Martin Limon - Jade Lady burning

There was no way of dating the photos. They could have been taken prior to the night of her death but I doubted it. Bohler’s driver could place him in the vicinity of Itaewon, and these photos would prove his intimate, abusive relations with Miss Pak Ok-suk.

We had enough to arrest him. And once formal proceedings were started, I knew we could get the evidence that would nail the case down. Kimiko would have to testify. It would be the only way for her. Her only chance was to take away the rationale for Bohler needing to silence her.

Ernie finished his beer and opened a second. “So now we know why Kimiko’s been so well paid lately, and getting all those fancy jobs.

“Sure. Probably through Bohler.”

“And the night she went to the Officers’ Club, that was to let him know what she had on him?”

“And to give him a kick in the balls for good measure.”

“Now we know why he didn’t press charges.”

I popped my second can of beer and we hung the prints up to dry. Using some wrapping paper and an envelope I folded the negatives away and put them into my coat pocket.

We finished our beers, put the eight-by-twelve glossies into a manila envelope, and returned all the equipment we had checked out to the front desk.

The woman said, “I’m glad you boys are getting yourselves a hobby. Every soldier needs one.”

Milt Gorman’s residence wasn’t very far from The Roundup. The fortress he called home was illuminated by the glare of a floodlight. A ten-foot-high stone and mortar wall framed a huge metal gate and the entranceway to a small garage, locked tight behind a roll-down shutter made of corrugated metal.

Ernie rang the buzzer and shouted, “Bobby obma!” A few seconds later someone opened the front door of the house.

“It’s George,” I yelled “Here to see Milt.” The front door closed and a pair of slippers shuffled toward the gate. A metal bar slid free and an old Korean woman held the gate open as we entered. She relocked it and led us toward the house.

We took off our shoes in the entranceway and Milt ushered us into a big warm living room equipped with everything money could buy from the PX. Bulbs blinked at us from mounds of stereo equipment. A huge blank faced Japanese-made TV was mercifully turned off. Four or five kids in an adjacent bedroom were watching cartoons on another TV set. One of the boys was bigger and chubbier than the others but somehow he looked younger. His hair was light brown and his nose slightly pointed but his eyes were heavily lidded ovals.

“Some of the neighborhood kids like to come over and watch cartoons with Bobby,” Milt said. “Hell, I enjoy the damn things almost as much as they do.”

The old woman had disappeared into the kitchen. “Ajima!” Milt yelled. “Mekju seigei.” He held up three fingers to no one in particular. We sat down in the comfortable armchairs and in a moment three frosted cans of Falstaff and a large bowl of mixed nuts were in front of us on the coffee table. It and all the other furniture was done in black lacquer with inlaid mother-of-pearl designs. Traditional Korean stuff.

‘The place looks great,” I said.

He opened a beer for me. “Beats living in a tent out in the field at Fort Lewis.” He opened one for himself. ‘The old lady’s out playing bua tu with their friends. Probably be out all night and come back in the morning down about two hundred bucks.“ He lifted his can and smiled. ”So we can drink all day and night.”

We all took big long swigs on the ice-cold beers. I felt the color coming back to my cheeks.

“Can’t stay long,” I said. “We’re in the middle of an investigation.”

‘The CID never sleeps,” Ernie said. He grabbed a huge handful of mixed nuts and stuffed them into his mouth.

“What do you know about General Bohler?” I asked.

“Bohler?” Milt said. “Why would you guys want anything to do with that old fart? He’s dangerous.”

“It’s a long story,” I said, carefully picking out a Brazil nut. “And I don’t have much time for it right now.”

“Okay.” Milt held out his hand as if to stop me. “Say no more.”

Milt finished his beer and the old woman padded into the room with three more. She served Milt first and then us and I hurried and finished mine and handed her the empty. Ernie crushed his can before he gave it to her. Can’t take him anywhere.

“How much clout does Bohler actually have downtown?” I asked.

“Clout isn’t the word,” Milt said. “Anybody who holds the position of commander owns the town. Everybody here-the mayor, the chief of police, even me, we’re all dependent on the money that comes from Eighth Army.”

“Not just the payrolls,” I said.

“Of course not. There’s a lot of Korean workers on the compound, but in addition to their paychecks, they manage to squeeze a lot of matйriel out of the base: leftovers from the mess halls, used supplies that can be written off the property book. And occasionally there’s even out-and-out theft,” Milt said. “As long as it remains a tolerable percentage, the Army just writes it off. It’s cheaper than the expense of trying to chase it down.”

“And the Koreans know what the percentage is,” Ernie said. He was getting drunk.

“Yeah… building contracts, the cleaning contracts, the maintenance contracts. It’s endless.” Milt made a helpless gesture. “And the big shots here have their chopsticks in every pot and they got to pay off the bigger guys down in Seoul. Hell, a lot of the money probably filters all the way to the top.”

“Probably most of it,” Ernie said.

“And if a commander tried to clamp down on it all,” I said, “what would happen to him?”

“Not too much.” Milt shrugged. “Depending on how hard he pushed. They might make life miserable for him, but mainly they’d just wait for him to finish his tour and be replaced by another guy.”

“One who might be corrupt.”

“Naw,” Milt said. “Most of the COs aren’t corrupt. Not in any big way anyway. It’s just that they’ve got a choice. If they fight it, they won’t win and they might be risking their military careers. If one pushed too hard, they’ll find a way to cope with him.”

“Like?” I said.

“Whatever,” Milt said.

“But the smart ones just ignore it,” I said. “Pretend it’s not happening.”

“Exactly,” Milt nodded. “If he plays along, they treat him like a king. They give him awards and plaques and have ceremonies for him. And if any one of his Korean workers gets too greedy or doesn’t live up to his responsibilities and embarrasses the commander, the Koreans in power will have his ass.”

“Self-policing,” Ernie said.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

The old lady brought in three more beers and picked up the empties. Ernie forgot to crush his can this time.

“1 suppose,” I said, “it wouldn’t be anything for them to set him up down in the ville with a little dolly.”

“Whichever one he chooses,” Milt said. He leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his beer.

“Would he have to pay her?” Ernie asked.

“The commander don’t have to pay for nothing in ltaewon,” Milt said. “Oh, she might hustle a little money from him and some stuff from the PX, shit like that. But she’d better not gouge him and piss him off. The Koreans’d have her little butt.”

Milt sighed, staring off into space at the beauty of it all. He suddenly seemed to realize something. “Hey, you guys don’t have something on General Bohler, do you?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

He sipped his beer for a moment and then looked at me. “What’d you find out, George?”

“Nothing much, really. Except that Bohler is a pervert.”