Her silk shirt swirled like whirring jade. The beautiful young woman banged away at a circle of suspended drums as if she were trying to disturb the slumber of long-dead kings. As the rhythm increased she twirled ever faster. I thought she’d go mad with dizziness.
Ernie snapped his gum beside me.
“Does she take off her clothes?”
The Nurse elbowed him.
“No, Ernie,” I said. “This is classical Korean kisaeng. The real thing. Ancient arts. These girls are dancers and musicians and poets. Not strippers.”
“So what’s the difference?”
“Jesus. There’s no talking to you.”
We stood in a carpeted hallway. Beyond us spread a ballroom dotted with linen-draped cocktail tables. Leather-upholstered booths lined the walls. A small stage shoved into a corner supported the spinning kisaeng.
The joint was in the brightly lit downtown district of Mukyo-dong. Outside, a hand-carved sign in elegant Chinese script told it all: The House of the Tiger Lady. A kisaeng house. Reserved for the rich.
“This place sucks,” Ernie said.
He despises opulence.
You’re just suspicious of any place that doesn’t have sawdust on the floors,” I said.
No one had noticed us yet. Elegant young women, wearing the traditional Korean chima-chogori-long, billowing skirts and short, loose-sleeved tunics-paraded across the room like brightly colored flowers of pink and red and sky blue, bowing and serving the men in the audience. All the customers were Korean businessmen in expensive suits. Not a foreigner in the crowd. Not even a Japanese.
The folder I had pilfered from the Shooting Star Talent Agency confirmed my suspicion that Choi Yong-ran- alias, Miss Ku-wasn’t what she’d claimed to be. She had graduated from middle school but after that, instead of her continuing on to high school, her family had enrolled her in a music training conservatory. Forget college. Despite what she’d told us in the teahouse in Itaewon, she was no more a graduate of Ewha University than I was an Ivy Leaguer with a trust fund.
After finishing up at the music conservatory, she landed a few jobs as a kisaeng and most recently the gig at the House of the Tiger Lady.
The folder didn’t tell me much about her personal life. Just the names of her parents-her father deceased- and the fact that she had been born and raised in Kyong-sang Province, outside the city of Miryang, a predominantly rural area 180 miles southeast of Seoul.
Now she was here, playing the kayagum in front of wealthy men. A long way from the rice paddies of home.
A tall woman on the other side of the ballroom caught my eye. A magnificent lavender gown embroidered with white cranes flowed down her body. She stared right at us and barked a couple of orders to two girls who also looked at us but quickly turned away. The woman, smiling and bowing to one of the customers, excused herself and made her way around the back of the crowd, heading toward us.
“We’ve been spotted,” I said.
“Good.”
The Nurse clung tighter to Ernie. Despite her protestations about not feeling self-conscious when accompanied by two foreigners, I could tell she felt out of place in Mukyo-dong. This was the most elegant district of Seoul. Here, upscale shops and lavishly dressed women and boutiques sported the latest in Paris fashions. The Nurse’s plain dress and straight hairstyle made her stand out, especially in the Tiger Lady’s kisaeng house.
I turned to Ernie. “Any of these girls look like Miss Ku?”
“Not so far.”
The young woman finished her drum solo to thunderous applause. Stage curtains closed. The serving kisaeng poured the men more scotch, and while they conversed we backed deeper into the shadows. Ernie gazed down the hallway.
“Plenty of rooms. Convenient.”
“Cost you an arm and a leg, though.”
“Hey, what’s money?”
I knew it. Once he gave the place a chance, he started to like it. Ernie was a sawdust kind of guy but if he ever inherited a million dollars, he’d develop expensive tastes fast enough.
When the woman in lavender appeared at the mouth of the hallway she spread her long red nails and looked as if she longed to scratch our eyes out.
“Weikurei?” she demanded. “What you do here?”
A little English. She hasn’t always catered to Koreans, I thought.
I pulled out my badge and flashed it in front of her face.
“I’m looking for a young woman,” I said. “Police business.”
