Martin Limon - G. I. Bones

Finally, an alley we were traversing emerged onto the main drag just north of the King Club. Ernie peered around the corner. Then he leaned back toward me and whispered, “Looks like it’s all clear.”

“Let’s hope,” I said.

“Where to now?” Ernie asked.

The only place of safety I could think of was the Itaewon Police Station.

Ernie nodded. “It’s a long straight run. They might’ve stationed some of their boys in the alleys off to the side, figuring we’d come this way.”

“We’ll have to chance it,” I said.

Doc Yong tugged at my sleeve. I turned to look at her and in the darkness I could barely make out the smooth features of her face. I leaned closer until our noses touched.

“Across the street,” she said. “Someone’s waving.”

I turned and studied the area she’d indicated. Rotating my head, using my peripheral vision, I finally saw it. Movement. And then I realized it was someone’s hand, waving back and forth, trying to catch our attention while being careful to stay out of sight from the main street.

Ernie followed my gaze. “Who is it?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know.

Doc Yong stepped between us and said, “Miss Kwon. She’s trying to lead us to safety.”

“Her?” I asked. “What’s she doing out so late?”

“People must’ve seen your jeep entering Itaewon,” Doc Yong said. “Word spread. Someone told her you were back. She knew you were probably looking for me so she’s been standing here, waiting to help.”

True dedication to Doc Yong. No time to discuss that now.

“I’ll go first,” Ernie said. “You two follow, if I don’t get shot.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll go first.”

“Not a chance.” Ernie dropped to the ground and low-crawled into the street. He moved amazingly fast, like a serpent slithering across tile. Seconds later, he was standing next to Miss Kwon, beckoning for us to follow.

I told Doc Yong that speed was more important than keeping a low profile so, instead of trying to crawl like Ernie, she darted across the ice-covered main drag of Itaewon in a crouch. I held my. 45, ready to return fire if anyone took a potshot at her. No one did.

I was next and I sprinted at top speed across the road figuring that quickness and the element of surprise would keep me safe.

With her single crutch propped beneath her arm, Miss Kwon bowed to Doc Yong. Then, without a word, she turned and hobbled off into the dark maze, leading the way.

Ernie sensed it before I did. Footsteps behind us. Miss Kwon was moving faster now-one step and a thump, one step and a thump. We were still following a long, seemingly endless footpath.

Behind us, urgent speaking. Men’s voices. Then footsteps, picking up speed.

“Bali,” Miss Kwon said. She broke into a more rapid step, thump, step, thump.

We trotted forward, moving as fast as we could but our progress was impeded by Miss Kwon. Doc Yong stayed beside her, holding her arm, letting me know that there was no way we were going to leave Miss Kwon behind.

The footsteps were gaining.

Ernie turned, pulled his. 45 and said, “You go on ahead. I’ll hold them off.”

“No. Come on. We’ll make a turn up here and lose them,” I said.

“There,” Ernie said, pointing to an overturned handcart. It blocked most of the open space at an intersection of two narrow pedestrian pathways. Ernie crouched behind it. Looking back, he had an unimpeded line of sight of about ten yards. In the middle of the ten yards another extremely narrow alley-just a fissure between buildings-ran off on one side of the pathway. It was unlikely that Snake’s boys would find cover there.

“When they round the corner,” Ernie said, “I’ll fire over their heads. That’ll give you guys time to get away. Then while they’re hiding and trying to figure out what to do, I’ll sneak off after you.”

“OK,” I said, “but remember, only fire over their heads.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff, Sueno. Where will I meet you?”

It would be impossible to reach the Itaewon Police Station. They expected us to head there and they’d have plenty of men, and firepower, waiting for us. I was still thinking this over when Miss Kwon piped up.

“Itaewon Market,” she said. “I know good place.”

“Where?” Ernie asked.

“No sweat. We hide. Warm place. Wait till sun come out.”

Footsteps crunched on ice. We turned. Doc Yong dragged Miss Kwon off into the shadows. Two shadows emerged from around the corner ten yards away as Ernie and I crouched behind the handcart. More shadows joined the lead two and, like a phalanx of ancient warriors, the men marched down the narrow pathway.

Ernie leveled his. 45 at them.

“Higher,” I said.

The barrel didn’t move. The men continued down the pathway. Ernie’s fist tightened. Just as the gang of thugs reached the halfway mark, another shadow emerged from the fissure between the buildings on the other side of the road. It was huge, like a tall stick figure, and something long and dark swung in a wicked arc. The thump was so loud I felt it rather than heard it. The first two shadows at the head of the formation crumpled to the ground. Then the stick swung again and another thump ensued, and then another.

The formation backed up around the corner, away from us. The stick figure ran toward us, rod upraised, like a gangly avenging angel. Ernie pointed the barrel of his. 45 right at him. When he was a few feet away I recognized him from the thin, angular shape of his body.

“Cort,” I said and Ernie lowered the barrel of his. 45.

“How’d you find Miss Kwon?” I asked.

“I’ve known her a long time,” Cort answered.

We sat in a wooden enclosure about ten feet by ten feet and only four feet high. The floor was stained with purple dye and the entire enclosure reeked of lard.

“Pigs’ house,” is what Miss Kwon called it as she’d led us into the Itaewon Market. We moved through abandoned stalls laden with freshly fallen snow and then beneath canvas overhangs to a tightly packed grouping of wooden counters. We crawled beneath the counters and then through a low wooden door and entered a manmade tunnel that twisted twice before ending in this vile enclosure. The place reeked of flesh and a sheen of ice covered the cement, as if it had been thoroughly washed as the freeze set in.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this is where the butchers kept their hogs. Outside was a contraption hanging on a crossed wooden peg that looked like a medieval torture device but I knew what it was used for. To hang the hogs by their hind legs while the butcher slit their throats and allowed the blood to drain into a cement sump. I’d walked past here early in the morning on more than one occasion and heard the screams. At first I’d thought the sound was human. And then I realized that it was the last anguished cries of a pig being slaughtered.

Five minutes after our arrival, footsteps approached in our wake. Snow had been falling steadily so it was unlikely that whoever was outside had seen any traces of our arrival. We sat motionless, breathing as little as possible.

The footsteps searched through the market area, paused for a moment, and then two men started chatting in low tones. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Someone lit a cigarette. Then more footsteps as they moved on. We sat for another half hour in the cold, dank slaughterhouse.

No one approached.

Miss Kwon had somehow come up with a single short candle which she lit and stuck in the middle of the floor of this porcine abattoir. Even that tiny amount of heat brought to life the stale odor of pork flesh. It hovered around us, poking fat fingers into twitching nostrils, causing us to cough and wave our hands, as if chasing away the last vestiges of an evil cloud. Then she and Doc Yong left the enclosure.