Jade Lady burning

7

The first sergeant had already finished his report on the interrogation of Johnny Watkins and the frightened young man had been transported, under heavy MP escort, down to the Eighth Army Stockade at the Army Support Command in Bupyong. There he would await the paperwork that had to be done before the U.S. authorities could turn him over to the Koreans.

The U.S. government would pay for a Korean lawyer for him but the trial would be decided primarily on the basis of public opinion. If somebody had to pay the price for the murder of Pak Ok-suk, and the public thought it should be a GI, then whoever happened to be in custody would be it. It was like the government minister who had to step down when a typhoon destroyed a couple of cities. Everybody knew he didn’t have any control over the weather but he had the responsibility. And somebody had to be sacrificed to restore the balance and harmony.

If the judge determined that Johnny was probably innocent they’d go easy on him. The last GI Ernie and I had tried to keep out of a Korean jail only got four years. Not bad for murder. He would have gotten a lot more if he’d actually been guilty.

All this somehow made sense to me. Maybe it’s my Mexican genes.

I didn’t see how we could make much progress in this case and keep Johnny Watkins out of jail unless we found Kimiko. The best way to do that was to run the ville, which was no problem because it was always on my program anyway.

After the retreat bugle sounded, Ernie and I turned in the jeep, changed out of our coats and ties, and showered, shaved, and popped a couple of wet ones. We were parading through the alleys of Itaewon, OB bottles in hand, when we heard the squawk of a radio in a parked MP jeep. The two uniformed MPs had their feet kicked up and they were laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

‘The Officers’ Club. They’re asking for MP support. Some old gal named Kiko something is raising hell. Apparently she kicked the chief of staff in the balls.”

Ernie and I looked at each other, jumped in a cab, and headed for the compound. We were both thinking the same thing: Kimiko. Who else would be nuts enough?

We paid the driver and, flashing our identification, ran through the gate heading towards South Post. We trotted along the placid avenue until we saw red lights flashing atop MP sedans in front of the canopied entranceway to the Eighth Army Officers’ Club. Doors slammed and more sedans raced past as we ran towards the commotion.

The members, mostly officers in tailored dress blue uniforms and a few ladies in evening gowns, wandered back into the club. The master-at-arms was a burly black NCO by the name of Bosun. He wore a baggy Hong Kong suit and looked like he’d just lost the main event in a wrestling match with the Magnificent Destroyer.

I didn’t need to show him my badge. He’d seen me around.

“Who was it?”

“Some old bitch.” He patted the scratches on his forehead with a handkerchief. “Crazy.”

“Kimiko?”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Yeah. I think.”

“What’d she do?”

“Tried to corner General Bohler. When he told her to get lost, she went berserk.”

“Kicked him in the balls?”

“How’d you know that?”

“The news is already in Itaewon.”

The big guy just shook his head and walked back towards the door.

“Who escorted her in?” I said, following.

“I don’t know. Let’s look in the log.”

At the raised desk just inside the glass doorway, Bosun opened the big ledger marked Guest Register. He didn’t have to look too far. Most of the people who entered the O Club were authorized. At the NCO Club, dozens of business girls were brought in every night and the guest registers had to be ordered by the bushel full, but here not too many officers brought their Korean girlfriends. Bad for the career.

“She was brought in by a Lieutenant Leibowitz. He brought in two girls. A Miss Ahn and this old broad, Kimiko.” The master-at-arms looked up at us.

I said, “See if you can round up this lieutenant and his girlfriend. Do you have a place where we can talk to them?”

“Yeah. Back here in the MAs office.” Bosun was happy to cooperate because he was pissed and wanted to see Kimiko get burned. We waited. When the lieutenant came in, all decked out in dress blues, I showed him my badge.

He put his hands up in front of his chest. “Hold on, now. I just brought a couple of girls to the O Club.”

“To a commander’s call?”