She examined the badge and then me, trying to decide whether to listen or kick our butts out. Ernie crossed his arms, leaned forward, and peeked out at the crowd, letting her know she’d have trouble if she didn’t deal.
She looked the Nurse up and down, the beginnings of a sneer visible on her lips. The Nurse stood up straighter and held her head up. Defiant.
“You must be the Tiger Lady,” I said.
“What you want?”
“Like I said. A young lady.” I strummed on an imaginary flat surface with wriggling fingers. “She plays the kayagum.”
Before she could answer, the curtains reopened. Three women, dressed in flowing Korean dresses, sat on an elevated platform with stringed instruments in front of their crossed knees. They bowed their heads. Hair as black as raven feathers was tied back tightly by large jade pins. Behind them wavered a painted scene on a canvas backdrop of gently rolling hills, gurgling springs, and groves of blossoming plum trees. The women raised their heads and in perfect unison began to pluck the taut strings of the three flat wooden kayagum. A high-pitched wail rose from their crimson mouths.
“That’s her,” Ernie said. “The one on the left.”
We listened to the music.
“Never hit the top of the charts,” Ernie said.
I turned to the Tiger Lady and pointed to the woman on the stage. Miss Ku.
“We want to talk to her,” I said.
“She don’t do nothing bad. I watch my girls.”
“Maybe she didn’t do anything bad. We just have a few questions.”
“About what?”
“We’ll tell her.”
She thought about that for a moment.
“If not,” I said. “My crazy friend here will walk up on the stage.”
She studied Ernie. From deep in his throat, he growled at her.
“You’ve seen crazy GI’s before,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “I see before.”
She was old enough to remember the days when American GI’s were the only men in the country who had any money. She’d risen above those days; she didn’t want to go back to them.
A group of Korean businessmen strode into the far end of the ballroom. Serving girls rushed forward, bowing and smiling. One of them turned toward the Tiger Lady and motioned, palm down, for her to come over.
“Okay,” the Tiger Lady said finally. “You talk to her.” She held up a wickedly pointed finger. “But no trouble.”
I raised my open palms.
“No trouble,” I said.
She returned to her customers. We followed the hallway and turned down another and then another until we found ourselves in front of a walkway that led to the rear of the stage. Women in huge silk skirts gawked at us.
Ernie smiled and offered them some gum. They all refused. He looked perplexed but just shrugged. Generally, Koreans are friendly and open to Americans. But when your presence can piss off a wealthy clientele and threaten their livelihood, they’re a little less open. Besides, they were suspicious. What were two big-noses doing behind their stage?
When the kayagum number was finished, we allowed the first two performers to swish past us but Ernie reached out and grabbed Miss Ku and pulled her back into the wings. Her heavily lined eyes widened when she saw us.
The Nurse started to fidget. Not liking it that Ernie had a tight grip on another beautiful woman.
The stereo speakers arrayed around the ballroom launched into a stirring rendition of “Arirang,” an ancient Korean folk song of separated lovers. Two more kisaeng, one dressed like a farm boy, the other like a peasant country girl, rushed onto the stage and began twirling in an elaborate dance.
While Ernie held her, I pointed my finger into Miss Ku’s face.
“You lied to us,” I said.
Her face crinkled in rage. “I no lie,” she said. The teeth behind her rouged lips were white and perfectly shaped.
“The guy who broke your Ping-Pong heart,” I said, “Cecil Whitcomb, is dead.”
No particular remorse flashed across her face.
She tried to step back but Ernie jerked her forward. She looked up at him, turned, tried to punch him, but he caught her small fist.
The Nurse stepped forward but I grabbed her by the elbow, frowned, and shook my head. She stopped but her body remained tense.
Ernie and Miss Ku struggled for a minute, silk rustling, perfume billowing through the air. She looked desperate but relaxed when a broad smile spread over his face. They stood completely still, staring into one another’s eyes. Fear and lust. Goddamn Ernie’s an expert at both of them. His favorite emotions.
