Inspector O 02 - Hidden Moon (30 page)

Boswell sat down. “Right. I apologize if I seem rattled. Jet lag, maybe. Something about this place—” He paused. “Let it go.”

“No, what about this place?”

“Now, don’t be getting angry on me. But the stress levels go up, something in the air, maybe not for you, but there it is. Since I arrived, I’ve had a sense that people are holding their breath—no, not people, but the place, the whole place. It is holding its breath.”

I took the scrap of chestnut out of my pocket and smoothed it with my fingers for a long moment. “Let me tell you something, Superintendent. People breathe perfectly normally here.” I opened the desk drawer and put the piece of wood carefully to one side, lining it up so the thick end was against a brown pencil. Then I closed the
drawer and took a deep breath. “But the butterflies”—I smiled—“they don’t flap their wings.”

The Scotsman hesitated, looked out the window, then settled back in his chair and nodded.

“We’ll assign Inspector Yang to the security squad. He hasn’t been on the street in a long time; no one even knows what he looks like.”

“You trust him?”

A very odd question, from a foreigner. “I do.” Why would he think I might not have confidence in Yang? “Of course I trust him.” We were driving toward the river, and Boswell, as usual, was drumming his fingers on the dashboard.

“Stop the car!” Boswell’s order was so loud and so unexpected I hit the brakes and we skidded, careened, across two lines until I got control again. A traffic policeman began jogging toward us from the nearest intersection. A van behind me honked its horn, paused a moment to see if we were alright, then sped away.

“What the hell?” I don’t like to skid, it makes me nervous, and I don’t like people shouting at me.

Boswell ignored my question. “Right here. This is the spot. If something is going to happen, this is it. Look at the shadows.”

I groaned. “You and your damned shadows. Where? It’s a normal street; they’ll be speeding down the center lane; the road will be blocked, and there won’t be any traffic. You think someone is going to shoot from a window from one of these buildings? Most of them can’t even be opened, they’re so badly out of alignment.”

Boswell stuck his head out of the car and surveyed the rooftops. He paused at one, pulled out a pencil, and wrote himself a note. “Let’s walk a bit. I want to get a better sense of this stretch. I still don’t like it.”

“Fine, just don’t shout when I’m driving.”

“Inspector, I had no idea you were so sensitive.” The huge Scottish
hand rested on my shoulder. “Accept my apologies. Let me take you to dinner tonight. You pick the restaurant.”

“Get out and walk around if you want. There’s nothing here. Incidentally, a long-standing request of the Germans to visit the east coast will be suddenly accepted, much to their surprise. They leave tomorrow morning and won’t be back until next week.”

Boswell hesitated, confused. Then he laughed. “Very efficient, by God. There’s something to be said for your style.”

“I’m listening.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are, but I’m not finishing the sentence. Pick out a decent restaurant, someplace they might have some liquor we can drink, would you?”

The traffic policeman, out of breath, puffed up to the car. He looked twice at my license plate, then straightened his hat, walked around to the driver’s side, and leaned into my window. His eyes took in the Scotsman beside me, but his face showed no emotion. “What’s with the brakes?” It was a traffic cop voice, sort of nasty, as if he owned the street.

“I use them to stop the car. It’s routine. You have regulations against that?”

“Look, I know who you are, Inspector. I have a friend.”

I whistled. “Miracle of miracles.”

“A friend who doesn’t particularly like you.”

“A fine citizen.”

“A friend who doesn’t like it when someone puts their paws on his arm.”

A light went on in my head. The traffic patrolman’s hands were resting on the open window. I gripped his wrist. “Tell your friend to be more polite next time someone visits your bureau. You’ll do that, won’t you?” He was pulling away violently just as I let go, so he fell backward a step.

“Get this car out of here, you and your gorilla friend with it,” he said. He adjusted his hat again, then in a quick motion kicked the side of my door. “Too bad about that.” He looked at me. “You’ve got a
dent. Must have been that hard braking.” He smiled coldly and walked up the street.

Boswell had been watching the whole time. The exchange had taken place in short bursts more like gunfire than conversation, but from his face I could see he had followed most of it. “Did I hear what I thought I heard?” he said.

“Just a light discussion between brother security officials.” I shrugged. “That’s how Koreans make love, Superintendent.”

“I figured it was something like that.” He nodded toward the traffic policeman, who by now had resumed his place on the side of the intersection ahead and was reaching for the white gloves tucked in his belt. “Do you know that greasy, stringy, bad-tempered son of a bitch?”

I laughed and started the car. “For a dour breed, you Scotsmen sure can talk. Let’s get out of here.” I pulled into traffic, did an illegal U-turn in front of an old Toyota, and squealed the tires. I looked in the rearview mirror, but the traffic cop wasn’t paying attention. “Never mind him,” I said. “Let’s get a drink.”

“What about the route?”

“Screw the route. Nothing ever happens here, anyway, Superintendent. We spin our wheels endlessly chasing shadows and listening to echoes. You ever been so tired of the same thing you could punch someone?”

“Pick on someone your own size, Inspector.”

I gave him a sharp look and accelerated around a corner.

“Christ, that was a joke!” Boswell held on to the dashboard with both hands. “Not a dig at your . . .”

“My what?”

“Let’s just get that drink, okay? A man could go crazy around here.”

“You said it, Superintendent, I didn’t.”

