have names. Only districts are named, and they are divided into smaller compartments called dong and bonji. Then ho, the actual address numbers. I had to believe that the nickname Texas Street came into existence because at night, when the place was crawling with business girls and drunken sailors, it reminded Koreans of what they thought the Wild West must’ve been like.
Now the district was quiet, and the unlit neon signs dripped with rain. Almost all the doors of the dozens of nightclubs were bolted. Only a few were open, beaded curtains rustling in the wet breeze from the sea.
Pak-si turned up another alley and then down another and another. I put my hand on his shoulder and told him to pull over before he reached our final destination, so we could walk up. He turned down one more street and found a spot to park against a high stone wall.
“Go up there,” he said. “And turn right. Second door on the left.”
We thanked him.
Did he have to wait, he asked.
No. All I had left were twenties and a ten and two bucks. I handed him the two bucks. He shrugged. Easy money.
As soon as we climbed out of the cab, he released the brake, shifted into neutral, and rolled back down the hill.
We walked up the road and peered around the corner. Nothing moved.
“You think he’s still here?” Ernie asked.
“Probably not. He seems to have a habit of moving fast. But let’s not take any chances.”
I pulled the. 38 out of the holster. “You go in first. I’ll come in behind you.”
“Right.”
The walls were too high to see anything. When we reached the doorway in the metal gate, Ernie kicked it in, which was sort of unnecessary since it was unlocked anyway. It crashed back on itself with a great bang. Ernie ducked through the door. I was right behind him.
A tiny old woman in a sweater and a long gray dress emerged from the hooch and stood on the narrow wooden porch.
“Migun isso?” I asked. Is there a GI here?
“Oopso,” she said. “Imi kasso.” Not here. He already left.
We searched the little room anyway and checked out back. No sign of a six-foot-two Navy Seal. Plenty of PX goodies, though.
“How much did you pay him?” I asked the old woman.
“Not your business.”
I showed her my badge. “We could have you arrested.”
“Go ahead.”
She was a pugnacious little crone.
“Where’d the American go?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did he find you?”
She raised and lowered her narrow shoulders. “Girls on Texas Street. They know me.”
“Which club?”
“Any club.”
“When’s the American coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has he been here before?”
“First time.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Big. Like you. But light skin. Like him.” She pointed at Ernie.
I pulled out the photo. “Is this him?”
She looked at Shipton’s picture and then up at me.
“Yes.” For the first time concern edged her wrinkled face. “What did he do?”
“He killed three people.”
Her eyes widened. She sat down on the porch without bothering to wipe off the droplets of rain.
“Three people?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Koreans or Americans?”
“One Englishman. Two Koreans.”
“English?”
I nodded. The old woman shook her head. Her voice became less strident. Soft. Almost as if she were in awe.
“I never see this man before. He come this morning. First time. I paid him two hundred and thirty thousand won.” She waved at the black market goods piled in the back of her hooch. “Not bad price. I wanted to pay less, but he said he would put them back in the cab and go somewhere else. So I give him a little more. Anyway, I make money. He was very quiet. Very serious. Didn’t seem like GI. Most GI just give black market stuff to girls. Girls bring to me, sell. I always get good price from the girls because they not smart. Think only of today. Of new hairdo. Of new makeup they want to buy. This man, he very patient. Wait until finally we settle on price. He count money, put in his pocket, and go.”
She looked up at me and then at Ernie, as if she were puzzled. The mistlike rain splattered on her face and dress. “I never see before. It’s true.”
She crossed her arms over her withered chest and shivered.
“I never want to see again.”
The thought of murder had somewhat chastened the old woman, and before we left she told us the names of the clubs from which she received referrals. They were clubs nearby on the strip.
As we walked down the hill toward the sea I breathed deeply of the salt air, fighting off the disappointment at having been so close to Shipton and yet missing him again. But we weren’t back to square one. Shipton was in the neighborhood somewhere. Maybe just a few hundred yards from where we stood right now. We had his photograph and we had plenty of shoe leather.
“Is it possible that he’ll make another black market run today?” Ernie said.
“I don’t think so. He maxed out his monthly ration on that card, so now he’d have to use a different card and a different ID. Too risky. Somebody on the compound might remember him, call the MP’s.”
We stepped gingerly on the wet cobbled streets, which sloped down to the sea. Gulls soared in graceful circles above us.
“So what would you do,” I asked, “if you’d just cleared over a hundred thousand won on the black market and you didn’t have to go to work and you were right smack dab in the middle of Texas Street?”
“I’d get laid,” Ernie said promptly.
“So would I. Which sets out an interesting course for this investigation.”
Ernie rubbed his hands together. “Time to get cracking, pal. What we gotta do, we gotta do.”
“That’s what I like about you, Ernie. Dedicated to your tasks.”
“You got that right.”
We checked the open bars on Texas Street first, hoping Shipton would be spending some of his hard-earned money. No luck.
We wandered around, trying to look like horny sailors-which wasn’t hard except for the sailor part-and, as we expected, we received a few propositions. All of which we accepted. Every hooch we went into, though, was full of willing girls but no Shipton. We showed his photograph around, but all we received in return were blank stares. And disappointed scowls when the business women realized they weren’t going to make any money.
It was noontime now and the district was starting to come alive. A few merchant marines prowled the streets: Filipinos, Greeks, Dutchmen. They were off watch now-or whatever their work shifts were called-and it was time for a little fun. Neon crackled and sparked to life under the drizzling rain. Jukeboxes started up. Girls in
