Slicky Boys by Martin Limon Read Free Book Online

was tied in a red bandana, and a thick wool dress flowed to the floor. She was dressed for warmth at this time of day, not to impress guests.
    Her eyes widened and her full lips formed a circle.
    “Igot muoya?” What’s this?
    I opened the last drawer. Spoons, ashtrays, cubes of black market sugar. Everything the well-equipped teahouse would need. I looked at the woman, raised my finger, and walked toward her.
    “Two nights ago,” I said, “we were here and met a young Korean woman at that table.” I pointed to the far wall. “I want you to tell me everything you know about her.”
    She stared at me, stunned. Maybe by my brazen attitude. Maybe by my rapid-fire Korean. Maybe both. She found her voice.
    “I know nothing about her.”
    “But you do remember her?”
    “Yes. I was shocked to see such an attractive young woman talking to GI’s.”
    “She was too high-class for us?”
    “Yes.”
    I didn’t take offense. Koreans categorize people by wealth and social position as casually as bird watchers classify red-breasted warblers by genus and species. They don’t mean anything by it. Just the facts of life.
    “What was her name?” I asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “But she comes in here often?”
    “No. I’ve never seen her before.”
    “But there’s someone else who comes in here often who she knows, who she talked to?”
    “No. She came in here alone, said nothing to anyone until she talked to you. After you left, she paid the bill and left without saying anything. Who are you anyway? You’re the ones who know her. Not me.”
    “It doesn’t matter who we are,” I said. I took a step toward her, pinched my nose with my left hand, then let it go. “You are lying. Tell me how I can find that woman or my friend will get very angry.”
    Ernie had been watching me closely and spotted the signal. He took three rapid steps across the room, and as he did so the boy shrank back toward one of the booths. The woman swiveled her head. Without hesitating, Ernie leaned over, hoisted the mop bucket, and flung it twirling end over end through the air until it smashed into the stacks of porcelain cups at the end of the counter.
    The woman and boy flinched and covered their faces.
    “Who was she?” I asked the woman. “Tell me now or there will be more damage.”
    Ernie grabbed the mop and started smashing the handle into the glass candle-holders on each table.
    “Stop!” she screamed. “Tell him to stop.”
    I grabbed her shoulders. “Who was that woman?”
    She was crying now, in fear and anger.
    “She came in here before, right?” I said. “She was friends with a woman named Eun-hi who works at the U.N. Club. Isn’t that right? Tell me! Who was she?”
    “I don’t know. I only saw her that one time. She never said anything to me.”
    The boy scurried away from Ernie, ran toward his aunt, and flung himself into her arms. They hugged, rocking back and forth, tears streaming from their eyes. Crystal and chairs and ashtrays continued to clatter to the floor. I looked at the woman and her nephew, feeling sorry for them. They didn’t know anything about Miss Ku and they didn’t deserve this type of treatment.
    I felt ashamed of myself. I wanted to say I was sorry but fought back the urge. I turned.
    “Ernie!”
    He smashed one more tray of glasses, lowered the mop handle, and looked up. I stepped toward him and twisted my head toward the door. He held the mop handle out, gazed at it as if disappointed, then tossed it to the floor.
    When I hit the door he was right behind me, huffing and puffing, excited by the violence.
    “What’d she say? She knows where we can find that broad, right?”
    “Wrong.” I kept walking. “She doesn’t know squat.”
    Ernie’s face soured. He straightened his coat and, like ice quick-freezing on a lake, regained his usual composure.
    “Oh, well,” he said. “Some of that glassware was due for replacement anyway.”
    We kept walking. Up the hill. Toward the U.N.