G.I. Bones (26 page)

“I was at the time,” he said, “until she was kind enough to bring me back to my senses.”

“How’d she do that?”

“You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?” Ernie was more embarrassed about whatever he was preparing to tell me than he was about admitting that he was fully prepared to have sexual relations with a minor.

“I won’t tell anybody,” I told him.

Ernie turned away, took a deep breath, and said, “She kneed me in the balls.”

I groaned. “And while you were bent over, holding onto yourself, she ran.”

“And a lot faster than I would’ve expected.”

“She took the bayonet with her?”

“That and her purse. I think she had it all planned from the minute I walked in the door.”

Back in Itaewon, Ernie and I didn’t seek out Jimmy Pak right away. And we didn’t leave word with the manager of the Seven Club or do any of the things that one would normally do when
requesting
an audience with Snake. At the Itaewon Police Station, Captain Kim was out but I wrote a short note in English, folded it over two times and left it with the desk sergeant. All I wrote was the day, the time, my name and
Going to see Snake.

The desk sergeant took the note but he was distracted, ordering his cops to pull candles and flashlights and batteries out of the storage bin, expecting the usual power outage that strikes so often in Seoul during a sudden storm. I hoped he’d remember to give the note to Captain Kim. I had to believe he would. Then, we drove directly to Snake’s home.

Snow was falling steadily now and Ernie had to bulldoze a three-foot-high drift out of the way to make a parking space next to the big stone walls in front of Snake’s mansion. He waited in the jeep, alert.

I stood beneath the stone arch in the recessed entranceway, out of the way of the ice-laced wind, and buzzed the bell of the intercom repeatedly. No answer. Finally, I started kicking the bottom of the wooden gate. Ernie climbed out of the jeep and walked over.

“Nobody’s home,” he said.

Just then the intercom buzzed. A voice said.
“Nugu syo?”
Who is it.

“Sueño,” I said. “Here to see Snake. Important. You
alla?
I have to see him
now!”

The intercom buzzed off.

Ernie studied me, a little shocked by my impatience but I was thinking of Doc Yong. I hoped that Snake’s taunts about her being subject to a lot of “boom-boom” were just that—taunts and nothing more. It was even possible that they didn’t have her. Maybe she had left town for some reason of her own or they had frightened her away. I had to assume the worst until I knew for sure that she was OK.

Snake wouldn’t risk hurting Ernie and me ordinarily. The 8th United States Army was his bread and butter. He wouldn’t do anything to piss them off. Not unless he thought he could get away with it, that is. But at the moment no one at 8th Army knew we were here. In fact, we weren’t supposed to be here. Snake might risk taking us out. After all, he had offed Moretti. But that had been a long time ago, before Snake became rich and controlled a myriad of business interests. Corruption had imposed certain rules, the purpose of which was to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. I was still hoping Snake would honor our deal. If he didn’t, Ernie and I were armed and ready to fight.

As for the murder of Two Bellies and Auntie Mee, and locating the bones of Moretti, first things first. After I’d freed Doc Yong, I’d think about the next problem.

The door creaked open.

Ernie and I walked in.

Snake was wearing a papa-san outfit: turquoise blue silk vest, billowing white pantaloons tapered at the ankle, white socks, and slippers. He held a long-stemmed pipe to his mouth.

“Welcome,” he said, smiling. “Sit, sit.”

Snake pointed to a hand-carved mahogany divan with embroidered cushions. We were in a large traditional room whose floor was covered with tatami mats. In the corner a bronze Buddha was enshrined in front of paintings of silk-robed goddesses floating through billowing clouds and star-filled skies. Everything in the room—celadon vases, porcelain jars, bronze incense burners— appeared to be an antique and signified Snake’s Buddhist faith. Ernie slapped snow off the shoulders of his jacket and stomped his feet. He didn’t like the place. We both ignored Snake’s invitation to sit.

“Where is she?” I asked.

