Buddha's money

34

We kept Herman the german handcuffed to the roll bar of the jeep all night.

We parked in an unlit area behind the barracks and brought out a blanket for him, and even though he had to hold his arm straight up over his head, he spent a fairly comfortable night.

Why didn't we arrest him and book him and slap him in a holding cell at the MP Station? Because if we did, he'd never tell us where the jade skull was hidden. And without the skull, we'd never free Lady Ahn.

Ernie tried to wheedle it out of him by offering him a nice, comfortable bed in the barracks, but Herman wasn't going for it.

"We ought to just beat the crap out of him," Ernie told me.

I studied the scars on Herman's thick-boned forehead. He stared back at me impassively.

"It wouldn't do any good, Ernie," I said. "Herman will turn the jade skull over to us, but he'll turn it over only when he's ready. Which is just before tomorrow's rendezvous. Right, Herman?"

He stared at me with his moist brown eyes. A bubble of saliva emerged from the comer of his fleshy lips.

As we walked to the barracks, another burst of monsoon rain splattered the pavement. By the time we trotted to the doorway it was coming down in torrents. The little canvas-topped jeep sat huddled beneath a deluge of mist and spray, as if it were at the bottom of a waterfall.

Ernie went to his room. I went to mine. All I could see was the beautiful face of Lady Ahn. Before I fell asleep, I cleaned my. 38 three times.

The next day we stayed away from the CID office by leaving word for the First Sergeant that we were still trying to contact the Buddhist nun to convince her to call off the self-immolation. We kept questioning Herman about the whereabouts of the jade skull but he wouldn't spill.

Two hours before the rendezvous, Ernie went berserk.

He punched Herman and kicked him, so enraged that I couldn't hold him back. Finally, he reached into his shoulder holster, whipped out the. 45, and with a metal-on-metal clang, pulled back the charging handle.

He stuck the muzzle up against Herman's temple. "It's time, Herman. I want the jade skull. I want it now."

Sweat poured off Herman's forehead. For a moment I thought he was going to refuse like he had a hundred times before. But this time he changed his tune.

"Okay. It's in Itaewon. I'll show you where."

Ernie stuck the. 45 back into the holster. "That's better. Let's go."

Ernie drove us to Itaewon. When we approached the nightclub district, Herman piped up.

"It's at Mama Lee's," he said.

Mama Lee. The biggest black marketeer in Itaewon. Why in the hell would he leave something so valuable with her? I swiveled in the seat. Herman saw the unspoken question in my eyes and answered it.

"She's the most reliable person I know."

Which maybe wasn't saying too much.

"I hope the fuck for your sake," Ernie said, "that it's still there."

Herman sat quietly in the backseat, head down, occasionally jerking his handcuffs apart, making the chain rattle, like a child fascinated by a toy.

Once inside Mama Lee's courtyard, it took us about thirty seconds to locate the jade skull of Kublai Khan. The most priceless Mongolian antique in Korea was in a leather bag, bound in cheesecloth, stuffed behind brown bags full of American-made PX goods.

"Business looks good, Mama," Ernie said.

"So-so." She tilted her gnarled hand from side to side. Puffs of smoke filtered through her snaggled teeth, like fire from a dragon's mouth.

Ernie lifted the jade skull up to the light and examined it. "Thanks for holding this for us."

'You take go," Mama Lee said. "I no like. Chinguro." Creepy.

'Yeah, it's chinguro all right."

Ernie replaced the skull in the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and the three of us walked back to the jeep. We debated taking Herman to the MP Station and booking him.

Herman wasn't thrilled with the idea. "Hey! You guys can't do that. We had a deal."

"Fuck some kind of a deal!" Ernie said. "You had a deal with Mi-ja. To be her father and protect her. Instead you cut off her ear."

"That was business."

Ernie stepped toward Herman. I grabbed him and held on, feeling the jade skull pressing against my belly.

