Slowly, regally, Mr. Kill strode barefoot across the beach. When he was about ten yards away from us, he pointed and said, “Take the women back to that car. There’s a female officer there.”
A smart-looking woman, wearing the neat blouse, skirt, and cap of the Korean National Police, stood at attention next to a sedan. Marnie didn’t need any more encouragement than that. She grabbed Casey and, keeping the shower curtain wrapped tightly around her, the two of them almost ran toward the road.
Kill sauntered casually toward the flowing water. Parkwood was heading right at him. Something was in Parkwood’s hand.
“What is it?” Ernie asked. Then he answered his own question. “A straight razor.”
Suddenly, I was worried for Kill’s safety. “Is he armed?”
“I don’t think so,” Ernie replied.
The two men were closing on one another. Clearly, the intent of the officers driving the sedans had been to drive Parkwood back to Inspector Kill. Their plan was working. Parkwood had run out of options. He had nowhere to go. But as he approached, it was clear from the perspiration pouring from his forehead and the clenched look of his face and the way he gripped the straight razor in his right fist that this was a man who wouldn’t go down without a fight.
I started toward Inspector Kill.
From out of nowhere, two blue-uniformed KNPs stepped in front of me. One of them held out his palm. “Inspector Kill,” the man said in English, “wishes to interrogate the suspect on his own.”
“The man has a straight razor,” I said, pointing.
Their faces remained impassive. “We know that,” one of them said.
“What are you?” Ernie asked. “The Bobbsey Twins? Parkwood’s going to cut Inspector Kill’s spleen out.”
Ernie stepped forward. With a deft move, one of the officers punched him in the stomach. Ernie grabbed his gut and bent over. I shoved the officer. The two men stepped back.
“You didn’t have to do that!” I shouted.
Two more officers joined them. The four men stood between Ernie and me and the sea, resolutely. Ernie and I could fight them, sure; but even if we gained the upper hand, we’d never reach Kill in time. Whatever would happen between Parkwood and Inspector Kill was about to happen. No one would interfere.
I turned to Ernie. “You okay?”
“Okay. You think that little turd could hurt me?”
If the KNP knew what the word “turd” meant, his face didn’t show it.
Parkwood was now just a few feet from Inspector Kill.
Taekwondo, literally the path of kicking and punching, is a national passion in Korea. Korea’s practitioners of martial arts are some of the most accomplished in the world. Still, martial arts aren’t magic. A desperate man with a dangerous weapon is not something to be taken lightly. The correct response, when confronted with a man as desperate as Parkwood, is to take him down with overwhelming force. If you can’t do that, if it is either you or him, you have to kill him immediately, using whatever method possible, whether it be a shotgun blast to the face or a vicious knife-thrust to the throat. To take him on man to man, in the spirit of martial fairness, is not only piss-poor police work, it is ludicrous. But, apparently, that is exactly what Inspector Kill planned to do.
When they closed, Parkwood was wary. He knew this was too good to be true. He suspected Kill was going to try some trick. He swiped the straight razor at Kill’s face a couple of times, but Kill barely moved back at all, only an inch or two, just enough to avoid the blade. Parkwood glanced around, seeing us standing in front of bathhouse number three, the KNPs staying back either on the road or next to their sedans. The situation was clear to everyone: Kill was offering to take him on, one on one.
As if the satisfaction of the moment had finally settled in, Parkwood smiled. He knew he wasn’t going to get away, but he could at least take a cop down with him-a Korean cop at that. He slashed again at Inspector Kill. More viciously this time. Kill backed away and backed away and backed away again. Parkwood thrust forward a little faster each time. Just as the repetitive movements were attaining a rhythm of their own, Kill sidestepped, moved in, and kicked the back of Parkwood’s knee, forcing him to stumble to the ground.
I expected Kill to attack then and knock Parkwood unconscious, to finish this thing. But he didn’t. Ernie stood in rapt attention, as did all the cops on the beach. I was uncomfortable. Everybody else seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.
Parkwood leaped to his feet, angry. He came at Kill with the blade swinging back and forth, cautious now, not going to be fooled again by the sudden sidestep. Kill backed away, circling. It became apparent that Kill was leading Parkwood where he wanted him to go. They stumbled into the shallow waters of the river and then back out again. Parkwood was wet now, more angry than ever, rapidly becoming exhausted. As if realizing he was being played for the fool, he stopped. Above the roar of the surf, I thought I heard him growl at Inspector Kilclass="underline" “Come on.” He waved the blade toward his own body, as if inviting Kill to come and get it.
Kill did. He darted forward, like a mongoose tempting a cobra.
The blade flashed out but missed again. Kill darted in and then out, again and again. Parkwood kept missing but refused to chase, a smart move on his part. Within seconds, realizing that his gambit to get Parkwood to follow again wasn’t working, Kill stepped in so close to the blade that I held my breath. Even Ernie gasped.
The blade flashed out, slicing into Inspector Kill’s shoulder. Surprised, Parkwood stared after him. Kill gazed down. Crimson blood rushed out along the slice in his white shirt. Angry, Kill approached again but backed up more quickly this time. Parkwood was smiling now, enjoying the flush of this victory. He started to follow. Again, Kill led him into the water, back out of the water, the blade missing his body by only fractions of an inch, but Parkwood was committed now. His strength was leaving him; even in the misting rain, the perspiration poured freely off his forehead, and his arms and legs seemed to be getting heavy. That’s when Inspector Kill struck. Like a sudden flash of lightning in a dark night, he stood his ground when Parkwood came at him and plowed a right fist into Parkwood’s charging forehead.
Parkwood staggered. Kill backed up, allowing him room to fall, but Parkwood didn’t go down. He regained his footing and leaped at Kill, the blade slashing in front of him. Instead of backing up out of reach, Kill raised his left foot and slammed it into Parkwood’s face. They fell into the water, Kill on top, pummeling Parkwood-and then suddenly Parkwood was on top.
Involuntarily, all the KNPs took two steps forward. Then one of them shouted for everyone to maintain their positions. They did as they were told.
Parkwood bent over Kill, apparently with both hands wrapped around Inspector Kill’s neck, but I couldn’t be sure because Inspector Kill was fully underwater. And then suddenly, Parkwood leaped up as if he’d been electrocuted. When we saw the reason why, Ernie grunted. The sole of Kill’s foot had kicked straight up, ramming into Parkwood’s groin, lifting him into the air. Kill exploded out of the water now, his face a mask of rage. He leaped on Parkwood.
Suddenly, I knew what would happen. I knew what this was all about. I knew why Inspector Kill was called the best homicide investigator in Korea. I knew now that he not only solved the cases he’d been assigned to, but he also brought them to trial and brought them to judgment and brought them to execution. Like a Confucian scholar of old, a sage schooled in the Four Books and the Five Classics, that was his right. His right to be judge, jury, and executioner. His right as a chunja, a superior man.
I ran forward, shoving the two KNPs out of my way, shouting.
“Don’t! Don’t do it! Halt!”
I fumbled inside my jacket for my. 45, but the holster kept rising up with the pistol, not setting it free.