Her gloved hands pressed themselves against his chest and for a brief moment, nothing else mattered. She was his Beautiful Pearl once again. Yoshida’s corpse, Commander Fukuzaki, the Green Gang, all of Shanghai, vanished. Nothing else existed except them. A swift jerk dragged him back to reality. Mei-chen knocked the pistol out of his hand, sending it tumbling across the apartment. She flashed him a wide-eyed glare, like an animal ready to strike – and pushed him hard. Tom stumbled backward and lost his balance, slamming down against the cricket cage.
After a moment, Tom returned to his senses, a man waking up from a dream. Mei-chen darted out the door, the clacking sound of high heels following her. He heaved himself off the little cricket cage, now twisted and bent. Even worse, the bug was now crushed into a greasy smear. So much for bringing good luck. Tom scooped up the Browning and ran downstairs, back into the main hall. The staff was clustered around the bar, shaken and afraid. Tom’s sudden appearance brightened their forlorn faces, a man who’d returned from the grave.
“Boss, boss!” a bartender said, running up to meet him. “Thank heaven you’re alive! We just telephoned the Police and—”
“Where’s Mei-chen?” Tom snapped.
Only then did the bartender notice the Browning pistol. “She um…she um…”
“Where?” Tom snarled, his voice an angry bark.
“She just ran out. We thought you’d been killed.”
“Out of my way,” Tom said with a forceful push.
He raced out of the lobby and into the streets of Chapei, clogged with factory workers returning home. Tom searched the passing throng of blue workman coveralls for a red cheongsam, but to no avail. He plunged into the human river and let himself be carried along down the street.
Tom rounded the corner and zeroed in on Mei-chen’s red dress, like a blazing flame in the blue sea. Oddly enough, she wasn’t headed east toward Little Tokyo, but south to the Soochow Creek. She maintained a good lead, but those high heels slowed her down. Tom shoved his way through a number of slow-moving pedestrians and gained on her. Mei-chen turned with widened eyes and froze.
Lashing out a hand, Tom gripped her by the arm and squeezed hard. Yanking Mei-chen toward him, Tom drove the pistol into her side.
“Going somewhere?”
Mei-chen twisted and squirmed in vain. Her only response was a pained grunt.
“You’re coming back with me,” Tom growled in a low whisper, “and then we’ll invite the Green Gang over.”
She met his eyes and said, “Go ahead and shoot me. Now!”
Tom’s finger stiffened around the trigger, unable to move. She’d called his bluff. Even after complete betrayal, he still couldn’t kill his Beautiful Pearl. But that didn’t mean he would die for her. Tom Lai was nobody’s rube.
“We’re going back to Club Twilight,” he said, jamming the pistol deeper into her side.
Flashing her eyes from side to side, Mei-chen looked like a cornered alley cat. Although her heels were planted firmly on the sidewalk, one sharp tug dislodged her and pulled her along.
“Help!” she cried in Shanghainese. “Please help! This man is trying to kidnap me!”
The shuffling crowds on the street halted and several people scrutinized them with hostile eyes.
“Let her go!” somebody cried.
“Call the Police!”
The penetrating stares loosened Tom’s fingers, allowing Mei-chen to wriggle out of his grip. She retreated and disappeared into the mass of people, her red cheongsam swallowed by walls of blue and gray.
“No, you don’t understand,” Tom said. “She’s really—”
“He’s got a gun!” another shouted, sending a ripple of terror through the throng.
All too late, Tom holstered the pistol to placate the onlookers, but the terror was spreading. The crowd convulsed and split to and fro in panic. A shrill whistle blew through the chilly air. Tom glanced over his shoulder and saw an enormous police officer hulking toward him. In his dark blue uniform, peaked cap with white band and Kuomintang badge, he looked like a Chinese Frankenstein monster. Truncheon drawn, he parted the mass of people and headed straight for Tom.
“You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace with a firearm,” Frankenstein snarled in Shanghainese. Tom glanced at his collar rank insignia – this lumbering giant was only a sergeant.
Catching his breath, Tom wheezed out, “A Japanese spy…she’s running…please catch her.”
“Shut up!”