Blood started to rush up the Nurse’s neck. I put my arm around her shoulders, leaned over, and whispered, “He’s only working. Don’t be angry.”
Slowly, Miss Ku pushed herself away from Ernie, her breathing subsided, and she turned back to me, her face serious.
“I didn’t know anyone would kill him.”
“Who paid you to bring us the note?”
“A man. I don’t know name.”
“An American? A Korean? Who?”
“An American.”
“A GI?”
“I don’t know. His hair was short. He was very strong.”
“What color was his hair?”
She turned toward Ernie. “Like his.”
“His eyes?”
“Like his.”
Great. Light brown hair and blue or green eyes. That narrowed it down a lot.
“How tall was he?”
Miss Ku looked back and forth between us. “A little taller than him. Not as tall as you.”
Between six one and six four.
“Why’d you do it?”
“He paid me.”
“How much?”
“Not your business.”
Ernie grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She squealed. I wasn’t sure if it was from pain or delight.
As long as Ernie was hurting Miss Ku, the Nurse seemed to like it. A smug expression spread across her face.
“How much did the American pay you?” I asked Miss Ku again.
She grimaced in pain. “A hundred thousand won.”
Almost two hundred bucks, depending on where you exchanged your money.
“How did he know you would do it? Maybe you’d just take the money and not talk to us.”
“He was watching.”
“At the Kayagum Teahouse?”
“Outside.”
“And he paid you then?”
“Half before. Half after.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
Ernie pushed on her arm again. This time she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and bit on her lower lip. Her breathing became fast and rhythmic. She seemed to be savoring the pain.
The Nurse appeared happy, but as it dawned on her that Miss Ku was enjoying this wrestling match, she started to frown again.
A group of kisaeng gathered in the hallway nearby, murmuring and staring. Koreans don’t like seeing a couple of big Americans pushing around one of their own. I decided to hurry.
“How did you know this American?” I asked Miss Ku.
“He came in here,” she said, “with Korean friends.”
“Who were they?”
“Businessmen. With money.”
“I want their names.”
Miss Ku shoved her backside tighter up against Ernie’s crotch. He leaned into it.
“Their names,” I said.
“I don’t know their names. Only one of them. Mr. Chong, I think. He owns a print shop on Chong-no, third section.”
“What’s the name of the shop?”
“I don’t know. Something like modern, up-to-date. Something like that.”
“Had you seen the American before?”
“No. That was the first time. And the last time I saw him was when he paid me outside of the Kayagum Teahouse.”
“Why did he choose you?”
She lowered her head. “Sometimes I help Mr. Chong.”
“With what?”
“His problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Problems with his wife.” She looked up at me, defiance flashing in her eyes. “She doesn’t give him enough sex.”
“And you do?”
“I have plenty.”
The music stopped and a stagehand rushed out to change the set.
The cluster of kisaeng was growing larger. Time to finish it. I nodded to Ernie.
When he let her go, Miss Ku leaned back toward him. As he took a step away, she clutched his sleeve.
“Why you go?”
He stared at her without smiling.
She pressed her body up against his. Silk rustled against blue jeans.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
The Nurse bristled and shoved Ernie. “What you mean, you ‘be back’?”
Ernie held up his hands. “Hey. Police business. That’s all.”
She glowered at him. I knew she was contemplating punching somebody. Either Ernie or Miss Ku. The Nurse’s face flushed red in frustration and embarrassment. This was a problem that fists wouldn’t solve.
Miss Ku savored the Nurse’s discomfort.
Trouble brewing. Big trouble.
Smiling in triumph, Miss Ku released her grip on Ernie’s sleeve.
I grabbed the Nurse and grabbed Ernie and yanked them both away from the murmuring gaggle of kisaeng.
We hustled down the hallway, exited through a back door, and, once in the cold alley, plowed through frozen snow sprinkled with soot.
Bare-bulbed streetlights shone harshly on the Nurse’s face, filling the deep shadows with lines that should never have been there.
Ernie seemed lost in thought.