Yin Yang Tattoo by Ron McMillan

inch and a postage-stamp photograph buried on an inside page of tomorrow’s newspapers.
    As traffic flowed through the notch in the line of hills that marked the beginning of the Seoul plain, a curtain of brown smog rose up against the grey-blue sky.
    Lee left me at the hotel with instructions to be ready at eight o’clock the next morning. If he knew what or where we were to be shooting, he saw no need to share that information with me, and I wasn’t about to ask.
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    By the time I walked into JJ’s, I was freshly showered and fed, and feeling at least the physical benefits of forty-five minutes in the hotel gym.
    The bar in the Hyatt basement heaved with singles of all ages. Groups of Korean men hunkered around tables shrouded in blue smoke. Lone Western businessmen sipped selfconsciously at bottles of Bud or Heineken and warily scanned the abundant supply of overdressed women. Scoring in a joint like JJ’s was easy. The real challenge was scoring sex that didn’t break the expense account budget, as the bar attracted some of the most expensive whores in Korea.
    On a small stage of chrome and mirrors a four-piece Filipino band, fronted by a curvaceous Filipina, belted out cover versions of Top-20 hits through the ages. Like every Filipino cover band I ever heard – and they pop up in hotel bars and lobbies all over Asia – they were tightly rehearsed, note-perfect, and with the exception of the singer’s curves, eminently forgettable.
    Bobby Purves stood alone, tie loosened, one polished brogue on the brass rail, a half-empty litre of draft on the bar in front of him. I saw him make a signal for two more of what might be the most expensive beers in all of Korea.
    â€˜I can’t afford this place, Bobby. I’m tight for cash until K-N comes up with an advance.’
    He shook his head even as he slurped at the fresh glass. ‘We’ll grab a couple here, then move someplace where the eye-candy’s better.’
    â€˜Remember I wanted to ask you something?’
    â€˜Cutting straight to business?’
    â€˜Tell me about Due Diligence.’
    â€˜Back to K-N again?’
    I nodded and he thought about it for a moment.
    â€˜Due Diligence is mostly a formality, but it has to be done before every major company merger or stock flotation or bond issue – like the Global Depository Receipt that K-N is planning now. It’s usually carried out by a team of young accountants and investment bankers working out of the big financial centres – London or New York or Tokyo.’
    â€˜I hear a team comes here later in the week.’
    â€˜That would be about right. They have to pore over the accounts, inspect plants, and check that everything is the way the company says it is, in case there are any surprises.’
    â€˜Like?’
    â€˜A few years ago one of the big Korean car makers ended up with egg all over its face. Inspectors worked out that actual corporate debt was something like ten times what the company had on the books and a planned take-over by an American car giant was called off like THAT.’ He snapped his fingers loudly enough to jolt two barmen to attention. Bobby didn’t notice until they both arrived, seeking instructions. He waggled a meaty finger at our glasses.
    I thought about what he just said. ‘So K-N might be shitting themselves?’
    â€˜That depends on how many lies they’ve been telling. Same as anywhere else in the world, no set of corporate accounts here tells the complete truth.’ He lifted his glass halfway to his mouth and stopped. ‘Have you heard something I should know about?’
    â€˜Schwartz talking about Due Diligence today. I wanted to understand it.’
    â€˜Remember who you’re talking to here.’
    â€˜I’m not hiding anything.’ Apart from a fake North Korean manufacturing plant in the rice fields of Cholla province. Bobby had already surprised me by not bringing