G. I. Bones

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Cloth streamers hung from the front door of the fortune teller’s hooch; bright red, yellow, and green. Tiny bells tied to the streamers tinkled in the late afternoon breeze. Doctor Yong In-ja, chief of the Itaewon branch of the Yongsan District Public Health Service, pulled three sticks of incense out of her pocket, struck a single wooden match against a dirty brick wall, and lit all three. She handed one to me, one to the young business girl I knew only as Miss Kwon, and kept the last for herself. Pungent smoke assaulted my nostrils. Turning, Doc Yong pushed open the small wooden door in the front wall and crouched through into the fortune teller’s courtyard.

My name is George Sueno. I’m an agent for the Criminal Investigation Division of the 8th United States Army in Seoul, Republic of Korea. Normally, I don’t seek consultations with fortune tellers. But when Doc Yong asked me to accompany her and the traumatized Miss Kwon to see the woman whom she referred to as “the most famous chom-cheingi in Seoul,” I didn’t refuse.

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