Sergeant Frankenstein lashed out with his truncheon, striking Tom across the head with a shattering blow. Within moments, he was on his knees and sank into a black abyss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The darkness opened up and returned Tom to consciousness. He lay on his back in a dingy bed, while a musty stench hung in the air. Ignoring a throbbing pain at back of his skull, Tom heaved himself to a sitting position and took in the room – a dank jail cell. Iron bars to the right, a ragged, emaciated cellmate to the left. The man stared back with a glazed, stupefied look. An opium addict no doubt, but was he just a vagrant or something more sinister? Thirsting for tobacco, Tom fumbled through his pockets for a Lucky Strike, but found his cigarette case was missing. Where had that damn thing gone to?
But the more pressing question was, how long had he been out? Tom glanced at his wristwatch but saw only bare skin. Sons of bitches, he thought to himself. At least the cell contained a slim, barred window where a darkened sky could be seen. It was still night but an exact time was unknown. Taking the Browning pistol was understandable, but his Rolex too? Still, what did he expect from Shanghai cops?
The city really had three police forces. The best was the Shanghai Municipal Police, in charge of the International Settlement. Run by esteemed British gentlemen, they’d fashioned it into an Oriental Scotland Yard – professional and competent, for Shanghai at least. Next was the French Concession’s Garde Municipale. Although nominally run by the French with their Annamese officers and Russian auxiliaries, Tu Yueh-seng’s henchmen had so thoroughly infiltrated the organization that it was now the Green Gang just under an alias.
Lastly was the Police Department for the Chinese section of Shanghai – the Public Security Bureau. Officially controlled by the Nationalist Government, it was made up of former warlord soldiers, brutes, sadists, and Green Gang informants. Since he had been arrested in Chapei, that’s who must have taken him. Regardless, he could now supply them with the name of the real spy – Ho Mei-chen.
Rubbing his sore head, a wave of memories flooded Tom’s mind – dancing with Mei-chen for the first time, luring her away to Club Twilight, their first time making love, and the moment he realized how hard he’d fallen for her. It all seemed like a serene, magical dream that he’d awakened from. Just then, a nightmare approached. The hulking copper from earlier – Sergeant Frankenstein – loomed on the other side of the bars, glaring at Tom. His uniform seemed to blend in with the darkness, but one item stood out – a ritzy Rolex fastened around his thick wrist.
“Hey, you,” Tom said in Shanghainese, hopping off the bed. He pointed at the watch – his watch – and said, “For as much as I pay your superiors in protection money, the least you could do is not steal from me.”
The Sergeant cracked a smile full of uneven teeth. “You’re lucky that’s all you lost. I could have cracked your skull open if I wanted.”
Ignoring the stinging pain, Tom grabbed the bars and leaned closer. “I’m an American. I have my rights. Call the US Consulate and…” he trailed off, remembering the bitter words between him and Whitfield. Besides, he wasn’t in the International Settlement; he was in the real Shanghai. A Chinese contact made more sense.
“Look Sergeant, call Captain Tung Hsi-shan of the 19th Route Army,” Tom said, taking his hands off the bars as a token of subordination. “He can vouch for me.”
A gruff laugh burst out of Sergeant Frankenstein. “Fine then, Mr. Yankee. You’d better pray I can reach this Captain Tung of yours. For no
w, you’d better get some sleep. Lieutenant Kuo will question you tomorrow.”
“Won’t be hard after your little love tap,” he muttered in English. Frankenstein made a sour face and walked away, leaving Tom alone with the doped-up vagrant. No sense in staying awake. He crawled back into bed and shut his eyes, letting sleep embrace him. Before he dozed off, Mei-chen appeared in his mind’s eye, beautiful and haunting, forever running just out of reach.
*****
A harsh, jangling sound stirred Tom awake. He groaned and rubbed his head, still sore but no longer throbbing. Sunlight leaked through the narrow window, illuminating the jail cell. It was January 28th, 1932, possibly the last day of his life.
“Rise and shine, Mr. Yankee!” Sergeant Frankenstein bellowed as he opened the barred door.
Tom slid off the bed and walked out the cell. Frankenstein guided him down the long hallway, passing cells overcrowded with the riff raff of Shanghai – beggars, dope addicts, pickpockets, and thieves. Small timers to be sure, since the major league criminals were the ones running the city.
