“You mean you want to stop seeing me?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes. For now.”
“How much time?” I asked, too abruptly, regretting my harsh tone.
She sat still for a moment. “I’m not sure,” she said finally.
I stood, angry. So angry, because what she was saying made sense. My relationship with Yong In-ja had to be resolved; go or no-go, for better or for worse, one way or the other. But even trying to find her risked exposing her to the Pak Chung-hee regime, which would stand her up against a wall and fire away the moment they located her.
“Okay,” I said. “Let me take care of this.”
“Don’t do anything rash.”
“You mean like turn her over to the Korean government, so they can torture and murder her without anyone knowing about it?”
Tears came to Captain Prevault’s eyes.
I stared at her a while, clenching and unclenching my fists. I sighed and said, “I’m sorry,” then walked away.
“There must be a way,” I told Ernie.
“To do what?”
We sat in the 8th Army Snack Bar, for once without Strange. In the serving line, I’d ordered a BLT with coffee, which still sat untouched in front of me as Ernie wolfed down his scrambled eggs and home fries.
“To climb out of this rut we’re in. To find out who murdered Schultz.”
“Most of the world thinks they know it’s Miss Jo.”
“Okay, but we know better.”
“Do we?” Ernie asked. “We’re still missing a little thing called evidence.”
“And we have to get off the dime with this Five Oh First case,” I continued, undaunted. “Arenas is an innocent man, rotting in prison. And it’s possible that Captain Blood is on the take from-” I lowered my voice. “-North Korean agents.”
“You don’t think they’d let us investigate that, do you? Even if it were true, the Eighth Army honchos wouldn’t want to hear about it. Not until their tour is over and they’re safely back in the States. They don’t want to be anywhere in the area when that blows up.”
“Fine, you’re right.” I took the first bite of my sandwich and chomped on it for a while, thinking. With my mouth full, I said, “We can’t just stay in limbo like this.”
“You think the Five Oh Worst will take another shot at us?”
“Not yet. Blood has convinced Eighth Army not to investigate, so we’re neutralized for the moment.”
“But when things die down, he’ll come after us.”
“Probably. We’re a threat to him.”
“And if we swing back into action right away?”
“He’ll come after us right away. He can’t afford for anyone to find evidence that will force Eighth Army’s hand.”
Ernie thought about that. “They killed my jeep.”
“Almost killed us.”
“And tried to force Miss Kim into spying for them.”
“And sent Arenas to Leavenworth, plus who knows how many other innocent men.”
“Okay,” Ernie said, shoveling the last morsel of potato into his mouth. “You’ve convinced me. By the way, how’s it going with you and Captain Prevault?”
“Don’t ask,” I said.
“That good, huh?”
We finished our grub and went to visit our favorite armorer.
“You gotta keep it well oiled,” Palinki told us. “Not too much oil. Just enough so it’s smooth, like a baby’s skin. But not slippery.”
Staff Sergeant Palinki was a huge man. Over six feet tall and maybe three hundred pounds, most of it muscle. He was Samoan from Hawaii and loved the Army almost as much as he loved armaments. He handed the .45 to me with both hands, the weapon looking toy-like in his calloused palms.
“Thanks for cleaning it, Palinki,” I said.
We were underground in a reinforced cement bunker, behind the bars of the 8th Army Military Police Weapons Room.
“No problem, bro. Keeps me busy. After I finish reading all the comic books, nothing else to do.”
“You oughta volunteer for regular MP duty,” I told him.
“No.” He shook his head negatively. “Doc says no.”
“Bad back?” I asked.
“No. Not that kinda problem.” He pointed his forefinger and his huge square skull. “This kinda problem.”
“Mental?”
“Yeah. I get mad, then nobody know what I’m gonna do. Not even me.”
Over a year ago, Palinki had almost murdered three GIs he’d caught attacking a Korean schoolgirl in Itaewon. I, however, saw that as a good thing, not a mental problem.
“You wanna get back on the street?” Ernie asked.
“Sure. Better than this place.” He waved his open palms at the dungeon surrounding him.
“My friend Sueno here knows a shrink.”
I groaned inwardly.
Palinki’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. Maybe you talk to him. Get Palinki a good eval.”
“Not him,” I said. “Her.”
“Even better. Pretty lady all love Palinki.”
He broke into a gold-capped smile.
I slipped the .45 into my shoulder holster. “I’ll see what I can do,” I told him.
On the way out, he shouted after us, “You don’t forget Palinki now, you hear?”
“What’d you do that for?” I asked Ernie once we got outside.
“He’s a good man. You have a connection.”
“I used to have a connection.”
“That bad, huh?”
I didn’t answer. We climbed in the new jeep Ernie’d been issued at 21 T Car. He started it up, cursing all the while. “Hear that?” he asked. “Carburetor problems. Why’d they give me this piece of shit?”
The engine sounded fine to me. But the upholstery was standard Army-issue canvas, not the black leather tuck-and-roll that Ernie had paid to have installed in his old jeep.
“I guess we’ll just have to make do,” I told him.
“I guess we will. But if they don’t give me something better than this, I’m taking my Johnny Walker back.”
Technically, Ernie and I were still assigned to the Schultz murder case. But where it stood officially was that the perpetrator was Miss Jo Kyong-ja, whose whereabouts were still unknown. The Provost Marshal didn’t want us running all over Korea searching for her-that was the KNPs’ job-so he’d put us back on black market detail, our default assignment. This kept us from conducting unwanted interviews, and any arrests we made would look good at the Chief of Staff daily briefing. All of this was to give the impression that we were really going after what the honchos saw as the primary crime problem in the Command: the illegal resale of duty-free goods by NCO wives. Violent capital crime was of little consequence when compared to the goal of keeping the PX and Commissary swept clean of yobos, even though they had official dependent ID cards and were authorized to shop there. Go figure. That’s the military mindset. But Ernie and I had different goals.
Blood had taken one shot at us and if we did nothing, he’d bide his time and try again, possibly with success. It was undeclared war: Ernie and me versus the 501st MI Battalion. The Provost Marshal and his right-hand man, Staff Sergeant Riley, were trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. But to us, the danger was real. I usually chose not to carry a weapon. But after our visit with Palinki, I felt better with the heft of the .45 hanging in a shoulder holster beneath my jacket.
– 28-
We drove to the Korean National Police Headquarters in downtown Seoul. Within minutes, Officer Oh ushered us into Inspector Kill’s presence. He noticed the bulge of the .45.
“You’re ready,” he said.
I nodded.
“We found Nam,” he said.
Ernie and I were led downstairs to the below-ground interrogation rooms. Through a two-way mirror, I saw that Mr. Nam wasn’t looking so spiffy now. His collar was open, his tie askew, and his hair a mess. The worst part was the way that his expensive suit was wrinkled and twisted around his body, as if he’d recently spent a lot of time in odd positions. His eyes had lost their luster. Instead of the easygoing confidence I’d previously seen, they now had the wary jitteriness of a hunted rabbit.