Mr. Kill Read Online Free

before you use your monthly ration buying stuff for your yobo ?”
    “It wasn’t for my yobo,” Riley replied. Riley had a thing for older women, and some of the Korean gals he hung around with were verging on the geriatric.
    Ernie returned with an empty mug and clunked it down on the edge of Riley’s desk. “So, if it wasn’t for a yobo, what have you been using all your ration on?”
    “Information,” Riley said. “I’ve been trading coffee to get information to help jerks like you.”
    “Jerks like me,” Ernie replied, “don’t need to trade coffee for information. We get it the old-fashioned way.” Ernie reached into his pocket, slipped on his brass knuckles, and jabbed a short uppercut into the air.
    “Okay, Bascom,” Riley said. “I’m impressed. Now convince your partner here to read that report I just handed to him. You two better get it in gear before the Provost Marshal develops a case of the big ass and takes a bite out of your respective butts.”
    I grabbed the report again and, after reading a few sentences, I began to understand why it had received such a high priority. It involved round-eyes. A whole bevy of them. A USO-sponsored all-female band known as the Country Western All Stars, lovely ladies who’d flown over from the States to grace us lonely 8th Army G.I.s with their presence. The United Service Organization had been around since at least World War II. Bob Hope made it famous with his star-studded appearances on battlefields all over the world, and the organization, in numerous smaller venues, was still going strong. When it comes to an all-female country-western show and review—direct from Austin, Texas—the brass can’t do enough for them, and every broken fingernail shows up on the Chief of Staff’s morning blotter report.
    According to the band’s leader, someone had been pilfering their equipment. At Camp Kitty Hawk, a microphone went missing. At the Joint Security Area, one of the girls’ boots. Near Munsan, at Recreation Center Four, they thought they’d lost an electric guitar but found it behind a Quonset hut. Apparently, whoever lifted the instrument had dumped it after realizing that he wouldn’t be able to make a clean getaway.
    I handed the report to Ernie. He groaned.
    “Babysitting,” he said.
    “Babysitting, my ass,” Riley replied. He pointed at the report. “If you’d read the damn thing you’d see that this detail is going to involve a lot more than babysitting. There’s not only been theft of equipment but also threats made against the command. If you don’t get a handle on this case fast, you’re going to be up kimchee creek without a paddle.”
    “Threats?” I asked.
    “This band leader,” Riley said, “one female civilian known as Marnie Orville, has declared that if she isn’t assigned a full-time detective, and assigned one today, she’s going to refuse to go on.”
    “She won’t perform?”
    “You got it. So Eighth Army isn’t taking any chances. They’re assigning two investigators to the case. Namely, Agent George Sueño and Agent Ernie Bascom.”
    “When’s their next appearance?” I asked.
    “Tonight. Nineteen hundred hours. At the DivArty O Club.”
    The Officers’ Club of the 2nd Infantry Division Artillery headquarters, at Camp Stanley in Uijongbu.
    “The Provost Marshal wants you there,” Riley continued. “Standing tall and kissing some serious round-eyed butt.”
    I tossed the report on Riley’s desk.
    Ernie wandered over toward Miss Kim, who kept her eyes glued to a sheaf of paperwork and increased her typing speed to a furious rate. Ernie stood in front of her for a few seconds. They’d dated once. Until, that is, Miss Kim discovered that Ernie was involved with other romances. Ernie couldn’t understand why she’d taken it so hard. When Miss Kim still didn’t look up, Ernie finally shrugged and walked back across the room.
    As I rose from my seat, I told Riley not to worry. We’d take care of this