“Yeah. It’s sort of formal but Miss Ahn is such a nice person, and so well dressed. I never figured anything like this would happen.”

Ernie stuck his nose through a crack in the door and peered out. Apparently Miss Ahn was worth looking at.

“Where’d you meet her?”

“I’ve known her for a long time. She’s never been any trouble. And she’s-”

“Where’d you find her, Lieutenant?”

“Outside the gate.”

“On the street?”

“Well… not like you mean. She was just standing outside the gate and she needed somebody to escort her on post to the O Club.”

“So you signed her in at the gate and then into the club?”

“Yeah.”

“How long ago did you first meet her?”

“A couple of months ago. And she’s never been any trouble.”

“She stays with you sometimes on the compound?”

“Sure. But that’s never-”

“How did Kimiko get into the act?”

“I’d never seen her before tonight, she’s just a friend of Miss Ahn’s, and when I went outside the gate to pick her up, this woman Kimiko was there, and Miss Ahn asked if I could escort her, too. I figured one more wouldn’t hurt, so-”

“Did Kimiko say why she wanted to come to the O Club?”

“No. She didn’t say much of anything.”

“Why do you think she wanted to come to the O Club?”

“Just to have a fun evening, I guess.”

“She had that. And didn’t you think she wanted to meet someone here and maybe make a few dollars?”

Leibowitz straightened his shoulders. ‘That is no affair of mine.”

“You’ve paid Miss Ahn before, haven’t you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

I knew the answer. A few of the classier girls stood outside the gate that led to the Officers Club and made arrangements with someone, usually young officers, to escort them on post. Sometimes they had someone who would meet them out there and sometimes they just took their chances, smiling and asking a likely-looking young man to help a lady in distress. There weren’t too many women because the pickings were slimmer at the Officers’ Club, but when they made their rare strike the payoff was better. And most of the women who went that route were good-looking and highly presentable in the more sedate confines of the Officers’ Club. Not like the droves of old hags and young floozies who crowded the front gate, waiting for someone to take them into the Lower Four Club. Of them all, male and female, I preferred the old hags. They weren’t trying to be something they weren’t.

I thanked Lieutenant Leibowitz for his time. He straightened his jacket and strode off in a huff. Your typical infantry officer. All spit and polish. No brains.

“She’s out here,” Ernie said. “Miss Ahn.”

Bosun and the MPs had her behind the MAs desk. She was tall and wore a low-cut blue-patterned dress that was guaranteed to draw every man’s eyes. Her hair puffed out in a short bouffant and surrounded a face that had been very pretty and was still holding up well.

I spoke to her in English.

“Why’d you bring Kimiko on the compound?”

“She is a Korean woman. She asked me for help, so I helped her.”

“How much did she pay you?”

Miss Ahn reached in her handbag and pulled out a pack of American cigarettes. She tapped one free and lit it without waiting for any of us to offer.

She said, “How much doesn’t matter. But yeah, she paid me.” She exhaled the smoke past the cheap artwork that lined the walls.

“How long have you known her?”

“Long time. Everybody knows Kimiko. But is she my friend? No. And did I ever take her to the Officers’ Club before? No. I was surprised she wanted to go. Usually she works in Itaewon.”

“Why did she want to go in?”

“I don’t know. Make money, I guess.”

“Did she sit with you and Lieutenant Leibowitz?”

“For a little while. Then she go.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention. Next thing I know, big fight.”

“With who?”

Miss Ahn’s eyes opened wide. “General Bohler. You know.”

I thanked her for her help. No sense making enemies. These business girls can be a lot of help to an investigator, and she was looking good in that long blue dress. Near thirty, though. But my standards were getting less stringent.

“You give me a ride off compound?” she said. Apparently, Lieutenant Leibowitz had abandoned her.

“We don’t have a car.”

“Shit.”

She puffed rapidly on her cigarette. There were plenty of men inside the club and plenty of booze. Someone would help her.

