AHMM, July-August 2008 Read online

  It emerged from the darkness above Ernie's head, looking for all the world like a steamroller from hell.

  "Watch out!” I shouted.

  I leapt to the side of the trail and Ernie, not yet fully understanding, followed suit. He dove into a thicket of branches and I landed atop a small boulder and scrambled over it to the opposite side, away from the trail.

  The noise grew deafening. One crash after another, and then an enormous metal cylinder flew out of the night, rolling down the trail, careening to the right and then left, barreling down the trail, and smashing everything in its path. It clipped the edge of the thicket and missed Ernie by a couple of feet. I crouched. The huge metal rolling pin crashed against the boulder and the cylinder flew over, only inches above my head. After it passed, Ernie and I sat up, staring at moonlight glistening off the cylinder. The careening monolith continued its pell-mell rush down the side of the hill, smashing an old wooden fence outside a small animal shelter and then hitting the shelter itself. Lumber flew everywhere. The cylinder kept rolling until it slowed and finally landed in a muddy rice paddy with a huge, sloppy splat.

  "What the hell was that?” Ernie asked.

  I rose slowly to my feet, checking uphill to make sure nothing more was coming at us. “The bell,” I said.

  "The what?"

  "The bronze bell. Come on."

  We ran back up the pathway. At the top of the hill, the shrine stood empty. Using my penlight, I examined the weathered ropes hanging beneath splintered rafters.

  "Sliced,” I said.

  "With what?” Ernie asked.

  "Can't be sure, but with something sharp. Maybe a bayonet."

  * * * *

  Mr. Shin found us.

  So did about five of his pals. Light from a yellow streetlamp shone on angry faces, all of them belonging to young punks with grease-backed hair and sneers on their lips.

  "Why are you looking for me?” Shin asked in Korean.

  We stood in an alley not far from the King's Pavilion Pool Hall Ernie and I had stopped in earlier today.

  "Your girlfriend,” I told him, “Miss O Sung-hee, was murdered last night. Where were you while she was being killed?"

  Shin puffed one time on his cigarette—overly dramatically—and then flicked the flaming butt to the ground. Ernie braced himself, about one long stride away from me, his side to the Korean man nearest him. He was ready to fight. Five to two were the odds, but we'd faced worse.

  "Not my girlfriend,” Shin said at last, switching to English. “No more. Break up long time ago."

  "How long?"

  "Maybe one month."

  A long time all right. “Miss Kang didn't mention your name to the Korean police. Why not?"

  "She no can do."

  "'No can do?’ Why not?"

  "She my ... how you say? ... sister."

  "She's your sister?"

  "Yes. Kang not her real name. Real name same as mine. Shin."

  "So you met Miss O through your sister?"

  "Yes."

  "Why'd you break up with Miss O?"

  Shin shrugged. “I tired of her."

  I didn't believe that for a minute. Shin was a tough guy all right, and like tough punks all over the world there would be a certain type of woman available to him. Women who thought little of themselves. Women who, in order to build up their self-esteem, flocked toward men who were on the outs with the law. Men who they considered to be exciting. Korea, like everywhere else, had its share of this type of woman. But from everything I'd heard about Miss O Sung-hee, I didn't believe she was that type. She went for cops and attorneys and helicopter pilots. Men of power. Men of real accomplishment. Not men who were broke and hung around pool halls.

  "She dumped you,” I said.

  "Huh?"

  "Miss O. She think ‘I no like Shin anymore.’ She tell you karra chogi.” Go away.

  Shin's sneer twisted in anger.

  "No woman tell Shin go away."

  Ernie guffawed and said to me, “Is this guy dumb or what?” He stepped past me and glared at Shin. “So you took Miss O to the top of the hill and you used a knife and you killed her."

  Shin realized that he was digging a hole for himself.

  "No. No way. I no take. That night, I in pool hall. All night. Owner tell you. He see me there."

