practice on the black market, but it is not legal. Korean casinos allow players to buy chips with U.S. dollars but if you win, the winnings are paid in Korean won. Dollars will be replaced only up to the amount for which you bought in. Won is a controlled currency and is not internationally traded. Besides, Bok told them, few Americans venture into the Olympos Casino. He would’ve remembered.
Both of the supposed CID agents wore civilian jackets and ties-just like real 8th Army CID agents-and both wore sunglasses. The man doing all the talking resembled Ernie in that he had light, sandy blond hair and white skin.
The other man, the one who presented my CID badge, didn’t speak. He was dark-complected, with brown, wavy hair, and was dressed in the same manner, in coat and tie and shades. He appeared to be American. That is, he was tall, almost six feet, and his shoulders were husky and his arms and legs long, and he had hair on the back of his hands.
Maybe his appearing with an American, and being dressed the same way, had thrown Mr. Bok off. I asked him about this.
He disagreed. He knows a Korean when he sees one. This man wasn’t Korean.
I asked Bok if he’d taken a good look at the photograph that accompanied the CID badge. He admitted that he hadn’t. The dark man had flashed it at him as if impatient, and after Bok saw the official-looking American document in its impressive leather case, he hadn’t mustered the nerve to examine it more closely.
Understandable. Korea is a police state. People aren’t in the habit of questioning badges.
Most Korean casinos don’t have cameras. The film and the necessary apparatus are seen as being too expensive. What with total gun control, the rate of armed robberies in Korea is less than one-tenth of what it is in the States. Korea is a safe society. Even for a woman walking alone at night through a dark alley. At least, it’s usually safe.
Once the two phony CID agents were inside the cashier’s cage, the staff stopped paying attention to them. Quietly, so as not to ignite a panic, the Caucasian man pulled a. 45 and ordered the security guard to lie face down on the floor. He disarmed the security guard, kept his weapon, and tossed what I presumed to be my. 45 to his darker-skinned accomplice. While the Caucasian thief watched Mr. Bok stuff money into a canvas bag, the other thief exited through the back door of the cashier’s cage. The Caucasian thief seemed to be surprised and upset by this, Bok said, but he continued collecting the money and making sure that neither Bok nor the supine security guard nor any of the three cashiers alerted other casino personnel.
By Bok’s estimate, the Caucasian thief had systematically plundered 2.4 million won, about five thousand dollars U.S.
Ten minute later, the taller and darker thief returned, face flushed and out of breath. He was alone, but he looked extremely upset and agitated and, with his. 45, he motioned to his partner that it was time for them to leave.
They did. Without further incident. Carrying the canvas bag loaded with loot between them.
After they left, Mr. Bok notified the Korean National Police and soon the entire casino was aware of what had happened. Gaming stopped. Employees and customers alike gathered around the iron-barred cage as the cashiers tearfully told their story. With the now recovered security guard and a couple of the male pit bosses, Mr. Bok entered the hallway behind the cashier’s cage and ventured up to the owner’s office. There they found the smashed and torn photo of the owner’s relatives and, beyond that, the undisturbed office.
Or at least the office seemed at first to be undisturbed. The small fire-escape door was open, and sea air laced with rain blew in. When Mr. Bok went to close the door, he found her. Tearfully, he explained to Ernie and me that Miss Han Ok-hi lay naked and unconscious in a pool of her own blood.
Naked? I questioned him about that, but Lieutenant Won interrupted angrily and claimed that her lack of clothing had nothing to do with this case and nothing to do with Ernie and me finding the GI who shot her. When I asked about the whereabouts of the boss, he grew even more angry.
Apparently, the Inchon KNPs were on the payroll of the owner of the Olympos Casino. No surprise there. In Korea, civil servants supplement their income in creative ways. Technically, it’s not legal, but the practice is so widespread that people expect it, so much so that the official salaries of policemen and other government employees are purposely kept low. The public expects them to make as much as their salary, if not more, on the side. Why pay them well if they’re going to steal anyway?