An MP stepped over. “Sueсo?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“General Bohler’s aide, Major Zaronsky, wants a word.”

“Can you point him out?” I said.

“Sure can,” he said. “He’s the one making all the noise over there.”

Five young officers were sitting at the table. One of them was waving his hands in the air, dominating the conversation. He was prematurely balding and cropped blond hair fringed his dome. His look was pugnacious. I couldn’t tell from this distance but I felt certain that Major Zaronsky’s eyes would prove to be blue and vacuous. I thanked the MP and walked towards their table.

The major was in the middle of a dissertation. The other officers, all junior to him, were staring with exaggerated attentiveness, making sure they’d max their efficiency reports.

I interrupted him in midsentence: “Are you Major Zaronsky?”

The major stopped talking, both hands in midair. Keeping them there, he turned his upper body around slowly. “Who wants to know?” he asked, eyes wide, feigning amazement that anyone would have the temerity to interrupt.

“You wanted to see me?” I said. “I’m Sueсo.”

“Sergeant Sueсo?” Zaronsky spat it out, his hands still in the air. “You’re not in my unit,” he said, his voice rising. “What unit are you in?”

“Sir. Maybe we could go in the game room.”

‘The game room?” Zaronsky asked in mock astonishment. ”I don’t want to go in no fucking game room.” His arms came crashing down. ”Now I asked you a question, Sergeant. What goddamn unit are you in?”

“I’m with the CID.” I said, in a forced monotone. “I’m here on official business, and I’d like to keep it confidential.”

‘The CID?” Once again Major Zaronsky was astonished. ”What in the world would the C-I-fucking-D want here? There ain’t nothing wrong here. There ain’t nothing wrong that everybody in the club can’t listen to!”

Major Zaronsky was shouting. He was right about one thing: Everyone in the club was definitely listening. What the hell was his problem?

“Well, sir,” I said, “if you insist on discussing it here, I’ll tell you-” I could see Ernie out of the corner of my eye; he was facing us, standing next to his bar stool, with no beer in sight.”

“If you had done a thorough shakedown of the guests tonight,” I said, “you might have prevented an attack on a general staff officer.” I hurried my speech, so the loudmouth major wouldn’t be able to interrupt. “And that unaccountable lapse in security has turned out to be deeply unfortunate.”

Major Zaronsky’s face was changing. The feigned surprise was gradually becoming genuine anger.

“But,” I said, “since you’re so sure that there is nothing wrong with your procedures, Major Zaronsky, I won’t bother you any further.”

I stared into his empty blue eyes. For the first time he was quiet. I turned and started to walk away but the major was up and red with rage.

“Now hold on, Ser-geant,” the major said, dragging the word out a few extra syllables. “I’m the security officer here and I’m sure as hell not going to let you come in here and cast aspersions and insults.”

The major got up real close and stuck his nose right in my face.

“You asked me to tell you, sir.” I struggled to keep my voice even.

“Don’t argue with me!” His foul breath wafted up against my closed mouth. “And stand at attention when I’m talking to you.”

I wanted to punch him and he knew it. And the more I showed it, the more he enjoyed it. I came slowly to attention.

“Who’s your commander?” the major barked.

I hesitated and then answered. “Captain Daily.”

“And your immediate supervisor?”

From the corner of my eye I saw Ernie moving slowly away from the bar. He held a glass ashtray in his hand, the sharp, jagged point protruding from between his thumb and forefinger.

His movements were languid-zombie-like-and his head was tilted back, lifting his nose high into the air. He peered down from this vantage point and moved toward us as if his mind had retreated to some higher plane.

I ran at him, hit his shoulders with my forearms, and got him moving back towards the exit. He allowed his body to be guided towards the door but his head swiveled back at the offending officer. Behind his glasses, his bulging eyes were fixed on Zaronsky, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent.

By the time we got to the provost marshal’s office it was too late.

“What’d you do with her?”

