appeared violet and for a moment I thought it was blood. But then I stood and the light changed and the liquid became blue again; at least one of the huge fish tanks had been smashed to smithereens.
Another gunshot rang out. Closer this time. Children screamed and a mother’s voice tried to hush them. A bare bulb hanging from the rafters above was still intact and by its glow, I saw a man crouching in water amidst flopping mackerel and crustaceans and squid. He held an automatic pistol pointed straight out in front of him and seemed to be aiming and then, squeezing with his entire fist, he popped off a round.
“Ernie,” I hissed. “It’s me.”
He swiveled, pointing the gun at me, and I stood perfectly still for a moment. He lowered the gun.
“Where the hell you been?”
“Here.” I jerked my free thumb over my shoulder.
“Get down. Some sort of high-power weapon out there. Probably a rifle.”
I low-crawled through wriggling sardines until I crouched next to Ernie, behind a short pyramid of cement blocks that had recently supported a fish tank.
“Where’s Brandy?” I asked.
“Back at the yoguan,” Ernie replied. “Said she was too tired. When I entered the market there didn’t seem to be anybody behind me. I found this woman and her kids and I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t understand English. One of her kids bounced his rubber ball at me and when I stooped to pick it up the entire goddamned fish tank exploded.”
“Could’ve been your head,” I told him.
“Thanks. You see anything out there?”
We both peered over the edge of the cement-block foundation down the long corridor that led past the empty produce market and, after about twenty meters, onto the streets of Tongduchon.
I cursed myself for not anticipating this. A guy sends us a note and sets up the rendezvous for an isolated area with plenty of space like fish heaven, with darkness on the outside and light on the inside so he can see us but we can’t see him. When Ernie walks into the market, the guy takes up a position behind the shrubbery outside and doesn’t fire right away because he’s wondering where Ernie’s partner is. When he figures I’m not coming, he decides to take Ernie out. And he would have, too, if Ernie hadn’t leaned down to pick up that little rubber ball.
Did Brandy have anything to do with this? She’d gone to extraordinary efforts to contact Staff Sergeant Riley and then us. And she’d been particularly nice to Ernie. But when the moment of truth came, she had decided not to accompany him to fish heaven. Something told me that if we returned to the yoguan, Brandy would be long gone.
How much had she been paid to set this up? Or had she been coerced? Either way, I would love to have a chat with her.
A whistle shrilled.
“The KNPs,” Ernie said.
“No way,” I said. “If they take us into custody for questioning again, we won’t be getting out anytime soon.”
Ernie backed away from the cement blocks. “Come on.”
I followed.
On the way I nodded good-bye to the female fishmonger and her children huddled protectively beneath her arms. “Mianhamnida,” I said. I’m sorry. She stared after me, eyes wide with fright.
Ernie’d already reached the noodle stand and was trotting across the dining area with his. 45 held in his right hand, zigzagging through the scattered tables and chairs. In back of the market, a large blacktopped delivery area stood deserted. The entire expanse was empty except for a couple of three-wheeled flatbed trucks.
No cops. Another whistle shrilled behind us. The KNP foot patrols seemed to be converging on the front entrance of the Tonduchon City Market. My guess was that the shooter was long gone.
Beyond the truck park, we reached a low wooden fence. Ernie clambered over it and I followed and then we were in the backyard of some sort of factory for pipe fittings. At the front, we climbed over another locked fence and we were on another street, and then a narrow pedestrian walkway, and then an alley. Ernie slowed to a walk. I caught up with him.
“Where the hell are we?” he asked.
“Somewhere in the south end of Tongduchon.”
In the hubbub, I’d forgotten the umbrella the yoguan owner had loaned me. Dollops of sweet rain splattered atop my head.
Behind us, more whistles shrilled. The KNPs must be in the market now, interviewing the female fishmonger. How long would it take for them to realize that the two GIs with. 45s were Ernie and me? They wouldn’t know for sure, but they’d suspect. And they would certainly notify the provost marshal of the 2nd Infantry Division.
“We can’t wander the streets during curfew,” Ernie said. “Too risky.”
“So where do we hide?”
“They’ll check the yoguans. All of them. And the brothels in the bar district, too. They’ll find us and this time they won’t be so bashful about charging us with the murder of Pak Tong-i.”
Maybe. Maybe not. But at the very least, they’d turn us over to the 2nd ID and we’d be charged with violation of a direct order, the order to return to Seoul. Ernie’s claim that on the weekend we were off-duty and could go anywhere we wanted was really only meant to assuage Staff Sergeant Riley’s sense of responsibility. Once a commander orders you out of an area, you’re required to get out. Of course, we’d originally planned to keep a low profile and continue our search for Jill. We hadn’t expected to be shot at.
“You’re the smart one,” Ernie said. “Where do we hide?”
I thought of the rice paddies outside of town or one of the cemeteries I’d seen on a hill but neither of those options seemed inviting. After a few hours of standing in cold mud, sweet rain wouldn’t seem so sweet. And then it hit me.
“There’s one place,” I said. “The KNPs won’t look there and maybe-just maybe-we’ll be welcome.”
“Where?”
“Come on.”
I turned right into another dark alley, heading west. Above us, the sweet rain had stopped. The dark sky seemed to be holding its breath, trying to decide what torment to throw at us next.
Who had shot at us?
That wasn’t such an easy question to answer. By the sound and accuracy of the rounds, the weapon must’ve been a rifle.
Who had access to rifles?
The U.S. Army, the ROK Army, and the Korean National Police. Other than that, gun control is total in Korea. Special permission is required to own a rifle and, even if permission is granted, one has to keep the weapon under lock and key-not at home-but in a secure storage area of a licensed establishment, such as an approved shooting gallery or hunting club. Could gangsters obtain an unregistered rifle? If they really wanted to. But why bother? It would be risky and bring unwanted attention on themselves; they have other ways of killing people.
So who would try to kill us with a rifle?
Someone who had easy access to a rifle. Like a GI or a Korean National Policeman or a soldier from the ROK Army. Or a government official like the Korean mystery man who’d monitored my interrogation at the Tongduchon Police Station.
Whoever shot at us had set the event up. Using Brandy. Could Ernie and I storm into the Black Cat Club right now and find her and question her? Not likely. Not only were there still plenty of irate soul brothers there to hamper our operation but, even more dangerous, the KNPs-thinking we might’ve returned to town- would probably be watching the place. Questioning Brandy would have to wait.
For now.
As to why anyone would want to kill us, that seemed simple. Someone didn’t want us to find Corporal Jill Matthewson.
The upturned tile roofs of the Chon residence sat in darkness and the big wooden gate in the stone fence stood barred from within. In the recessed stone archway, I switched on my penlight and studied the brass nameplate. Etched onto the polished surface was the Chinese character for “Chon.” Next to that, a white button on a metal grille. The buzzer and the intercom system. I hesitated before pushing the button. How would I explain
