He stared at me for a moment, his lips tightening. “You’re drunk.”
“I had a couple of beers. Who wouldn’t after what I saw last night?”
“I’ll tell you who wouldn’t. A smart man wouldn’t.”
I let the insult sit for a while. The rain pattered against the canvas above us. I needed him. I wasn’t going to start an argument.
“You’re wasting your talents, Agent Sueno,” So said. “Stop drinking and you’ll become somebody. We Koreans always knew you were smarter than the other CID agents we’ve seen. You’ve learned our language, you keep your word, you do not bully Koreans or think you’re better than us. You don’t look down at the things we’ve had to do since the war to make a living. All the other agents showed us nothing but false bravado and an inflated opinion of themselves. You have more than that.”
I didn’t particularly like being lectured by a thief. Sure, I drank more than I should, but that was my business.
“I may be a drunk,” I said, “but I’m not a thief.” I knew I’d lose his goodwill, but I was angry enough that I didn’t care.
He studied me. A chill ran through my body and it wasn’t from the cold wind. His eyes seemed to pinch into my soul.
I had been foolish. Maybe the men in the shadows didn’t understand English, but they certainly understood that their leader had been insulted. The loss of face would make Herbalist So harder to deal with. Maybe impossible to deal with.
“No,” the king of the slicky boys said softly. “You are not a thief, Agent Sueno. When you take money to do a job, you do it. Even if it results in death.”
I lowered my head. So was right. We all have our shortcomings. Mine were legion.
I knew I had to be contrite to get what I wanted. Especially now that I’d mouthed off.
“This man I hunt has killed three people already: the British soldier, a young kisaeng called Miss Ku, and a former student of nursing. I need your help to find him.”
“Yes. You do need my help. What do you want me to do?”
I told him about the print shop in Mukyo-dong and about the phony ration control plate we’d found there and how the owner had done business with the killer and claimed the man owed him money.
“I believe there’s more information inside the shop,” I told Herbalist So. “On the killer of these three people and his black market activities. Also I believe the owner knows more than he told me.”
“And you wish us to talk to him?”
“Yes. Meanwhile, I will be doing everything I can to identify some sort of renegade American from our files. But so far we have nothing to go on. No fingerprints, no name, no identification numbers. Only a vague description.”
“So this Miss Ku, the player of the kayagum, we led you to,” So asked, “she has been killed? And this nursing student?”
“Yes.”
“It seems that death follows in your wake, Agent Sueno.”
I didn’t answer.
“For our services there will be a price.”
“It’s in your interest to stop this man, too.”
“It was,” he said, staring at me, “when it was thought that we might have been responsible for the death of Lance Corporal Whitcomb. But with these new deaths, the trail of evidence will lead away from us. We are satisfied now. Our operation is secure.”
I thought of telling him that if he didn’t help me I’d bust his entire syndicate wide open. That I’d put everything I’d learned about the slicky boys into a report for the eyes of the 8th Army Commander, he’d assign a task force to the problem, and we’d put the slicky boys out of commission for good. But I knew it was futile. So’s contacts ranged too widely. Even if the 8th Army honchos listened to me, Herbalist So would just keep his head down and when the staff changed at 8th Army and another crisis arose that seemed more important, he’d swing right back into normal operation. And, of course, there was always the possibility that in order to avoid the inconvenience, he and his boys would decide to drop me below the ice floes bobbing in the Han River.
Despite what he said, however, I knew he wanted to help. A murderer on the loose would cause everyone to be nervous. Him, 8th Army, the Korean National Police. It couldn’t be good for his business. But I had insulted him. That had to be overcome.
“Yes,” I said softly. “Your operation is secure. But, still, I need your help. What Can I do to get it?”
He studied me without replying. I kept my eyes down, my hands folded in my lap.
Maybe it was my imagination but I thought I heard a sigh of approval coming from the shadowy men surrounding us.
Herbalist So’s voice spread out clear and smooth amidst the clattering rain.
“Our assistance will require two things.”
“Name them,” I said.
“A favor, at an unspecified future date.”
“What sort of favor?”
Herbalist So spread his fingers. “Only time will tell. When we need one, Agent Sueno, we will call on you.”
I thought about it: the trouble helping the slicky boys could land me in. I also thought of the Nurse. Her slashed body, the life drained out of her beautiful face.
I nodded my head. “You’ve got it. What’s the second condition?”
Herbalist So leaned back slightly in his chair. Overhead, the rain grew louder. “That will require a seibei.”
I looked up at him. I knew what a seibei was. I’d seen it done in documentaries about ancient Korean life but I’d never heard of a foreigner being required to do it. But then I realized that although we Americans saw it as a form of degradation, Herbalist So thought of his offer as a compliment. Maybe some sort of an initiation. After all, if I was going to be doing favors for him in the future, I was, in effect, becoming a member of his organization. A slicky boy myself. But more important, if I turned him down, I would be insulting him again. I not only wouldn’t receive his help, I would be lucky to get out of here in one piece.
“You honor me,” I said, almost choking on the words.
Herbalist So barked some quick commands. I was still too stunned to understand exactly what he said, but the shadows came out of the rain and became men. One of the men rushed into the teahouse and came back with a straw mat. He placed it on the dirty cement of the patio. I stood up and someone told me where to stand, just off the edge of the mat. A cushion was placed on the other end of the mat and Herbalist-So rose from his chair, slipped off his shoes, and sat down cross-legged on the cushion. The men backed away. All was quiet. They were waiting for me to begin.
I wasn’t sure exactly how it went but I supposed they’d forgive me as long as I got the substantial portion of the ceremony correct.
A seibei is a method of showing respect from inferior to superior. At New Year’s it was performed by the oldest son to his parents. Even a man who was seventy years old would bow before his mother or father if they were still alive.
I thought of the other instances in the history of the East and the West, when this sort of formality had caused so much trouble. Like when the British envoys of Queen Victoria had refused to prostrate themselves before the Chinese Emperor.
It’s a fine way to act if you have gunboats to back you up. I didn’t.
I slipped off my shoes and knelt on the edge of the pad. Still holding my upper body straight I shuffled forward until I was only a few feet from Herbalist So. Slowly, I bent forward at the waist and placed both my hands, palms flat, on the mat in front of me. I lowered my forehead until it touched the ground between my fingers and thumbs, then raised myself again. I repeated the movement three times. When I was finished, I squatted back, hands resting on my thighs.
“Well done,” he said. “But you forgot the chant.”
He spoke some Korean words of supplication for me. I didn’t understand them, they were archaic language,