Snake puffed on his pipe, still smiling, and a cloud of tobacco smoke floated in front of him. “First,” he said. “What you got?”

“A list,” I said, “right out of Cort’s Serious Incident Report, of the families that left valuables with Moretti for safekeeping. And I’ve compared it with another list of every orphan that was taken from Itaewon after Moretti’s murder.”

As I said the word
murder
I stared into Snake’s eyes, searching for a reaction. What I found was an amused smile. I continued.

“According to the Buddhist nuns at the Temple of Constant Truth, all of the children stayed here in Korea. None of them were adopted overseas. The list the nuns gave me is almost identical to Cort’s. Only a few names differ.”

I handed the copies to Snake. He shuffled through them.

“A lot of people here,” he said. “So which one kill Horsehead? Which one kill Water Doggy?”

“There were two men,” I said, “and three women. It figures that their names are on that list.”

“But which ones? And where are they now? How I find up?”

I shrugged. “Send your boys out.” There were about a dozen of them standing in the foyer behind us. “Put them to work instead of letting them stand around with their thumbs up their ass.”

Ernie pulled a stick of ginseng gum out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and steadily. A sure sign that he was nervous but ready to fight.

“No way,” Snake said. “You find up which ones on this list kill Horsehead.
Then
we talk.” He handed the list back to me. Ernie tensed. Slowly, I folded the paperwork and stuck it in my pocket. When my hand came back out of my jacket, I was holding my .45.

Ernie’s had appeared in his hand as if by magic. He stepped quickly toward the foyer and trained his pistol on the thugs that were lurking about.

“Umjiki-jima,”
Ernie growled. Don’t move.

Sometimes, when he has to, Ernie speaks enough Korean to surprise me.

“Where you think you go?” Snake said. “You think you can get away from Snake?

I stood next to him and pressed the business end of the .45 against his temple.

“Now!” I shouted. “Doc Yong.
Bali bali!”
Quickly.

Snake glanced at his men and nodded. One of them stepped forward, holding his hands at his side, palms out.

“He show you,” Snake said.

“No. Not him. He stays here with Ernie and the rest of them. You show me.”

Snake was starting to sweat. Maybe he knew that love can make an American G.I. act irrationally. Maybe he thought I really would shoot him.

I thought so too.

“Move!” I said.

Snake started moving.

Ernie motioned for the thugs to kneel on the floor. They did, still keeping their hands up.

Gun control is absolute in Korea. Only the police and the military are allowed to carry firearms. You could bet that Snake had a few weapons squirreled away somewhere but they were for emergency use only. To be seen carrying one or, worse yet, to use a gun in the commission of a crime would bring the wrath of Korean officialdom down on him. Connections or no, Snake was too smart to risk it. Therefore, for the moment, Ernie and I were holding all the firepower.

Snake and I waltzed down a long corridor lined with oil-papered sliding doors. At the end we turned down a varnished wooden stairwell that creaked beneath our feet. I held his frail left arm firmly in my grip, keeping the .45 pointed at his head. He was sweating profusely now, and breathing rapidly.

We reached an underground stone-walled corridor that was lined with barred wooden doors.

“Which one?” I asked.

Snake pointed to the third one down.

We moved down the damp corridor quickly and, still holding the .45 to his head, I ordered Snake to open the door. He slid back a metal rod and then pulled on a flat handle. The door creaked open.

Inside, a single naked bulb hung from a wire. There was a small diesel space heater in the middle of the room and, on either side, broad wooden benches. On one of them a woman sat. Her hands were clasped over her knees. She wore blue jeans and sneakers and a warm woolen jacket. She wore spectacles. Turning her head slowly, as if disoriented, she gazed at me. And then she struggled to focus, as if straining to see what stood there in front of her. She didn’t smile, she just stared.

Doc Yong.

“It’s me,” I said. “Geogi. Come to get you.”

She continued to stare.

“Come on,” I said. “No time.”

Still, she stared. She didn’t move. I started talking to her, jabbering simply to try to coax her back to reality. She continued to stare at us with a blank look on her face.

