Buddha's Money

by Martin Limon

  "Damn thing's too new," he complained. "No rust on it."

  We stood under a storefront awning in Itaewon, across the street from the Virtuous Dragon Dumpling House.

  "They're not supposed to have rust on them," I said. "It causes them to jam."

  "An old wives' tale," Ernie said. "You have to work a weapon in, let it get dirty and muddy so all the gears mesh right."

  "Pistols don't have gears."

  Ernie stared at me. "That's the problem with you, George. You take all this technical shit too seriously."

  I ignored him and studied the front of the Dumpling House. So far, Herman hadn't entered. If he kept his word, he should be here any minute.

  Last night, when we arrived at the front gate of Yongsan Compound, the MPs wouldn't let us through with an "unauthorized civilian" in the cab. I told them to go fuck themselves and forced the driver to take us to the 121 Evacuation Hospital anyway.

  The emergency room nurse was also reluctant. But once she took a look at Lady Ahn's wounds, she went ahead and started working on her.

  The doctors were worried that they might have to amputate Lady Ahn's leg. The decision would be made tonight. Luckily, they hadn't spared the sedatives, because Lady Ahn was still more distraught about losing the jade skull than about losing any part of her body.

  We'd spent most of the day at the CID office writing up our reports and getting new weapons issued and taking a series of ass-chewings from the First Sergeant. He was pissed that we'd let Herman escape, pissed that we'd been involved with a civilian demonstration, pissed that a civilian woman had been admitted to a military hospital.

  I reminded him a couple of times that if we hadn't stopped Choi So-lan, the Buddhist nun, from torching herself last night, the entire country would've become engulfed in an armed revolt. As it was, the students were put down and the nun escaped alive.

  This cut no ice with the First Sergeant. It was all the military regulations we'd broken that gave him a case of the ass—and the explaining he had to do to the Eighth Army honchos. He almost restricted us to compound while all our actions were being "reviewed," but we talked him out of it by mentioning that we had a rendezvous with Herman the German this afternoon.

  He wanted to know where, because he was planning on sending at least a platoon of MPs to pick Herman up. If the First Sergeant and the Military Police handled it in their usual clumsy way, Herman would smell a trap and bolt and we might never see him again.

  When we wouldn't spill, the First Sergeant gave in.

  "But you'd better bring him back," he told us. "And I mean tonight. And I want him locked up in the MP Station. You got that?"

  We said yeah about eighteen times and he finally let us go.

  It was a gentle rain that was falling on Itaewon. Danbi, the Koreans call it. Sweet rain.

  The thick cloud cover allowed only a filtered gray light to illuminate the village. Wind whistled through the alleys. But still, Itaewon smelled of roses, as if the pattering rain had washed away all its sins.

  My body ached and I was cut and bruised all over. So was Ernie. But we could operate. Operate well enough to wrap this case up once and for all.

  A foot sloshed into a puddle. I elbowed Ernie. "It's him."

  Like a fat shadow, Herman slipped into the front door of the Virtuous Dragon Dumpling House.

  "Let's go."

  We hopped across mud islands and entered by pushing through the steam-covered glass door. All the tables were empty. It figured, on an afternoon like this. We pushed through the hanging beads back into the kitchen.

  The same cook we'd seen before, the one who had sliced up Mi-ja's ear and stuffed it into boiled dumplings, stood behind a cutting board chopping away with a hatchet. His grandson sat on a stool listlessly shelling peas, his bike with the big tin delivery box parked outside. They both looked up as we entered.

  "Where's Herman?"

  The cook nodded toward the side of the building.

  There was a large patio area, used during the dry season, covered with a wood-slat roof and protected from bugs by rusty metal screens.

  Herman sat at the picnic table in the center of the patio. Rainwater dripped down his round skull. From beneath his damp coat he pulled out the M-16 he'd taken from the Korean soldier last night. He set the rifle flat on the table, pointing it at us.

  "Keep your hands in plain view," he said.

  Ernie and I both stopped. I held my palms out. "This isn't going to do you any good, Herman. You can't hide forever. Might as well come in with us and get it over with."

  Ernie sat on one of the wooden benches and leaned back, his elbows propped on the table behind him. "Yeah. What the hell's the matter with you, Herman?"

