Martin Limon - Buddha's money

"Somebody's up there," Herman said.

"Sounds like it," I answered. "Okay. They want us in the temple, so we go in the temple. Me and Herman. Ernie, do you think you could work your way around behind?"

Ernie chomped on his ginseng gum. "Can do easy."

"Good. That'll give us an extra measure of safety if they try anything."

A high-pitched moan sliced through the rain.

We all froze, looking toward the top of the temple. Sooki shivered, rubbing her bare arms. She stood. "Sooki go now."

Herman grabbed her elbow and yanked her back down. "If you mess us up," he told her, "I'll come looking for you. You alia?" You understand?

Sooki swallowed and slowly nodded her head.

"Good." Herman released his grip and Sooki rose and trotted down the dark lane.

Ernie waited until her footsteps faded. "Scared the shit out of her, Herm baby." There was admiration in his voice.

Herman grunted.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Right." Ernie scurried off through one of the side alleys, happy as a drunkard in a saki factory. There was nothing like the prospect of violence to brighten up his outlook on life.

Ernie'd spent two tours in Vietnam. Driving trucks and hiding in bunkers from rocket attacks and buying vials of heroin from the snot-nosed boys who sold it through the wire. And he'd run the ville there, too. But Vietnam was a lot more dangerous than Itaewon. Bar girls turning tricks at night and selling military secrets in the morning. Still, Ernie loved it. The lying, the hatred, the intensity.

When I asked him about the Vietnam War he said, "There will never be another sweet one like that."

After Ernie's footsteps faded, I slapped Herman on the shoulder. "Looks like you and me are going to have to talk to these assholes."

Even in the darkness, I could see that Herman's features were bunched into wrinkles of worry.

"Follow my lead," I told him. "But if you see a chance to grab Mi-ja, take it. Better to have her and to fight for her-no matter what happens-than to let them keep her."

Herman nodded. "What if they have guns?"

"Not likely. They're foreigners."

In Korea, gun control is absolute. No nonsense like the bad guys have guns but the good guys don't. No way. In Korea, nobody has guns. No one except the Korean National Police and the military. And each weapon is tightly accounted for, from manufacture to dismantling. No black market for guns exists in Korea. And if anybody tried to start one and was caught, the sentence would be death.

The chances of a group of foreigners managing to buy small arms once they arrived in-country was slim to none. Knives, though. Clubs and axes. That was a different matter. What happened next in the temple could get rough. But I knew that Ernie wouldn't let me down. And something told me that, in a fight, Herman wouldn't be any slouch, either.

When we'd busted him for black-marketing, I'd seen Herman's military record. He'd been a straight-leg grunt in the Korean War and an infantry platoon sergeant in Vietnam.

I pulled the roll of dimes out of my pocket and clenched them in my left fist. Herman adjusted a short cudgel beneath the belt behind his back.

We stepped across the cobbled street to the Temple of the Dream Buddha.

It was dark inside, I knew it would be, but there was no way to hide our entrance. The old varnished boards creaked with every step.

I felt bad about not taking off our shoes at the entrance- it seemed like a great sacrilege-but with a little girl's life at stake we couldn't add the disadvantage of being barefoot to all the other disadvantages we were facing. The golden Buddha seemed to recognize our breach of religious etiquette: Somehow the corners of his smile had lowered into a frown.

The heavy sting of incense pricked its way up my nostrils. I snorted a couple of times. So did Herman.

Brightly painted statues of saints and demons flanked the Buddha. In the darkness, some of their faces seemed almost human. Something moved. Herman grunted. I swiveled.

A man, a dark Asian man, stood next to the red-faced effigy of a snarling demon. The man's arms were crossed, he wore a heavy jacket and wool slacks, and his head was shaved bare. He smiled at our surprise. With one finger, he pointed up the stairs in front of us.

I turned and looked. It was dark up there.

As if on cue, another high moan drifted down from the upper floors. Mi-ja.

Herman took a step toward the man. I grabbed his arm.

"He's just a lookout," I told Herman. "If we beat the crap out of him, they could hurt her. Our only choice is to go upstairs, listen to what they have to say."

Herman was breathing heavier now. He didn't answer me but turned and followed me up the stairs.

The only light was the glimmer from the candles below. The stairs were so narrow that I had to cant my shoulders to squeeze through. Helpless, I thought. And the kidnappers are waiting for us. I felt my heart beating wildly in my chest, pumping blood up through my throat.

Finally, a shaft of moonlight revealed an open chamber. I stepped into it. Men pressed around me. All of them Asian, burly, their arms crossed. Knives stuck in broad sashes around their waists. I scanned the room for Mi-ja. She wasn't there.

One of the men stepped forward. I raised my fists but he paused and held up his open palms. Then he made patting motions. He wanted to frisk me.

Another moan drifted down from upstairs. "She's up there," Herman said hoarsely.

"And they won't allow us to see her," I told him, "unless we allow them to frisk us."

"No sweat," Herman said, glancing at the tough faces around the room. "My little cudgel wasn't going to do much good, anyway."

"Okay," I said. "But be careful when they get close. It could be a trick."

I stepped away from Herman and raised my arms, signifying that I would allow them to search me. The dark Asian man who had approached me patted me down quickly, stepped back, and pointed upstairs.

I was free to go.

That was fine but I didn't particularly want to go alone. I pointed at Herman.

The man shook his head.

Herman understood. "They only want you to go up there," he told me. "Don't worry. If anything happens, give out a holler. I'll be up there lickety-split."

I gazed around the chamber. "There's six of 'em, Herman."

"They won't be able to stop me," he said, "if they start to hurt Mi-ja."

Hollow words. I knew we were playing right into their hands. No weapons. Our strength divided. And I sure as shit didn't want to climb those last stairs alone. But what choice did I have? These foreign thugs were holding Mi-ja and they'd already proven that they'd do anything, including slicing off her ear and sending it special delivery to her mother, if we didn't follow their instructions exactly.

I started up the creaking steps.

The top chamber was the smallest of all. The only light was moon glow filtering through oil-papered windows. A dark figure sat in the center of the wood-slat floor. Against the far wall, a shadow moved slightly and whimpered.

I could barely make out who she was: Mi-ja.

I could kick the shit out of this guy, grab Mi-ja, and carry her downstairs. But how far would I get? All the thugs downstairs looked tough and determined, and all of them made a big display of the leather-handled knives stuck in their waistbands. I wouldn't get far. But if it came to that, I'd have to try.

Better to try talking first.

The dark figure in the center of the chamber rose straight up, almost as if he were levitating, until he stood on two feet.

He was a husky man. Not as tall as me, but he exuded an aura of strength. Dark. Asian. Everything outsize. A big-boned man of raw power. He wore trousers and a tunic, like the men downstairs, and dirty linen wrapped around his head.