I shoved Snake against the stone wall. “What the hell did you do to her?”

He didn’t answer. I knew I didn’t have much time. More of Snake’s thugs might arrive any minute, more than Ernie could handle. Or one of the thugs downstairs might try something foolish. We had to start moving but Doc Yong was immobile.

I pressed the .45 harder up against Snake’s skull.

“You walk over to her,” I said. “Slowly. You grab her by the arms and pull her up and out into the corridor. You got that?”

Snake nodded.

“If you try anything, I’ll blow that stupid smile off your face. You
alla?”

Snake nodded again.

I let go of his arm. He stepped forward, speaking soothingly to Doc Yong. When he stood next to her he patted her gently on the shoulder and continued to speak to her as if speaking to a child. Finally, he coaxed her to stand up. He patted her on the back as if she’d accomplished something momentous. Then, slipping his arm behind her, he turned her body and started to guide her toward the door.

Maybe I was studying her face too closely. Staring at the smooth complexion and the soft lips and the round tip of her nose. For however long my concentration wandered, it was long enough for Snake to slip his hand inside his blue silk vest and, faster than I could react, the hand was back out and a glimmering steel blade appeared at Doc Yong’s throat.

“Freeze!” he said.

I did. But my .45 was still pointed at his head. Unfortunately, his head was mostly hidden behind hers.

“Drop it!” he said.

“Hell no.”

“I’ll slice her throat.”

I gulped. “If you do, I’ll blow your freaking head off!”

“Drop it.”

“I ain’t going to drop it. But I
will
blow your head off. You can count on it, Snake.”

He shoved Doc Yong forward and followed her closely. Involuntarily, I stepped back. Shuffling like that, inch by inch—me still holding the .45 pointed at his narrow face and he still pressing the sharp edge of the daggerlike blade up against Doc Yong’s throat—the three of us backed out of the small cell. In the hallway, Snake maneuvered himself closest to the stairwell and started inching backwards.

I knew I should shoot him now. If the bullet slammed into his eyeball it would penetrate his brain so fast that he would have no time to react. He wouldn’t be able to harm Doc Yong. But if I missed—and .45s were notoriously inaccurate even at close range—he’d fall back and, even if he didn’t intend to, he’d slice open Doc Yong’s throat. Or worse, what if I missed Snake and hit Doc Yong? These thoughts flashed through my mind as we neared the stairwell. If I didn’t stop him now Snake would start backing up the steps. He might cut Doc Yong and run. It was here I had to take him down. Now!

The .45 quivered in my grip. The barrel was aimed right at Snake but, involuntarily, the barrel bounced and pointed at Doc Yong.

She had become alert, and terrified, realizing now that her life was in danger.

I aimed the .45 and started to squeeze.

A huge bang lit up the world, so bright that I was blinded. Doc Yong screamed. So did I, I think. The electrical wires in the corridor sparked and then, as quickly as it had come, the bright light disappeared. I was still blinded. Seconds passed, no one moving, but then I heard thunder and when I opened my eyes again, everything was pitch black.

Upstairs, footsteps pounded and then I heard more screams and shots being fired. Ernie. At the same time, the stairwell creaked as someone ran up the ancient wooden steps.

I realized what must have happened. The eye of the Manchurian storm now hovered over Itaewon. Lightning had struck and the electricity in Snake’s mansion had gone out.

I crouched and, with my free hand, touched the brick floor beneath me, orienting myself. Snake had fled. That meant that Doc Yong was still here.

“Yong-a,”
I said, calling her name.
“Na yo.”
It’s me.

No reply. The footsteps upstairs were treading every which way. Men were shouting. Glass, or porcelain was shattered. Men cursed in Korean. Someone shouted for lights.

I crawled forward, sweeping in front of me with my free hand, searching for her.