“Turned her over to the KNPs.” The desk sergeant was working the crossword puzzle in that day’s Pacific Stars amp; Stripes. It seemed to be much more interesting to him than the Kimiko incident.

“But she just kicked a major general in the balls.”

“He decided not to press charges. Public relations, you know. Who wants to admit that an old, worn-out business girl got the best of a warrior like General Bohler? Don’t press charges, turn her over to the Korean National Police, that’s the best route. They’ll work her over good. That’s what the man wanted. Otherwise he’d lose face.”

“Which police box did they send her to?”

“Itaewon.”

Ernie and I headed towards the door.

The desk sergeant glanced up from his puzzle. “What’s a ten-letter word for ‘a destroyer of sacred images’?”

“Ball-breaker,” I said.

Ernie and I trudged back to the Main Supply Route and this time it took twenty minutes to flag down a taxi.

Ernie said, “If I’d known we were going to be working on a case tonight, during our off-duty hours, I’d have checked out the jeep.”

“No sweat, Ernie. You can afford it.”

“It’s your turn to pay for the cab.”

“Like hell. I got a family to support.”

“The King Club bartender and Miss Oh don’t count. They’re only Class B dependents. Me, I got the Nurse.”

Nobody could accuse the Nurse of being Class B. I paid the cab fare.

We got off about a block before reaching the ltaewon Police Box. I wanted to sneak up on the place. In case we heard screaming.

She clutched the bars, spread-eagled; her long black hair in mad, sweat-matted disarray. Her dress was hiked up to her waist and her facial muscles were bunched in knots across her face as she grunted and tried to hold on.

The two policemen trying to pull Kimiko out of her cell were getting nowhere and when they sensed the presence of two large Americans they pulled harder, cursed, and first a brass button and then an epaulet came off their uniforms. Finally one of them let go, Kimiko’s body recoiled towards the bars, and then he was pummeling her.

She swung back wildly but it was no contest and, while she was protecting herself from the blows, the other policeman grabbed her under her arms and jerked her through the doors and down the hallway to the interrogation room.

Captain Kim came up behind us, red faced, waving his hand in front of my nose.

“No. No. No. You go! You go!”

He put his head down and pushed me and Ernie back towards the front desk.

When we had come in, no one was paying too much attention to us so we decided to slip back into the cell block and see how Kimiko was doing. Now we knew.

“We want to talk to her,” I said.

“Not now. She is in our custody. First we will talk to her. Later you talk to her.”

“When?”

Captain Kim paused and looked around the room, catching his breath.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow you come back.”

There was nothing else to do. She was in their jurisdiction and, as far as the United States was concerned, no charges had been filed by us against her.

As we were escorted out of the police box, we heard more guttural cursing down the hallway and what sounded like a slap.

We walked until we were out of sight of the police box and then we hopped across the street to the Hamilton Hotel. We found a narrow alley running off the Main Supply Route that gave us a clear view inside the police box, and there we stood in the shadows. I doubted that they’d spot us, primarily because they weren’t looking.

“Well, we’re here,” Ernie said. “We got a great view of the ltaewon Police Box. My next question is, why?”

“I want to make sure they don’t take Kimiko anywhere.”

“Hold on a minute, pal. I’m not going to stand outside here all night just to protect the human rights of some poor innocent bar girl.”

“We won’t have to stand here all night. Just until Captain Kim leaves. He’s the honcho. Nothing important happens unless he’s there to supervise it.”

“Why would they want to move her?”

“I’m not sure. She seems to be at the center of this whole thing. I just don’t want to lose tabs on her.”

“And when Captain Kim leaves?”

“We take the rest of the night off. And then come back here before he returns to work.”

“Holy shit, George. You always get like this. Taking these cases too personal. If Kimiko knows anything about the murder, the KNPs will get it out of her tonight, and if not, at least they’ll give her a block of instruction on the importance of not kicking general officers in the cajones. Nothing to worry about.”