  "A lot of things are the matter with me," Herman said, "but I'm going to straighten them all out tonight."

  "Oh, yeah?" Ernie wasn't buying it. "After a lifetime of fucking up, you're going to set it all straight in one night?"

  Herman nodded.

  Ernie blew breath between his lips. "This I have to see."

  Herman rose and kept the rifle on us as he moved us back into the kitchen. He handed the boy a note. The boy slipped into his plastic poncho, went outside to his bike, and sped off splashing through the rain.

  Herman turned to the cook and handed him a pile of Korean bills. "It'll only take a few minutes, ajjosi."

  The man nodded, went out front, pulled all the shades, and put up his closed sign.

  I started to become a trifle concerned. "You planning on shooting us, Herman?"

  "Sit down against the wall." He pointed to a small bench. We sat. "Now pull your weapons out and hand 'em over."

  "What the fuck?"

  "Shut up, Ernie," Herman said.

  With the M-16 pointed at him, Ernie shut up. He pulled out his .45 and handed it butt first to Herman the German. Herman stuck the weapon in the thick leather belt enveloping his waist.

  "What about yours?" Herman asked me.

  "I'm not carrying."

  Herman told me to stand. Holding the rifle with one hand, he frisked me with the other. Satisfied that I was telling the truth, he backed off and motioned for me to sit down.

  "If you don't move," Herman said, "you won't get hurt."

  It dawned on me what he was up to. "You want us as witnesses, is that it?"

  "Sort of."

  "What do you mean, sort of?"

  "Well, you know how military guys are about ceremony. I'm no different from the rest."

  Ernie guffawed. "I get it. What you really want, Herman, is a fucking honor guard."

  "Yeah. I'm a veteran. I got the right."

  Ernie started to rise. Herman lifted the M-16 and spoke softly. "But you'll be one dead honor guard trooper if you don't sit the fuck back down."

  Ernie lowered himself slowly. "Okay, Herman. Okay."

  Herman sat on the stool behind the cutting board, the hatchet in front of him. We waited in silence, all of us getting used to the situation.

  "Who was the note for?" I asked.

  "You know who."

  "I do?"

  "Sure you do. Think."

  I thought.

  Every player in our little drama had been accounted for. Little Mi-ja was dead. Ragyapa and his boys were being hunted by the KNPs, Lady Ahn was in the hospital. The Buddhist nun was reportedly back at her mountain temple. Pfc. Hatcher was locked in some dank Korean dungeon. The KNPs were still holding Sister Julie. There was only one person left.

  "Your wife," I said. "Slicky Girl Nam."

  "Now you got it."

  Ernie let out a whoop. "Has she got a case of the ass at you, Herman! Even with that M-sixteen, you're going to need protection."

  "She's the one who put the slicky boys on my ass," Herman said. "And she's the only one who can call them off."

  "You're more afraid of them," I said, "than you are of Eighth Army or the Korean National Police."

  Herman nodded.

  Outside, the rain started to pick up.
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  Five minutes later, someone rapped on the door. The owner opened it, said "Oso oseiyo," and footsteps shuffled in.

  Her head popped into the kitchen first. A wrinkled hand pulled off a broad-brimmed cap and a thick mane of gray and black hair cascaded to her shoulders. Slicky Girl Nam.

  Her eyes were red with crying and blazed with rage.

  "You son bitch!"

  She charged.

  Holding her small fists in the air, she smacked them into the side of Herman's head. His neck quivered, but other than that he hardly moved. She smacked him again and again and clutched his forehead with her claws, trying to pry his eyes out of his skull.

  All the while, Herman kept the M-16 trained on me and Ernie, his finger on the trigger.

  Ernie started to move. Herman snatched Slicky Girl Nam's wrist and ripped her fingers away from his eyeballs.

  "Don't try it, Bascom," he said. Ernie sat back down.

  Herman looked at Slicky Girl Nam. Her face was as twisted as a mask of the goddess of the underworld. "Not the eyes," he said. "That's the only place you have to leave alone."

  When he let go of her wrists she started to pummel him again. She boxed his ears and punched his lips and smashed his nose. But she stayed away from his eyes.

  Only when the laws of physics demanded that some part of his body give a little, did Herman flinch.