  Shin mentioned the pool hall owner's name because even he knew that nobody would believe the testimony of him and his buddies. I crossed my arms and kept my gaze steady on Shin's eyes. He was a frightened young man. And when he'd heard that Ernie and I were looking for him, he'd voluntarily presented himself. Both these points were in his favor. Could he have murdered Miss O Sung-hee? Sure he could have. But something told me that his alibi would hold up. Otherwise, he wouldn't be standing here anxious to clear his name. If he'd murdered her, he'd be long gone. Still, I'd check with the pool hall owner as soon as I could.

  Ernie had his own way of testing Shin's sincerity. He stepped forward until his chest was pushed up almost against Shin's. Ernie glared at Shin for a while and then snarled. “Out of my way."

  Shin seemed about to do something, to punch Ernie, but indecision danced in his glistening black eyes. Finally, he sighed and stepped back, making way for Ernie and me. Grumbling, his pals made way too.

  * * * *

  We ran the ville.

  Shots, beers, business girls on our laps. Ernie was enjoying the rock music and the girls and the frenzied crowds and gave himself over to a night of mindless pleasure. Me, I sipped on my drink, barely heard the music, and ignored the caresses of the gorgeous young women who surrounded me.

  "What the hell's the matter with you?” Ernie asked.

  I shook my head.

  "Come on,” he coaxed. “What could possibly be wrong? We're away from the headshed, on temporary duty, we have a pocket full of travel pay, and we're surrounded by booze and bands and business girls. What more could you possibly want?"

  "A clue,” I answered.

  "A clue?"

  "A clue as to who murdered Miss O Sung-hee."

  Ernie shrugged. “Maybe the KNPs were right all along. Maybe it was Rothenberg."

  And maybe not.

  When the midnight curfew came along, G.I.'s either scurried back to Camp Colbern or paired up with a Korean business girl. Ernie found one for me, and the four of us went to their rooms upstairs in some dive. In the dark, I lay next to the girl. Ignoring her. Finally, I slept.

  Just before dawn, a cock crowed. I sat up. The business girl was still asleep, snoring softly. I rose from the low bed and slipped on my clothes, and without bothering to wake Ernie, I walked over to the Korean National Police station.

  * * * *

  The sun was higher when I returned. After gathering the information I needed at the police station, I'd walked over to Camp Colbern. There, in the billeting room assigned to me and Ernie, I'd showered, shaved, and then gone to the Camp Colbern snack bar. Breakfast was ham, eggs, and an English muffin. Now, back in Paldang-ni, I pounded on the door to Ernie's room. The business girl opened it and let me in. Ernie was still asleep.

  "Reveille,” I said.

  He opened his eyes and sat up. “What?"

  "Time to make morning formation, Sleeping Beauty."

  "Why? We don't know who killed Miss O, so what difference does it make?"

  "We know now."

  "We do?"

  I filled him in on the testimony I'd received this morning from Private First Class Everett P. Rothenberg. When I finished, Ernie thought about it. “You and your Korean customs. Why would that mean anything to anybody?"

  "Get up,” I told him. “We have someone to talk to."

  Ernie grumbled but dressed quickly.

  * * * *

  We wound our way through the narrow alleys of Paldang-ni. Instead of American G.I.'s and Korean business girls, the streets were now filled with children in black uniforms toting heavy backpacks on their way to school and farmers shoving carts piled high with garlic o
r cabbage or mounds of round Korean pears. We passed the Dragon Lady Teahouse, and just to be sure, I checked the doors, both front and back. Locked tight. Then we continued through the winding maze, heading toward the hooch of Miss Kang.

  What I'd questioned Rothenberg about this morning concerned his friendship with Miss Kang. How they'd both sat up nights in the hooch waiting for Miss O. But Miss O would stay out after curfew and then not come home at four in the morning and often Rothenberg had to go to work before he knew what had happened to her. But sometimes she'd be back early with some story about how she stayed at a friend's house and how they were having so much fun talking and playing flower cards that the time had slipped by and she hadn't realized that midnight had come and gone and she'd been trapped until after curfew lifted at four in the morning.

  "You knew it was all lies, didn't you?” I asked.

  Rothenberg allowed his head to sag. “I guess I did."

  "But Miss Kang knew for sure."

  "Yeah,” Rothenberg said. “Miss O had a lot of boyfriends. I realize that now."

  Private Everett P. Rothenberg went on to tell me that sometimes Miss O made both him and Miss Kang leave the hooch completely.

