Slicky Boys (23 page)

“Cost you an arm and a leg, though.”

“Hey, what’s money?”

I knew it. Once he gave the place a chance, he started to like it. Ernie was a sawdust kind of guy but if he ever inherited a million dollars, he’d develop expensive tastes fast enough.

When the woman in lavender appeared at the mouth of the hallway she spread her long red nails and looked as if she longed to scratch our eyes out.

“Weikurei?”
she demanded. “What you do here?”

A little English. She hasn’t always catered to Koreans, I thought.

I pulled out my badge and flashed it in front of her face.

“I’m looking for a young woman,” I said. “Police business.”

She examined the badge and then me, trying to decide whether to listen or kick our butts out. Ernie crossed his arms, leaned forward, and peeked out at the crowd, letting her know she’d have trouble if she didn’t deal.

She looked the Nurse up and down, the beginnings of a sneer visible on her lips. The Nurse stood up straighter and held her head up. Defiant.

“You must be the Tiger Lady,” I said.

“What you want?”

“Like I said. A young lady.” I strummed on an imaginary flat surface with wriggling fingers. “She plays the
kayagum.”

Before she could answer, the curtains reopened. Three women, dressed in flowing Korean dresses, sat on an elevated platform with stringed instruments in front of their crossed knees. They bowed their heads. Hair as black as raven feathers was tied back tightly by large jade pins. Behind them wavered a painted scene on a canvas backdrop of gently rolling hills, gurgling springs, and groves of blossoming plum trees. The women raised their heads and in perfect unison began to pluck the taut strings of the three flat wooden
kayagum.
A high-pitched wail rose from their crimson mouths.

“That’s her,” Ernie said. “The one on the left.”

We listened to the music.

“Never hit the top of the charts,” Ernie said.

I turned to the Tiger Lady and pointed to the woman on the stage. Miss Ku.

“We want to talk to her,” I said.

“She don’t do nothing bad. I watch my girls.”

“Maybe she didn’t do anything bad. We just have a few questions.”

“About what?”

“We’ll tell her.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“If not,” I said. “My crazy friend here will walk up on the stage.”

She studied Ernie. From deep in his throat, he growled at her.

“You’ve seen crazy GI’s before,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “I see before.”

She was old enough to remember the days when American GI’s were the only men in the country who had any money. She’d risen above those days; she didn’t want to go back to them.

A group of Korean businessmen strode into the far end of the ballroom. Serving girls rushed forward, bowing and smiling. One of them turned toward the Tiger Lady and motioned, palm down, for her to come over.

“Okay,” the Tiger Lady said finally. “You talk to her.” She held up a wickedly pointed finger. “But no trouble.”

I raised my open palms.

“No trouble,” I said.

She returned to her customers. We followed the hallway and turned down another and then another until we found ourselves in front of a walkway that led to the rear of the stage. Women in huge silk skirts gawked at us.

Ernie smiled and offered them some gum. They all refused. He looked perplexed but just shrugged. Generally, Koreans are friendly and open to Americans. But when your presence can piss off a wealthy clientele and threaten their livelihood, they’re a little less open. Besides, they were suspicious. What were two big-noses doing behind their stage?

When the
kayagum
number was finished, we allowed the first two performers to swish past us but Ernie reached out and grabbed Miss Ku and pulled her back into the wings. Her heavily lined eyes widened when she saw us.

The Nurse started to fidget. Not liking it that Ernie had a tight grip on another beautiful woman.

The stereo speakers arrayed around the ballroom launched into a stirring rendition of
“Arirang,”
an ancient Korean folk song of separated lovers. Two more
kisaeng,
one dressed like a farm boy, the other like a peasant country girl, rushed onto the stage and began twirling in an elaborate dance.

While Ernie held her, I pointed my finger into Miss Ku’s face.

“You lied to us,” I said.

Her face crinkled in rage. “I no lie,” she said. The teeth behind her rouged lips were white and perfectly shaped.

“The guy who broke your Ping-Pong heart,” I said, “Cecil Whitcomb, is dead.”

No particular remorse flashed across her face.

She tried to step back but Ernie jerked her forward. She looked up at him, turned, tried to punch him, but he caught her small fist.

The Nurse stepped forward but I grabbed her by the elbow, frowned, and shook my head. She stopped but her body remained tense.

Ernie and Miss Ku struggled for a minute, silk rustling, perfume billowing through the air. She looked desperate but relaxed when a broad smile spread over his face. They stood completely still, staring into one another’s eyes. Fear and lust. Goddamn Ernie’s an expert at both of them. His favorite emotions.

Blood started to rush up the Nurse’s neck. I put my arm around her shoulders, leaned over, and whispered, “He’s only working. Don’t be angry.”

Slowly, Miss Ku pushed herself away from Ernie, her breathing subsided, and she turned back to me, her face serious.

“I didn’t know anyone would kill him.”

“Who paid you to bring us the note?”

“A man. I don’t know name.”

“An American? A Korean? Who?”

“An American.”

“A GI?”

“I don’t know. His hair was short. He was very strong.”

“What color was his hair?”

She turned toward Ernie. “Like his.”

“His eyes?”

“Like his.”

Great. Light brown hair and blue or green eyes. That narrowed it down a lot.

“How tall was he?”

Miss Ku looked back and forth between us. “A little taller than him. Not as tall as you.”

Between six one and six four.

“Why’d you do it?”

“He paid me.”

“How much?”

“Not your business.”

Ernie grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She squealed. I wasn’t sure if it was from pain or delight.

As long as Ernie was hurting Miss Ku, the Nurse seemed to like it. A smug expression spread across her face.

“How much did the American pay you?” I asked Miss Ku again.

