The Ville Rat

– 15-

“Don’t even think about it, Bascom,” Rick Mills said.

Ernie had his hand on the hilt of his holstered .45.

“Take off your jacket,” Rick Mills said. Ernie did, and dropped it on the floor. “Now, unbuckle the leather. Without touching the weapon, drop the entire holster on top of the jacket.” Ernie followed instructions.

“Now, gently,” Rick Mills said, “using your feet, slide the jacket and the holster toward me. Ernie did, shoving it forward a few feet. “Now you, Sueno. Keep sliding it over here.”

When it was close enough, Rick Mills told me to stop, then reached forward with his right foot and pulled Ernie’s jacket right in front of him. By now, the jacket was soaked with gasoline. The little kisaeng had sat back down on her stool, both her hands now covering her face. Carefully keeping the shotgun aimed at us, Rick Mills crouched down, released Ernie’s .45 from its holster, stood back up, and shoved the automatic into his front belt.

By now, Demoray had realized what was happening and was struggling to get up.

With the shotgun, Rick Mills motioned for me to move to my left. He also motioned for Ernie to step closer to me and the little kisaeng.

Then he said, “Demoray, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, boss. I’m okay now.”

“These boys knocked you for a loop, eh?”

“They got lucky.”

“I doubt that. They’re just smarter than you. Why don’t you admit it?”

Demoray didn’t answer.

Mills said, “Come over here.”

“I can’t move, boss.”

“Sure you can. Just wriggle forward a little bit at a time. You can do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Try, goddamn it!”

Demoray tried. He made a few inches’ progress. Then he made more.

“That’s it,” Rick Mills said. “Just keep coming like that. Like a big worm. The big worm that you are.” He paused, stared at us, and then back at Demoray. “We had the perfect operation going,” Mills said. “For years. Everybody was getting fat. The DACs were getting what they wanted, the generals were getting the swimming pools and golf courses, the ROK government was getting contracts and gifts every year, but nobody was getting greedy. Everybody played it cool, made sure the records stayed clean and questions weren’t asked, and every Eighth Army inspector general was either handpicked by one of our commanders or kept busy with projects that kept him away from the Central Locker Fund. Everybody played it cool. Played it smart.”

Demoray was just a few feet away from Rick Mills now, sweaty and smeared with gasoline. Like the worm Mills had suggested, Demoray looked up and said, “Get the keys, boss. Let me up.”

Mills looked down at him, his lips twisted in disgust. Then he spit off to the side, took a step backward, and as fast as a striker kicking a ball toward the goal, his foot flashed forward. Demoray’s head snapped back, and blood and flesh and what might’ve been molars flooded over his front lip.

“Dumb shit,” Mills said.

The little kisaeng started to whimper.

“Can you shut her up?” Mills said. He shook his head. “Korean women used to be strong. My wife would never have whined like that. No matter what.”

The little kisaeng stifled her crying.

“What now?” I asked Mills.

“Whadda you mean, what now?”

“I mean, you can shoot us. A lot of good it’ll do you. The game’s over now, Mills. You must’ve been listening when I gave Demoray advice. A good lawyer. You can definitely afford one, probably from one of those fancy law firms. Somebody who specializes in going up against the government. You know what Eighth Army JAG is like. You’ll get a slap on the wrist. They won’t just be intimidated by your legal representation; they don’t particularly want the embarrassment of what’s been going on beneath their noses for all these years.”

Mills grinned. “You’re a cynical bastard, aren’t you?”

I shrugged.

“How about you,” Mills said, turning to Ernie. “Do you agree with your partner here?”

“He’s right about most things.”

“But not everything.”

“Nobody is,” Ernie said. “Like how many cartridges do you have in that shotgun. Two? If you miss with one, either me or my partner will be on your ass.”

I don’t know how he managed it, but Ernie was somehow chomping on ginseng gum again.

Mills grinned even more broadly. “By God, I like your spirit. Shit, if I would’ve had guys like you working for me, instead of this piece of shit . . .” Demoray shook his head. “. . . we’d still be in business and going strong.”

“We wouldn’t work for you, Mills,” I said.

“Why not. You don’t like money?”

“I like money fine. I just don’t like raping and torturing helpless women.”

Mills frowned. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought his finger tightened on the trigger of the shotgun. He glared at me. For a long minute, I held my breath. Mills was making a decision. Ernie felt it too. An aura of tension seemed to emanate from his body. I knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to attack. If he had to go down, he would at least go down fighting; but he was also weighing the odds. Rick Mills knew how to handle that shotgun. If either Ernie or I made a play for him, our guts would be blown out of our stomachs and splattered all over onionskin.

Finally, Rick Mills took his eyes off of mine and glanced at the little kisaeng.

“Get her out of here,” he said.

I reached for her. She stood.

“That’s what it was,” Rick Mills said. “Not the money. Who gives a shit if wasted tax dollars land in my pocket or somebody else’s? It was the arrogance. The cruelty. The thinking that we were better than the Koreans. So much better than their women that we could use them in the ways we saw fit. Ways that made us feel good. That’s why this piece of shit deserves to die.”

Demoray twisted his bloody mouth away from the floor, saying “Please.”

Mills kicked him again.

“Go on,” Mills said. “Get out. All three of you. Get out now.”

Ernie grabbed the little kisaeng and started to back away.

I stepped backward, keeping my hands raised and my eyes on Rick Mills’s shotgun. When I was almost out of range, I said, “You don’t have to do this, Mills.”

“Sure I do,” he said.

“You’ll be in trouble, sure,” I said, “but you didn’t kill anyone. You know how it works. You pay your dues and life goes on.”

“I paid my dues,” Mills said, “when my wife died.”

“How about him?” I said, motioning toward Demoray. “You can’t just shoot him.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not the judge and jury.”

“I am now.”

In the distance, a siren sounded. As we listened, it grew louder. “You better get out, Sueno. While you still can.”

I backed away, stepped around the edge of the long row, and finally out of the line of fire. I leaned against the stanchion, breathing deeply, suddenly realizing that my knees were wobbly. Apparently, Ernie’d already hustled the little kisaeng out of the warehouse. He ran toward me, grabbed my arm, and without a word yanked me toward the exit.

I followed.

We were just stepping outside the warehouse into the blessed fresh air when we heard it. A shotgun blast. And then, as we dived toward the ground, a huge whoosh, like a mighty monster inhaling all the oxygen in the world, and the 8th United States Army Non-Appropriated Fund Records Repository exploded into flame.