Martin Limon - Jade Lady burning

“As far as I can tell.”

“How about you, Milt? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. No sweat. I’m small potatoes. And an American to boot. Besides, my partner’s family has its own pull around here. We’ll be all right.”

“What’s all this have to do with the murder?” I said.

“I’m not sure. All I know is the gossip I hear from the Koreans. The word is that the police aren’t going after the case as hard as they usually do. They’re not too anxious to find out who really killed that little girl.”

“Why?”

Milt shrugged. “Somebody is lacking enthusiasm.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Maybe somebody involved in what’s going down around here.”

I shook my head. “How did this little girl, just in from the country, get caught up in all this shit?”

“Hell if I know, George. The citizens out here don’t really want to talk about it. And they’re not too excited about hanging a GI for it. I know the Korean papers and TV are playing that up big, and the general populace is all pissed off about it, but here in Itaewon people know better.”

“We’ve arrested a GI for the murder.”

“I heard,” he said.

‘That didn’t take long.”

“Out here, nothing takes long.”

I handed Milt my card, paid for by the U.S. government. I wouldn’t shell out any of my paltry paycheck for that sort of stuff.

“If you need help, Milt, call me.”

“From what I hear about you and Ernie, you’re not in the office much.”

“Leave a message.”

On the way back to the compound I briefed Ernie on what Milt had told me. We were both quiet. First a young girl had been hideously murdered, maybe by a GI, and the Korean police hadn’t gone after it in full force. Then the decades-old networks that had been formed to maximize profits from U.S. Army contracts had begun to break up and be replaced with new ones. Now somebody with muscle was putting a move on ltaewon, going after the millions of dollars that flowed through the village every year from booze, women, and black marketeering.

And then there was Miss Pak, an innocent who hadn’t understood such things. Of course, Ernie and I didn’t understand them either.

We zigzagged through the traffic and finally popped through the gate and into the relative calm of the Eighth Army Compound. It was an oasis, like a piece of Kansas in the middle of a bustling metropolis.

“You know what I wish, pal?” Ernie said.

“No. What’s that?”

“I wish things weren’t getting so interesting.”

The first sergeant had already finished his report on the interrogation of Johnny Watkins and the frightened young man had been transported, under heavy MP escort, down to the Eighth Army Stockade at the Army Support Command in Bupyong. There he would await the paperwork that had to be done before the U.S. authorities could turn him over to the Koreans.

The U.S. government would pay for a Korean lawyer for him but the trial would be decided primarily on the basis of public opinion. If somebody had to pay the price for the murder of Pak Ok-suk, and the public thought it should be a GI, then whoever happened to be in custody would be it. It was like the government minister who had to step down when a typhoon destroyed a couple of cities. Everybody knew he didn’t have any control over the weather but he had the responsibility. And somebody had to be sacrificed to restore the balance and harmony.

If the judge determined that Johnny was probably innocent they’d go easy on him. The last GI Ernie and I had tried to keep out of a Korean jail only got four years. Not bad for murder. He would have gotten a lot more if he’d actually been guilty.

All this somehow made sense to me. Maybe it’s my Mexican genes.

I didn’t see how we could make much progress in this case and keep Johnny Watkins out of jail unless we found Kimiko. The best way to do that was to run the ville, which was no problem because it was always on my program anyway.

After the retreat bugle sounded, Ernie and I turned in the jeep, changed out of our coats and ties, and showered, shaved, and popped a couple of wet ones. We were parading through the alleys of Itaewon, OB bottles in hand, when we heard the squawk of a radio in a parked MP jeep. The two uniformed MPs had their feet kicked up and they were laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

‘The Officers’ Club. They’re asking for MP support. Some old gal named Kiko something is raising hell. Apparently she kicked the chief of staff in the balls.”

Ernie and I looked at each other, jumped in a cab, and headed for the compound. We were both thinking the same thing: Kimiko. Who else would be nuts enough?

We paid the driver and, flashing our identification, ran through the gate heading towards South Post. We trotted along the placid avenue until we saw red lights flashing atop MP sedans in front of the canopied entranceway to the Eighth Army Officers’ Club. Doors slammed and more sedans raced past as we ran towards the commotion.

The members, mostly officers in tailored dress blue uniforms and a few ladies in evening gowns, wandered back into the club. The master-at-arms was a burly black NCO by the name of Bosun. He wore a baggy Hong Kong suit and looked like he’d just lost the main event in a wrestling match with the Magnificent Destroyer.

I didn’t need to show him my badge. He’d seen me around.

“Who was it?”

“Some old bitch.” He patted the scratches on his forehead with a handkerchief. “Crazy.”

“Kimiko?”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Yeah. I think.”

“What’d she do?”

“Tried to corner General Bohler. When he told her to get lost, she went berserk.”

“Kicked him in the balls?”

“How’d you know that?”

“The news is already in Itaewon.”

The big guy just shook his head and walked back towards the door.

“Who escorted her in?” I said, following.

“I don’t know. Let’s look in the log.”

At the raised desk just inside the glass doorway, Bosun opened the big ledger marked Guest Register. He didn’t have to look too far. Most of the people who entered the O Club were authorized. At the NCO Club, dozens of business girls were brought in every night and the guest registers had to be ordered by the bushel full, but here not too many officers brought their Korean girlfriends. Bad for the career.

“She was brought in by a Lieutenant Leibowitz. He brought in two girls. A Miss Ahn and this old broad, Kimiko.” The master-at-arms looked up at us.

I said, “See if you can round up this lieutenant and his girlfriend. Do you have a place where we can talk to them?”

“Yeah. Back here in the MAs office.” Bosun was happy to cooperate because he was pissed and wanted to see Kimiko get burned. We waited. When the lieutenant came in, all decked out in dress blues, I showed him my badge.

He put his hands up in front of his chest. “Hold on, now. I just brought a couple of girls to the O Club.”

“To a commander’s call?”

“Yeah. It’s sort of formal but Miss Ahn is such a nice person, and so well dressed. I never figured anything like this would happen.”

Ernie stuck his nose through a crack in the door and peered out. Apparently Miss Ahn was worth looking at.

“Where’d you meet her?”

“I’ve known her for a long time. She’s never been any trouble. And she’s-”

“Where’d you find her, Lieutenant?”

“Outside the gate.”

“On the street?”

“Well… not like you mean. She was just standing outside the gate and she needed somebody to escort her on post to the O Club.”

“So you signed her in at the gate and then into the club?”