They reached a white door marked “Interrogation” in English and Chinese. Frankenstein opened the door and pushed Tom inside. A slim police officer in similar dark uniform and white collar patches sat at a desk across the room. A wry grin clashed with his hooded eyes and sharp, thin face.
“Lieutenant Kuo, I presume?” Tom said, taking a seat across from him.
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you Thomas Lai...or should I say Lai Huang-fu?”
“You can call me Charlie Chan so long as you let me out of here.”
Lieutenant Kuo waved his hand, dismissing Sergeant Frankenstein, who closed the door behind him. He reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out Tom’s cigarette case.
“Would you care for a smoke?”
“I was wondering where that went,” Tom said, plucking a Lucky Strike out.
“Forgive me, but I do love foreign tobacco, so I had a few,” Kuo said with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for your treatment. The Sergeant didn’t know you were the Thomas Lai.”
Lighting up, Tom took a drag and said, “After all the donations I’ve made to your superiors, I’m glad someone here knows who I am, Lieutenant.”
“I’ve been to Club Twilight several times, but we received a very distressing call last night.” Lieutenant Kuo slid two photographs across the table; Yoshida full of bloody holes, and Yan Ping sliced nearly in half. Guilt and shame squeezed Tom’s gut, leaving him shaken. He took a deep drag to steady himself.
“The poor bastard on the right is Yan Ping, my bodyguard. He died protecting me from this turtle’s egg,” Tom tapped on the ronin’s photo. “His name is, or was, Yoshida, a Japanese agent. Tried to hara-kiri me next but luckily I managed to reach my pistol.”
Apart from his slight grin, Lieutenant Kuo remained expressionless. “Yes, we have a file on Gen Yoshida. He has been stirring up all sorts of trouble in the International Settlement. Your staff gave statements that this man tried to kill you last night.”
Tom blew out a trail of smoke. “Great. So, I’m free to leave now?”
“Not quite. Perhaps you can enlighten me as to why a Japanese agent was in your club in the first place?”
“I made his boss, a Japanese Navy officer by the name of Fukuzaki, lose face. You’re aware of how important that is, right Lieutenant?”
Kuo nodded with a widening grin. “Oh yes, I’m very aware. I wonder if Yoshida was there for another reason?”
“What do you mean?”
“Before you were arrested, you mentioned a Japanese spy.”
Tom took another puff and rubbed the back of his head. “Before your sergeant knocked me out, I was pursuing...” he trailed off, considering how to explain their relationship. “Ho Mei-chen is who you’re after. She’s a Japanese spy.”
“Oh yes, your staff mentioned her,” Lieutenant Kuo said, his grin subsiding. “But we don’t have any record of her in our files. Neither do our colleagues in Frenchtown and the International Settlement. Somehow, I doubt she has much of a history.”
Tom scoffed and stamped out his cigarette. “There’s no doubt Ho Mei-chen is an alias...”
“And apparently, she lived with you for two years, yet you do not know her real name?”
Tom didn’t like where this was going. Throwing his hands up, he said, “What do you want me to say? She duped me! I have no idea who she really is! But try the Sincere Department Store, she likes to shop there.”
“That is troubling, Mr. Lai. You must understand our concerns. You claim that this woman is a Japanese spy, yet you lived with her. Can you expect me to believe you didn’t know about her double life?”
Well, it did sound ridiculous when said aloud.
“Look Lieutenant, I was blinded. The Green Gang informed me about a spy working at my club and unfortunately, it was my woman.”
Lieutenant Kuo stroked his chin, scrutinizing Tom up and down.
“I’m not sure if you’re telling me the truth, Mr. Lai. But I have ways of finding out,” Kuo purred, tenting his spindly fingers together.
That didn’t sound reassuring. From Death by a Thousand Cuts to being impaled by bamboo, China had a long history with brutality. A common torture used by Chinese cops these days was sliding needles under fingernails, then tearing them out – the old Shanghai manicure. Tom swallowed and braced himself. Face was everything in this city, especially in front of police officers. Lose it and you might as well be dead.