I touched something. A foot I think. Someone screeched and then a fist hit me on the side of my head. It was a small fist and it didn’t hurt much. It told me where she was. I lunged forward, felt her arms, and then we were grappling with one another in the dark. I enveloped her in my arms. She struggled until she realized who I was. I lay atop her. Her arms found the back of my neck and hugged tightly.

She was safe. For the moment anyway.

17

A
beam of light searched down the stairwell.

“Sueño? You down there?”

“Down here,” I said.

“We have to un-ass the area, immediately if not sooner.”

“Was it lightning?” I asked.

“Must be. Electricity’s out in the whole area. Those assholes are regrouping out there. I heard them use the word
chung.”
Gun.

Doc Yong would have a solid charge to file against Snake: false imprisonment, kidnapping, maybe worse. Snake couldn’t allow that to happen. And the perfect time to make sure that it didn’t happen was in the middle of the night while a Manchurian storm raged and the electricity was out in the entire village of Itaewon.

I listened for sirens. Nothing. No sign of Captain Kim and the Korean National Police. What with a power outage and a snowstorm, their hands were full. If Captain Kim came to check on Ernie and me, it would be too late.

Doc Yong was already moving toward the light. Ernie shifted the beam of the flashlight and we climbed the stairs to the first floor of Snake’s mansion. Outside, more flashlights cast harsh rays on window panes. Shadows moved stealthily, whispering instructions to one another.

“This way,” Ernie said.

We scurried through a kitchen. At the back door, Ernie paused, listened, and then unlatched the door and pushed it open. Someone shouted.

“Shit,” Ernie said and relocked the door.

“Come on,” I said. I had an idea.

The three of us hurried back into the house. I led Doc Yong and Ernie upstairs.

The house itself was two stories tall, with balconies, and on the east side of the building was a garage, the kind the Koreans build, a small cement-block enclosure, barely large enough to contain a car, with a metal pull-down grating in front that can be securely locked. No flimsy wooden outbuildings as found in the States. In Korea, cars are valuable commodities and their owners don’t want them either stolen or exposed to the elements.

Attached to the garage was a party wall shared with Snake’s neighbor. If we could make it there, unseen, we could escape. If we had to, Ernie and I could shoot it out with Snake and his boys. We were both armed but I hoped to avoid that type of bloodshed. There was no guarantee that Ernie and I would get the better of the exchange and I had Doc Yong’s safety to think about.

Sneaking away seemed to be the best policy.

I climbed out of a bedroom window and onto the roof of the garage. I stayed low and moved toward the back of the mansion. There, where the neighbor’s wall ended, was a ten-foot drop into a cul-de-sac surrounded by more granite walls. Snake and his boys would be cut off from us. I waved at Ernie to follow. He sent Doc Yong first. When she was halfway across the roof of the garage, Ernie climbed out after her. Then we heard a shot.

Ernie’s military training had stood him in good stead during two tours in Vietnam and it stood him in good stead now. He flattened himself and as he did so a second gunshot erupted from the front of Snake’s mansion. The round winged through the air just a few feet above Ernie’s head. He low-crawled across the roof.

I jumped down into the cul-de-sac first, then helped Doc Yong. Ernie followed. From the shouts in front of Snake’s mansion, his men had realized where we’d gone. In seconds they’d be scurrying through connecting pathways, trying to cut us off.

We ran.

Itaewon is a maze of pedestrian walkways. All the twists and turns and dead ends and curving paths doubling back on themselves would baffle an Apache tracker, especially on a dark night with snow falling. But Ernie had a general rule: head toward booze. That is, keep yourself oriented on the two- and three-story buildings that rise along the edge of the strip that is the beating heart of the nightclub district of Itaewon. The neon was not blinking because of the lateness of the hour—and the electricity outage. And the night sky with its overhanging snow clouds was pitch black. Only the occasional flicker from indoor candlelight or the flame of a charcoal stove illuminated a small portion of the world. Despite these handicaps, Ernie somehow kept us oriented. The pathways were covered with slippery snow as were the rooftops and the ledges and the windowsills and since it was past the midnight curfew not a soul was on the streets except us. Even the white mice seemed to have hunkered down in their barracks for the night. Occasionally, we stopped and listened. Muffled shouts. Footsteps tromping on ice. Snake and his gaggle of fledgling Dragons were still following.

