Slicky Boys by Martin Limon Read Free Book Online Page A

Club.
    I tried not to think of the tears in the eyes of the woman and the little boy, but instead concentrated on the wounds of Cecil Whitcomb.
    The U.N. Club didn’t smell nearly as antiseptic as the Kayagum Teahouse. In fact it smelled like a toilet, which is exactly what it was. The aroma of ancient cigarette smoke seemed to seep from the walls even though the cement floors were swabbed with suds. Rotted lemon, stale booze, the reek of the urinals, all of it coalesced to create a blast to the nostrils that I’d never noticed before.
    Of course, every other time I’d been in here I’d been drunk. When your belly’s full of beer, the place smells like a field of roses.
    An emaciated waitress in a blue smock shuffled toward us.
    “You too early,” she said. “We no open until ten.”
    “We’re not here for a drink,” I said. “Where’s Eun-hi?”
    Emie sauntered over to the bar. The waitress’s tired eyes followed him. She turned back to me.
    “Eun-hi?”
    “Shit.” The tears at the teahouse had made me impatient. I pulled out my identification and shoved it in front of her face. “Where’s your VD card?”
    All women who work in Itaewon bars are required by the government to have monthly medical checkups for venereal disease.
    The girl stepped back and for the first time her face showed a trace of doubt. “Who are you?”
    “CID. If you don’t show me your VD card, I’ll turn you over to the Korean National Police.”
    “I don’t need a VD card,” she said. “I’m a waitress.”
    “Bullshit! Every woman who works here needs a VD card.”
    A sullen-faced Korean man emerged from the back and stood behind the bar. I recognized him. He was Lee, the guy who poured our double shots of brandy. I walked over to him, hands outstretched.
    “She doesn’t have a VD card, Lee. Am I going to have to take her in?”
    Ernie had plopped atop a bar stool as if he were about to order a wet one.
    “No sweat,” Lee said. “She newbie. Most tick we get her VD card.”
    “Better be most rickety tick,” I said. “Let me see your VD card register.”
    Lee smirked, used to GI’s trying to throw their weight around, figuring he’d smooth over the whole thing with a free round of drinks.
    Ernie lounged against the bar, scanning the room, keeping alert for trouble.
    Lee plopped the big leather-bound ledger on the bar. The pages were of thick construction paper. Stapled to each page were black-and-white photographs of the girls who worked here. Next to each picture, handwritten in a neat Korean script, was the name and address, date of birth, home of origin, and Korean National Identity card number. Korea is a highly organized society. Even for bar girls.
    Lee stared at me with heavily lidded eyes, trying to pretend that he was extremely bored. “Why you fucking with me, Geogie?”
    Ernie shot him a warning look. Lee ignored it. Some of these bar owners in Itaewon were hard-ass little brutes. I’d seen them jump into brawls with GI’s twice their size, get knocked down, and bounce back up and slug somebody else. We weren’t going to intimidate Lee. He had gone along so far only because he didn’t want us to actually sic the Korean National Police on him. That would cost him money.
    I thumbed through the ledger but didn’t find it right away.
    “Where’s Eun-hi?” I said.
    His face didn’t move much but a veneer of knowing condescension passed over it, like a shadow crossing the moon, then disappeared. He thought I was just another horny GI trying to hit on Eun-hi. He wasn’t far from wrong so I didn’t bother to set him straight.
    He riffled through the ledger, found the proper entry, and shoved it toward me.
    “Here,” he said.
    Ernie leaned forward and looked at the photo with me. It wasn’t very flattering. Eun-hi’s face looked puffed and plain, not at all like the knockout we saw parading around the U.N. Club every night. I breathed deeply, wincing once again at the foul stench of the U.N. Club.