“1 want to talk to her.”

“And you’re worried about losing her trail?”

“Right.”

Ernie sighed. “All right. I’ll get the beer.”

In a few minutes he was back with a big frosty liter of OB. The cap had already been popped off. He took a swig and handed the bottle to me. I was hot and thirsty from all the running around and the beer tasted delicious. I gurgled about half of it down.

We waited.

By the time we were thinking about buying another bottle, Captain Kim walked out of the police box. He had changed into a dark blue business suit and carried a briefcase. Korea, for all its modernity and contacts with the Western world, is still a Confucian society. Scholars are esteemed while people who work with their hands, like policemen, are lower on the social ladder. So it’s not uncommon for people to change into suits on their way to and from work, hoping they will look like your average professor of nuclear physics. Even my houseboy did it.

Ernie watched him go. “Just another day at the office.”

“And now we’re off duty, too.”

“Where to?”

“Where else?”

We walked across the Main Supply Route, up the hill, and into the glittering heart of ltaewon.

The King Club was packed and Miss Oh was busy serving drinks. Ernie and I wedged ourselves into the crowd at the bar so as to stay as close to the source as possible. She spotted me, gave me a half smile, and then let it drop. Trouble.

The band wailed away. They were a little better than the one the club used to have. 1 figured two or three more beers and then I might be able to fool myself into believing they were on key. The last combo had required a six-pack.

I leaned towards Ernie. “Who’s it going to be tonight? Miss So or the Nurse?”

“I sort of gave up on Miss So. The Nurse is all right. She takes care of me.”

Like the time she took the butcher knife to you, I thought. And threw your mattress into the well.

Miss Oh walked by, balancing a tray full of drinks. She sidled her way through the tables and served a group in front of the dance floor. When she was finished, she stopped in front of me.

“I can’t see you tonight,” she said, and started to walk off.

I grabbed her by the arm. “Why?”

“Somebody’s having a big party tonight. I have to go.”

“Who?”

She swiveled her head and stared at me. Her narrow eyes flattened a little. “Why you ask me?”

“Is it the new honcho in Itaewon? Mr. Kwok?”

Her eyes widened for a moment and then her lips tightened. “Yeah. That’s him,” she said. “Mr. Kwok. So what?”

I let go of her arm, we glowered at one another for a moment, and then she tossed her hair back as she walked away. I watched her hot pants sway as she teetered down the crowded aisle.

Ernie took a swig of his beer, looked at me, grinned.

“Miss Lim?”

I thought of something coarse to say but instead just slammed my empty beer bottle down on the bar. “Yeah.” I said.

It was against my principles but there I was in the American Club, after already spending the last two nights with her, looking for Miss Lim again. I didn’t ask but Ginger told me that she hadn’t been in yet. After serving us a couple of beers, Ginger slid off, back to the telephone. If I hadn’t known better, I might have suspected that she was doing something devious. Actually I didn’t mind, and I was fuming about Miss Oh. In my opinion she was the best-looking woman in Itaewon and she had to be on everybody’s list of the top ten. If the honchos have a big party, they will staff it with the bestlooking help available and Miss Oh was sure to be in on it. This guy Kwok-she hadn’t flinched when I mentioned his name, so maybe she didn’t actually know him. Or maybe she would have agreed with whatever name I gave her just to make me jealous. If so, it was working.

By the time Miss Lim arrived, I had calmed down and was delighted to see her. We had a few beers and then a few more and the band started to sound great. I even danced with her one time: a slow dance, to be sure.

I have a theory about fast dancing, that it’s intended to make men look ridiculous. And the more ridiculous a woman can make a man look, the more power she has over him and the more she affirms her own attractiveness. It makes me want to barf to see all those guys out there shucking and jiving with big smiles on their faces, as if they’re really enjoying themselves. I don’t believe it. Why don’t they admit that they’d rather be in the sack with the woman and stop pretending that they love the rhythm and the sounds of the movement? Give me a break.