Finally, an alley we were traversing emerged onto the main drag just north of the King Club. Ernie peered around the corner. Then he leaned back toward me and whispered, “Looks like it’s all clear.”

“Let’s hope,” I said.

“Where to now?” Ernie asked.

The only place of safety I could think of was the Itaewon Police Station.

Ernie nodded. “It’s a long straight run. They might’ve stationed some of their boys in the alleys off to the side, figuring we’d come this way.”

“We’ll have to chance it,” I said.

Doc Yong tugged at my sleeve. I turned to look at her and in the darkness I could barely make out the smooth features of her face. I leaned closer until our noses touched.

“Across the street,” she said. “Someone’s waving.”

I turned and studied the area she’d indicated. Rotating my head, using my peripheral vision, I finally saw it. Movement. And then I realized it was someone’s hand, waving back and forth, trying to catch our attention while being careful to stay out of sight from the main street.

Ernie followed my gaze. “Who is it?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know.

Doc Yong stepped between us and said, “Miss Kwon. She’s trying to lead us to safety.”

“Her?” I asked. “What’s she doing out so late?”

“People must’ve seen your jeep entering Itaewon,” Doc Yong said. “Word spread. Someone told her you were back. She knew you were probably looking for me so she’s been standing here, waiting to help.”

True dedication to Doc Yong. No time to discuss that now.

“I’ll go first,” Ernie said. “You two follow, if I don’t get shot.”

“No,” I said. “I’ll go first.”

“Not a chance.” Ernie dropped to the ground and low-crawled into the street. He moved amazingly fast, like a serpent slithering across tile. Seconds later, he was standing next to Miss Kwon, beckoning for us to follow.

I told Doc Yong that speed was more important than keeping a low profile so, instead of trying to crawl like Ernie, she darted across the ice-covered main drag of Itaewon in a crouch. I held my .45, ready to return fire if anyone took a potshot at her. No one did.

I was next and I sprinted at top speed across the road figuring that quickness and the element of surprise would keep me safe.

With her single crutch propped beneath her arm, Miss Kwon bowed to Doc Yong. Then, without a word, she turned and hobbled off into the dark maze, leading the way.

* * *

Ernie sensed it before I did. Footsteps behind us. Miss Kwon was moving faster now—one step and a thump, one step and a thump. We were still following a long, seemingly endless footpath.

Behind us, urgent speaking. Men’s voices. Then footsteps, picking up speed.

“Bali,”
Miss Kwon said. She broke into a more rapid step, thump, step, thump.

We trotted forward, moving as fast as we could but our progress was impeded by Miss Kwon. Doc Yong stayed beside her, holding her arm, letting me know that there was no way we were going to leave Miss Kwon behind.

The footsteps were gaining.

Ernie turned, pulled his .45 and said, “You go on ahead. I’ll hold them off.”

“No. Come on. We’ll make a turn up here and lose them,” I said.

“There,” Ernie said, pointing to an overturned handcart. It blocked most of the open space at an intersection of two narrow pedestrian pathways. Ernie crouched behind it. Looking back, he had an unimpeded line of sight of about ten yards. In the middle of the ten yards another extremely narrow alley—just a fissure between buildings—ran off on one side of the pathway. It was unlikely that Snake’s boys would find cover there.

“When they round the corner,” Ernie said, “I’ll fire over their heads. That’ll give you guys time to get away. Then while they’re hiding and trying to figure out what to do, I’ll sneak off after you.”

“OK,” I said, “but remember, only fire over their heads.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff, Sueño. Where will I meet you?”

It would be impossible to reach the Itaewon Police Station. They expected us to head there and they’d have plenty of men, and firepower, waiting for us. I was still thinking this over when Miss Kwon piped up.

