The Chinese police officers struggled to intervene, but they were impotent to temper this fury. It had been bubbling up for decades, even before the invasion of Manchuria, way back to 1894 when Japan had trounced the Manchu Dynasty in Korea and annexed Taiwan. Being defeated by the mighty British Empire was one thing, but by little Japan? China could only endure so much humiliation before she erupted like a volcano.
*****
By the time Tom reached Kungwoo Road in western Chapei, the angry throngs had thinned out. Tom pulled the Bentley in an alleyway behind Club Twilight and checked his Rolex – 9:30. Feng Lung-wei would arrive soon, eager for someone to kill. He’d hand Mei-chen off to that gangster brat without any of his staff or guests being none the wiser. Tom hopped out of the car, circled back around to the trunk, and opened it.
Shivering underneath his blue overcoat, Mei-chen stared back at him like an innocent lamb. He helped her out before reclaiming his coat.
“Darling, please—” she began before Tom pressed his hand over her mouth. He couldn’t risk falling for her sweet talk or calling for help like last time.
“Shut up. We’re going upstairs and you won’t say a damn thing. Understand?”
Mei-chen nodded and Tom removed his hand. Guiding her through the backdoor, Tom took a sharp right up the stairs, hoping no staff would see them. The blare of jazz and cacophonous voices leaked out from the dance hall, indicating that Club Twilight had a full house tonight. Tom kept the Browning automatic in his coat pocket but pressed firmly into Mei-chen’s side as they ascended to the second story. No sign of any porters just yet, but he wasn’t taking chances and went straight to his apartment.
Pushing Mei-chen inside, Tom slammed the door shut and locked it. He gestured for her to sit next to the vanity table and searched for something to tie her up with. Rummaging through the closet, he pulled out a few scarves and went to work, pinioning her arms to her sides with cloth. In her red cheongsam, black gloves, and bound with multi-colored scarves, Mei-chen looked like a wrapped-up Christmas present. Tom expelled a relaxed sigh, knowing this tricky snake wasn’t going anywhere.
“Darling please, if we could just talk, we could work something out—”
He cut her off by wrapping a silk handkerchief around her mouth, knotting it tightly.
“You’ve done enough talking,” he said. “Why don’t you have a time out and think about what you’ve done?”
Mei-chen protested into the gag, turning her words into gibberish. That ought to keep her from calling out for help, but Tom still didn’t want any disturbances. He’d lose face if his staff found a bound and gagged woman in his quarters.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, then stalked out of the apartment and shut the door.
Following the hypnotic melodies drifting from below, Tom walked down the stairs and into the main hall of Club Twilight. The band streamed out that Oriental ditty “Little Yella Cinderella,” fitting background music for the legion of taxi dancers out on the dance floor with their clients. Tom swept his gaze across and took in the packed house.
Each individual table was occupied, including Whitfield’s usual one. It was hard to believe he was never coming back. An ocean of different races mixed together – brown, black, yellow, and white – all united by frivolous decadence. Men and women dressed to the nines toasted each other at the bar, celebrating that Shanghai wasn’t going to blow itself up after all.
The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume, and Tom breathed it all in. Mounted on the wall were the flags of his two countries – the Stars and Stripes with the White Sun – filling him with a proud patriotism. More guests crammed onto the dance floor, frolicking without a care. Tom imagined this must be how Babylon looked just before the fall. But it was all his. This was his club, his city, his world.
Tom approached the bar and ordered a J&B on the rocks. He grabbed the glass and leaned closer.
“I’m going to be up in my room,” he said, raising his voice over the music. “I’m not to be disturbed under any circumstances.” He paused, then added, “That is, until Feng Lung-wei arrives.”
Concern shone on the bartender’s face, but he responded with an understanding nod. Tom raised his glass to the frolicking mass.
“Cheers, Shanghai,” he said, before walking out of the main room and back up the stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tom shut and locked the door and Mei-chen fixed him with an agitated glare. Through her gag, she bombarded him with muffled complaints, all of which he ignored. That supposedly “lucky” cricket still lay on the ground, smashed into a brown paste. Tom knew how he must have felt.
With his Scotch on the rocks in hand, he sauntered over to the bed, now splotched with brown stains of dried blood. They’d hauled Yoshida’s corpse out but didn’t bother taking the sheets. What did he expect from Shanghai cops? Evil spirits tended to linger in areas of violent death, and needed monks to exorcise them. But after what he’d been through, evil spirits didn’t scare Tom much anymore. He plopped down on the mattress with an exasperated sigh.
Roped up in her chair, Mei-chen inched around to face Tom, then gave another strangled protest.
“If I remove the gag, you have to promise not to scream for help like last night,” he said, in between sips of his J&B. “Deal?”
Mei-chen gave eager, impatient nods. Tom reached over and yanked the gag off.
“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded in English.
Tom took another sip of whiskey. “That’s for Feng Lung-wei to decide, sweetheart.”
Fear widened Mei-chen’s eyes and sent her lip trembling. “You would really turn me over to that monster?”
“Better you than me.”