Once, at the Lower Four Club, I was somewhat less than sober and a girl Riley had picked up somewhere coaxed me into fast dancing with her. When they saw me on the dance floor, Riley and Ernie had apoplectic fits that ended up with them both rolling on the carpet, holding their stomachs. But there was nothing wrong with slow dancing with Miss Lim and it made me remember what had gone on last night and made me want to repeat it again tonight. I even came up with some new ideas.

By the time we left, Ginger was pleased with her handiwork and Ernie and I walked out into the cold air, Miss Lim held firmly between us.

Ernie hailed a cab and guided him down the MSR a couple of blocks, up a steep hill, and around a few alleys until we pulled to a halt in front of the Nurse’s hooch.

She stood in the doorway, nightgown fluttering, silhouetted by the stark light behind her. We all took off our shoes, sat down on the warm vinyl floor, and the Nurse put on some music. Ernie slipped her some money, and in a few minutes she was back with beer, unhusked peanuts, and strings of dried cuttlefish. We drank and feasted and laughed and when it got too late, we turned off the music and turned off the light and Ernie slept with the Nurse in the bed and I slept with Miss Lim on the floor.

At dawn I shook Miss Lim awake. She seemed confused, and embarrassed about being there. I helped her find her clothes and then walked her out to the street and hailed a taxi for her. If I were more of a gentleman, I would have paid the cab fare.

Ernie was up by now and the Nurse had prepared a large pan of warm water for each of us. I squatted outside, washed my face, and borrowed one of Ernie’s razors to shave. Without a mirror. When we were presentable we sat cross-legged in the hooch while the Nurse served us steaming cups of freeze-dried coffee.

By the time the first rays of sunlight were warming the narrow lanes of Itaewon, we were back in our alley, watching the police box. Passersby, scurrying on their way to work, squinted at the two big Americans loitering in the cold shadows. I didn’t mind. I just hoped the police wouldn’t notice.

Captain Kim worked late but he also arrived late and it got real uncomfortable waiting for him. I sauntered over to the Hamilton Hotel once and used a public phone to call Riley at the office. I told him to let Top know that we were following up a lead on the Pak Ok-suk murder case. The less details the better. Of course, Top might get sort of peeved at us being out here, since they already had a suspect and the case was ostensibly wrapped up, but he hadn’t told us not to continue working on it and, anyway, I’d worry about that later. Ernie wasn’t complaining. He’d hung with me through worse shit.

Finally, when it was almost nine o’clock, Captain Kim, in his neatly pressed blue suit, strolled into his place of business. It was nice to have the waiting over but then we had to wait again. There was no telling if, or when, he would release Kimiko. Waiting’s the worst part about being a CID agent and Ernie swore if he ever got out of this shit, he’d never wait for anything again. If he needed a cavity filled, he’d go to the emergency room.

“Yesterday he said we could talk to her,” Ernie said. “So why don’t we just Bogart on in there?”

“He’d probably stall us and then hold on to her until we cleared the area. If we hold tight here, Captain Kim might decide to let her go early, before we arrive to start asking questions.”

She came out just then, into the sun, blinking like a bruised rat, looked around, and then stepped gingerly onto the slippery ice. She was still wearing her short dress, her hair was gnarled and matted, and all traces of makeup had been smeared off her face. She must have been freezing. She teetered down the sidewalk and then up the hill to Itaewon, heading for hearth and home.

We followed, one of us on either side of the street, stopping occasionally in doorways to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible. There was a fairly healthy crowd of pedestrians but when you’re over six feet tall and Caucasian it’s sort of difficult to put an effective tail on someone. Maybe not in New York but definitely in Seoul.

But anyway, Kimiko wasn’t looking. She was exhausted, beat up, defeated. When she turned up the narrow alley leading to her hooch, we hesitated a while to give her a head start and then we turned the corner.