  Slicky Girl Nam's rage was like the monsoon torrent growing outside. She scratched and clawed and punched until finally the strength in her arms gave out.

  Then she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. Herman's head was bathed in blood. He had to wipe his face with the back of his fat knuckles so he could see, but he kept the M-16 trained steadily on us.

  After catching her wind, Slicky Girl started cursing and punching him again.

  We were both growing sick of it. Ernie spoke first. "Why don't you defend yourself, Herman?"

  "I don't deserve it." More blows landed. "All I could think about was the money. So I sliced off Mi-ja's ear, convincing myself that it was for her own good. And I chopped off her finger, in one quick slice, hoping it wouldn't hurt too bad. But she screamed and cried for hours. Then I left her with those Mongols. They said they were Buddhists. They couldn't perform any butchery themselves. So instead they stuffed straw down her throat and let her gag on it until she turned blue.

  "I did all that," Herman said, "to my own little girl. For money."

  He shook his head in amazement. Slicky Girl Nam's punches were little more than taps now. Herman wiped the blood from his eyes once more and spoke to her gently.

  "Are you tired, honey?"

  "Yeah," she said hoarsely. "I'm tired."

  "You rest for a minute and then you can use this." He pointed a bloody finger at the hatchet.

  "What I do with that?"

  "Don't you worry. I'll tell you. You just rest for a while."

  Slicky Girl Nam breathed heavily.

  "For Christ's sake, Herman," Ernie said. "You can't go through with this. Whatever you're planning."

  "It'll be over soon. You just hold your position in formation like good soldiers."

  Outside in the dining room, I heard the front door slam. Herman heard it, too.

  "It's the owner," I said. "He's probably going to alert the police."

  "I guess I didn't pay him enough," Herman said.

  "I guess he got sick to his stomach hearing what she's been doing to you," Ernie said. "You have to stop this bullshit, Herman."

  "Almost done," he said. "You ready now, honey?"

  "I ready."

  "Here, take the hatchet. Now after we're through with this, I want you to call off the slicky boys. Okay?"

  Slicky Girl Nam gazed at the hatchet and then at the M-16. "Okay," she said. "I don't need them anymore."

  "I'm going to lean my head down on the cutting board, honey, like this, so I can still keep an eye on these two guys."

  "Okay, Herman," Slicky Girl Nam said. "What you want me do?"

  "I want you to cut off my ear. Just like I did to Mi-ja."

  Ernie and I leapt out of our seats. Using one hand, Herman raised the barrel of his rifle.

  "Easy, boys. Steady in formation."

  The gaping mouth of the business end of the M-16 looked huge from where we stood. We both slumped back down. Ernie cursed softly.

  "Go ahead, honey," Herman said. "Cut off the ear."

  Slicky Girl Nam licked her thumb and rubbed it on the edge of the hatchet. "It not sharp."

  "That's okay, honey. You just push hard."

  She placed the hatchet flat on Herman's head behind his ear. "Okay," she said. "Can do easy. You ready?"

  Thunder blasted outside. Herman had to shout.

  "Ready."

  Slicky Girl Nam shoved the hatchet forward and Herman's ear tore off with an audible rip. Both Ernie and I leaned back.

  The blast of the M-16 exploded inches from our faces. Ernie and I flopped off the bench and crashed to the floor.

  I swiveled my head. A small hole gaped in the wall between us.

  Herman's eyes were filled with tears, but he was still conscious. He sat back up. Blood gushed from his ear in a crimson stream.

  "Sorry, you guys," he said. "Reflex reaction."

  Ernie and I climbed warily back up onto the bench.

  "Okay, honey," Herman said, breathing heavily. "Now chop up the ear in little slices, just like Mi-ja's ear was chopped up to go in that mandu."

  Slicky Girl Nam seemed to have found her strength again. She chopped vigorously until Herman's ear lay on the bloody cutting board in shredded pieces. It looked just like the little ear we'd found in the bowl of steamed dumplings.

  "How's that, honey?" Slicky Girl Nam asked.

  "Good job."

  All of Slicky Girl Nam's rage had disappeared. I'd never seen her so considerate of her husband. It was as if she'd finally gained respect for the old lifer. She glanced down at the sliced flesh.

