The alleys were narrow and the stone and brick walls hovered over us. We had to run single-file. The guy ahead of us was moving at top speed. He’d planned his escape route and knew exactly where he was going. We managed to stay close enough, however, to hear his heavy breathing and footsteps as he raced through the dark catacombs of Itaewon.
Finally, we burst out onto the neon-lit pavement of the main drag. Ernie pointed. “There!” He was running toward the Lucky Seven Club.
We took off at full tilt.
He could’ve continued on to the MSR-the Main Supply Route-which was the busiest road that traveled through this part of the city. But Ernie and I had recovered our senses now and were on him like a pair of hound dogs. Maybe he thought he couldn’t escape, or maybe he thought he could throw us off by darting into the Lucky Seven Club. Whatever his logic, he scurried up the big stone steps beneath the club’s neon-lit awning, but instead of entering through the padded double doors, he snuck up the side steps to the Victory Hotel, which occupied the three floors above the Lucky Seven.
Ernie hit the stairwell first, taking the steps three at a time. He was fully recovered from the initial surprise and angry as hell. I followed, trying to figure where this guy was going. As far as I knew, this stairwell was the only way in or out of the Victory Hotel, and we were so close now I could hear his huffing and puffing.
Where had Miss Jo gotten off to? No way of knowing, but if we caught this guy, I was furious enough to beat the information out of him.
We finally hit the top floor, and when we burst into the hallway we saw him at the end of a line of tightly closed doors. He hesitated for a moment, as if deciding what to do next. There, in the yellow overhead light, I could see that he was definitely Korean, with a square-jawed face, wearing sneakers, a pair of faded blue jeans and a cloth jacket with dark-blue streaks on it. Above him was a glowing red sign that said chulgu, exit. He opened the door and disappeared.
We charged down the hallway just as a middle-aged Korean woman peeked out of her doorway. Her eyes just about popped out of her head at the two sweaty Caucasians barreling through the narrow passageway. Her head ducked back into her room and she slammed the door shut. Ernie hit the exit first, pushed through, and a short flight of steps led up and outside into the open air on the roof of the Victory Hotel.
The panorama of Itaewon spread before us. In the distance loomed the dark edifice of Namsan Mountain, with an enormous radio tower blinking red above it. Storm clouds had gathered, and the afternoon was so dark it seemed almost like night. At the edge of the roof, standing on the stone parapet, stood our attacker. I propped the door open so light flooded out. He had his back to the edge and was staring right at us. His face was somber, eyelids sagging.
I spoke to him in Korean. “Step away from the ledge. We won’t hit you any more.”
The side of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile.
“Ssibaloma,” he said, a particularly vile insult which translates roughly to “born of afterbirth.” Smiling even more broadly, he stepped backward into nothingness and fell off into space.
– 8-
The narrow face of Staff Sergeant Riley stared down at me.
“Sueno, can you hear me?”
He waved his open palm back and forth in front of my eyes, shielding me sporadically from the twisted snarl of his lips.
“He’s awake,” Riley said, turning to someone behind him. A blue-smocked medic replaced him in my line of sight. A hand reached toward my nose and the sharp tang of ammonia jerked me alert. I started to sit up. Gently, the medic pushed me back down. “I’ll call the doctor,” he said.
In a few minutes, a harassed-looking MD appeared at my side. Heavy jowls sagged as he shone a light into my eyes and told me to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I said.
“In the One Two One Evac Hospital,” he told me. “Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, on Yongsan Compound.”
“Do you know what happened to you last night?”
“I think I passed out.”
“Yes, after you were hit on the head and ran through half of Itaewon.”
It had also been the shock of seeing our attacker leap off that roof. When Ernie and I sprinted to the ledge, we realized that he hadn’t leapt to his death. What he’d done was grab hold of the fire escape and slide down like an expert climber, hitting the edge of the building every few yards with his feet as if rappelling down a mountain. By the time we clambered over the edge and lowered ourselves rung by rung, he was long gone. A few feet from the ground I became dizzy, probably from the blow I’d taken when the first guy jumped me, and I’d lost my footing and fallen. Apparently my head clunked on the pavement, and that was the last thing I remembered.
“How’s Ernie?” I asked.
“Never mind that now.”
The doctor continued his examination, checking my heart and breathing and waving his finger in front of me, telling me to follow it and asking me questions. Finally, his interrogation was over. Apparently, I passed. He scribbled something on a sheet of paper with the 121 Evac logo imprinted on it and handed it to Staff Sergeant Riley.
“Forty-eight hours quarters,” he said. I would be restricted to the barracks and unable to work for two days. Then the doctor wagged his finger at Riley. “And don’t let me hear about your commander putting this man back to work before the two days are up. I won’t hear of it. Understood?”
Riley nodded.
“Good.” The doctor patted me on the shoulder and said, “And when the two days are over, go on sick call so they can check you once more.” He peered at me, and when I didn’t answer, he said, “Repeat that back to me.” I did. He patted me on the shoulder one more time, said, “Keep your head down,” and walked briskly out of the ward.
“Your clothes are behind that curtain,” the medic told me before he left the room too.
Riley tapped the paper in his hand. “What a get-over.”
“I’m not getting over on anybody,” I told him. “The doctor says I should rest, so I’ll rest.”
“The Provost Marshal wants you to report to his office, immediately if not sooner.”
I groaned. “Let me get dressed.”
I did. Slowly and painfully, my head still throbbing, but soon I was back in my running-the-ville outfit, which was soiled where I’d fallen but not much worse for wear.
Riley had parked a green Army sedan out front. I hopped into the passenger seat. He drove.
“Where’s Ernie?”
“Already back at work, on black market detail.”
“Alone?”
“They assigned an MP to him.”
“Who?”
“A female type. I forget her name.”
“How long was I out?”
“Just overnight.”
I stared down at my clothes. “Don’t you think I should change?”
“Naw. The Colonel said bring you in as is.”
So I went into the office of the Provost Marshal of the 8th United States Army “as is.”
“What is this,” Colonel Brace asked, “an insult?”
He put his pipe down and stared up at me from his chair behind his desk. He was referring to my slovenly attire. I held my salute.
“No, sir. Sergeant Riley told me I was to report to you immediately.”
“Don’t blame other people for your shortcomings, Sueno.”
That’s the Army. You receive conflicting orders, try to follow them-which is impossible-and no matter what, it’s always your fault.
“I’ll return to the barracks and change, sir. Then I’ll be right back.”
“No time for that.” Instead of returning my salute, he waved me toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.”