by Martin Limon
"How do you figure?"
I explained it to him.
One thing had always bugged me: Why had Herman boarded a military airplane at Osan Air Force Base with the jade skull in his carry-on luggage? Surely he knew that we would notify the Military Police in Japan or Okinawa or wherever his first stop was. Boarding the plane and arresting Herman and confiscating the jade skull would be a snap. Once he got on that plane, he was trapped.
But maybe he didn't have the skull.
Maybe he had ditched it somewhere and was carrying a soccer ball full of rocks, and if the MPs arrested him they'd find nothing illegal on him. Ernie and I would look foolish. Herman would be released, and the First Sergeant might not believe any of our theories concerning the whereabouts of the jade skull of Kublai Khan. Ernie and I might even come under suspicion for the theft ourselves.
Herman would be able to return to Seoul, wait until things calmed down, and smuggle the skull out of Korea at his leisure.
But where had he hidden it?
I remembered the first night we went to his hooch, how Slicky Girl Nam had punched him around for forgetting to change the charcoal and keep the ondol floor warm. Now I knew why he forgot. He'd been with Ragyapa, slicing off Mi-ja's ear.
And later, at the Beik Hua Yoguan, even when we had a hot tip concerning Lady Ahn's whereabouts, Herman was more concerned about getting back to the hooch and changing the charcoal.
At the time, I thought it was because he was frightened of Slicky Girl Nam's wrath. Now I had a different theory. He didn't have the skull then but maybe he had other things to hide.
Ernie slapped his hand on the steering wheel. "The son of a bitch hid the skull beneath the charcoal!"
"That could be it," I said, "that could be where he kept his stash. And maybe that's why he didn't want Nam—or anybody else—to change the charcoal."
"And when Slicky Girl Nam searched her own hooch for the skull," Ernie said, "she was so used to having a hot floor that she didn't think about the charcoal stove beneath the floor."
"Right. And all the time we were chasing Herman, the skull was sitting there keeping warm."
"And when he left the Virtuous Dragon Dumpling House, he was heading back to Slicky Girl Nam's hooch to pick it up."
"That's what I figure."
"So we'll have to find out."
"That we will."
THAT NIGHT, ERNIE AND I HIKED FROM THE COMPOUND TO Itaewon and climbed the fence around Slicky Girl Nam's hooch. We slipped through the darkness to the opening that held the charcoal. When I pulled up the metal lid, a red glow sparkled.
We had to be quiet because the ajjima, the old neighbor lady who lived next to Slicky Girl Nam, had taken it upon herself to guard the hooch.
Ernie found the metal pan and the long steel tongs that were used to change the charcoal. I stuck the straight tongs into the perforations of the burning charcoal briquette. When I had a good hold, I pulled it out. Ernie slid the pan under it. I dropped it in, and plucked out the second briquette.
We shone the beam of our flashlight into the steaming cement hole.
"There it is," I said.
At the bottom of the hole was another cement disk. On it was a flat hook. I examined the tongs. The handle had been hammered and bent slightly. It looked like just wear and tear, but I figured Herman had fashioned the tool precisely. I turned the tongs around and stuck them into the hole, handle first.
The bent handle fit perfectly into the metal hook of the disc. I lifted it out. Solid. About four inches thick. Below it was another disc. This one made of metal. I started to lift it out. It was heavier than I expected.
With a scraping sound, a rusty metal cylinder slid out of the bottom of the concrete stove. I set it on the ground. Ernie tapped the lid, and licked his fingers.
"Not hot," he said.
The bottom of the cylinder was even cooler.
"Must've cost Herman a fortune to have this made," Ernie said.
I nodded.
A rock fell off the stone wall behind us.
Ernie wheeled and reached for his .45. Like big cats, three slicky boys landed in the courtyard.
I didn't give myself a chance to think but charged them head on, swinging the metal tongs in front of me. The first slicky boy ducked. I lost my balance and slammed into the wall.
The slicky boys slipped clubs out of their belts and closed in on me. A chink of stone exploded into dust when Ernie fired the .45.
"Don't move, assholes!" he yelled.
Lights clicked on throughout the neighborhood. I grabbed the metal cylinder, stuck it under my arm, and Ernie and I backed out of the courtyard.
Once we were in the alley, we started to run.
We scurried through the maze of Itaewon's alleys and made good our escape into the traffic of the Main Supply Route.
The cab driver was too frightened to ask about the rusty cylinder cradled in my lap.
IN ERNIE'S ROOM BACK AT THE BARRACKS, WE HAD TIME TO examine the contents of the metal cylinder. Wrapped in asbestos was the jade skull of Kublai Khan. Also a wad of Korean and American money and an American passport. Herman's face frowned out of the passport, but the name under the face was phony.
Emie counted out the money and handed me half. "Beats Army Emergency Relief," he said.
I touched the skull with my fingertip.
"No way," Ernie said.
"No way what?"
"No way are you going to use that thing to get Lady Ahn back."
"And what makes you think I won't?"
"Because I won't let you."
"Bullshit."
Ernie shoved my shoulder. "That's right. I won't let you make a fool of yourself."
He was starting to annoy me. "I'll do any goddamn thing I want to do."
"No. You won't."
