Martin Limon - Mr. Kill

“Parkwood had checklists on the brain, you’re saying,” Ernie said.

“And he was about to be barred from reenlistment for lousy performance on an IG inspection,” I said. “He knew things had been going wrong for too long there at the Mount Halla commo site. He’d never correct it all.”

The third reason I should have known was by Vance’s demeanor. He was frightened, covering up the unscheduled absences of his partner even though he himself claimed never to go to the ville.

And finally, Parkwood had tried to run us off the road.

“Maybe he’s just a bad driver,” Ernie replied. “There’s plenty of them around.”

To Ernie, whatever happened, happened. No sense stewing about it. No sense blaming ourselves.

A half hour north of Taegu, rice paddies started to give way to woodland. The Blue Train was rising into the Sobaik Mountains. Once we reached the summit, we’d be on our way down into the broad valley that held the city of Taejon. It was then, during our descent, that Inspector Kill had instructed us to begin our search. That way, by the time the train pulled into the Taejon Station, Parkwood-if he was aboard-would be in a panic. He’d flee from the train, right into the arms of the waiting Korean National Police.

Inspector Kill’s plan, however, didn’t take into account the possibility that if Parkwood was on this train, he might harm someone-particularly Marnie-before we reached Taejon. Ernie and I felt that we couldn’t wait any longer. We started our search.

For the moment, we didn’t check the rear baggage compartment. We wanted to check the people in their seats first. Ernie waited at the end of each passenger car, ready to provide cover, while I walked down the center aisle, slowly working my way forward. I took my time, making sure that Parkwood wasn’t lying in between two seats or hadn’t ducked down to avoid us.

Was he carrying a weapon? I doubted it. Not firearms, at least. In Korea, there’s no such thing as a convenient gun shop to stop in and pick yourself up a Saturday night special. If Parkwood were armed, it would be with a knife or a club or a straight razor. Still, since Parkwood not only kept himself in good shape but had also proven himself to be ruthless, we had to be careful.

The Korean passengers stared up at me curiously as I passed. Some of the men frowned. Occasionally, a woman smiled. For the most part, I was glanced at and then ignored.

In the third car forward from the rear, there were a few American passengers. Some of them were reading, some of them trying to catch some shut-eye. None of them was Parkwood. One was a private first class wearing his khaki uniform, munching on the contents of a can of potato sticks. A brown leather briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist. I sat down.

“You the courier?”

He nodded to me, mouth open, lips still moist with flakes of pulverized potato. His name tag said Arguello.

“De donde eres?” I asked him. Where you from?

He told me. Someplace in Texas.

I described Parkwood to him. He said he hadn’t seen anyone like that.

“Were you watching?” I asked.

He shook his head warily. “No. This is a pretty boring job. I just read.” He glanced at a stack of comic books.

“Okay, partner,” I said, rising to my feet. “Don’t overdo the potato sticks.”

Ernie and I continued to search the train.

We worked our way through the three rear passenger cars until we reached the dining car. I found the head cook and explained the situation to him; he claimed he’d seen no American man who matched the description I gave him. By now, the conductor had gotten wind of what we were up to, and he joined us. I showed him my badge and explained why we were here. He nodded gravely. They’d already been notified by the KNPs that two American detectives would be on the train.

I asked him if he’d seen anyone who matched Parkwood’s description. He said he couldn’t be sure. There were a number of Americans scattered throughout the train, and he really hadn’t paid much attention. The only Americans who were attracting attention were the tall blonde and the small girl sitting up front in passenger car number two.

“When did you last see them?” I asked in Korean.

“Only five minutes ago,” he replied.

“Are they all right?”

“Fine. Except the little girl doesn’t like guava juice.”

“Can’t blame her for that,” Ernie said, understanding what the conductor said.

We continued to search the train. The bathrooms were located at the end of each car, near the door that led to the open-air walkway. We checked each one. If it was occupied, we lingered until it was vacated, just to make sure that Parkwood wasn’t hiding inside. After all, he’d used a Blue Train bathroom as the venue for his first outrage.

There was no doubt now that we’d passed the summit of the Sobaik Mountains. The train was visibly tilted downward, and at times it swerved to the right and to the left as it navigated treacherous terrain. Rain spattered the windows.

Oh, great, I thought. Just what we need. Another complication.

Finally, we entered Marnie’s car. She and Casey were easy to spot. A patch of blonde and a wisp of brown in the midst of monotonous rows of straight black hair. When we reached her row, I knelt and said hello. Casey’s brown locks were puffed into a curly bouffant. She stared at me with bright, amber-tinted eyes.

“I’ll be damned,” Marnie said. “What are you doing here?”

I tipped an imaginary cowboy hat. “Just providing service, ma’am.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?”

“I know you can take care of yourself. But the Eighth Army honchos think you’re just a helpless flower of the prairie.”

“‘Flower of the prairie.’ I like that. Make a good country song.”

She twisted in her seat. Ernie, standing in the back, grinned and waved at her.

“Oh God,” Marnie said, rubbing her temples.

“Who’s that, Mommy?” Casey asked.

“Never mind, honey. You boys aren’t going to be hanging around us, are you?”

“No. We’re just walking through the train, doing our routine security check. And when we get to Seoul, we have to escort you to the hotel.”

“Like hell.”

“Eighth Army will provide a sedan.”

“With a driver?”

“The best.”

Marnie Orville didn’t like risking her life in a speeding tin-can taxicab any more than anyone else did.

“In that case,” she said, smiling, “I accept.”

“If you need anything, you just whistle,” I said.

Marnie pointed her forefinger at me as if it were a pistol and winked. “You got it.”

I waved good-bye to Casey. She waved back.

Ernie and I finished checking the passenger cars. No sign of Parkwood. Up ahead, a locked metal door was marked Chulip Kumji. No Admittance. Even on this side, the big engines vibrated.

“Parkwood’s not on the train,” Ernie said.

“Maybe not,” I said. “But we haven’t checked everywhere.”

“Not up here,” Ernie said.

I stared at the locked metal door. “No. And we still need to look at the rear storage compartment. And behind that, there’s a caboose.”

“That’s for the crew, isn’t it? Their break room.”

“Maybe so. I’m not sure. Let’s find out.”

We marched steadily back down the aisles, smiling at Marnie and Casey as we passed. On the way, we policed up the conductor and told him what we wanted. He accompanied us to the rear of the train.

The rain was coming down harder now, and on either side of us rice paddies had started to appear, along with the occasional tile-roofed farmhouse. Taejon wouldn’t be far now.

The conductor led us to the storage compartment. As we entered, two older men in blue smocked uniforms stood to their feet. They were skinny men but wiry, and the conductor spoke to them respectfully, asking if there’d been any foreigners back here during this run. They shook their heads but were cooperative when Ernie and I asked to search the car anyway. Packages and crates were stacked neatly on rows of wooden shelving. Ernie and I checked under and behind them. Nothing. We asked to be shown the caboose. It was empty except for some communications equipment and what the conductor told me was an emergency generator, to be used if the train were ever stranded in a snowy mountain pass and had to create its own electricity. Again, there was no sign of Parkwood. Just to be sure, Ernie stepped out on the rear platform. Once there, he stared at the track behind us, raised both arms in the air, and said, “My friends and fellow Americans!”