I asked again about the owner. I felt it was important that we interview him. Lieutenant Won steadfastly refused. Ernie took over the argument, raising his voice, causing Lieutenant Won to grow red in the face. While Ernie waved his arms and ranted, I pulled Mr. Bok aside. Under further questioning, Bok admitted that occasionally some of the female blackjack dealers perform hostess duties for the casino owner when he entertains guests in his office. Had there been any guests today? No, not that Bok knew of. Then why was Han Ok-hi acting as hostess? Bok blushed at that but wouldn’t answer. I asked if Miss Han’s hostess duties included taking off her clothes. He flushed and shook his head and refused to answer further questions on the subject.
The Korean National Police arrived only moments after Mr. Bok’s telephone call.
A quick search of the surrounding area turned up nothing. It was thought that the thieves must’ve had a vehicle waiting nearby. So far, the KNPs had discovered no witnesses who had seen the two men enter the casino or, more importantly, leave. But they were still canvassing the neighborhood and had high hopes that they would convince some courageous citizen to talk to them soon.
Koreans, by the nature of their experience during most of the Twentieth Century, are reluctant to become involved with the police. But they will open up, Lieutenant Won told us, when offered an incentive. The weathered old cop slugged his fist into his leather-clad palm and grinned a crooked-toothed grin.
Before the claws belonging to the mother of Han Ok-hi could rip into my flesh, I threw up my arms. But by then it was too late. She was on me, swinging at my chest, my face, shoving into me with all her strength. I staggered backward and almost tumbled onto one of the patients, but at the last second the technician braced me and kept me from falling. By now, Ernie had stepped past me, and he and the husband and Doctor Oh surrounded the writhing woman and held her. Her face blazed an angry red and she screamed invective at me, most of which I couldn’t understand, and then she was spitting and trying to push forward again. The three men held firm. The mother of Han Ok-hi strained against them, and then, as if all her massive strength had left her, she stopped. Her mouth shut and she stared at me, confused. She gazed around the green glow of the Critical Care Unit, as if she had just awoken from a dream.
Her face fell and her palms shot up to cover her open mouth. She crumpled to the ground, crying and screaming and moaning again. Calling out: “Ok-hi, Ok-hi, Ok-hi-ah.”
The doctor, the husband, and the technician lifted her back to her feet. Someone rolled in a wheel chair and, after arranging her properly, the husband pushed the mother of Han Ok-hi out of the Critical Care Unit.
Ernie came to stand by me. Doctor Oh talked to me some more but I don’t remember what was said. I don’t know if I turned down care or promised to see a doctor or anything at all. I don’t even remember leaving the hospital.
But we did leave.
And the next thing I knew, I was breathing salt air.
I wasn’t surprised that Lieutenant Won hadn’t allowed Ernie or me to speak to the owner of the Olympos Hotel and Casino. The Japanese and Hong Kong high rollers brought millions of dollars into the casino every year. With money like that, power had to be close by. The casino owner was probably more influential in the City of Inchon than the mayor. And in Korea, one iron rule I’d learned: important people don’t talk to American GIs. Even when those GIs are conducting a murder investigation. Especially when they’re conducting a murder investigation.
And without subpoena power, I couldn’t do a thing about it. Not without the consent of the Korean National Police, and that wasn’t likely. When the owner entered the cashier cage with his henchmen, Lieutenant Won, the tough old cop, had been terrified. Even Ernie had been a little intimidated. I could tell by the way he bristled.
Still, I’m a cop. And like any cop in the middle of a murder investigation, I had questions: Did the casino owner keep money in his office? I hadn’t seen a safe but maybe there was one hidden somewhere. Is that why the thief went back there? Did the crook have inside information concerning the whereabouts of a safe? And why had Han Ok-hi been in the office? What was she doing? Serving tea? If so, who to? And why had she taken off her clothes? Where was the casino owner while the thief was wandering around his office? Where were his bodyguards? Had the casino owner seen the thief? Did he think he could identify him and pull him out of a line-up?