What we saw didn’t exactly make our day although it did confirm my paranoid suspicions.

The two guys looked very tough, and when we stopped moving forward they just stared at us.

Kimiko couldn’t see us. One of the guys held her arms behind her back and with his free hand he pushed the back of her neck down so her long hair dangled, brushing the ground.

I was getting sort of tired of people pushing her around. Ernie took the first steps forward. And then me.

The bad guys didn’t move.

I did have one comforting thought! One of the great things about living in Korea was that the country had total gun control. You didn’t have to worry about getting shot in the back by some hoodlum looking for a little target practice. Only the police and the soldiers had guns, and for a private citizen to get caught with a firearm was a major offense.

Of course, sometimes the local soldiers got out of line. Every now and then one of them went berserk and holed up in a hotel with hostages. Just didn’t want to sign in off his pass, I guess. Even in the line of duty, they could make you a little nervous. Like at a roadblock when some American got the bright idea that he didn’t have to show his identification, since he was one of the heroes from the Land of the Brave, and an ROK Army soldier leveled his weapon at him. Still, they’re very reluctant to shoot Americans.

We didn’t have to worry about guns, but we did have to worry about the men. They were both tall for Koreans, close to six feet, thin but not skinny, with knots of muscle at various strategic points around their bodies. I noticed the callouses on their knuckles and the stances they were in and, by the looks of them, the years of practice that went into such familiarity.

Ernie took a few steps off to the side of the alley and got his back up against the stone wall. An old habit from Vietnam. If they decide to waste you at least you’ll see them coming.

The hoodlums had turned their attention to us but still held Kimiko, who was muttering vile curses through her constricted throat.

I thought of turning around and walking away, pretending we were just innocent bystanders who happened to stumble on this scene and didn’t want to get involved in any trouble. But that wouldn’t do Kimiko much good. And I didn’t want to lose her after all the trouble we’d gone through to find her. Anyway, my guess was that these guys had probably spotted us following her, because they hadn’t seemed too surprised when we rounded the corner.

I decided to go for one of those lines, like you hear in the movies, that gets everybody’s attention and puts the fear of God in your enemies. My brain churned but all I came up with was, “Why don’t you leave the girl alone?”

Ernie tried to strengthen it some. “Yeah,” he said. “Leave her alone.”

The guy with his hands free had a square face, stubbled whiskers, and a short, thick scar along the side of his neck. I don’t think he understood me. Just as well.

Instead, he looked at us for what seemed a long moment, and then he said, slowly and distinctly, as if he’d rehearsed it, “E yoja dala kamyon dangsin ae jamji chaluhkeita.”

Most of the words were familiar to me but I was too nervous to put it all together. Something about what would happen if we continued to follow her. I tried to remember the sentence as a whole, and the noun jamji in particular because that was a new one to me.

Finally the man got impatient and he waved his hand at me. “Ka! Bali ka!”

I didn’t have any trouble with that one. “Go!” he said, as if he were talking to a dog.

He shuffled another step towards us. “Bali ka, sikya!”

Fighting words.

I felt the old fear rise within me. The fear of bullies, the fear of gangs, the fear of the mean, pitiless, sun-seared streets.

The fear made me angry.

I returned the insult-“Yoja manjijima, sikya!”-speaking to him as if he were dirt.

He understood that. Like a scorpion he was on me, stinger raised. The bottom of his foot slammed my chest and I hurtled back against the stone wall.

He was a little too confident about his own expertise and let the foot linger on my chest, knee bent, while he leaned forward to punch me in the head. I twisted left, covered. The punch landed on my arms. He was much quicker than me but the road was slippery and I was now above him, on the incline. I pushed forward and his footing gave. He slid down the hill and landed on his butt. Bounding across the alleyway, I pulled the other guy off Ernie and heaved. Kimiko snarled and missed him with a snap kick as he twisted down the alley. He careened into his buddy and for a second they both lay on the road.

