Jade Lady Burning (10 page)

“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 Itaewon, 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.”

7

T
he 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 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 MA’s 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?”

“Yeah.”

“How long ago did you first meet her?”

“A couple of months ago. And she’s never been any trouble.”

“She stays with you sometimes on the compound?”

“Sure. But that’s never—”

“How did Kimiko get into the act?”

“I’d never seen her before tonight, she’s just a friend of Miss Ahn’s, and when I went outside the gate to pick her up, this woman Kimiko was there, and Miss Ahn asked if I could escort her, too. I figured one more wouldn’t hurt, so—”

“Did Kimiko say why she wanted to come to the O Club?”

“No. She didn’t say much of anything.”

“Why do you think she wanted to come to the O Club?”

“Just to have a fun evening, I guess.”

“She had that. And didn’t you think she wanted to meet someone here and maybe make a few dollars?”

Leibowitz straightened his shoulders. “That is no affair of mine.”

“You’ve paid Miss Ahn before, haven’t you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

I knew the answer. A few of the classier girls stood outside the gate that led to the Officers’ Club and made arrangements with someone, usually young officers, to escort them on post. Sometimes they had someone who would meet them out there and sometimes they just took their chances, smiling and asking a likely-looking young man to help a lady in distress. There weren’t too many women because the pickings were slimmer at the Officers’ Club, but when they made their rare strike the payoff was better. And most of the women who went that route were good-looking and highly presentable in the more sedate confines of the Officers’ Club. Not like the droves of old hags and young floozies who crowded the front gate, waiting for someone to take them into the Lower Four Club. Of them all, I preferred the old hags. They weren’t trying to be something they weren’t.

I thanked Lieutenant Leibowitz for his time. He straightened his jacket and strode off in a huff. Your typical infantry officer. All spit and polish. No brains.

“She’s out here,” Ernie said. “Miss Ahn.”

Bosun and the MPs had her behind the MA’s desk. She was tall and wore a low-cut blue-patterned dress that was guaranteed to draw every man’s eyes. Her hair puffed out in a short bouffant and surrounded a face that had been very pretty and was still holding up well.

I spoke to her in English.

“Why’d you bring Kimiko on the compound?”

“She is a Korean woman. She asked me for help, so I helped her.”

“How much did she pay you?”

Miss Ahn reached in her handbag and pulled out a pack of American cigarettes. She tapped one free and lit it without waiting for any of us to offer.

She said, “How much doesn’t matter. But yeah, she paid me.” She exhaled the smoke past the cheap artwork that lined the walls.

“How long have you known her?”

“Long time. Everybody knows Kimiko. But is she my friend? No. And did I ever take her to the Officers’ Club before? No. I was surprised she wanted to go. Usually she works in Itaewon.”

“Why did she want to go in?”

“I don’t know. Make money, I guess.”

“Did she sit with you and Lieutenant Leibowitz?”

“For a little while. Then she go.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention. Next thing I know, big fight.”

“With who?”

Miss Ahn’s eyes opened wide. “General Bohler. You know.”

I thanked her for her help. No sense making enemies. These business girls can be a lot of help to an investigator, and she was looking good in that long blue dress. Near thirty, though. But my standards were getting less stringent.

“You give me a ride off compound?” she said. Apparently, Lieutenant Leibowitz had abandoned her.

“We don’t have a car.”

“Shit.”

She puffed rapidly on her cigarette. There were plenty of men inside the club and plenty of booze. Someone would help her.

An MP stepped over. “Sueño?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“General Bohler’s aide, Major Zaronsky, wants a word.”

“Can you point him out?” I said.

“Sure can,” he said. “He’s the one making all the noise over there.”

Five young officers were sitting at the table. One of them was waving his hands in the air, dominating the conversation. He was prematurely balding and cropped blond hair fringed his dome. His look was pugnacious. I couldn’t tell from this distance but I felt certain that Major Zaronsky’s eyes would prove to be blue and vacuous. I thanked the MP and walked towards their table.

The major was in the middle of a dissertation. The other officers, all junior to him, were staring with exaggerated attentiveness, making sure they’d max their efficiency reports.

I interrupted him in midsentence: “Are you Major Zaronsky?”

The major stopped talking, both hands in midair. Keeping them there, he turned his upper body around slowly. “Who wants to know?” he asked, eyes wide, feigning amazement that anyone would have the temerity to interrupt.

“You wanted to see me?” I said. “I’m Sueño.”

“Sergeant Sueño?” Zaronsky spat it out, his hands still in the air. “You’re not in my unit,” he said, his voice rising. “What unit are you in?”

“Sir. Maybe we could go in the game room.”

“The game room?” Zaronsky asked in mock astonishment. “I don’t want to go in no fucking game room.” His arms came crashing down. “Now I asked you a question, Sergeant. What goddamn unit are you in?”

“I’m with the CID,” I said, in a forced monotone. “I’m here on official business, and I’d like to keep it confidential.”

“The CID?” Once again Major Zaronsky was astonished. “What in the
world
would the C-I-fucking-D want here? There ain’t nothing wrong here. There ain’t nothing wrong that
everybody
in the club can’t listen to!”

Major Zaronsky was shouting. He was right about one thing: Everyone in the club was definitely listening. What the hell was his problem?

“Well, sir,” I said, “if you insist on discussing it here, I’ll tell you—” I could see Ernie out of the corner of my eye, he was facing us, standing next to his bar stool, with no beer in sight.

“If you had done a thorough shakedown of the guests tonight,” I said, “you might have prevented an attack on a general staff officer.” I hurried my speech, so the loudmouth major wouldn’t be able to interrupt. “And that unaccountable lapse in security has turned out to be deeply unfortunate.”

Major Zaronsky’s face was changing. The feigned surprise was gradually becoming genuine anger.

“But,” I said, “since you’re so sure that there is nothing wrong with your procedures, Major Zaronsky, I won’t bother you any further.”

I stared into his empty blue eyes. For the first time he was quiet. I turned and started to walk away but the major was up and red with rage.