  'You want me to make dumplings?"

  "No time for that," Herman said. "I've got to go now, honey. You take the rifle, keep these guys here. I hope you see now that I've paid for what happened to our little Mi-ja."

  Slicky Girl Nam stared down at Herman's shredded ear. 'You pay," she said.

  Herman grabbed a wet rag and held it to the side of his head, stanching the flow of blood. "Give me ten minutes head start. Someday, when all this shit settles down, I'll come back for you."

  Slicky Girl Nam's eyes welled with tears. "Okay, Herman," she said. "Someday you come back to Slicky Girl Nam."

  Herman started to back toward the door. I reached in my pocket, pulled out a plastic bag, and slapped it on the bloody cutting board.

  "Not so fast, Herman," I said.

  The door was open, but Herman stopped. I pointed to the pile of green gravel in the plastic bag.

  "I had it tested this morning, Nam. This is what is left of the jade skull of Kublai Khan. The problem is that it is not jade. It's glass."

  "Don't believe him, Nam," Herman said. 'You know you can trust me."

  Ernie started to back away along the wall. Slicky Girl Nam's eyes narrowed and her finger tightened around the trigger of the M-16.

  "He brought a phony glass skull to the demonstration," I told her. "Now that he's cut off his ear and he knows that you and the slicky boys won't be coming after him for killing Mi-ja, he plans to get the real jade skull and escape from the country. It was a good plan, Herman. If I hadn't grabbed some of this glass before the rain washed it away last night, you might even have pulled it off."

  "Don't believe them, honey," Herman whined.

  The front door slammed open. "Kyongchall" someone shouted. Police!

  Ernie leapt at Herman. In an extremely fast move for such a big man, Herman stepped back and slammed the door shut. Wood cracked against knuckles. Ernie howled in pain.

  A dozen boots pounded into the dining room.

  "Kyongchal! Umjiki-jima!" Police! Don't move!

  I
leapt at Slicky Girl Nam, grabbed the M-16, and wrestled it away from her.

  Korean National Policemen stormed into the room, pointing guns at us. Hands were all over me. People shouted. Slicky Girl Nam screamed. I held the rifle over my head and hollered, "Mipalkun honbyong." Eighth Army MPs.

  Captain Kim strode into the madness. The police stopped shouting.

  "Herman domang ka," I told him. Herman's running away.

  The Itaewon Police Station commander pushed through the wooden door and peered outside. "He won't get far," he said. "Come on."

  Ernie and I followed him into the muddy alley out back.

  "Let the woman go!" Captain Kim shouted in Korean.

  Once the policemen released her, Slicky Girl Nam took off like a hunting dog. We trotted after her.

  She wound through alleys, heading toward the residential section, the general direction of her own hooch. On the hill above us, I spotted three or four men in sports training outfits darting in and out of alleys. Slicky boys. And then I saw Herman, twisting through narrow lanes, heading down the hill. The big man was slowing, totally exhausted.

  "They're herding him toward us," Ernie said in admiration.

  We were so close now, I heard Herman the German huffing and puffing. Ahead of us, Slicky Girl Nam was rapidly gaining on him.

  Where three alleys converged, a huge puddle blocked most of the intersection. Herman plowed into it like a water buffalo charging a river. He sloshed forward a few steps, stumbled, and fell face forward. Slicky Girl Nam splashed in after him and leapt on his back like an enraged she-leopard. She clawed at his neck and they both twisted and growled and collapsed into the muddy pond.

  Herman rose first, filthy rainwater sputtering off his lips. He punched Slicky Girl Nam in the nose and she slammed straight back into the puddle.

  By now, Korean National Policemen had emerged from all the alleys. The slicky boys stood in the pathways above us, arms crossed, silent, observing. Herman pulled out Ernie's .45 and waved it in the air.

  "Back off!" he shouted.

  All the policemen leveled their M-l rifles at him.

  "Drop it, Herman!" I shouted, but I don't think he heard me. Instead, gripping the butt of the pistol in his two big fists, he crouched and pointed it directly at one of the policemen.

  A shot rang out. Herman's bowling-ball body lurched forward. Blood blossomed between his shoulder blades. He swiveled, raising the pistol, and this time a volley of rifle shots whistled through the rain like wasps.