The one with the scar sprang upright, reached out and yanked his comrade to his feet.

We were like three glaring musk-ox-Ernie, Kimiko, and me-rump to rump, defending the herd.

By this time a small crowd had gathered on the main road and was starting to gawk. The scarred guy sneered and said, “Ka ja,” to his friend, and they both walked away, dusting themselves off.

I suppose I could have gone after them and tried to arrest them, but for what? Given her track record, I doubted Kimiko would have testified against them, so it would have been Ernie’s word and mine against theirs. And I’m not so sure Captain Kim would have been enthusiastic about the whole thing. Besides, I was afraid of them and not at all certain that we’d come out as well in the next round. I was happy just to see them go.

Kimiko straightened out what little there was of her dress and tried to dust it off, pulling the hemline down below her soiled panties.

“Why you help me?” she said.

“Lady in distress.”

She stared at me for a moment, her face lined with little creases, the nose rounded and slightly protruding, the lips fleshy, her hair like a snarled black mop. Fifty, at least. But her body was trim and her bosom soft and round. Her stock in trade.

Kimiko squinted. “You CID?”

Cover in Itaewon lasts for about five minutes. We’d been here for months.

“Yeah.”

“So you follow me? Checky, checky.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

‘To find out about Miss Pak.”

Kimiko searched my face and then slowly turned away. “Yes. Come on.”

The three of us trudged up the hill, and about halfway up the block Kimiko turned right through the open gate and we followed her into the courtyard with the charred remains of the rented home of Miss Pak Ok-suk.

The landlady stood in the courtyard, arms folded.

The doors to Kimiko’s hooch were open. Ripped open. Splintered wood and tattered strips of white paper lay strewn across the narrow wood-slat porch. Kimiko stood frozen for a moment, then spoke quickly to the landlady.

The men had come here about an hour before curfew, searched the room, and then waited all night. In the morning they tore the room apart, searching everywhere, under the vinyl-covered floors, behind the wallpapered plasterboard. Apparently they had found nothing that satisfied them.

None of this seemed to faze Kimiko. She wasn’t the type of woman to place a lot of value on possessions. She didn’t even carry a purse, at least I’d never seen her with one, and her room was as spare and utilitarian as it was possible to be. Now it was a shambles.

She stepped into the room and I followed. The plastic and wire armoire had been smashed, and the few dresses within were shredded, carefully-with a knife. The bottles on her little makeup table had been crunched, making a sweet reeking smear across the floor. The mirror was splintered into a million shards. She rummaged through the mess, calmly, but found nothing that she wanted to keep.

The landlady brought a short broom and a dustpan and together they set to work cleaning up. In a few minutes everything was out in the trash and the cement floor, splotched with vinyl, started to look like home again.

Kimiko told us to come in. We took off our shoes, crouched to pass through the doorway, and sat down cross-legged on the floor.

“I no have coffee,” she said.

“Yeah. That’s all right,” I said.

“You got cigarette?”

“No. I don’t smoke.”

She looked at Ernie. He shrugged.

Kimiko frowned but let it pass and then started talking, without preamble, about Miss Pak. She talked for maybe twenty minutes and when she was finished she just stared at us.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“And what about you? What will you do now?”

Kimiko lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I will do what I always do. Make money from GIs.”

We got up.

“Tonight,” she said, “you see me, you buy me drink.”

“We’ll see. Who were those men who attacked you and did all this?” I waved my arms around the room.

“I don’t know.” Her face showed no more emotion than the bottom of an empty soju bottle.

“What were they looking for?”

Kimiko didn’t bother to answer. She just shook her head.

At the bottom of the hill Ernie pulled out a stick of gum, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth.

“Did you believe her?”

“Some, yes. Some, no.”

“I think she’s holding a lot back,” he said as he waved down a cab.

It was sort of hard to argue with that.