“Anyoung haseyo, Ma,” I sayapproaching the kitchen shed. Being spotted, I very well can takethe initiative. Does she know that we have no water athome?

“You're early. I though, you three aredining out tonight. Tan's birthday?” a single range-setting shellis fired. The super-dreadnaught gracefully turns for a broadside,whilst at her battle bridge her Senior Gunnery Officer iscalculating if we have eaten dinner.

“The plan did not work out, Ma. Tan and Kimwere called to a crime scene.”

“Far?”

“In theChinamerican Patches. Iam afraid it will take a long while.”

“I decided to leave some food for you two,just in-case.” From the kitchen top, she lifts two glass containerswith something appetizing. Ka-boom! A mighty broadside salvo fromall main caliber guns, and right on-target! Of course, ‘just incase’ is nothing but thin excuse. She leaves us food every day,independent from our plans for the evening. OK, today I don't mind.I fail to be the perfect Korean wife in one aspect: I am not muchof a cook, and if it comes to cooking Korean, I am practicallyhopeless.

“Oh, thanks, Ma,” I diligently make asurprised face, as if I believe in her ‘just in case’ statement.“Tonight it will come very handy. I'll take it.”

“I'll carry it for you.”

“No, Mom. I can take it myself. I am onwheels!” No way I let her carry the things for me, especially infront of the whole Patch. But more important, she should not seeour empty water jerrycan!

“On wheels!” The in-law says grumpily, butpasses me the containers, “do you need rice too?”

“Thanks, Ma. Rice – I'll manage.”

“Manage! Do you have water at home?” Luckyus, she did not look into our jerrycan today.

“Yesterday, we had it half-full,” I give ahalf-honest answer. Helm, full portside! Scotty, be so kind, setthe radar counter-measures!”

“How are your legs today?” Great. The secondsalvo from the in-law dreadnaught comes short of target! My cruiserlacks the gun caliber, but she has advantage of maneuver andspeed.

“Today – not too bad. No pain.” Scotty, nowboth engines – full speed ahead! Breaking the contact. Aye-aye,Capt'n, full ahead.

“Did you smoke?”

“Once.” Really – twice,but my in-law thinks that one To-Ma-Gochi a day is a medicine,while two or three is an acute drug addiction.

“I hope the pain goes away.”

“Right.”

She always asks this. Atypical pre-Meltdown generation, she still doesn't believe there are conditionsthat cannot be cured in a couple of weeks with some wonder-drug. Asfar as I was told, fighting with phantom pain is pointless. Butinstead of a fight, you can make a peace accord: manage yourcondition with regular meditation and an occasional puff ofMarijuana. So far, I am doing it quite well.

“If you need something, don't go yourself.Send the neighbor kids or ask them to call me, OK?”

“Sure, Ma.” Holding the food containers withone hand, I push the skate with the other targeting to our littleshack.

Very well, Scotty. We madethrough it with minimum damage, no sweat. Yes, Capt'n: minimumdamage. And having the ‘just-in-case’ package is not too bad. May Iremind you, ma'am, that we've got only rice, Kimchi and soy souse at home? You'rean unbelievable pessimist, Scotty. We also have half-a-jar of jamand even acorn coffee! Not to forget our main weapon: brownies inthe top-secret hold. Attention all hands! Captain's orders!Changing to bikini top and shorts! Jerrycan on stand-by! Navigator,set course for the water well, if you would! And be so nice toavoid the enemy radars this time.

The standing plan is for Kim to fetch wateron his bike tonight, but this is unlikely to happen. No probs, theTour de France leader will pump her upper arms a bit more. The onlyissue, I must avoid detection. The last thing I want is thefifty-five-year old lady wrestling the empty jerrycan from herdaughter-in-law. She did it on few occasions, to my totalembarrassment. The idea that your mother-in-law has to fetch waterfor you somehow does not fit well with my self-esteem. Especiallyconsidering that she wakes up at four in the morning and walks noless than ten miles every day, in any weather, and with two basketson her shoulder-pole. She runs her own fast-food business: XVCentury style. In the morning, she prepares the meals and deliversthem by lunch-time to the Landfill workers. After lunch, she walksto the market to buy supplies for the next day, and so on.Naturally, for the water run I can ask any of my so-called‘nephews’ and ‘nieces’. But I will need more water tomorrow:scrubbing the shack floor, shipshape. OK, tomorrow I will whistlefrom the porch and abuse my executive auntie's powers. Today, thepolite ‘nephews’ and ‘nieces’ may play their oh-so-importantsoftball match…

***

Kim arrives home at something past eight. Hebangs his bike against the pole and curses the cable lock in thedarkness. The investigation hasn't gone too well, I conclude. So Imust make my husband talk, or he will be upset all night long.

“The Homicide Unit gave you shit for theunnecessary call, did they?” I ask, crawling to the porch.

“Something along these lines,” he sits atthe stairs tread kicking off his sandals. “Anything to eat? I ambloody hungry.”

“Kimchi and rice soup. Withkimchi on the side.Fried kimchi ricewith kimchi salad. Steam rice…”

“Stop being silly.”

“OK, just joking. Your Momwill not allow us to die of starvation. We have vegetable curry,pickled daikon and even a quarter of fried chicken.Kimchi and steam rice,naturally. Coffee and brownie with jam to polish off.”

“Sounds good. Have you eaten?”

“Waited for you, Mister Coyote. Water?”

I open the jerrycan and pour water on hishands. Kim washes his neck and face. With his hair spiking in alldirections, now he positively resembles Wile E Coyote from thecartoon.

“Do you want to know who is in-charge ofthis investigation?” he asks. Great. We are talking.

“Who?”

“His Highness Deputy InvestigatorWoxman!”

“That buffoon? You are not joking?”Admittedly, Woxman is not exactly a buffoon. Two months ago hetopped the written test, and by wide margin. Kim came the second.That's why Woxman is a Deputy Investigator now, and my husband isstill just a Deputy. Although, Deputy Investigator Woxman isnothing more than a pompous jerk. He is an investigator as much asI am – a Korean cook.

“If I was joking, I wouldn't be pissed off,”Kim reaches for the chopsticks.

“Take it easy. The Homicide Unit had to comefor nothing, so bloody what? Woxman must be thankful. He wasdelivered to the place by a horse, in full comfort, like a damnVIP. If not for the reported homicide, he would sweat all the wayon his bike, correct?”

“What: correct?”

“The old Taiwanese man is alive, right? Astubbing is a serious violence, but no fatality. So we must call aninvestigator from the Station. Our Standard Operational Procedure,remember?”

“It's much worse than that.”

“Much worse? You aresaying the old man is dead? Well, what are they freaking unhappyabout? If somebody dies from a gut-driver – it's hardly a death ofa natural cause. The Coroner is not required; must call theHomicide Unit, period. I did everything right!”

“Much worse than that, partner!”

“OK, tell me.”

“Aha! Our Sherlock-Holmes-on-wheels can'tguess!”

“First, your Sherlock-Holmes-on-wheels can'tdo magic. To make a guess, I need information. Second, I believethe case is very darn simple. Victor Chen thinks his father isdead, but the old man is just knocked down. While Victor runs tothe Beat, the old man comes to senses and goes to find a doctor.After that, we have a bunch of possibilities: he dies beforereaching the medic, he reaches the medic, but dies anyway, or he isOK. Don't ask me what is more probable: it depends on the positionand depth of the wound and other such medical stuff. But I can'tsee any other possibility.”