“I’d like to make a phone call before you do, Lieutenant,” he said, keeping a steady gaze.
“Oh, I don’t think so Mr. Lai. Not until I let the Sergeant interrogate you first.”
Interrogation sessions with Sergeant Frankenstein were probably as gentle as a cattle stampede. Still, Tom kept his cool and reached for another cigarette. Before he lit up, the door creaked open and in walked Frankenstein.
“Ah, Sergeant,” Lieutenant Kuo said. “We were just talking about you.”
Frankenstein regarded his superior with a stiff nod before locking eyes with Tom. “You have a visitor, Mr. Yankee.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tom traded glances with Lieutenant Kuo across the table. Confusion swept over the Lieutenant’s sharp, beaked face, but he regained his composure quickly.
“Very well,” Kuo said, standing up. “Let’s see who your visitor is, Mr. Lai.”
Tom rose and followed the Lieutenant out of the interrogation room. Sergeant Frankenstein led them down the hallway and into the main lobby. A few uniformed cops stood guard, impressive in their dark blue uniforms. However, they paled in comparison to Captain Tung, looking gallant in his stiff blue-gray tunic, field cap, and polished jackboots. Kuo and Frankenstein halted and presented Tung with supplicating salutes.
“Good morning,” the Captain said with a curt nod. “Thank you for watching him, but I will be taking custody of Mr. Lai.”
Lieutenant Kuo stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Captain. However, I still need to question Mr. Lai in relation to the events of last night.”
Tung thrust out his chin. “Which are?”
“My apologies, but we are not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“That may be, but Lai Huang-fu is a valuable asset to the Republic and specifically to the 19th Route Army,” Tung said. “Or would you like to speak to General Tsai personally?”
Lieutenant Kuo kept a placid face, but his head lowered as a slight admission of defeat. No one could resist the demands of the 19th Route Army, not when war loomed so close. Kuo gave a curt nod to Frankenstein, who left the lobby for a few minutes before returning with Tom’s Browning automatic.
Tom grinned, tucked the pistol in his waistband, then gestured to the Rolex on the Sergeant’s bulky wrist. “I’ll be needing that too.”
Frankenstein flushed, then sheepishly slid the wristwatch off and pressed it into Tom’s palm. He snapped it into place and checked the time – 11:30AM. Tom glanced over to
the two cops, heads lowered like disciplined schoolboys. Loss of face was especially hurtful for the arrogant Shanghai Police, and Tom savored their humiliation as if it were a piece of Hershey’s chocolate.
Clicking his heels together, Captain Tung said, “Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen.”
“We’ll have to finish those questions later, Lieutenant. Drop by Club Twilight for a few drinks,” Tom said with a mocking wink. Lieutenant Kuo and Frankenstein stared back with expressionless faces, but a murderous rage blazed in their eyes. Tom followed Captain Tung out the doors and descended down the steps to an Army staff car waiting at the curb below. A Chinese soldier sat ready at the wheel but Tung didn’t enter.
Instead, the Captain drew himself up into an even more rigid pose and said, “I’m sure you’re aware how busy am I. War is imminent and coming to bail you out of jail only distracts from my duty.”
“That’s what friends do for each other, Captain. Don’t think I’m unappreciative. From now on, you drink for free at Club Twilight!”
Tung snorted. “You’re lucky that sergeant actually did telephone me. Otherwise, you’d still be rotting in there. Lieutenant Kuo is a known Green Gang informant.”
“Hell, all of Shanghai is an informant for the Green Gang,” Tom said with a grin. “In all seriousness, thank you, Captain.”
Tung gave an affirming nod, the limits of his sentimentality. “The Police told me that your bodyguard was killed last night. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I am too.”
“At least you killed that Japanese devil, Yoshida. Excellent shooting, Lai Huang-fu. There’s still a spot for you in my company if you’re interested.”
“Thanks, but I have a spy to catch.”
“Oh? You found him?”
“Yes…it was…” Tom trailed off as a wave of shame and sadness seemed to strangle him. Swallowing hard, he finally said, “Mei-chen…”
Sympathy shone in Captain Tung’s blocky face, the type of concern that only a dai go, a big brother, could show.
Shanghai Twilight Page 11
