Martin Limon: The Ville Rat

Sergeant Orgwell was deemed no longer medically fit for duty and was granted disability retirement, including a lump-sum payment, a monthly pension for the rest of his life, and medical care provided by the Veterans Administration.

As per his wishes, Rick Mills was laid to rest in the burial mound he shared with his wife. Ernie and I attended the ceremony and even performed duties as ceremonial grave diggers, in accordance with Korean custom. Sure, Mills was a crook, but he’d also been a fellow soldier once, and in the end he’d conducted himself, if not with wisdom, at least with honor.

Mr. Kill, Chief Homicide Inspector for the Korean National Police, put a halt to the investigation of how many kisaeng Demoray had killed. A GI serial killer was not the type of story that either the Korean government or the United States wanted to hear about.

Miss Kwon, the little kisaeng , returned to her job as a hostess at the Bright Cloud Inn. Officer Oh, Inspector Kill’s stalwart female assistant, was appointed to watch over her and make sure she made a successful readjustment to normal life. Or as normal as life gets in a kisaeng house.

Leah Prevault and I took a few days off work and traveled to a resort area in southern Korea on the island of Jindo, far from any military bases, or any Americans at all for that matter. We wandered along fishing wharfs and deserted beaches and ate platefuls of fresh fish and dried seaweed at well-lit restaurants at night. She made me tell her all about what happened and waited patiently as I tried to sort it all out. There’s something to this head-shrinking stuff. Just speaking my thoughts aloud made me feel better. Especially when someone was there to listen.

Back in Seoul, Ernie and I entered the CID office together. Staff Sergeant Riley said, “Where in the hell you guys been?”

“None of your freaking business,” Ernie told him.

Unfazed, Riley pulled out a sheaf of paperwork. “The provost marshal wants you both to sign this.”

“What is it?” Ernie asked.

“Read it. You’ll see.”

“What is it?” Ernie repeated.

Riley turned away. “An apology to the Second Division commander.”

“What?”

I grabbed the paperwork. It was two typed sheets, one with Ernie’s name on it, one with mine. I skimmed it quickly. What it said, in essence, was that we were responsible for engendering a false impression that the 2nd Infantry Division had a race-relations problem in its ranks. It also said that we had spread false rumors that the Division had training and leadership problems. Finally, there was a statement to the effect that both Ernie and I were responsible for these transgressions and very sorry for having any hand in perpetuating said falsehoods.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ernie said.

“Nobody’s kidding, Bascom,” Riley said, hands on his hips. “You insulted the Second Infantry Division and the Second Infantry Division commander and now you’re going to apologize.”

“And if I don’t?”

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Shit Detail City.”

“I’ve been on shit details before,” Ernie told him. He reached for the paper, crumpled it into a small ball, and tossed it into Riley’s trash bin.

“You’re going to regret this, Bascom,” Riley said.

“Never.”

Ernie stalked out of the office.

Both Sergeant Riley and Miss Kim, the secretary, stared at me. I lifted the paper and studied it. Instead of balling it up, I carried it across the room, set it on my wooden field desk, rolled a clean sheet of paper into my Remington manual, and started to type.

“What the hell you doing?” Riley growled.

“Preparing my rebuttal,” I said.

Miss Kim brought me a cup of Black Dragon tea.