“Itaewon Market,” she said. “I know good place.”

“Where?” Ernie asked.

“No sweat. We hide. Warm place. Wait till sun come out.”

Footsteps crunched on ice. We turned. Doc Yong dragged Miss Kwon off into the shadows. Two shadows emerged from around the corner ten yards away as Ernie and I crouched behind the handcart. More shadows joined the lead two and, like a phalanx of ancient warriors, the men marched down the narrow pathway.

Ernie leveled his .45 at them.

“Higher,” I said.

The barrel didn’t move. The men continued down the pathway. Ernie’s fist tightened. Just as the gang of thugs reached the halfway mark, another shadow emerged from the fissure between the buildings on the other side of the road. It was huge, like a tall stick figure, and something long and dark swung in a wicked arc. The
thump
was so loud I felt it rather than heard it. The first two shadows at the head of the formation crumpled to the ground. Then the stick swung again and another
thump
ensued, and then another.

The formation backed up around the corner, away from us. The stick figure ran toward us, rod upraised, like a gangly avenging angel. Ernie pointed the barrel of his .45 right at him. When he was a few feet away I recognized him from the thin, angular shape of his body.

“Cort,” I said and Ernie lowered the barrel of his .45.

“How’d you find Miss Kwon?” I asked.

“I’ve known her a long time,” Cort answered.

We sat in a wooden enclosure about ten feet by ten feet and only four feet high. The floor was stained with purple dye and the entire enclosure reeked of lard.

“Pigs’ house,” is what Miss Kwon called it as she’d led us into the Itaewon Market. We moved through abandoned stalls laden with freshly fallen snow and then beneath canvas overhangs to a tightly packed grouping of wooden counters. We crawled beneath the counters and then through a low wooden door and entered a manmade tunnel that twisted twice before ending in this vile enclosure. The place reeked of flesh and a sheen of ice covered the cement, as if it had been thoroughly washed as the freeze set in.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this is where the butchers kept their hogs. Outside was a contraption hanging on a crossed wooden peg that looked like a medieval torture device but I knew what it was used for. To hang the hogs by their hind legs while the butcher slit their throats and allowed the blood to drain into a cement sump. I’d walked past here early in the morning on more than one occasion and heard the screams. At first I’d thought the sound was human. And then I realized that it was the last anguished cries of a pig being slaughtered.

Five minutes after our arrival, footsteps approached in our wake. Snow had been falling steadily so it was unlikely that whoever was outside had seen any traces of our arrival. We sat motionless, breathing as little as possible.

The footsteps searched through the market area, paused for a moment, and then two men started chatting in low tones. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Someone lit a cigarette. Then more footsteps as they moved on. We sat for another half hour in the cold, dank slaughterhouse.

No one approached.

Miss Kwon had somehow come up with a single short candle which she lit and stuck in the middle of the floor of this porcine abattoir. Even that tiny amount of heat brought to life the stale odor of pork flesh. It hovered around us, poking fat fingers into twitching nostrils, causing us to cough and wave our hands, as if chasing away the last vestiges of an evil cloud. Then she and Doc Yong left the enclosure.

“Miss Kwon,” Cort said, “was one of the orphans. She was brought from Itaewon by the nuns while she was still an infant. On the trip she developed a fever and they thought she would die. Somehow, she pulled through. We’ve always been proud of her for that. We always knew she was a survivor.”

“‘We?’” I asked.

“I joined the temple a few months after the Itaewon Massacre. I sometimes helped take care of the kids and grew to love them.”

“I thought Buddhist’s weren’t supposed to love people,” I said.

“It’s difficult,” Cort replied. “Love ties us to this world, making it harder for us to eliminate desire. But it’s a powerful force. We try to understand it and thereby, ultimately, conquer it.”

The two women reentered the pen. They’d been to find a place to pee.

“How’d you find this hiding place?” I asked Miss Kwon.

She lay down her crutch and squatted awkwardly, keeping her injured leg straight out in front of her.