Herbalist So seemed to read her thoughts, and was impatient with them. He used a less formal level of Korean. "You've come to me for a reason, Mother of Mi-ja. State it."
Slicky Girl Nam bowed once again. "I seek revenge," she said.
"Against whom?"
"Against my husband."
Only a slight rustling of cotton betrayed Herbalist So's shift on the hard wooden bench. He stared at her with dark eyes gleaming from a face as weathered as his earthen pots.
"A dispute between a husband and a wife," he said. "This is a very difficult thing."
"My husband, Herman the German, murdered my daughter. He killed my Mi-ja. All for greed. Because he lusted for possession of an ancient antique." Slicky Girl Nam straightened her back and stared directly into Herbalist So's eyes.
"You owe me," she said. "For years of service. First, for being your father's consort. And after he died, I became a streetwalker for the big-nosed GIs." She waved her arm. "Thousands of them! And when I was too old for even them, I took a job as a trash truck driver on the American compound and told you of the location of all the valuable commodities." She jabbed her thumb into her chest. "But did I ask anything for myself? No. You became rich, rich beyond imagining, and I received only a common wage."
Herbalist So's eyelids lowered. "You are forgetful, Mother of Mi-ja. Did we not forge a new set of documents for you to use in your marriage application? So your new husband wouldn't know you'd been a prostitute. So he wouldn't know how many times you'd contracted venereal disease. Or how many times you'd had abortions. Or how many times you'd been arrested for petty thievery." The craggy lines of Herbalist So's face set into hard ridges. "Don't tell me that we've done nothing for you!"
Slicky Girl Nam realized she'd gone too far. She lowered her face toward the floor. After a few moments, she spoke in a softer voice.
"You are correct, Good Herbalist. You have been good to me. Without you, I never would have found a husband. No Korean man would take me. But Americans are more easily fooled."
When Herbalist So didn't answer, Slicky Girl Nam knew that he'd been mollified by her groveling attitude. Still, she'd made her point. The slicky boy operation owed her for her years of hard work. Now was the time to ask for what she was due.
"I want to kill my husband," she said.
Herbalist So placed his large hands on his knees, rose from the bench, and strolled over to his simmering pots. He puttered with them for a moment, adding twigs to the fires, checking the tightness of the cheesecloth coverings. When he was finished, he returned to the bench. Slicky Girl Nam still knelt on the floor, her head bowed.
"It is always uncomfortable," Herbalist So said, "to kill an American. After all, we rely on them to provide us with the goods that are the lifeblood of our operation. A certain percentage of supplies and equipment pilfered is something they can tolerate. But to murder one of their own, this is something we always try to avoid."
Slicky Girl Nam looked up. "But you've allowed it before."
Herbalist So's face froze. He didn't answer. The exotic brews in his pots bubbled and occasionally boiled over. Flame sizzled.
"All you would have to do," Slicky Girl Nam continued, "is to find him for me. And when you capture my husband, I will be the one who kills him." She raised her gnarled fists into the wavering light. "With these hands!"
Herbalist So breathed out very slowly. "There is the matter of expense," he said.
Slicky Girl Nam lowered her head once again. "I cannot pay. My husband holds all the money. I have nothing."
"Of course," Herbalist So said. "You are but a helpless woman. Totally under the control of a strong husband."
There was mockery in his voice. They both knew that Slicky Girl Nam was only trying to drive a hard bargain.
Slicky Girl Nam knew what price she had to pay. It was huge, but what choice did she have? The jade skull must have tremendous value or all these men wouldn't be fighting for it so desperately. But for the moment-and maybe for the first time in her life-Slicky Girl Nam couldn't think of money. All she could think of was the tortured body of her adopted daughter, Mi-ja.
When Slicky Girl Nam finally spoke, she spoke very softly. "My husband has stolen an antique. It is very old and very valuable. For some reason, Buddhists from as far away as Mongolia are after it."
Herbalist So raised his bushy eyebrows. "What type of antique?"
"It is a jade skull."
One of the pots boiled over. Herbalist So rushed to the stone stove and snagged burning twigs. The flames lowered. He quickly returned to the wooden bench.
"The skull is yours," Slicky Girl Nam said, "as a gift, if you help me find my GI husband."
Framed by the ghostly shadows, a smile crossed Herbalist So's lips. He clamped his hands on his knees.
"So it will be," he said.
Slicky Girl Nam lowered her head three more times to the floor and backed out of the chamber.
32
Panting and swearing, we dragged Herman up to the roof of the 7 Club. All the way, he kept swiveling his head, searching for the slicky boys, convinced they were about to pounce.
Actually, he was safe with us. I knew Herbalist So, the King of the Slicky Boys, and I also knew that So wouldn't get rough with Eighth Army CID agents except as a last resort. The slicky boys were patient enough to wait until they found Herman alone.
Why were they after him? That seemed clear. Slicky Girl Nam, one of their own, had decided to take her revenge on her husband, Herman the German, for the death of her adopted daughter, Mi-ja.
The rain was coming down hard now but the red tile roof of the fake pagoda atop the 7 Club protected us from its fury. We sat Herman down on a bench. I snatched the leather bag from his grasp and propped it in a corner.
Herman looked up at us, confused as to why we were so angry. Ernie didn't say anything and before I could stop him, he crashed a right cross into Herman's face.
Herman cried out. Blood spurted from above his eye. Ernie punched him again.
"You son of a bitch! Your own daughter! I oughta kill you!"
I grabbed Ernie, held him. Herman didn't try to fight back, he just reached for his eye.
"Easy, Ernie. Easy."
Ernie stared glassily at Herman. I'd seen him like this before. Ernie was about to go berserk. Only one way to stop it.
'Take deep breaths," I told him. "With your nose. Concentrate on loosening the muscles of your neck. Let them relax. That's it. Now your arms. Okay, better." I slapped him on the cheek and peered into his eyes. 'You okay now?"
Ernie spoke through gritted teeth. "Get that guy talking and get him talking quick."
I turned back to Herman. "You heard the man. Spill it, Herman. Everything."
"Fuck you guys."
Ernie exploded. He punched Herman and punched him again. I'd stop him for a second but then he'd wriggle free and lay another roundhouse on Herman's skull. Through it all Herman remained sitting, only occasionally covering his head. A reflex action. Other than that, he made no attempt to defend himself.
Finally, his knuckles raw, Ernie stopped punching and started reading Herman off. "You let them cut off your own daughter's ear! Then her finger. Kept her away from her mother for days. And then you let them stuff straw down her throat. Can you imagine dying like that? You're a dog, Herman. A fucking dogl"
Ernie's shouts became hoarse. The monsoon rain poured down. Nobody downstairs could hear us, no one down in the street, no one in the buildings surrounding us.
When it seemed that Ernie's explosion was over, I spoke again to Herman.
"You ready now, First Sergeant, Retired? You ready to tell us what the fuck really happened?"
Slowly, Herman nodded his head. Droplets of blood splattered to the wet cement floor. "I'm ready," he said.