With two jobs to do, I had no choice but to return to Pusan alone. Still, there was an advantage to being alone. Sergeant Norris, the Hialeah Compound MP, had given it to me. The merchant steamer known as the Star of Tirana was scheduled to pull into the Port of Pusan at 2 a.m. tonight. Aboard, according to Norris, was an East European sailor who’d been searching for me.
Why would a man I’d never heard of be looking for me? A man who came from a country in which I knew no one and where I’d never been?
As far-fetched as it sounded, I thought I knew the answer. Or, at least, I was afraid I did. If my hunch was right, I was in for a lot more sleepless nights.
If and when I met this man, I wanted to be alone. I certainly didn’t want to involve Ernie, or anyone else, in something that might prove to be more dangerous than anything I’d encountered before.
12
For ten minutes I pounded on the big double door of the Haeundae Casino. Finally, I heard a voice shout from within, “Nugu-syo?” Who is it?
I held my badge up to a peephole and shouted back “Kyongchal!” Police!
There was a discussion behind the padded door, and it took another two or three minutes for the door to creak open. I pushed through, holding my badge in front of my face. In Korean, I said, “Where’s the manager?”
A young man in black slacks, white shirt, and bow tie closed the door behind me. Next to him stood a dapper middle-aged Korean in a neatly pressed gray suit. He smiled benignly at me.
“I am the manager,” he said in perfectly pronounced English. “My name is Han.”
I held out my hand. He shook it.
“I’m Agent Sueno,” I told him. “Eighth Army CID in Seoul. I’d appreciate it if you would not alert your customers or staff that I’m here.”
“They know someone’s here,” he said, turning and staring into the carpeted expanse of the casino. “They heard the pounding. Of course, most of them are too entranced by the game to pay much attention.”
Entranced? I had to ask. “Are you from the States?”
“Went to school there. The University of Nevada at Reno.”
“Hotel and Casino Management?”
He nodded and smiled a mild smile.
This set my mind on a completely different tangent. Often, I ask people about their education. I was interested because I hoped, some day, to earn something higher than my GED. The G.I. Bill would still be available when I needed it, but so far I hadn’t worked up the nerve to leave the Army. Suddenly, I realized I was exhausted, which is why my mind was wandering. I returned to the main purpose of my visit.
“Are there any Americans in there?”
“A couple.”
“I’d like to observe them, if you don’t mind, for a few minutes.”
“Will you be making an arrest?”
“Possibly.”
“If you do, we’d appreciate the greatest discretion. I’ll call the guest over, offer him some refreshments in a side room, you can take it from there. And no violence, please.”
“It won’t come to that.”
At least I hoped it wouldn’t. I wasn’t armed and I imagined Pruchert wasn’t armed either, except maybe with a knife.
Standing beside empty blackjack tables, about ten yards away, were two burly Korean security guards. They wore dark suits and ties and were both taller and broader than most Koreans. They moved like wolves watching a herd. Calluses rose from their knuckles, developed from years of martial arts training.
I took a seat in a lounge area elevated slightly above the casino. Within seconds, a gorgeous waitress approached and I asked for a cup of hot coffee, no sugar. Two minutes later, she served me, bowed, and left me on my own. I sipped on the java gratefully, examining the players and the tables on the casino floor. I thought of the distance I’d covered today: from the holy interior of an ancient Buddhist cave, to the rolling rice paddies of Kyongsan Province, to the depravity of G.I. Heaven, and now to the plush interior of the Haeundae Casino, modeled on the best Monte Carlo had to offer. That’s Korea for you, something for every taste.
Most of the tables were closed, green felt draped with leather dust covers. The late-night customers had been bullied into one pit, four blackjack tables in a circle, each table staffed by two female dealers wearing stylish red smocks. Behind them stood a bored Korean man in a dark suit, the pit boss. The customers were mostly Korean, a couple of people I figured for Japanese, and two Americans. One of the Americans was black. He stood behind a blackjack table, watching the action, not playing himself, kibitzing with the other American, who was, beyond any doubt, the man I was looking for: Corporal Robert R. Pruchert.
His head was shaved, and he was wearing a beige cap with a short brim. He also had on running shoes, khaki slacks, and a pullover long-sleeved shirt made of wool. He was standing with his arms crossed, studying the game and occasionally making comments to his American friend.
Mr. Han took a seat across from me.
“The two Americans,” I said. “They’ve lost all their money.”
“Sadly. That’s why they can only stand and watch.”
“Do many people do that?” I asked. “Stay in the casino even after they have nothing more to gamble with?”
“Only the worst. The average person leaves when they’ve lost what they came to lose. The worst gamblers lose everything, including money for cab fare home. So they linger, hoping one of their fellow gamblers will hand them a few chips so they can get back in the game.”
“If they’re that broke, wouldn’t they use any money someone gives them to get home?”
“Not this type of person.”
“And that American, the one in the wool shirt, is he that type?”
“The exemplar,” Han said. “Periodically he comes in here with money, gambles until it’s gone, and then stands and watches until he’s ready to pass out on his feet.”
“Then what does he do?”
Han shrugged. “Somehow, he leaves. Maybe he catches a ride with another gambler. I’m not really sure.”
The pit boss in the center of the ring of blackjack tables motioned our way. Mr. Han rose to his feet and excused himself. A high roller was changing yen to won, in large amounts, and Han had to approve the transaction. I watched the men do their business, fanning stacks of crisp new bills onto the green felt, counting them, and then stacking chips in front of the impatient Japanese gambler.
I continued to drink my coffee, feeling the hot fluid suffuse my tired body with life. There was no hurry. I’d finish my coffee and then arrest him. Pruchert wasn’t going anywhere. All the doors were locked and Manager Han and his burly security guards had moved in a little closer to the two Americans, anticipating trouble.
The waitress approached again and asked if I wanted a refill. I declined, but maybe I admired her legs a little too long because when I turned my attention back to the blackjack pit, Pruchert was gone.
I rose to my feet and strode over to Mr. Han, pulling him aside from the customers.
“The American,” I whispered urgently. “The white one. Did you see where he went?”
Han shook his head, then snapped his fingers. The two burly security guards appeared next to him.
“The American,” he told them in Korean. “Find him.”
The two men hurried off.
“Probably,” Han said, “he just went to the bathroom.”
That’s where I went first, but no Pruchert. The security guards searched the ladies’ room and then the back rooms off the casino where drinks were poured and snacks prepared, including the employee break room.
“Where’s the other exit out of here?” I asked Han.
“Only the back fire exit,” he replied. “But he would’ve tripped the alarm.”