young man had been transported, under heavy MP escort, down to the Eighth Army Stockade at the Army Support Command in Bupyong. There he would await the paperwork that had to be done before the U.S. authorities could turn him over to the Koreans.
The U.S. government would pay for a Korean lawyer for him but the trial would be decided primarily on the basis of public opinion. If somebody had to pay the price for the murder of Pak Ok-suk, and the public thought it should be a GI, then whoever happened to be in custody would be it. It was like the government minister who had to step down when a typhoon destroyed a couple of cities. Everybody knew he didn’t have any control over the weather but he had the responsibility. And somebody had to be sacrificed to restore the balance and harmony.
If the judge determined that Johnny was probably innocent they’d go easy on him. The last GI Ernie and I had tried to keep out of a Korean jail only got four years. Not bad for murder. He would have gotten a lot more if he’d actually been guilty.
All this somehow made sense to me. Maybe it’s my Mexican genes.
I didn’t see how we could make much progress in this case and keep Johnny Watkins out of jail unless we found Kimiko. The best way to do that was to run the ville, which was no problem because it was always on my program anyway.
After the retreat bugle sounded, Ernie and I turned in the jeep, changed out of our coats and ties, and showered, shaved, and popped a couple of wet ones. We were parading through the alleys of Itaewon, OB bottles in hand, when we heard the squawk of a radio in a parked MP jeep. The two uniformed MPs had their feet kicked up and they were laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
‘The Officers’ Club. They’re asking for MP support. Some old gal named Kiko something is raising hell. Apparently she kicked the chief of staff in the balls.”
Ernie and I looked at each other, jumped in a cab, and headed for the compound. We were both thinking the same thing: Kimiko. Who else would be nuts enough?
We paid the driver and, flashing our identification, ran through the gate heading towards South Post. We trotted along the placid avenue until we saw red lights flashing atop MP sedans in front of the canopied entranceway to the Eighth Army Officers’ Club. Doors slammed and more sedans raced past as we ran towards the commotion.
The members, mostly officers in tailored dress blue uniforms and a few ladies in evening gowns, wandered back into the club. The master-at-arms was a burly black NCO by the name of Bosun. He wore a baggy Hong Kong suit and looked like he’d just lost the main event in a wrestling match with the Magnificent Destroyer.
I didn’t need to show him my badge. He’d seen me around.
“Who was it?”
“Some old bitch.” He patted the scratches on his forehead with a handkerchief. “Crazy.”
“Kimiko?”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Yeah. I think.”
“What’d she do?”
“Tried to corner General Bohler. When he told her to get lost, she went berserk.”
“Kicked him in the balls?”
“How’d you know that?”
“The news is already in Itaewon.”
The big guy just shook his head and walked back towards the door.
“Who escorted her in?” I said, following.
“I don’t know. Let’s look in the log.”
At the raised desk just inside the glass doorway, Bosun opened the big ledger marked Guest Register. He didn’t have to look too far. Most of the people who entered the O Club were authorized. At the NCO Club, dozens of business girls were brought in every night and the guest registers had to be ordered by the bushel full, but here not too many officers brought their Korean girlfriends. Bad for the career.
“She was brought in by a Lieutenant Leibowitz. He brought in two girls. A Miss Ahn and this old broad, Kimiko.” The master-at-arms looked up at us.
I said, “See if you can round up this lieutenant and his girlfriend. Do you have a place where we can talk to them?”
“Yeah. Back here in the MAs office.” Bosun was happy to cooperate because he was pissed and wanted to see Kimiko get burned. We waited. When the lieutenant came in, all decked out in dress blues, I showed him my badge.
He put his hands up in front of his chest. “Hold on, now. I just brought a couple of girls to the O Club.”
“To a commander’s call?”
“Yeah. It’s sort of formal but Miss Ahn is such a nice person, and so well dressed. I never figured anything like this would happen.”
Ernie stuck his nose through a crack in the door and peered out. Apparently Miss Ahn was worth looking at.
“Where’d you meet her?”
“I’ve known her for a long time. She’s never been any trouble. And she’s-”
“Where’d you find her, Lieutenant?”
“Outside the gate.”
“On the street?”
“Well… not like you mean. She was just standing outside the gate and she needed somebody to escort her on post to the O Club.”
“So you signed her in at the gate and then into the club?”
“Yeah.”
“How long ago did you first meet her?”
“A couple of months ago. And she’s never been any trouble.”
“She stays with you sometimes on the compound?”
“Sure. But that’s never-”
“How did Kimiko get into the act?”
“I’d never seen her before tonight, she’s just a friend of Miss Ahn’s, and when I went outside the gate to pick her up, this woman Kimiko was there, and Miss Ahn asked if I could escort her, too. I figured one more wouldn’t hurt, so-”
“Did Kimiko say why she wanted to come to the O Club?”
“No. She didn’t say much of anything.”
“Why do you think she wanted to come to the O Club?”
“Just to have a fun evening, I guess.”
“She had that. And didn’t you think she wanted to meet someone here and maybe make a few dollars?”
Leibowitz straightened his shoulders. ‘That is no affair of mine.”
“You’ve paid Miss Ahn before, haven’t you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
I knew the answer. A few of the classier girls stood outside the gate that led to the Officers Club and made arrangements with someone, usually young officers, to escort them on post. Sometimes they had someone who would meet them out there and sometimes they just took their chances, smiling and asking a likely-looking young man to help a lady in distress. There weren’t too many women because the pickings were slimmer at the Officers’ Club, but when they made their rare strike the payoff was better. And most of the women who went that route were good-looking and highly presentable in the more sedate confines of the Officers’ Club. Not like the droves of old hags and young floozies who crowded the front gate, waiting for someone to take them into the Lower Four Club. Of them all, male and female, I preferred the old hags. They weren’t trying to be something they weren’t.
I thanked Lieutenant Leibowitz for his time. He straightened his jacket and strode off in a huff. Your typical infantry officer. All spit and polish. No brains.
“She’s out here,” Ernie said. “Miss Ahn.”
Bosun and the MPs had her behind the MAs desk. She was tall and wore a low-cut blue-patterned dress that
