Martin Limon - Slicky Boys

“Tough for the country that gave us Sherlock Holmes,” Ernie said.

The First Sergeant studied him, searching for a sign of mockery. He found none. Not in his face, anyway. Mockery was sort of a way of life for Ernie.

“Yeah,” the First Sergeant said. “And tough for us too. When the Embassy is interested, you can expect the White House to be interested, and everyone up the Chain of Command is going to be watching us. The Provost Marshal plans to brief the CG on our progress this morning. You two guys are going to be under a lot of pressure, but I’ll be here to back you up a hundred and ten percent.”

I almost burst out laughing. Ernie’s eyes glazed over. The First Sergeant looked at both of us and what he saw gradually made him angry.

“Maybe you don’t want my cooperation? That’s okay too. Either way we’ll get the job done. I’ll pull you two off the case if I have to.”

A snort of air burst through Ernie’s nose.

“Not on a case like this, you won’t.” Ernie put his coffee cup down and leaned forward. “This happened downtown, amongst Koreans, and George is the only CID agent who speaks the language. Besides, we’re the best investigators in-country and you know it.”

The First Sergeant straightened his back. His hair, which already stood on end, seemed to bristle.

“Don’t push me, Bascom. Nobody’s indispensable.”

Ernie ignored him, leaned back in his chair, and went right on sipping his coffee.

The First Sergeant might want to pull us off this case but I knew he wouldn’t. Not now. Not this early. It would look bad to the honchos at the head shed to be shifting personnel for no apparent reason and having to spend the time to get two new investigators up to speed. If the First Sergeant told them the truth, that he had doubts about whether or not he could control us on a sensitive case, it would reflect badly on him. They would wonder about his leadership abilities. The First Sergeant was stuck with us, unless we screwed up. He knew it and we knew it.

“In case you guys have any ideas that you’ve got me over a barrel,” he said, “let’s get a few ground rules straight.”

A caginess crept into the First Sergeant’s eyes. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a neatly typed sheaf of paperwork. I recognized Riley’s handiwork. The First Sergeant placed it in the center of the blotter in front of him.

“Your request for extension, Bascom,” he said. “All signed and sealed and ready to go to personnel. Except it won’t go anywhere unless this case is handled in the way I say it should be handled.”

Ernie’s lips tightened. It was a low blow. To overseas GI’s like us there was nothing worse than being threatened with going back to the States. Going back to living in the barracks, doing your own laundry, swabbing the latrines, shining your own shoes. Having to put with all the petty bullshit of the Stateside army that has no mission other than readiness. Which means putting up with any sort of makebelieve training a bunch of bored officers manage to come up with.

Off post it was even worse. GI’s in the States are considered to be in the same social class as things you scrape off the soles of your shoes. Something to crinkle your nose at. American women looked at us that way too, except for the occasional bar tramp. But here in Korea we were heroes. Feted and looked up to when we went out with the locals. We were, after all, the guys who’d kept the bloodthirsty Communists at bay during the Korean War. And we were still keeping them on their side of the DMZ. Our presence was appreciated. Even treasured. Not so in the States.

“That’s all I’ve got,” the First Sergeant said. “Any questions?”

Neither of us said anything.

“Good. After you finish those interviews, report back to me. Then we’ll figure out what you’re going to do next.”

Ernie looked at his coffee, made a sour face, and carried it back to the counter as if it were contaminated. I stood up and followed him out the door.

As we clunked down the hallway, Ernie couldn’t help mouthing off.

“If that old tight-ass ever had to run a real investigation he’d probably have his dick tied in knots on the first day.”

I grabbed him and shoved him past the Admin Office. Miss Kim, the fine-looking secretary, sat up behind her typewriter. She caught Ernie’s eye, and beamed. He winked at her and waved. Riley pointed his forefinger at us and pretended to pull the trigger.

Outside, Ernie started up the jeep and gunned the engine a few times to let it warm up. A smattering of flakes drifted down from gray skies and slowly dissolved on the metal hood.

“Shit!” Ernie said.

He loosened his tie, swallowed, and let his face sag for the first time this morning.

“What is it?” I said. “You’ve been hard-assed by the First Sergeant before.”

He sat back in the seat. “Yeah, but this time he’s holding my extension.”

The engine churned. The flimsy canvas enclosure was starting to heat up.

“I know how you feel,” I told him. “Who wants to go back to the States? Back there, you’re lucky if your monthly paycheck lasts a week. Here we can usually manage to stretch it out to almost four.”

“And this time there’s something extra.”

“What’s that?”

“The Nurse. Since we got back together again, she’s really trying to make it work.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Ernie shrugged. “It cramps my style a bit, but I can live with it. It’s just that she’s taking it so seriously.”

“She wants to get married,” I said. “What do you expect?”

“It’s not just that. She acts as if this is her last chance. Her last chance to live any sort of decent life.”

It probably was, I thought, but I didn’t say so. I leaned back. “Yeah, well, they’ll put the pressure on you.”

“She keeps a razor in her purse.”

I looked at him.

“One of those straight razors, the old-fashioned kind that nobody uses anymore, and she says that if I don’t get my extension through she’ll know it was because I didn’t want to stay with her.”

He stopped talking. I waited.

“If I don’t get the extension through,” Ernie said, “she says she’ll kill herself.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I do. Her family’s already disowned her for dropping out of nursing school and taking up with a GI. She’d have nowhere to go.”

I wasn’t sure-if that was true. When the worst happens people always find some path to take. I know. I’d been through it. But I didn’t say so, to Ernie. He believed the Nurse would commit suicide and that’s what was important. And maybe he was right. In Korea, suicide is seen as a romantic act and sometimes a noble one.

Ernie shook his head. “Anyway, we got an asshole to catch. Where to? The Honor Guard barracks?”

“Hell, no.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He slammed the engine in gear and we rolled forward on the slick roadway. At Gate Number 7 the MP whistled us through and we turned left on the Main Supply Route, zigzagging through the traffic toward the greatest nightclub district in Northeast Asia.

Itaewon.

The windows of the Kayagum Teahouse were dark and fogged. Ernie pushed through the big double doors and we were greeted by the sharp tang of ammonia. Standing in the entranceway, it took a while for our eyes to adjust to the darkness after being exposed to the dull glare of the morning snow.

All the chairs were turned upside down atop the tables. A young boy, about thirteen or fourteen, mopped the tiled floor. His mouth fell open and he stopped mopping when we walked in. I went back behind the serving counter with its hot plates and teapots and urns and started rummaging through drawers. Looking for something-maybe a business card or an address ledger-anything that might give us a lead on the woman who had called herself Miss Ku.