“Thuoc la.”
The woman picked up two packs of cigarettes.
“Moi . . .”
“Toi muon mua mot cai thuoc la.”
The woman held out a single pack, then gave him fifty piasters in change. He heard someone haggling to one side, and noticed it was a Korean technician trying to sell two cartons of cigarettes. Maybe he needed some cash for an outing. But when he turned to watch, he found there were several of them. Someone was selling American whisky. Yong Kyu walked over to the man who was counting his money from the whisky sale and stood quietly behind him. The man looked back, hesitated for a second, then spoke in Vietnamese.
“Xin loi . . . “
“What do you think you’re doing,” Yong Kyu said in Korean.
“So, you’re a kimchi eater like me. What are you selling?”
“I’m a soldier. I’m staying over at the Grand Hotel.”
The man immediately understood. Any senior technician would have had some idea of what kind of person stayed at the Grand Hotel, like men working in the company offices of Philco or Vinelli.
“Heh, heh, this is just, you know, lunch money. Why, you gonna arrest me?”
“Don’t joke. You can find plenty of places in the back alleys, but here on a main street in broad daylight . . . ?”
“You got a point there. This is only fly shit when some bitch is out gobbling up rations by the truckload.”
The man started to slide slowly away, but Yong Kyu followed him.
“Excuse me, where do you work?”
“At Philco.”
“I mean, where is your work site?”
“MAC 36.” It was a navy cargo handling area located out on the far end of the Monkey Mountain. “Not a bad idea to gobble up a destroyer, what do you say?” joked Yong Kyu.
“If they could manage to drag it on shore and hide it somewhere, the Vietnamese could definitely manage the sale.”
“So who’s that bitch you mentioned?”
The technician realized he had made a mistake. “Well . . . bitch or bastard, what’s it matter? The bitches and bastards swarming around Da Nang are all foreigners, right?”
“Have fun.”
Yong Kyu headed away from Doc Lap Boulevard. Since it was morning, the headquarters office on Puohung was bustling with agents. After knocking at the door, he heard the voice of Miss Hoa, asking in awkward Korean for him to come in:
“T’ro osipsio.”
When Yong Kyu entered the room, the captain raised his eyes from the documents he had been reading and for a second fastened a piercing glare upon him.
“Did you call for me, sir?”
“Mmmhmm, take a seat over there.”
Yong Kyu sat down across from the captain.
“Where’s your duty station these days?”
The captain’s eyes were back upon the papers.
“I’m out at the division PX, sir.”
“That should give you a thorough grasp of the PX system.”
Pointer paused briefly before adding, “What’s the team chief up to lately?”
“Mornings he gives us our duty assignments and afternoons he goes to the Dragon Palace and the Bamboo for inspection.”
“All right. But I can tell he’s not accomplishing anything. Things keep leaking out from the other side of the bridge.”
Yong Kyu sensed that it was not what the gunnery sergeant had been worried about. The other side of the bridge would be an entirely different target.
“C-rations. Combat chow, I mean. We didn’t even notice it, and now the US is asking us to investigate and supplying us with leads to boot. It was damn embarrassing.”
“Any definite proof it was Koreans?”
“Definitely not American GIs this time,” Pointer said, shaking his head. “Those kids never touch combat supply goods. There’s plenty of other things and this involves a big risk. If it’s not Americans, then it has to be our side. From Chinatown across the bridge, from Monkey Mountain, from the helicopter battalion, who knows, but the stuff seems to be leaking from some small unit supply division.”
The captain pushed the papers toward Yong Kyu.
“This is the log of our vehicles that have been passing through Da Nang city limits.”
The log had been marked up with a ballpoint pen. Yong Kyu recognized the number most frequently appearing.
“That’s a rec center vehicle, isn’t it?”
“Right, those bastards must know something about it.”
“The rec center truck makes two trips a day to the Dong Dao junction to pick up supplies for the transportation unit.”
“That’s why it’s most likely them.”
“I got some information on my way here from a Philco technician.”
Yong Kyu told the captain what the man on the street had inadvertently revealed.
“Some Korean woman must have been carrying rations in an American vehicle or a private car.”
“Lucky timing. Better hurry out into the market. After you finish this investigation, start working the marketplace. Want some boys to tag along?”
“No, thank you, sir. I’ll do it alone.”
“Look at the very last page,” said the captain in a changed tone.
Yong Kyu flipped to the final page. To his surprise, there he found a Vietnamese license number circled in red. He noted the checkpoint, Gate 3, Dong Dao. The car . . . he wondered if it was the Hong Kong Group station wagon.
“Corporal Ahn, even if it’s a civilian vehicle, I have them keep records of license numbers if there’re Koreans riding inside. I asked the American guards to start doing it last month. It’s hard to get a good grasp on the PX details.”
The captain snatched the vehicle log back from Yong Kyu’s hands.
“I’ll have to change the team chief.”
Yong Kyu stood erect, looking straight at the captain.
“A woman? A Korean woman?” the captain murmured, tapping the table with his pen. Then he removed a sheet of paper from one of his drawers. “This is the last of the civilians in Da Nang. Take a good look. Those marked in red are the ones without jobs.”
