Martin Limon - Jade Lady burning

“Is it the new honcho in Itaewon? Mr. Kwok?”

Her eyes widened for a moment and then her lips tightened. “Yeah. That’s him,” she said. “Mr. Kwok. So what?”

I let go of her arm, we glowered at one another for a moment, and then she tossed her hair back as she walked away. I watched her hot pants sway as she teetered down the crowded aisle.

Ernie took a swig of his beer, looked at me, grinned.

“Miss Lim?”

I thought of something coarse to say but instead just slammed my empty beer bottle down on the bar. “Yeah.” I said.

It was against my principles but there I was in the American Club, after already spending the last two nights with her, looking for Miss Lim again. I didn’t ask but Ginger told me that she hadn’t been in yet. After serving us a couple of beers, Ginger slid off, back to the telephone. If I hadn’t known better, I might have suspected that she was doing something devious. Actually I didn’t mind, and I was fuming about Miss Oh. In my opinion she was the best-looking woman in Itaewon and she had to be on everybody’s list of the top ten. If the honchos have a big party, they will staff it with the bestlooking help available and Miss Oh was sure to be in on it. This guy Kwok-she hadn’t flinched when I mentioned his name, so maybe she didn’t actually know him. Or maybe she would have agreed with whatever name I gave her just to make me jealous. If so, it was working.

By the time Miss Lim arrived, I had calmed down and was delighted to see her. We had a few beers and then a few more and the band started to sound great. I even danced with her one time: a slow dance, to be sure.

I have a theory about fast dancing, that it’s intended to make men look ridiculous. And the more ridiculous a woman can make a man look, the more power she has over him and the more she affirms her own attractiveness. It makes me want to barf to see all those guys out there shucking and jiving with big smiles on their faces, as if they’re really enjoying themselves. I don’t believe it. Why don’t they admit that they’d rather be in the sack with the woman and stop pretending that they love the rhythm and the sounds of the movement? Give me a break.

Once, at the Lower Four Club, I was somewhat less than sober and a girl Riley had picked up somewhere coaxed me into fast dancing with her. When they saw me on the dance floor, Riley and Ernie had apoplectic fits that ended up with them both rolling on the carpet, holding their stomachs. But there was nothing wrong with slow dancing with Miss Lim and it made me remember what had gone on last night and made me want to repeat it again tonight. I even came up with some new ideas.

By the time we left, Ginger was pleased with her handiwork and Ernie and I walked out into the cold air, Miss Lim held firmly between us.

Ernie hailed a cab and guided him down the MSR a couple of blocks, up a steep hill, and around a few alleys until we pulled to a halt in front of the Nurse’s hooch.

She stood in the doorway, nightgown fluttering, silhouetted by the stark light behind her. We all took off our shoes, sat down on the warm vinyl floor, and the Nurse put on some music. Ernie slipped her some money, and in a few minutes she was back with beer, unhusked peanuts, and strings of dried cuttlefish. We drank and feasted and laughed and when it got too late, we turned off the music and turned off the light and Ernie slept with the Nurse in the bed and I slept with Miss Lim on the floor.

At dawn I shook Miss Lim awake. She seemed confused, and embarrassed about being there. I helped her find her clothes and then walked her out to the street and hailed a taxi for her. If I were more of a gentleman, I would have paid the cab fare.

Ernie was up by now and the Nurse had prepared a large pan of warm water for each of us. I squatted outside, washed my face, and borrowed one of Ernie’s razors to shave. Without a mirror. When we were presentable we sat cross-legged in the hooch while the Nurse served us steaming cups of freeze-dried coffee.

By the time the first rays of sunlight were warming the narrow lanes of Itaewon, we were back in our alley, watching the police box. Passersby, scurrying on their way to work, squinted at the two big Americans loitering in the cold shadows. I didn’t mind. I just hoped the police wouldn’t notice.

Captain Kim worked late but he also arrived late and it got real uncomfortable waiting for him. I sauntered over to the Hamilton Hotel once and used a public phone to call Riley at the office. I told him to let Top know that we were following up a lead on the Pak Ok-suk murder case. The less details the better. Of course, Top might get sort of peeved at us being out here, since they already had a suspect and the case was ostensibly wrapped up, but he hadn’t told us not to continue working on it and, anyway, I’d worry about that later. Ernie wasn’t complaining. He’d hung with me through worse shit.

Finally, when it was almost nine o’clock, Captain Kim, in his neatly pressed blue suit, strolled into his place of business. It was nice to have the waiting over but then we had to wait again. There was no telling if, or when, he would release Kimiko. Waiting’s the worst part about being a CID agent and Ernie swore if he ever got out of this shit, he’d never wait for anything again. If he needed a cavity filled, he’d go to the emergency room.

“Yesterday he said we could talk to her,” Ernie said. “So why don’t we just Bogart on in there?”

“He’d probably stall us and then hold on to her until we cleared the area. If we hold tight here, Captain Kim might decide to let her go early, before we arrive to start asking questions.”

She came out just then, into the sun, blinking like a bruised rat, looked around, and then stepped gingerly onto the slippery ice. She was still wearing her short dress, her hair was gnarled and matted, and all traces of makeup had been smeared off her face. She must have been freezing. She teetered down the sidewalk and then up the hill to Itaewon, heading for hearth and home.

We followed, one of us on either side of the street, stopping occasionally in doorways to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible. There was a fairly healthy crowd of pedestrians but when you’re over six feet tall and Caucasian it’s sort of difficult to put an effective tail on someone. Maybe not in New York but definitely in Seoul.

But anyway, Kimiko wasn’t looking. She was exhausted, beat up, defeated. When she turned up the narrow alley leading to her hooch, we hesitated a while to give her a head start and then we turned the corner.

What we saw didn’t exactly make our day although it did confirm my paranoid suspicions.

The two guys looked very tough, and when we stopped moving forward they just stared at us.

Kimiko couldn’t see us. One of the guys held her arms behind her back and with his free hand he pushed the back of her neck down so her long hair dangled, brushing the ground.

I was getting sort of tired of people pushing her around. Ernie took the first steps forward. And then me.

The bad guys didn’t move.

I did have one comforting thought! One of the great things about living in Korea was that the country had total gun control. You didn’t have to worry about getting shot in the back by some hoodlum looking for a little target practice. Only the police and the soldiers had guns, and for a private citizen to get caught with a firearm was a major offense.

Of course, sometimes the local soldiers got out of line. Every now and then one of them went berserk and holed up in a hotel with hostages. Just didn’t want to sign in off his pass, I guess. Even in the line of duty, they could make you a little nervous. Like at a roadblock when some American got the bright idea that he didn’t have to show his identification, since he was one of the heroes from the Land of the Brave, and an ROK Army soldier leveled his weapon at him. Still, they’re very reluctant to shoot Americans.