  "She'd tell us that family was coming over for the weekend. And she didn't want them to know that a G.I. like me was staying in her hooch. So Miss Kang helped out, she took me to her father's home near Yoju. It was about a thirty-minute bus ride. When we arrived at her father's home they were real friendly to me. I'd take off my shoes and enter the house and bow three times to her father like Miss Kang taught me. You know, on your knees and everything."

  "You took gifts?"

  "Right. Miss Kang made me buy fruit. She said it's against Korean custom to go ‘empty hands.’”

  "And you prayed to her ancestors?"

  "Some old photographs of a man and a woman."

  "And you went to their graves?"

  "How'd you know? To the grave mounds on the side of the hill. We took rice cakes out there and offered them to the spirits. When the spirits didn't eat them, me and Miss Kang did.” He laughed. “She always told me that food offered to the spirits has no taste. Why? Because the spirits take the flavor out of it and all you're left with is the dough."

  "Is that true?"

  "It was for me. But I never liked rice cakes to begin with."

  I stared at Rothenberg a long time. Finally, he fidgeted.

  "Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “If you think there was something between me and Miss Kang, you're wrong. Sung-hee is my girl. Miss O. I was faithful to her."

  "You were,” I said softly.

  His head drooped. “Right,” he said. “I was."

  * * * *

  Miss Kang wasn't in her hooch.

  "She go pray,” the landlady told us.

  "At the shrine at the top of the hill,” I said, pointing toward the Namhan River.

  Her eyes widened. “How you know?"

  I shrugged. Ernie and I thanked her, walked back through the village, and started up the narrow trail that led out of Paldang-ni, over the hills, and eventually to the banks of the Namhan River. On the way, we passed the bronze bell. It still hadn't been moved and sat amongst a pile of rotted lumber.

  At the top of the hill, we found her. She squatted on the stone platform of the shrine, just below where the bell would've been. Ernie walked up to her quickly, shoved her upright, pressed her against one of the wooden support beams, and frisked her. He tossed out a wallet, keys, some loose change, and finally an Army-issue bayonet.

  Miss Kang squatted back down, covering her face with her hands. Narrow shoulders heaved. She was crying.

  Ernie backed away, rolling his eyes, exasperated.

  After she shed a few more tears, maybe she'd open up to us. I was about to whisper to Ernie to be patient when, behind me, a pebble clattered against stone. Ernie was too busy staring at the quivering form of Miss Kang to notice. As I turned, something dark exploded out of the night.

  Ernie shouted.

  For a moment, I was gone. Darkness, bright lights, and then more bright lights. I felt myself reeling backward and then I hit something hard and I willed my mind to clear. The darkness gave way to blurred vision. Ernie slapped me on the cheek.

  "Sueño, can you stand?"

  I stood up.

  "Come on. He hit you with some sort of club and when I lunged at him I tripped on this stupid stone platform. He and Kang took off."

  "Who?"

  "Mr. Shin."

  I followed Ernie's pointing finger. Fuzzy vision slowly focused. The early morning haze had lifted, and more sunlight filtered through bushes and low trees. In the distance, two figures sprinted down the pathway, heading back toward Paldang-ni.

  "Come on!” I shouted.

  "My sentiments exactly,” Ernie said. “But watch out. She took the bayonet."

  And then we were after them.

  * * * *

  A crowd had gathered in the central square of Paldang-ni. It was like a small park, surrounded on either side by produce vendors, fishmongers, and butcher shops. No lawn, but a few carefully tended rose bushes were ringed by small rocks. Under the shade of an ancient oak tree, old men wearing traditional white pantaloons, blue silk vests, and knitted horsehair hats squatted on their heels and smoked tobacco from long-stemmed pipes. Groups of them gathered around wooden boards playing changki, Korean chess.

  Halabojis they were called. Grandfathers.

  One halaboji's horsehair hat had fallen into the dust. So had his long-stemmed pipe. Shin held him, his back pressed firmly against the trunk of the old oak. Miss Kang stood next to him, the sharp tip of her bayonet pressed against the loose flesh of the grandfather's neck.

  "Get back!” she screamed at me in English. “We'll kill him."