“Could be some who overstayed their visas.”
“Certainly. Some have even lost their nationality.”
“What’s that?” asked Yong Kyu, pointing to some odd foreign names among those on the list.
“They’re the entertainers. But these are only the ones we could keep track of up to the end of last year. The ones who come in knowing how the embassy works usually keep their departure dates, but others are stranded here and hook up with the Filipinos or the Thais or the Japanese; they’re hard to get hold of.”
“Sunny Lee, Susan Pak, Korean Honey . . . there’s no detailed personal information at all.”
“They move all over Vietnam to different bases, barely scratch out a living by dancing or stripping or being magicians’ helpers. Not to mention the prostitution . . . anyway, some of that sort might be around in Da Nang, you never know. Go to a few places and check them out. The rec center, China Beach, Army Stage Productions, and the Troop Information and Education Center at headquarters, well, that should keep you busy for now.”
As he was leaving the office Yong Kyu hesitated for a moment, then said, “Can you give me a car? I don’t have a driver.”
“Huh? Still don’t know how to drive?”
Turning to Miss Hoa, the captain said, “Call the Dragon Palace and have the team chief come in, and tell Toi to come see me, too.”
First to arrive was Toi, a Vietnamese informant the captain employed. Yong Kyu had never met him before but had heard him mentioned by the sergeant. He was middle-aged, said to have been discharged from the ARVN Quartermaster Corps. He walked into the office in a white shirt and black pants. His eyes were hidden behind mercury-mirrored su
nglasses and his gold teeth sparkled through his permanent grin.
“Hullo.”
“Let me introduce you. This is Corporal Ahn, one of our staff.”
“Hello, I know you well.”
“Know me well?” said Yong Kyu, shaking his extended hand. Instead of explaining, Toi looked at the captain and smiled.
The captain said to Yong Kyu, “From now on he’ll be your guide in the market. He’ll be a big help to you in this case.”
The captain looked straight into Yong Kyu’s eyes as he calmly added, “Toi knows all about the beer business; the team chief is starting with the Hong Kong Group.”
Yong Kyu spun quickly for another look at Toi. Now that he thought of it, the face was not altogether unfamiliar. Suddenly an image flitted through his mind of a pair of mirrored sunglasses sitting beside the Chinese woman they called “Chui” at a corner table in the Bamboo Club.
“There’s a lot of work to do and he needs your help.”
“What is it?”
“C-rations.”
“They were pouring out for a solid week but then the flow suddenly stopped three days ago.”
Toi sat casually on the captain’s desk as they went on talking. Such informality would seem insolent if the two weren’t good friends, Yong Kyu thought.
“It’ll be pouring out again.”
“My guess is they stockpiled it in a house somewhere and are releasing it into the market a little at a time.”
“You heard, didn’t you?” the captain said to Yong Kyu. “Now that they’ve had a taste of it, they’ll try to lift another truckload before long. We’ve got to nail them before the Americans do.”
Yong Kyu and Toi left the office. Toi had his old Land Rover parked outside.
“Where to?”
“You know the recreation center?”
“Sure. And I know Sergeant Yun very well, too.”
Yong Kyu said nothing. He didn’t believe it. Toi must have sensed Yong Kyu’s suspicion, because he also remained silent and just clenched the wheel. They went across the bridge, passed by the navy PX and, crossing through the helicopter base, sped on toward the seashore. The asphalt cut a perfectly straight line through the sand, rows of palm trees on either side.
The American recreation center stood in the middle of a clump of big trees. In the distance they could see a collection of shabby tents and huts made of plywood and sheet metal. Several sailboats were neatly lined up on the beach along with surfboards and dinghies. The rec center seemed quiet. They passed by an open-air theater and continued driving down the sandy beach.
They pulled up in front of a large tent, and an army band member lying inside poked his head out. The band members’ hair was long and they were wearing bathing suits and Hawaiian shirts. It looked as though they had just polished off lunch as most of them were taking naps. Yong Kyu remembered how repulsed he was to see these cicadas from the band corps on the battlefield. Watching them rocking their heads and playing instruments, one of the grunts in the platoon had muttered he wouldn’t mind mowing them all down with his machine gun.
“Where’s the senior non-com?”
At Yong Kyu’s question, the band member rubbed his cheek with the cold soda can he was holding, like a businessman on vacation. His oiled and well-roasted back was glistening.
“The sarge has gone to the PX, but he’ll be back for lunch.”
“I’ll be with Gunnery Sergeant Yun over there, so when you see him, tell him to hurry over.”
As Yong Kyu turned around to head off with Toi toward a nearby hut, the guy asked from behind, “What contractor you with?”
Yong Kyu turned back around.
“We need to know what company you’re with so we’ll know where to go to play.”
The man had made a mistake. At once Yong Kyu grasped what he had meant and went with it.
“We’re with the Vinelli Company. Can you come this Saturday from around seven to nine o’clock?”
“That’s a conflict. At seven on Saturday we’re already booked at Monkey Mountain. Why not move it up to Friday?”