"Not now, Ernie. There's no time. We have to save Lady Ahn. And the nun."

Ernie took three deep breaths. Then he pointed at Herman. "As soon as this shit is over, we're booking your ass and the charge is going to be kidnapping and being an accomplice to murder in the first degree. You got that, you fat old lifer asshole?"

"I got it," Herman whispered.

As we shot through afternoon traffic toward downtown Seoul, Ernie had to swerve around groups of angry citizens, holding photographs of the little nun, throwing rotten persimmons at our jeep. I thought about what Herman had just said. It was the first time I ever remembered him answering a question with such humility in his voice. I looked back. His face was the same, aggrieved and worried, as always. But fat tears poured down his fleshy cheeks.

I didn't tell Ernie. It would've just pissed him off.

We knelt on the balcony of a Red Pagoda that sat on a hill overlooking the T-shaped intersection in front of Guanghua-mun, the Gate of the Transformation of Light.

We had left the jeep in a narrow alley in a stone-walled residential district. Ernie made Herman move to the front seat and handcuffed him to the front roll bar.

"You can't leave me here," Herman protested.

"The hell we can't," Ernie answered. "You'll be safe this far from the demonstrators. They never come up here."

"But you promised I'd be able to see Ragyapa."

"Fuck that promise. You don't deserve shit."

Ernie lifted the thick chain that was welded onto the floorboard, wound it tightly through the steering wheel, and padlocked it. With Herman's wrist handcuffed to the roll bar, both vehicle and suspect were now secure.

As we walked away, Herman cursed and shouted at us, spittle erupting from his moist lips. "You can't leave me here, you bastards! Come back and take these damn handcuffs off!"

No matter how loud he shouted, I wasn't worried about anybody interfering. The local residents wouldn't want to become involved with some half-crazed foreigner. And the police would have plenty to do with the largest demonstration of the year-maybe the decade-about to begin right in the heart of their precinct.

From the vantage point of the pagoda, we could see streams of students moving in an orderly fashion toward Guanghua-mun. Armored riot-control vehicles and helmeted riot police had already taken up positions near the periphery. In case anything got out of control.

Russet-robed monks and gray-clad nuns knelt silently on the damp pavement. A lake of tranquility. I couldn't see Choi So-lan.

In the center of all this activity, the ancient stone gate loomed about fifty feet high. Atop it were bright green tiles, upturned at the eaves, and rows of porcelain monkeys, a simian honor guard designed to ward off evil spirits. Behind the gate were the manicured grounds of the old capital building, built by the Japanese after their takeover of Korea in 1911. The domed building was still considered a reminder of colonization, and there was much talk about tearing it down.

Ernie watched the students. "They almost look like they're in military formations," he said.

"Close to it. Each university has their own student leadership council that organizes the students into groups. Boys march with boys. Girls march with girls. And the shock troops, the biggest and toughest boys, go in first."

All the students wore white bandanas across their foreheads, knotted in the back. Korean characters were slashed across the front in black ink, but from this distance I couldn't read what they said.

Around a far turn, more battalions of students emerged, all heading toward the big open intersection in front of Guanghua-mun. Vehicular traffic had long since been blocked off. A wooden platform had been set up in front of the gate; student technicians fiddled with wires and speakers and amplifiers.

The sky was overcast, but no rain. Not yet.

I grabbed the leather bag from Ernie.

"I better take up my position," I said. "Ragyapa wants me right in front of the gate."

"Why don't you let me take it?" Ernie patted the. 45 beneath his coat. "I'm better with this than you are."

"That won't help. Not with all these students. But speaking the language might make a difference. I know what to say to them." I stood and hoisted the bag over my shoulder. "Besides, if I act cool enough they just might think I'm a foreign correspondent or something."

"Did you bring a notebook?"

"Forgot."

"Well, then," Ernie said, "look studious."

And so I strode off toward the Gate of the Transformation of Light.