The silence in the front seat was heavy for the next several minutes, while I drove through a neighborhood where I knew no traffic police lurked on corners. Finally, my protocol juices began flowing again. I put a smile on my face. “I’ve got a treat for you. I’m going to
take you to someplace that’s part of an investigation. Look out for ground glass in the drinks, though. The bartender’s a tough bastard. I don’t think he likes me.”

The visitor narrowed his eyes. “Does anyone like you, Inspector?” He paused. “Besides me, I mean.”

“Good, you almost missed that one, but you came back fine. By the time you leave here, Boswell, you’ll be ready for the real world.”

“God help us all.”

I
arrived at the Koryo twenty minutes early. The place was deserted except for a few security types and the doorman, so I stood around minding my own business. On the second-floor balcony, a waitress leaned against the railing, looking down into the lobby. At first I thought she might be waiting for someone, but there wasn’t any concentration in the way she stood or idly scanned the room. It wasn’t as if she was relaxed; it was more like she was longing for something but wasn’t sure what. When her eye finally caught mine, she looked away quickly, but I knew her glance would sweep back. I didn’t recognize her as part of the normal staff; probably she was new. Sweet looking, even from a distance, she had an innocent air, a country girl who could tell a joke and mean nothing by it. I smiled when she looked my way again. She smiled back; then someone must have said something, because she covered her mouth and retreated into the shadows. In her place, a tall hotel security man appeared. He gave me a sour look, but it wasn’t anything personal, just his normal expression. I winked at him and moved off to one of
the benches so I could wait for Boswell. We were supposed to meet at six o’clock for dinner, though I wasn’t hungry.

A group of well-dressed Europeans made their way past the doorman. They looked around the lobby, the women with amused smiles, the men with a touch of contempt. One of the men said something to the others, and they all laughed unpleasantly. If they walked over and sat down near me, I would have to move. I didn’t want to have to listen to snide observations, and I especially didn’t want to have to answer any questions. Foreigners usually asked about the crops, as if I followed that sort of thing. It was Monday, the wrong day for anyone to be arriving by plane, and none of them were wearing travel clothes. I figured they had already been here for a few days; maybe that was why their guide was nowhere in sight, probably suffering from nervous exhaustion.

The man who had made the others laugh was thin. He looked even thinner because of the way his suit was cut. The jacket was over his shoulders, like a gray cape; a pair of glasses hung on a chain around his neck, where they bumped against his chest as he strolled toward the front desk, then toward the restaurant in the back, shaking his head slightly, calling to the others. You might have thought he was in a zoo, the way he pointed. I could see the girl behind the money-changing counter look down and pretend to concentrate on something else when he approached. It did no good; the man stopped and pulled out his wallet. He put several euro bills on the counter and summoned her, in bad Chinese. She looked at him blankly, though she knew perfectly well what he’d said. I checked my watch. These people were gawking as if they hadn’t seen the lobby before. They must be staying at one of the other hotels, maybe the Potang-gang, and were just crawling around the Koryo for laughs. If Boswell didn’t show up in the next thirty seconds, I was going to get up and leave. He could have dinner by himself, or with the cape-man and his friends.

After the run-in with the traffic cop, I had taken Boswell to Club Blue. I told him it was so we could have a drink together, but really I needed to see the tough bartender again. I wasn’t happy about having Boswell along, but there was no way to get rid of him. The tough
bartender wasn’t there anymore. And the old owner had already been replaced, which was a surprise. I thought he might be roughed up a little but then crawl back, not that he’d vanish. The new bartender wasn’t talkative. The new owner wouldn’t stop. He pretended to be glad to see us and shook Boswell’s hand four or five times, until Boswell put it in his coat pocket and kept it there until we got back to the car. I didn’t think Miss Chon would be attracted to the new owner. His shoulders weren’t much to look at.

As we were climbing the stairs, Boswell asked me if there was much trouble at these sorts of clubs. I said no, nothing besides a stabbing not long ago. He pretended not to be interested. “Happens all the time, Inspector,” he said. “Drunken patrons in a scuffle, am I right?” Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a warning flag.

The wait at the hotel was getting long. Just as I decided to leave, Boswell came out of the elevator on the second floor, waved curtly to me from the balcony, and rode down the escalator to the lobby.

“Evening, Inspector. Shall we dine?” He looked at the cape-man with distaste. “That fellow should either put on his damned jacket or take it off.”

This startled me. “I thought you would be glad to see your countrymen.”

“They’re not my countrymen, they’re Italians. What do you suppose they want here?”

I ignored the question; how could I know what they wanted? It was like asking me about crops. “Where would you like to go to dinner, Superintendent?”

We were speaking in English, and the cape-man turned to observe us. He adjusted his coat and perched his glasses on his long nose. He glared at Boswell, as if our having a normal conversation broke some sort of unwritten rule. Their guide probably went to her room and drank every night.

Boswell took my arm and started leading me away. “What’s wrong with this place for dinner? They have a dining room here.”

“Here?” I knew the hotel had a dining room, I had eaten in it. But
the Ministry didn’t like us to use it for entertaining guests, foreign or domestic.

“A problem? What’s the matter, doesn’t it fit with your Ministry’s guidelines?”

“I just thought you’d like to go out somewhere, that’s all. There are a few new places that visitors seem to enjoy.” I wouldn’t have minded ending up at the all-night foreigners’ restaurant, just to see the look on the lady in the silk dress as she walked us to our table. This time, I wouldn’t sit with my back to the door.