“That’s when you started the slicky boy operation.”
The pot he had been puttering with must’ve been done. He poured some of the potion into a thick cup. He leaned forward and inhaled, testing it, pleased. Sloshing it around to rinse the cup, he tossed the rest of it on the ground and poured a new cup to the brim. He held it out to me.
“You have been through a lot tonight, Agent Sueno. For that I apologize. Here, drink this. And sit down. You will find a bench over there.”
He motioned into the darkness. I took the cup from him, walked over to the bench, and sat.
Ernie followed, keeping a few feet away from me, heavy tongs still at the ready.
“What is it?” I asked Herbalist So, indicating my cup.
“A concoction of herbs. Designed to restore the harmony of the yin and the yang.”
I held the cup to my nose and breathed deeply. The liquid smelled of ancient things decayed and rotting in the earth.
Herbalist So walked out from behind his pots and sat down on another bench opposite me, ignoring Ernie. Ernie didn’t mind. He kept his eyes moving, studying the darkness, expecting more slicky boys to spring out at us at any moment.
At first, Herbalist So kept his back ramrod straight. Then he leaned forward.
“Balance is the key to everything we do. To our health and to our ‘slicky boy’ operation, as you call it.”
“What does ‘balance’ have to do with thievery?”
He sat back up. “You are bold, Agent Sueno. They told me that you were but now I see for myself.”
“A man named Cecil Whitcomb,” I said, “a soldier in the British Army, was killed in Namdaemun. Slaughtered by a man expert in the use of the knife. Were you, or any of the men who work for you, involved in his murder?”
Herbalist So seemed amused by the question. “And if I said no, would you believe me?”
I shrugged. “I will believe the facts.”
“Wisely said.”
I looked into his big eyes. Half-moon lids slid lazily over them, as if he were a lizard with a full belly, about to fall asleep. The steam from the cup drifted into my nostrils. I held the cup away.
“Then tell me the facts,” I said.
He set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.
“After the war everyone was desperate. People, especially children, were starving in the streets. You Americans did some charitable things, I’ll grant you that-much more than the Japanese would’ve done-but still your compounds were loaded with wealth. Food, heating fuel, clothing, medical supplies. All the things we desperately lacked. It was a matter of balance, you see. You had too much and we had too little.”
“So you took the partisan organization that your father left you and started raiding the American bases?”
“It wasn’t quite that simple. Like everyone else, our little band had been ravaged by the war. But we had some expertise and, above all, daring. We found likely young boys and put them through a conditioning and training program. Fed them well. Outfitted them with the proper clothing and tools, and sent them forth.”
“But you also sent them armed with information,” I said.
Herbalist So laughed softly. “Quite. Help from the inside is the only way to keep an operation such as ours productive in the long term.”
“And you didn’t become greedy. You only took as much as you figured the Americans could afford to lose.”
“Exactly. Greed, of course, would have destroyed the balance.”
“But occasionally someone did get greedy and had to be disciplined.”
“It was sometimes necessary. Unfortunate, but necessary.”
“Was the murder of Cecil Whitcomb part of your disciplining process?”
Herbalist So stared directly into my eyes. I felt it then. The intelligence, the determination, the power that was in them. And the ruthlessness. I fought back a wave of fear.
“No,” he said.
He stood and walked back to his simmering pots. Ernie paced nervously. Herbalist So adjusted some of the earthen jars over the small flames and shoved fuel beneath others. Smoke from the dry twigs watered my eyes.
“You should drink your tea,” Herbalist So said. “It restores balance.”
“Fuck your tea,” Ernie said.
Herbalist So stared at him. “Yes. Quite.” He nodded. Keeping his eyes on Ernie, he spoke to me.
“We did know Cecil Whitcomb,” he said. “When he started his amateurish campaign, we were informed about it immediately. I hoped, at first, that he’d stop on his own. His methods were crude. They attracted too much attention. When he didn’t stop, we had a… talk with him.”
“You brought him down here?”
“Heavens, no. He did not rate such a thing. We talked to him on the compound. One of your own contract security guards had a little chat with him. No.” Mr. So shook his head. “We didn’t bring Mr. Whitcomb down here. You are the first foreigners to have such an honor.”
And the last, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Now that we knew the secret, how could they let us go?
Herbalist So glanced over at me, a wry smile raising the edge of his mouth. I was afraid to ask him what was so funny. I knew it must be my fear.
“We thought reason would work with Mr Whitcomb. But apparently he had little regard for the warnings of us Koreans. When he continued, we were obliged to use more forceful methods.”
He walked back over to the bench, carrying another cup of tea, and sat down opposite me again.
“The British bruise easily,” he said.
I didn’t answer. He shook his head.
“Still, Mr. Whitcomb persisted. An obstinate little devil. Tough. Almost as poor as us when he was growing up. In a way, I admired him. If he’d been Korean I might have given him some training and turned him loose. But I could not do that. So we were in quite a quandary. What to do?”
He spread his hands.
I wanted to ask where in the hell he learned all this English. He was a scholar, certainly. A man who remembered things. But still, he would’ve needed to practice. I thought of the Korean magazines I thumbed through occasionally, the ones with businessmen in photos with American and European wheelers and dealers. I tried to imagine Herbalist So in a suit, his hair properly brushed. He’d fit right in. All the years he’d been making money off of the U.S. compounds, he must have accumulated a fortune. He would’ve had to invest it, take on a second life. Above ground. For years his organization was one of the top producers of income in the country. His money had helped rebuild the devastated Korean economy. Helped the Koreans climb back into international markets. I was tempted to ask about all this but I fought the urge. My survival, I knew, depended on not knowing any more than I had to.
“When we heard about Mr. Whitcomb’s death,” Herbalist So said, “we were saddened. Yes, it is true. And quite concerned. Our operation has always run on an unwritten contract of mutual trust. The tenets of that contract are simple. We do not take too much and no one gets hurt. Now, someone had been hurt. We knew you Americans would be upset. And rightfully so.”
“And so you started your own investigation?”
“Yes. Of course your name was brought up immediately. And that of your partner, Agent Bascom.” He shook his head. ‘Tour violent behavior at the Kayagum Teahouse was the real clue. You really frightened the owner. She did remember you mentioning the name of a woman who works at the United Nations Club. That led us to that charming young lady, Eun-hi.”
“You talked to Eun-hi?”
“Not me personally. One of my representatives spoke to her.”
“What did she tell him?”
“About fingers.”
“What?”
“Attractive young ladies notice things about one another. When Eun-hi was approached by this ‘Miss Ku,’ they chatted for a while and Eun-hi saw’ that Miss Ku’s manicure was in poor repair. The nails too short. Unsightly lumps of hardened skin at the tips of her fingers.”