The tap on the side of my head stunned me. When my mind cleared, I realized it was a punch. The best Ernie had. He held both fists up, bouncing on his toes.
"Come on, goddamn it! Come on!"
I stepped toward him, more surprised than angry. "You'd punch me? Just to keep the jade skull?"
"Not to keep the jade skull," Ernie answered. "But to keep you from chasing after a woman who intends to use you. And then toss you aside."
"You're full of shit."
"Not me. You're the one who's full of shit, Sueño."
I took another step toward him. Ernie snapped out a jab, but it wasn't strong enough to slow me down. I had three inches and twenty-five pounds on him. He landed a couple of punches. I threw him back up against the wall and cocked my right hand.
He was open. I could have pulverized his jaw, but I didn't do it. He was like family to me. The only family I had.
Slowly, I dropped my fist.
Ernie smacked me again. "Go ahead, goddamn it! Fight! You want to throw your life away on some broad who doesn't give a fuck about you? Then fight!"
I stood with my hands at my sides, glaring at him, expecting him to punch me again. He did.
This time my jab shot out with a life of its own. And another and another. Emie staggered back under the onslaught. My right caught him below the eye and I felt flesh and cartilage and bone beneath my knuckles.
I didn't like the feeling. It was like beating up your little brother.
Ernie was dazed, his eyes glassy. Still, he kept bouncing on his feet, holding his fists up. I didn't want to hit him anymore. I hadn't wanted to hit him in the first place.
I turned and walked out of the room. He didn't follow.
It was raining again. I didn't think about where I was going, but my feet moved with a will of their own. In a few minutes I looked up in surprise. I stood surrounded by the flashing neon of Itaewon.
I entered the first nightclub I saw and reached across the bar for the nearest bottle.
WHEN I WOKE UP, I WAS IN MY BUNK BACK AT THE BARRACKS. How I got there, I didn't remember. It was still dark. I wanted to vomit, but figured I'd better take a leak first.
I slipped on my show
er shoes, opened the door to my room, and slapped my way down the hall.
Spec 4 Jorgenson, the CQ, Charge of Quarters, slouched in a big chair in front of the entrance to the barracks. His khaki uniform was as wrinkled as if he'd slept in it all night. Which he had. He roused as I approached.
"Sueño," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Did your partner ever find you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Bascom left for Itaewon after you did. Said he was going to look for you."
I rubbed my head. "I don't know if he found me or not."
"Tied one on, eh?"
"Yeah."
"So anyway some chick came looking for him."
"What chick?"
"You know. The little one. With the real short hair."
Choi So-lan, the ex-nun. Her hair had started to grow out and she'd stopped wearing her cap.
"I hope it was all right," Jorgenson said. "I let her in his room."
"You did?"
"Sure. I'd seen her here with him before. You know, spending the night. I figured he wouldn't mind. And she was crying and all. I didn't want her sitting out here in the hallway bawling."
I grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him to his feet. "Gimme the key!"
"Sure. Sure. It's on the ring here."
He rattled a loop lined with about fifty keys.
I snatched it out of his hands and ran for Ernie's room. In the dark I was fumbling with the keys, trying each one. Jorgenson approached with his flashlight.
"Here. Let me do that."
He found the right key and opened the door. I switched on the light.
Ernie wasn't in his bunk. The blankets hadn't been mussed. Still out in Itaewon, I figured.
It was the wall locker I was worried about. Ernie had an extra bolt on it and a double padlock, always bragging that it was burglar-proof.
The padlocks hadn't been moved.
But the hinges lay on the floor in pieces. Someone had patiently scraped off the thick layers of olive-drab paint and unscrewed the hinges and pried them off. The door of the locker was slightly ajar.
"Shit," Jorgenson said. "I didn't know she was a slicky girl. I thought she was his girlfriend."
"Did you see her leave?"
"No. She must've slipped out the side door."
A drop of rain splatted on my leg. The window was open, the screen set on the floor below it.
I peered into Ernie's locker. Jorgenson shone the flashlight in. Propped up on a set of folded fatigues was Herman's phony American passport and the wad of Korean and U.S. bills. I counted them. They hadn't been touched.
But the jade skull was gone.
Jorgenson reached in and lifted out a felt purse. "What's this?"
I snatched it out of his hands and examined it. I saw the neatly embroidered Korean lettering: Choi So-lan.
I pulled back the strings of the purse, opened it, and turned it upside down. Out fluttered two handfuls of freshly shorn black hair.
"Looks like somebody cut their hair," Jorgenson said.
I nodded.
"Not that chick who was looking for Ernie?" Jorgenson asked. "If she cut off this much hair, she must be bald by now."
I nodded again, thinking of Choi So-lan. Of Lady Ahn. Of Mi-ja. Of Kublai Khan's jade skull. "I think you're right, Jorgenson. She's bald all right. As bald as a Bride of Buddha."
About the Author
MARTIN LIMÓN grew up in Los Angeles county, just fifteen miles south of City Hall. He retired from military service after twenty years in the U.S. Army, including ten years in Korea, and now lives with his wife and children in the Seattle area. His first novel, fade Lady Burning, was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year. He is also the author of Slicky Boys, which has been optioned by Paramount.