Free Mr. Kill by Martin Limon

that?”
    “They’ll want an investigation.”
    Ernie shook his head. “Colonel Brace is gonna be pissed.”
    I jabbed my fork into a small mountain of spuds. It can’t be helped, I almost said. Instead, I kept my mouth shut.
    When we returned to the Camp Colbern Enlisted Club, the place was packed with G.I.s, standing room only, and the din of their howling was so loud that a pair of NCOs at the front door were handing out artillery ear plugs. I accepted a pair and twisted them into my ears. The Country Western All Stars were a massive hit, although I doubted anyone could hear their music. Marnie was shaking every quivering bit of flesh she had, and a squad of MPs lined the front of the stage, warning enamored G.I.s off with their nightsticks.
    During one of their breaks, I walked out back behind the Enlisted Club to the area near the manager’s office that was being used as the band’s dressing room. An MP stood on duty in front of a high, painted-over window.
    “Any problems?” I asked.
    “None, other than I’m freezing my balls off.”
    “If you see anybody, give us a holler.”
    “Over that noise?”
    “Do your best.”
    I continued on around the building. Everything was secure. And it continued to be secure for the next few minutes while I stood outside enjoying the fresh air, until I heard a voice scream, “Halt!” It was the MP who’d been freezing his balls off. I ran back around the building in time to see him returning from a dark lane between Quonset huts.
    “What happened?”
    “I took a leak,” he said. “While I was back there, I heard footsteps. When I finished my business, some joker was hanging from the window ledge. He was pulling himself up so he could peek inside.”
    The window was mostly painted over with green paint, but from the edges, yellow light seeped out.
    “How long had he been hanging like that?” I asked.
    “Less than a minute. I had to piss something fierce, and when I spotted him he dropped from the window and started to run.”
    “Did you recognize him?”
    “Naw. Too dark.”
    “What was he wearing?”
    “Fatigues. What else?”
    “Then he was a G.I., not a Korean.”
    “A Korean wouldn’t do something like that—try to catch a peek, I mean. That’s G.I. stuff.”
    I didn’t disagree with him.
    Finally, he said, “You going to report me?”
    “What for? You were just taking a leak.”
    “Yeah. But I hadn’t been properly relieved.”
    I let the irony of the remark pass and told him not to worry.
    Later that evening, on the drive back to Seoul, Marnie kept pestering Ernie to the point that the other girls were embarrassed, and right up until we finally arrived at the Crown Hotel. Without waiting to help with the unloading, the two lovebirds ran upstairs to their room.
    *  *  *
    The next morning, I sat on an upholstered chair in the lobby of the J-1 building wearing my dress green uniform and fiddling with the collar of my poplin shirt. My low quarters were highly polished, my chin shaved, and my black tie looped into a double Windsor. I looked sharp, I was on time, I was sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was also ready to testify, remembering Colonel Brace’s instructions: answer the questions honestly but don’t volunteer information.
    A young lieutenant carrying a clipboard emerged from the SOFA conference room. “Where’s your partner?”
    “Haven’t seen him yet, sir,” I replied.
    The lieutenant glanced impatiently at his watch. “It’s fifteen after. He was supposed to be here at zero eight hundred hours.”
    “Probably got tied up in traffic,” I said.
    “Tied up in traffic? Doesn’t he live on the compound?”
    “Generally.”
    “‘Generally.’ What does that mean?”
    Just then, Ernie shoved his way through the door. He was wearing his dress green uniform, as we’d been instructed to do, but his tie was loose and his jacket open. His brass hadn’t been shined, much less his shoes.
    The lieutenant glared at him.