was guaranteed to draw every man’s eyes. Her hair puffed out in a short bouffant and surrounded a face that had been very pretty and was still holding up well.
I spoke to her in English.
“Why’d you bring Kimiko on the compound?”
“She is a Korean woman. She asked me for help, so I helped her.”
“How much did she pay you?”
Miss Ahn reached in her handbag and pulled out a pack of American cigarettes. She tapped one free and lit it without waiting for any of us to offer.
She said, “How much doesn’t matter. But yeah, she paid me.” She exhaled the smoke past the cheap artwork that lined the walls.
“How long have you known her?”
“Long time. Everybody knows Kimiko. But is she my friend? No. And did I ever take her to the Officers’ Club before? No. I was surprised she wanted to go. Usually she works in Itaewon.”
“Why did she want to go in?”
“I don’t know. Make money, I guess.”
“Did she sit with you and Lieutenant Leibowitz?”
“For a little while. Then she go.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention. Next thing I know, big fight.”
“With who?”
Miss Ahn’s eyes opened wide. “General Bohler. You know.”
I thanked her for her help. No sense making enemies. These business girls can be a lot of help to an investigator, and she was looking good in that long blue dress. Near thirty, though. But my standards were getting less stringent.
“You give me a ride off compound?” she said. Apparently, Lieutenant Leibowitz had abandoned her.
“We don’t have a car.”
“Shit.”
She puffed rapidly on her cigarette. There were plenty of men inside the club and plenty of booze. Someone would help her.
An MP stepped over. “Sueсo?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“General Bohler’s aide, Major Zaronsky, wants a word.”
“Can you point him out?” I said.
“Sure can,” he said. “He’s the one making all the noise over there.”
Five young officers were sitting at the table. One of them was waving his hands in the air, dominating the conversation. He was prematurely balding and cropped blond hair fringed his dome. His look was pugnacious. I couldn’t tell from this distance but I felt certain that Major Zaronsky’s eyes would prove to be blue and vacuous. I thanked the MP and walked towards their table.
The major was in the middle of a dissertation. The other officers, all junior to him, were staring with exaggerated attentiveness, making sure they’d max their efficiency reports.
I interrupted him in midsentence: “Are you Major Zaronsky?”
The major stopped talking, both hands in midair. Keeping them there, he turned his upper body around slowly. “Who wants to know?” he asked, eyes wide, feigning amazement that anyone would have the temerity to interrupt.
“You wanted to see me?” I said. “I’m Sueсo.”
“Sergeant Sueсo?” Zaronsky spat it out, his hands still in the air. “You’re not in my unit,” he said, his voice rising. “What unit are you in?”
“Sir. Maybe we could go in the game room.”
‘The game room?” Zaronsky asked in mock astonishment. ”I don’t want to go in no fucking game room.” His arms came crashing down. ”Now I asked you a question, Sergeant. What goddamn unit are you in?”
“I’m with the CID.” I said, in a forced monotone. “I’m here on official business, and I’d like to keep it confidential.”
‘The CID?” Once again Major Zaronsky was astonished. ”What in the world would the C-I-fucking-D want here? There ain’t nothing wrong here. There ain’t nothing wrong that everybody in the club can’t listen to!”
Major Zaronsky was shouting. He was right about one thing: Everyone in the club was definitely listening. What the hell was his problem?
“Well, sir,” I said, “if you insist on discussing it here, I’ll tell you-” I could see Ernie out of the corner of my eye; he was facing us, standing next to his bar stool, with no beer in sight.”
“If you had done a thorough shakedown of the guests tonight,” I said, “you might have prevented an attack on a general staff officer.” I hurried my speech, so the loudmouth major wouldn’t be able to interrupt. “And that unaccountable lapse in security has turned out to be deeply unfortunate.”
Major Zaronsky’s face was changing. The feigned surprise was gradually becoming genuine anger.
“But,” I said, “since you’re so sure that there is nothing wrong with your procedures, Major Zaronsky, I won’t bother you any further.”
I stared into his empty blue eyes. For the first time he was quiet. I turned and started to walk away but the major was up and red with rage.
“Now hold on, Ser-geant,” the major said, dragging the word out a few extra syllables. “I’m the security officer here and I’m sure as hell not going to let you come in here and cast aspersions and insults.”
The major got up real close and stuck his nose right in my face.
“You asked me to tell you, sir.” I struggled to keep my voice even.
“Don’t argue with me!” His foul breath wafted up against my closed mouth. “And stand at attention when I’m talking to you.”
I wanted to punch him and he knew it. And the more I showed it, the more he enjoyed it. I came slowly to attention.
“Who’s your commander?” the major barked.
I hesitated and then answered. “Captain Daily.”
“And your immediate supervisor?”
From the corner of my eye I saw Ernie moving slowly away from the bar. He held a glass ashtray in his hand, the sharp, jagged point protruding from between his thumb and forefinger.
His movements were languid-zombie-like-and his head was tilted back, lifting his nose high into the air. He peered down from this vantage point and moved toward us as if his mind had retreated to some higher plane.
I ran at him, hit his shoulders with my forearms, and got him moving back towards the exit. He allowed his body to be guided towards the door but his head swiveled back at the offending officer. Behind his glasses, his bulging eyes were fixed on Zaronsky, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent.
By the time we got to the provost marshal’s office it was too late.
“What’d you do with her?”
“Turned her over to the KNPs.” The desk sergeant was working the crossword puzzle in that day’s Pacific Stars amp; Stripes. It seemed to be much more interesting to him than the Kimiko incident.
“But she just kicked a major general in the balls.”
“He decided not to press charges. Public relations, you know. Who wants to admit that an old, worn-out business girl got the best of a warrior like General Bohler? Don’t press charges, turn her over to the Korean National Police, that’s the best route. They’ll work her over good. That’s what the man wanted. Otherwise he’d lose face.”
“Which police box did they send her to?”
“Itaewon.”
Ernie and I headed towards the door.
The desk sergeant glanced up from his puzzle. “What’s a ten-letter word for ‘a destroyer of sacred images’?”
“Ball-breaker,” I said.