“I’ve got to see the gunnery sergeant, anyway.”
Yong Kyu felt like he already had them trapped. He looked back at Toi. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”
“It’s kind of hot.”
“There’s a breeze.”
“Okay.” Toi grinned.
Yong Kyu went on by himself to the hut. An office desk coated with dust and some chairs were strewn about in disorder amid piles of assorted equipment, including slot machines and other games. Since relocating from Chu Lai they still had not set up the game room. On the far side of the hut the gunnery sergeant was playing paduk with a private. There was a cool breeze from the ocean.
“My, my, what brought a high and mighty man like you all the way out here? Haven’t laid eyes on you for ages.”
Sergeant Yun set down his discs and got to his feet.
“Hey, how ‘bout bringing something cold to drink? Care for a beer? Or maybe cognac?”
Yong Kyu walked over and stood by the window. “I can’t drink, I’m on duty . . . and I’ve got something to talk about.”
“To hell with duty, let’s have a drink.”
“Who’s going over to the Dong Dao junction these days?”
“Why . . ?”
They both feigned a blank stare.
“I am,” the private said.
Yong Kyu lit his cigarette.
“How many cases have you run for?”
“What’s this all about, huh?” Sergeant Yun said, pounding the table. “If you start stabbing without rhyme or reason, the weaklings will all spill their guts. What is it, why are you doing this? Ask me, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“We hear C-rations are leaking out from here.”
With a look of dismayed astonishment, the sergeant blurted out a “Phew!” and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You drive me up the wall. Look, Corporal Ahn, any bastard laying hands on C-rations is a damned fool. The risk is big and the profit small. Besides, we can’t do that kind of thing.”
“Have any idea where the leak is?”
“Well . . .”
The sergeant and private exchanged glances. Yong Kyu calmly said, “Bring in the ration inventory list and the requisitions, and let’s see the balance on hand here.”
“Why are you doing this? What do you get out of shaking us down?”
Yong Kyu waited.
“I think it’s over at Monkey Mountain,” the private haltingly mumbled.
“The navy . . . ?”
“It’s gathering there,” said Sergeant Yun, waving his hand as if in surrender, “because the administration is in a mess.”
“Must have been a few leaks from here, too?”
“And I’m sure you guys have none at all. Hey, let’s not do this to each other. All we took out were some raisins.”
“We hear there’s been a Korean woman hanging around here.”
“A woman . . . not that I know of. Quite a few Koreans been going to the supply warehouse for services, though.”
“That hole’s been sealed,” Yong Kyu said, lightly tapping the sergeant on the chest with his fist, “because everybody knows about it.”
“Exactly my point. Who in their right mind would touch combat rations, out of everything there is? That’s all I’m saying.”
“Crossing the river can be a good reason for that.”
“Of course. If you want to bite off a big chunk, you gotta use the markets across the river. For smaller quantities, the base villages around here can swallow the stuff easy enough.”
Just then the door opened and in walked a man wearing a woven hemp vest over a black shirt. His hair was styled in a slicked-back regent style and two gold bands adorned the index and middle finge
rs of his hand.
“Are you the guy looking for me?”
Yong Kyu nodded. Sergeant Yun moved swiftly. He had to identify Yong Kyu’s status immediately so that the staff sergeant from the army band detachment would speak carefully.
“Watch your mouth. Our friend here is with CID.”
His immediate unease was apparent on his face. Yong Kyu gave him no time to think.
“Do you take orders through that platoon leader? I heard you have a performance planned for seven o’clock this Saturday.”
“Ah, that’s a . . .”
“As I understand it, the army band is mobilized solely for performances arranged to enhance the morale of Korean forces to improve their readiness for battle. My question is, who is your promoter? Who gave you permission to perform at your pleasure for money?”
Sergeant Yun giggled.
“Hey, hey, Corporal Ahn, just close your eyes to the kids trying to make a little pocket change, you know. And you, Pak, just give him all the information he wants.”
The army band sergeant stood there awkwardly, combing back his hair with his fingers.
“What did you do as a civilian . . . ?”
“He’s a saxophonist,” interjected the gunnery sergeant. “You should hear him play sometime, damn good, really.”
“Were you in a show group?”
“I worked in Eighth Army. Shouldn’t have come here. The pay is shit. I’d have been better off back home.”
“You know most of the women dancers, don’t you?” Yong Kyu asked after a pause.
Before responding, the slick-haired sergeant looked over at Sergeant Yun as if to ask “What’s this all about?” and the latter murmured in a low voice, “C-rations.”
“It’s about C-rations, he said.”
“You know how many of those women are around Da Nang?” Yong Kyu asked.
“Hard to say. They may come here for a few days for a performance, then they slip off to places like Chu Lai, Tui Hoa, or Na Trang.”
“They say quite a few foreign girls who hitched up with entertainers’ troupes later got left behind on their own,” said Sergeant Yun, trying to be helpful.
“I’m sure there are some girls doing you know what and some even shacked up with GIs.”
The Shadow of Arms Page 12