She grimaced in pain. “A hundred thousand won.”

Almost two hundred bucks, depending on where you exchanged your money.

“How did he know you would do it? Maybe you’d just take the money and not talk to us.”

“He was watching.”

“At the Kayagum Teahouse?”

“Outside.”

“And he paid you then?”

“Half before. Half after.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

Ernie pushed on her arm again. This time she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and bit on her lower lip. Her breathing became fast and rhythmic. She seemed to be savoring the pain.

The Nurse appeared happy, but as it dawned on her that Miss Ku was enjoying this wrestling match, she started to frown again.

A group of
kisaeng
gathered in the hallway nearby, murmuring and staring. Koreans don’t like seeing a couple of big Americans pushing around one of their own. I decided to hurry.

“How did you know this American?” I asked Miss Ku.

“He came in here,” she said, “with Korean friends.”

“Who were they?”

“Businessmen. With money.”

“I want their names.”

Miss Ku shoved her backside tighter up against Ernie’s crotch. He leaned into it.

“Their names,” I said.

“I don’t know their names. Only one of them. Mr. Chong, I think. He owns a print shop on Chong-no, third section.”

“What’s the name of the shop?”

“I don’t know. Something like modern, up-to-date. Something like that.”

“Had you seen the American before?”

“No. That was the first time. And the last time I saw him was when he paid me outside of the Kayagum Teahouse.”

“Why did he choose you?”

She lowered her head. “Sometimes I help Mr. Chong.”

“With what?”

“His problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Problems with his wife.” She looked up at me, defiance flashing in her eyes. “She doesn’t give him enough sex.”

“And you do?”

“I have plenty.”

The music stopped and a stagehand rushed out to change the set.

The cluster of
kisaeng
was growing larger. Time to finish it. I nodded to Ernie.

When he let her go, Miss Ku leaned back toward him. As he took a step away, she clutched his sleeve.

“Why you go?”

He stared at her without smiling.

She pressed her body up against his. Silk rustled against blue jeans.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

The Nurse bristled and shoved Ernie. “What you mean, you ‘be back’?”

Ernie held up his hands. “Hey. Police business. That’s all.”

She glowered at him. I knew she was contemplating punching somebody. Either Ernie or Miss Ku. The Nurse’s face flushed red in frustration and embarrassment. This was a problem that fists wouldn’t solve.

Miss Ku savored the Nurse’s discomfort.

Trouble brewing. Big trouble.

Smiling in triumph, Miss Ku released her grip on Ernie’s sleeve.

I grabbed the Nurse and grabbed Ernie and yanked them both away from the murmuring gaggle of
kisaeng.

We hustled down the hallway, exited through a back door, and, once in the cold alley, plowed through frozen snow sprinkled with soot.

Bare-bulbed streetlights shone harshly on the Nurse’s face, filling the deep shadows with lines that should never have been there.

Ernie seemed lost in thought.

22

C
HONG-NO MEANS “ROAD OF THE BELL.”
A
T THE BASE
of the road, where it begins near the old Capitol Building, is an ornate temple housing a massive bell made of solid cast bronze. Every morning the bell is rung by Buddhist priests. Its low vibrations spread over the city of Seoul, rattling stacked beer bottles and resonating out in circles that bring the citizenry to life.

The alleys shooting off Chong-no contain shops and small factories where, even at this hour, men worked under the glare of floodlights.

Sparks shot out from grinding wheels. Hammers pounded on plumbing fixtures.

We found the Hyundai Print Shop in the third alley we visited. Three men hunched over rattling presses, oblivious to our presence.

“Doesn’t look like the owner of this place could afford to go to the Tiger Lady’s,” Ernie said.

“Maybe this isn’t his only enterprise.”

“Maybe not.”

Ernie had spent almost a half hour trying to convince the Nurse to go home. She didn’t want to leave him—danger or no danger. When I finally told her that it was necessary for her to leave, she resigned herself to her fate and allowed Ernie to put her in a taxi and pay for her fare back to Itaewon.

I watched the red taillights of the cab fade off into the deepening night, feeling sad for some reason. This quest for Miss Ku had been the best day the three of us had ever spent together.

A few of the young workmen across the street from the print shop halted their chores and looked at us. When you wander away from the GI bar districts, get used to being stared at. They don’t see many foreigners back in these alleys. We stepped forward into the shop.

The three young men inside were still too preoccupied with their work to look up. We wandered around. Browsing.

Finally, one of them noticed movement and took off his goggles. His mouth fell open.

“Anyonghaseiyo,”
I told him. Hello. “We are looking for the other foreigner who usually comes in here.”

“Mulah-gu?”
What?

“The American. With blond hair. A little taller than him.” I jerked my thumb toward Ernie.

“No. We didn’t see him in a long time.”

I turned, as if I were surveying the ink-stained presses, and mumbled to Ernie. “It’s the right place.”

I swiveled back to the printer. “Are you the owner?”

“Oh, no. Not me.” The young man shot his eyes toward Ernie. “What is he doing there?”

Ernie had wandered back through the equipment to a tiny office area with a desk and a file cabinet.

“He’s just curious,” I told the young man. “Tell me about this American. Did you meet him?”

The other two printers stopped their work. The one I was talking to barked an order to the youngest. “Go fetch Chong.”

The youngest man peeled off his filthy gloves and sped through the door. I pulled out my badge.

“This is police business,” I told the two printers. “You must tell me what you know.”

While they gawked at the badge, not making any sense of the English lettering, Ernie opened the drawers of the desk and searched them. I shot more questions.

“Is the American a good friend of Mr. Chong’s?”

They shook their heads, grimacing.