to do something. I prayed that he wouldn’t. Even a reflexive twitch on Sergeant Otis’s part would mean that a. 45 slug moving at a jillion miles per hour would crack through my sternum and slam into my heart.
“Weatherwax told me what happened,” Jill said. “You were the one who threw Marv Druwood off that building.”
“Weatherwax wasn’t even there,” Otis replied. “He doesn’t know shit. Druwood was angry, that was true. He knew why you left. He knew most of it. Because you were pissed about the black-marketing and you were pissed about what the asshole officers did to your friend, that stripper. And so he was mad at the world. And drunk. And taking swings at everyone. Even me. I backed away from him, toward the edge of the roof, but only because I had nowhere else to go. It was either that or let him bust me in the chops. I should’ve been more careful, I admit that. I should’ve punched his lights out and then he would’ve had a headache the next morning, but he’d still be alive. But I felt sorry for him. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
Jill snorted.
“It’s true,” Otis continued. “He had a thing for you and he never liked the army much and he didn’t like the black-marketing any more than you did. So he was drunk and angry at the world and I kept backing away from him and his punches kept missing. He tossed a big roundhouse windmill punch at my head but by the time it reached where I’d been, I’d already moved. He lost his balance. But he regained it and he would’ve been all right. Then Warrant Officer One Mr. Fred Bufford showed up.”
Sergeant First Class Otis, like a true seasoned NCO, was still using Bufford’s proper title.
“Bufford was furious,” Otis continued. “He knew that Druwood was going to be a hardhead and snitch on the entire black-market operation. Bufford told him just that, then Druwood swung on him and they started to fight. Mr. Bufford did all right at first, with that long straight jab he has, but Druwood wouldn’t give up no matter how much punishment he was taking and somehow he got Mr. Bufford into a headlock. Weatherwax showed up and he jumped in and other MPs were helping.”
“You being one of them,” Jill said.
“No. I tried to stop them. I told them all they were making a big mistake. But there was no stopping Mr. Fred Bufford. He and the other MPs beat on Druwood unmercifully and then they started dragging him to the edge of the building. Druwood realized what was coming and he fought like a madman. Grabbing for handholds, screaming, cursing, his clothes being shredded, until finally four or five of them including Bufford and Weatherwax dragged him to the edge. Bufford managed to break Druwood’s grip on the cement and he shoved him off the ledge and tossed him over.” Otis paused, breathing heavily, the. 45 still aimed at my chest. Then he continued. “A couple of the guys, including me, tried to grab for him but we were too slow. Druwood went over. Head first. And slammed into that Korean statue down below, that lion or monster or whatever it is. And we heard a crunch like you couldn’t believe. A crunch that would break your heart.”
Jill Mathewson’s fist quivered. I thought for sure she was going to pull the trigger. Then she said, “So, according to you, you’re innocent.”
“Yes.”
“But you let them lie about it. You let them take Marv Druwood’s body over to the obstacle course and pretend he had fallen there.”
“Bufford did that. They wanted to divert attention away from the grain warehouse. Away from the Turkey Farm.”
“Because of the black-marketing.”
“You know it.”
“And what about the Thousand Crane Vase, Otis? You and your girlfriend, Brandy set it aside for yourselves.”
Otis didn’t deny Jill’s accusation. “A man has to make some money in this world. The honchos here are stashing away fortunes. Where are they at oh-dark-thirty when I’m wrestling with a drunken GI or having my eyes scratched out by his pill-crazed business girl yobo? I’ll tell you where they are. Back in their hooches snoring and dreaming about the money that we make for them. That’s where. I’ve slept out in the rain and the snow and the mud for almost twenty years and I deserve something.”
“How many other vases have you moved?” Ernie asked. “How many antiques?”
Otis shrugged.
“And my partner and I,” Ernie continued, “were about to bust everything wide open. Even after we returned to Seoul you knew we could cause trouble. Which is why you sent Brandy to bring us back to Division, bring us back to Tongduchon, and send us to mulkogi chonguk, to fish heaven, so you could take a bead on us and blow our brains out.”
The barrel of Otis’s. 45 veered toward Ernie.
“I was just trying to scare you off.”
“Bull,” Ernie said. “If I hadn’t bent down to retrieve that rubber ball, the top half of my skull would’ve been history.”
“Drop it, Otis,” Jill growled.
Indecision flashed in Otis’s eyes. A group of demonstrators, carrying torches and clubs headed toward the Provost Marshal’s Office. The MPs in front had fled. Nothing stood between the enraged Koreans and what was left of the 2nd Infantry Division Provost Marshal’s Office.
Sergeant Otis must’ve realized that he couldn’t take down all three of us. There was no way out for him. His crimes would be exposed.
“Hold steady, Matthewson,” Otis said. “Hold your fire. I’m moving away. I’m moving slow and steady. Hold your fire and I’m no threat to you or your friends here.”
He dropped Colonel Alcott’s ledger to the ground.
“I’m a noncommissioned officer,” Otis continued, “and a good one. As an NCO, whether I been black- marketing or not, I have a job to do. I have my duty to attend to. You understand that? There’s a good girl. Slow and easy.”
Otis backed away from us, keeping his. 45 aimed at my chest. When he was about twenty feet away he turned and stood still for a second, as if expecting a round from Jill Matthewson’s. 45 to smash into his back. When it didn’t, he lowered his. 45 to his side and started sprinting toward the Provost Marshal’s Office. He arrived before the demonstrators did and ordered them to halt. When they kept coming he raised his. 45 and fired over their heads. The demonstrators screamed and dropped to the ground. Some of them fled. But about a dozen of them got up and threw stones at Sergeant Otis. Most of them missed. But a couple hit their mark. Otis flinched and then the demonstrators hurled more stones at him. He tried to fire while covering his eyes with his free arm but the round went high, and then some of them reached him. I heard his. 45 clang to the blacktop and skitter away, and now Jill was running toward the demonstrators, firing her pistol into the air, shouting at them to stop. As if smelling blood, dozens more of them emerged around the cor- ner of the clump of pine trees and charged toward the Provost Marshal’s Office. Ernie and I ran after Jill, caught up with her, and dragged her back to the safety of the tree line.
As we did so, from where Sergeant Otis lay we heard the heavy thump of wood on bone. A final scream and then silence.
Reinforcements arrived. I climbed up on a low branch of one of the trees. Two-and-a-half ton trucks, maybe a dozen, pulled up behind the railroad tracks to the rear of the frightened KNPs. A ROK Army officer leaped out of the cab of the first truck and saluted Agent Sohn. After a short conference, with Sohn gesturing toward Camp Casey, the ROK Army officer nodded. He shouted orders and men started jumping out of the backs of the trucks. They fell into unit formations. ROK Army infantry, the White Horse Division, the best of the best. Vietnam veterans. Each soldier armed with an M-16 rifle. While standing at attention, they were ordered to don their protective masks. They looked like a hive of lethal insects. Within seconds, they marched past the grateful KNPs and formed themselves into one massive V-shaped formation. They fixed bayonets with a clang of metal on metal. Then the officer shouted an order and, pounding one foot in front of the other, the V-shaped formation started shuffling toward the main gate of Camp Casey.
I jumped down to brief Ernie and Jill on what I’d seen.
“Colonel Han,” she said. She ran through the crowd. Ernie and I followed.
As we approached Colonel Han near the quarter-ton truck, a few protestors hassled us. One of them blocked my way. I tried to push past and he shoved me. I shoved back. Just as his buddies were about to jump in, Ernie
