae has a very lovely smile. He slides over a picture of the murder victim. “We were informed that you know the man in this photograph.”
Donghae covers Hyukjae’s hand with his own and gazes deep into Hyukjae’s eyes. “I don’t know who that guy is, but I’d sure like to know you,” he insinuates, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Gulping, but somehow managing to smirk back, Hyukjae leans forward and whispers huskily and boldly, “Dinner tomorrow at the Italian place a few blocks down at seven? My treat.”
“It’s a date then,” purrs Donghae, eyes twinkling brightly.
Before they can start making out (and maybe progress even further) over the table, Sungmin’s eyes suddenly bulge out in recognition. “Hey, aren’t you my third cousin's brother's wife's step-niece's great uncle twice removed?” he inquires, delighted.
Donghae scrutinizes Sungmin for a few seconds before he breaks out into a huge smile and pulls away from Hyukjae (to Hyukjae’s great disappointment). “Oh wow, Cousin Sungmin!” he exclaims. “What a small world! I haven’t seen you since Grandpa Soo Man’s birthday party… When was that?”
“Seven years ago,” Sungmin supplies, standing up to give Donghae a manly hug that most certainly does not include gratuitous groping from both parties. “The old geezer kicked the bucket a while back.”
Shaking his head remorsefully, Donghae turns his face upwards and blinks back tears. “And to think that he still owes- owed- me a new apartment for blowing up my last home during a cooking experiment,” he laments mournfully.
“And me, a new car for crashing my old one into the side of a bank,” Sungmin adds, getting misty-eyed. “It’s just so tragic!” They both go in for another round of manly hugs that most certainly does not involve unnecessarily fondling.
“Hem hem!” Hyukjae coughs loudly, reminding them of his presence.
They separate. “Right,” declares Sungmin solemnly, clapping both hands on Donghae’s shoulders. “Take good care of my partner from now on. I give you two my blessings.”
Donghae reaches up and pats Sungmin’s hands. “I was thinking he would take good care of me,” Donghae reassures, “but okay, and thanks.” This is the cue for an enthusiastic group hug with all three of them.
“Er, I thought we aren’t allowed to date people who are involved in the case?” asks a perplexed Henry through the earpieces.
“Of course we are!” chorus Hyukjae and Sungmin simultaneously, grinning at each other. What Henry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
-
Hyukjae has never been more scared in his entire life. As far as he can recall, nothing- not engaging in shoot-outs and car chases across the city, not any encounter with Heechul, not even that one nightmare where clowns took over the world and forever halted the production of strawberry milk- has ever instilled such fear in him than the person sitting not three feet away.
Kim Ryeowook.
Such an innocent sounding name belonging to an innocent looking person with an innocent expression and an equally innocent rap sheet, but Hyukjae just can’t shake the feeling that he needs to run away, vacate his flat, leave the country, or anything to get away from their latest suspect.
Ryeowook smiles sweetly at him, and Hyukjae finds himself desperately wanting to cry in his mother’s arms, never mind that he hated his mother who has long since passed through the pearly gates.
But one of them has to be brave, and since it’s obviously not Hyukjae, it’s up to Sungmin to kick off the interrogation. “Kim Ryeowook,” he greets, fighting the shivers creeping up and down his spine as the person in question turns his way. “You were spotted in possession of an item that is similar to what our team has identified as the murder weapon.” Sungmin hands over a clear evidence bag, trying to not tremble in fear when Ryeowook’s fingers brush his.
A beatific smile graces Ryeowook’s face as he carefully picks up the switchblade and lovingly examines it from all sides. Hyukjae has a sudden epiphany that the switchblade, even encased in a plastic bag, is extremely dangerous in the right hands.
And Kim Ryeowook has the right hands.
“I found this on the side of the road,” Ryeowook clarifies sincerely, eyes big and round in the perfect picture of pure saintliness. “I wanted to turn it over to the police so that no one would get hurt.” He tosses it up and snatches it out of midair, and Hyukjae and Sungmin are unable to hide their flinching, much to Ryeowook’s amusement. “Besides, this a common switchblade that has been manufactured by a large company for the past several decades and distributed to numerous stores worldwide.”
“I see,” say Hyukjae and Sungmin together. Two big lies.
Ryeowook sighs, gently setting the bag back down on the table, fingers lingering on the plastic. “It means,” he explains kindly, “that anybody could’ve bought this knife.” He folds his hands in his lap angelically. “So, am I free to leave?”
Never have they ushered someone out so quickly with that much kowtowing and sucking up. It’s rather embarrassing.
-
“We. Are. Done!” cries Hyukjae, tossing his stack of paper in the air. Henry makes a pained noise and scurries to gather up all the loose sheets before anyone steps on them.
Exhaling noisily, Sungmin stoops down to help out their overworked intern. “For today, at least,” he reminds Hyukjae. “You can bet that Kangin and Kibum will be hauling in another truckload of suspects for us to question before running off on another wild goose chase.”
Grimacing, Hyukjae accepts the collected papers from Henry and pats him absently on the head before dismissing him. “I could’ve sworn that our budget doesn’t allow for so many mistakes, but whatever. It won’t be our fault if they get fired for incompetence.” He slyly cocks an eyebrow in Sungmin’s direction. “And I hear that you have a date with the janitor kid, Kyuhyun, tonight.”
“Internal Cleaning Supporter,” Sungmin corrects. “And yes, I do, so I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow!” Waving goodbye, Sungmin chases after a gangly figure pushing a cleaning cart around the corner.
Hyukjae shrugs on his overcoat and strolls happily out the door, heading for the nearest subway station.
And several hours and a few hundred miles later, he’s standing in a dark alley that has been abandoned for the better part of a month due to some construction work taking place nearby. After a long day at the office, it’s nice to be standing up and moving about.
Especially since there’s a bound and gagged person, bleeding from several shallow cuts, sprawled on the ground before him.
Crouching down, Hyukjae none too gently yanks the gag out of the middle-aged man’s mouth. “You know,” Hyukjae complains conversationally, observing the man gasp for breath, “I had the most horrid day at work today. I had to interview a bunch of complete morons, and one of them even had the nerve to throw up all over me.” He grabs the man by the collar and yanks him up to eye-level. “It was disgusting,” he deadpans, extracting a switchblade from his pocket with his free hand.
“You!” the man splutters, surprisingly articulate despite his split lip. “You’re the murderer that they were looking for on the news this morning!”
Hyukjae unceremoniously shoves the man backwards and stands up, brushing off his pants. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner,” he singsongs, waggling a finger at the man. “Though I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for second place because somebody else figured it out already.” He snaps out a casual kick to the man’s abdomen, indifferently watching as his prey curls up with a choked groan. “Good thing my coworkers aren’t a superstitious lot or I’d be in big trouble.
The man coughs weakly. “Why are you doing this?” he rasps, unconsciously scooting away from Hyukjae, terror radiating from his every pore. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t even know you!”
Tilting his head to one side, Hyukjae purses his lips as though in deep concentration. “Because I can,” he concludes eventually, gummy smile bright and very much present. He bends over and roughly stuffs the gag back in the man’s mouth, who immediately struggles to put some distance between them. “And because being a serial killer sounds so much nicer than just being a plain old murderer.”
Hyukjae flips open his well-used switchblade and advances towards the whimpering mass cowering against the brick wall. Whistling while he works, Hyukjae cheerfully wonders what he should wear for his date with Donghae tomorrow.
-END-
A/N: And here's to spreading the insanity. Thanks for reading! ^.^