Martin Limon - Buddha's money

"Last night," I said, "we were supposed to exchange the jade skull for Mi-ja. But it was stolen out of the CID safe. We couldn't make the exchange. We believe Herman stole the skull."

The flat muscles of her face writhed like a basket of pythons. Her rage-filled eyes spit fire. "That pyongsin stole jade skull?"

"He's not a cripple," I said. "He has the skull and he's running."

Slicky Girl Nam screamed a series of curses that thundered through the Temple of the Dream Buddha. "When I catch, I cut that son-bitch balls off!"

I stood up. Ernie clicked on his gum, shaking his head, no mirth in his eyes.

Captain Kim, the commander of the Itaewon Police Station, strode into the Temple of the Dream Buddha surrounded by his entourage. He stopped and glared at Ernie and me. "You two again. Every time there is a death in my precinct, you two seem to be nearby."

I didn't translate that into English. I was afraid Ernie would pop him. Instead, I stepped back and let Captain Kim take charge of the investigation.

It took four cops to pry Slicky Girl Nam away from Mi-ja.

When we returned to the office, Riley had me lined up for three appointments. One with the First Sergeant, one with the Eighth Army Provost Marshal, and one with the Judge Advocate General's Office. They all wanted precise details concerning the upcoming plans of the little nun and the Buddhist hierarchy.

Luckily, they were so busy chattering amongst themselves about this new information, that they didn't have time to talk to me right away.

"You'll see them when they're ready for you," Riley told me.

Typical. Military commanders always start formulating their plans before they have all the facts.

While we were waiting we didn't twiddle our thumbs. Ernie made calls to the American side and I made calls to the Koreans, asking if anyone at the points of embarkation had encountered anyone matching the description of Herman the German.

He had only completed his third call when Ernie slammed down the phone. "Osan. The Space Available list. One guy signed up early this morning for a flight Stateside. Name: First Sergeant Herman R. Burkowicz, Retired."

I grabbed my coat.

"Where the hell do you guys think you're going?" Riley yelled.

"To collar a bad guy," I called back.

"But the honchos want to talk about this nun."

"You already know everything I know. If they don't turn Pfc. Hatcher over to the Korean authorities, she's going to kill herself tomorrow afternoon in downtown Seoul at the Gate of the Transformation of Light."

"They'll court-martial you if you don't show up for this shit," Riley hollered.

"What are they gonna do?" Ernie asked. "Send him to Korea?"

We ran outside to the jeep.

As we rolled out of the main gate of Yongsan Compound we swerved into the madly careening traffic of the Main Supply Route. Thunder cracked. A flash of lightning sliced the sky.

"Looks like we're due for a little drizzle."

As soon as the words left Ernie's mouth, a whole world of water gushed out of the black heavens.

Draped in his blue rain slicker, the security guard waved us through the main gate of Osan Air Force Base. We followed the signs to the passenger terminal of the Military Airlift Command, parked the jeep, and ran inside.

The building contained only one large waiting room, latrines, and a snack bar off to the side. Before we talked to anybody, Ernie and I spread out and searched for Herman the German.

Ernie met me back at the Space-A counter. "No dice."

"I didn't think so," I said. "He wouldn't wait here where he could be easily spotted."

I flashed my badge to the Technical Sergeant at the counter. She was slender and her uniform had been well tailored and her complexion was like light cocoa butter. I gave her Herman's name. She thumbed through the onionskin sheets on her clipboard.

"He was here this morning," she said. "Signed up for Space-A and was issued a seat on the flight that left about a half hour ago."

"Damn!" Ernie said.

She kept licking her thumb and studying the manifest. "But he was bumped. Some ground-pounder from the Second Division showed up at the last minute with emergency leave orders. We had to pull Burkowicz off the flight."

"You mean he's still here in-country?"

"Sure is. Mad as hell when we pulled him off. Cursing about his rights as a retired service member."

"What rights?" Ernie asked.

She smiled. "None that I know of. Retirees have no rights unless there's space available. And their priority comes right after cats and dogs."

"We called last night from Eighth Army CID," I said. "I thought you people were going to arrest Burkowicz if he showed up."

She shrugged. "Don't ask me. You'll have to check with the Security Detachment. They're down the hall."

"Never mind," I said.

Despite all our efforts, if there had been enough seats on that flight this morning, Herman would be on his way to the States with the precious jade skull of Kublai Khan stashed in a bag beneath his feet. So much for military efficiency.

I asked the Tech Sergeant one more question. "Are there any more flights leaving today?"

"None until tomorrow morning."

"Thanks."

I smiled at her but she didn't smile back. She was too busy looking at Ernie.

We grabbed a couple of trays at the small snack bar. I ordered a BLT, Emie had a ham and cheese omelette with a side of hash browns.

"Worked up an appetite last night," he said.

I purposely picked a table next to a group of military retirees smoking and sipping coffee and bullshitting. Waiting for the next flight out of Korea.

We sat down, ate, and listened for a while. When they didn't mention Herman, I asked, "Anybody seen Herman the German around here lately?"

One guy with a bristly crew cut glanced over at me. "He was in here this morning. Didn't make his flight."

"So how is the old buzzard?"

"Seems okay. You know Herman. He don't talk much."

"I owe him a drink. Do you know where he's staying?"

"Out in the ville somewhere. That's all I know. He left right after the Space-A call. If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Don't bother," I said. "He already knows."

We gulped down our chow and left.

When you walk out of the main gate of Osan Air Base, you walk into GI heaven. The village of Songtan-up is a maze of narrow alleys lined with hotels and tailor shops and leather goods emporiums and bars and chophouses and nightclubs and brothels.

Just about anything a young man would ever want to buy is available here. The best part is that none of it is touted by Madison Avenue.

The monsoon rain had slowed to a drizzle. Just outside the gate, an enterprising Korean vendor huddled beneath an army-issue poncho, hawking flimsy umbrellas made of bamboo and plastic. I handed him a buck for two.

Ernie popped his open. "The good thing about these little pieces of shit," Ernie said, "is that they're disposable. Don't have to worry about forgetting them in some barroom."

We wandered down the narrow lane, checking out the shops. Most of the nightclubs were still shuttered and locked.

"Should we canvass the hotels?" Ernie asked.

"I guess we don't have much choice. But we're going to have to describe him to everyone. He won't be registering under his own name."

"At least Herman's easy to picture," Ernie said. "A bowling ball with blubbery lips."

"That's him. I'll try to figure out how to say that in Korean."

"You mean you don't know?"

"The word for 'blubbery' escapes me."

"You need to study harder, pal."

Ernie stopped in an open-front market and bought a couple of packs of the usual: ginseng gum. When we stepped outside, an old mama-san picked us up on her radar and started yanking on my sleeve, telling me she could introduce us to some "nice girls."