  I stood with my arms to my side. Ernie paced a few cautious steps away to my left. I knew what he was thinking. Could he pull his .45 and take a clear shot at Kang's head before she could slice the old man's throat? But at that distance, over ten yards, it would be risky.

  "Put the knife down,” I told Miss Kang.

  "Go away!” she shouted. “My brother and I will leave Paldang-ni. We'll never come back."

  A crowd of local citizens had started to gather. Their mouths were open, shocked at what they were seeing. Elders were revered in Korea, never abused like this. Mumbled curses erupted from the crowd.

  "The KNPs are on the way,” I said. “Put the knife down."

  Of course I had no idea if the KNPs had been alerted, but they would be soon. Ernie was inching farther to the left, attempting to evade Kang's direct line of sight. I had to stall for time, before Ernie chanced a shot or Miss Kang decided that one less grand-father wouldn't be missed one way or the other.

  "You had good reason for what you did,” I told Miss Kang.

  Her eyes widened. Perspiration flowed down her wrinkled forehead, forming a puddle beneath her eyes. “Yes,” she said, surprised. “That's what I told my brother. I had good reason. Miss O made me do it."

  People were shutting down produce stands now, running to the back of the crowd to stand on tiptoes to see what was going on.

  Miss Kang kept talking. “She was using him."

  "Who?” I asked.

  "Miss O. She was using Everett."

  She meant Private Rothenberg. “How so?” I asked.

  "She tricked him. Took his money. Never slept with him. Only had fun, changing from one boyfriend to another. Making me leave my own room. Never paying her share of the rent. So I took Everett. I was nice to him. He met my family. He prayed at our grave mounds. He liked me."

  Using her free hand, the one without the bayonet, Miss Kang wiped flowing perspiration from her eyes and stared directly at me. “He liked me. I know he did."

  "But you talked to Miss O one night. Atop the hill at the shrine with the bronze bell. You argued."

  "No!” Miss Kang shook her head vehemently. “We didn't argue. I told Miss O about everything she did wrong. She d
idn't argue. She agreed. She knew she was doing wrong. But after I told her everything and told her she should leave Everett alone, she laughed at me."

  Miss Kang stood incredulous, lost in her own story. Lost in the memory of the unbridled temerity of the arrogant Miss O Sung-hee. “She said that she would take Everett's money and use him for as long as she wanted to and there was nothing I could do about it."

  Shin looked about frantically, knowing that as the crowd grew his chance of escape grew less. He shouted at his sister to shut up. Her head snapped back toward him.

  Ernie by now had the position he wanted, on the extreme left of Shin's peripheral vision. He reached inside his jacket and unhooked the leather shoulder holster of his .45. Miss Kang's head was bobbing around, while the old man leaned his skull backwards, trying to avoid the sharp tip of the bayonet that pointed into his neck. Tears rolled down the halaboji's face.

  Maybe it was the sight of these tears that enraged the crowd most. Whatever it was, suddenly a barrage of garlic cloves was heaved out of the crowd. They smacked the trunk of the oak tree, barely missing Shin and the old man. Enraged, Miss Kang shouted back at them to stop. The crowd roared. This time it was a head of Napa cabbage that exploded at Kang's feet. She hopped. Ernie pulled his .45, held it with both hands in front of him. Still no shot. I took a couple of steps forward. Miss Kang swung the tip of the bayonet my way.

  That was the signal for the crowd to unleash its rage. Amidst shouts of anger, more produce flew at Shin and the grandfather and Miss Kang. Garlic, persimmons, fat pears, even a few dead mackerel.

  Then the enraged citizens of Paldang-ni surged forward. Ernie raised the barrel of his .45 toward the sky, holding his fire. I tried to run at Miss Kang, but a woman bumped me, and to avoid falling on top of her, I slowed. The entire mob pushed forward, some of them brandishing sticks, some hoes, some with nothing more than their bare fists.

  For a second, Miss Kang held her ground. Her eyes were wide with fright, her bayonet pointed forward. But then, like a swimmer being drowned by a tidal wave, the crowd enveloped her. Shin screamed and let go of the old man and tried to run. He didn't get far.