Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“ Xin loi. . “

“What do you think you’re doing,” Yong Kyu said in Korean.

“So, you’re a kimchi eater like me. What are you selling?”

“I’m a soldier. I’m staying over at the Grand Hotel.”

The man immediately understood. Any senior technician would have had some idea of what kind of person stayed at the Grand Hotel, like men working in the company offices of Philco or Vinelli.

“Heh, heh, this is just, you know, lunch money. Why, you gonna arrest me?”

“Don’t joke. You can find plenty of places in the back alleys, but here on a main street in broad daylight. .?”

“You got a point there. This is only fly shit when some bitch is out gobbling up rations by the truckload.”

The man started to slide slowly away, but Yong Kyu followed him.

“Excuse me, where do you work?”

“At Philco.”

“I mean, where is your work site?”

“MAC 36.” It was a navy cargo handling area located out on the far end of the Monkey Mountain. “Not a bad idea to gobble up a destroyer, what do you say?” joked Yong Kyu.

“If they could manage to drag it on shore and hide it somewhere, the Vietnamese could definitely manage the sale.”

“So who’s that bitch you mentioned?”

The technician realized he had made a mistake. “Well. . bitch or bastard, what’s it matter? The bitches and bastards swarming around Da Nang are all foreigners, right?”

“Have fun.”

Yong Kyu headed away from Doc Lap Boulevard. Since it was morning, the headquarters office on Puohung was bustling with agents. After knocking at the door, he heard the voice of Miss Hoa, asking in awkward Korean for him to come in:

“ T’ro osipsio .”

When Yong Kyu entered the room, the captain raised his eyes from the documents he had been reading and for a second fastened a piercing glare upon him.

“Did you call for me, sir?”

“Mmmhmm, take a seat over there.”

Yong Kyu sat down across from the captain.

“Where’s your duty station these days?”

The captain’s eyes were back upon the papers.

“I’m out at the division PX, sir.”

“That should give you a thorough grasp of the PX system.”

Pointer paused briefly before adding, “What’s the team chief up to lately?”

“Mornings he gives us our duty assignments and afternoons he goes to the Dragon Palace and the Bamboo for inspection.”

“All right. But I can tell he’s not accomplishing anything. Things keep leaking out from the other side of the bridge.”

Yong Kyu sensed that it was not what the gunnery sergeant had been worried about. The other side of the bridge would be an entirely different target.

“C-rations. Combat chow, I mean. We didn’t even notice it, and now the US is asking us to investigate and supplying us with leads to boot. It was damn embarrassing.”

“Any definite proof it was Koreans?”

“Definitely not American GIs this time,” Pointer said, shaking his head. “Those kids never touch combat supply goods. There’s plenty of other things and this involves a big risk. If it’s not Americans, then it has to be our side. From Chinatown across the bridge, from Monkey Mountain, from the helicopter battalion, who knows, but the stuff seems to be leaking from some small unit supply division.”

The captain pushed the papers toward Yong Kyu.

“This is the log of our vehicles that have been passing through Da Nang city limits.”

The log had been marked up with a ballpoint pen. Yong Kyu recognized the number most frequently appearing.

“That’s a rec center vehicle, isn’t it?”

“Right, those bastards must know something about it.”

“The rec center truck makes two trips a day to the Dong Dao junction to pick up supplies for the transportation unit.”

“That’s why it’s most likely them.”

“I got some information on my way here from a Philco technician.”

Yong Kyu told the captain what the man on the street had inadvertently revealed.

“Some Korean woman must have been carrying rations in an American vehicle or a private car.”

“Lucky timing. Better hurry out into the market. After you finish this investigation, start working the marketplace. Want some boys to tag along?”

“No, thank you, sir. I’ll do it alone.”

“Look at the very last page,” said the captain in a changed tone.

Yong Kyu flipped to the final page. To his surprise, there he found a Vietnamese license number circled in red. He noted the checkpoint, Gate 3, Dong Dao. The car. . he wondered if it was the Hong Kong Group station wagon.

“Corporal Ahn, even if it’s a civilian vehicle, I have them keep records of license numbers if there’re Koreans riding inside. I asked the American guards to start doing it last month. It’s hard to get a good grasp on the PX details.”

The captain snatched the vehicle log back from Yong Kyu’s hands.

“I’ll have to change the team chief.”

Yong Kyu stood erect, looking straight at the captain.

“A woman? A Korean woman?” the captain murmured, tapping the table with his pen. Then he removed a sheet of paper from one of his drawers. “This is the last of the civilians in Da Nang. Take a good look. Those marked in red are the ones without jobs.”

“Could be some who overstayed their visas.”

“Certainly. Some have even lost their nationality.”

“What’s that?” asked Yong Kyu, pointing to some odd foreign names among those on the list.

“They’re the entertainers. But these are only the ones we could keep track of up to the end of last year. The ones who come in knowing how the embassy works usually keep their departure dates, but others are stranded here and hook up with the Filipinos or the Thais or the Japanese; they’re hard to get hold of.”

“Sunny Lee, Susan Pak, Korean Honey. . there’s no detailed personal information at all.”

“They move all over Vietnam to different bases, barely scratch out a living by dancing or stripping or being magicians’ helpers. Not to mention the prostitution. . anyway, some of that sort might be around in Da Nang, you never know. Go to a few places and check them out. The rec center, China Beach, Army Stage Productions, and the Troop Information and Education Center at headquarters, well, that should keep you busy for now.”

As he was leaving the office Yong Kyu hesitated for a moment, then said, “Can you give me a car? I don’t have a driver.”

“Huh? Still don’t know how to drive?”

Turning to Miss Hoa, the captain said, “Call the Dragon Palace and have the team chief come in, and tell Toi to come see me, too.”

First to arrive was Toi, a Vietnamese informant the captain employed. Yong Kyu had never met him before but had heard him mentioned by the sergeant. He was middle-aged, said to have been discharged from the ARVN Quartermaster Corps. He walked into the office in a white shirt and black pants. His eyes were hidden behind mercury-mirrored sunglasses and his gold teeth sparkled through his permanent grin.

“Hullo.”

“Let me introduce you. This is Corporal Ahn, one of our staff.”

“Hello, I know you well.”

“Know me well?” said Yong Kyu, shaking his extended hand. Instead of explaining, Toi looked at the captain and smiled.

The captain said to Yong Kyu, “From now on he’ll be your guide in the market. He’ll be a big help to you in this case.”

The captain looked straight into Yong Kyu’s eyes as he calmly added, “Toi knows all about the beer business; the team chief is starting with the Hong Kong Group.”

Yong Kyu spun quickly for another look at Toi. Now that he thought of it, the face was not altogether unfamiliar. Suddenly an image flitted through his mind of a pair of mirrored sunglasses sitting beside the Chinese woman they called “Chui” at a corner table in the Bamboo Club.