“I never knew you could be so coldblooded,” she scoffed.
Anger and bitterness raced through Tom, tightening his fingers around the glass.
“You’re one to talk,” he snapped. “You used me. All the ‘darlings’ and the ‘I love yous’ were all just a con, weren’t they? All you were ever interested in was my club and who you could meet through it. Me and Chuck were just little bugs caught in your web. How many others did you snare?”
Mei-chen went silent and lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Plenty, I’m sure,” Tom said. “Your lies are finally catching up with you. It’s your fault that Yan and Chuck are dead.” He glanced over to the dried blood patch. “Yoshida too, although I’m more upset about my ruined sheets. I would have been victim number four, since you set me up to take the fall.”
Still looking downward, Mei-chen said, “That’s not true. I didn’t want to involve you.”
“Well, you know everything about me. I poured my heart out and you lapped it up, just like a good spy. You know who Thomas Lai is, inside and out. But I don’t know anything about Ho Mei-chen other than the lies you fed me about your family being executed by a warlord.” Tom sipped his J&B and exhaled. “So, let’s start with your real name. What is it?”
Mei-chen lifted her eyes up and met him with a sorrowful gaze. “As I said before...does it really matter?”
“It does to me. I want to know who I spent the last two years of my life with.”
With a heavy sigh and resigned nod, she began. “My birth name is unimportant. You see, I’m an orphan, born and raised in Taiwan.”
The statement snapped everything else into clarity. Taiwan had been Japanese colony ever since China’s crushing defeat in 1895. It all made sense. Her Fukienese accent made sense, since many Taiwanese ancestors originally came from the Fukien province. Furthermore, the Japanese had outlawed foot binding years ago. It wasn’t a progressive father who’d saved Mei-chen from that barbaric practice, but rather the Mikado. Most importantly, her declaration back at Whitfield’s apartment – ‘I have no country’ – made sense now.
Tom took a gulp of Scotch, then asked, “So when did you begin working for the Japanese?”
“I grew up in an orphanage, but was sent to pr
imary school. Most girls stop attending in their teens to become wives, but I showed an aptitude for languages. This attracted the attention of the Colonial Government and officers of the Japanese Navy.”
“Let me guess. Was Commander Fukuzaki one of them?”
Mei-chen nodded. “Yes, but he was only a lieutenant back then. I still remember the day we met. It was hot and humid, but he looked magnificent in his white uniform and epaulettes. He told me as a citizen of the Japanese Empire, it was my duty to use my skills to serve the Emperor.”
“Sounds like you were the perfect candidate.”
“Orphans usually are,” she said with a little smile. “I was taken to a special school run by the Navy where I learned so many dialects and languages. After graduation, I was sent to Shanghai where my tongue could be put to good use.”
Tom sighed. “There are more languages than people in this city.”
“My first assignment was at the Great World as a taxi dancer. It was easy to meet foreign businessmen – British, American, French, Italian. Over drinks I could pry secrets out of them. Why they were in Shanghai, the financial dealings of this or that bank, insider knowledge of stocks. That sort of thing. But after a while, Commander Fukuzaki wanted more political intelligence.”
“And this is where I come in?”
“Yes…you had just opened up Club Twilight and already ingratiated yourself with the Nationalist Party. I realized the potential, since so many diplomats attended your club. When you visited the Great World that night, I asked you to dance and—”
“I fell for it like a mark at a poker game,” Tom said with a bitter sigh. “How many other men were there besides me?”
Shame pushed Mei-chen’s gaze downward. “Three, all of whom worked at different consulates. Charles Whitfield was the latest.”
An enraged part of Tom wanted to hurl the glass across the room, but another even more cynical side couldn’t help but laugh at what a fool he’d been.
“Guess now I know where you really went during your mid-day shopping excursions.”
“A girl can do two things in one day.”
That earned a chuckle out of Tom and he took another sip of J&B.
“So, did Commander Fukuzaki order you to America?”
A look of anger swept over Mei-chen and she shook her head. “No, absolutely not. I was going to America on my own accord.”
“A freelance spy?”
“No, all I wanted was to start over. This life…spying for the Japanese…it’s killing me, Tom. I’m not cut out for it. I hate this city and what it’s turned me into.” Tears moistened her eyes. “I’m so ashamed for everything I’ve done to you. To Charles.”
“You killed him.”
“It was an accident!” she said with a little sob. “Don’t you think I feel terrible?”
Tom barked a cynical laugh. “Do you now? Weren’t you just using him?”
“Commander Fukuzaki wanted information on US gunboats in China and what America would do if a Sino-Japanese War broke out in Shanghai. So, I struck up a relationship with Charles behind your back. It wasn’t hard, since he was genuinely fond of me.”
“I’m aware of that now.”
“Oh, Tom…I really did want to start a new life with you, I truly did. But you were taking so long to move to San Francisco, I just couldn’t wait. War was looming.”
Tom sighed and swirled the ice in his glass. Perhaps if he hadn’t waited, none of this would have happened. After all, he was only saving money to afford that fancy Victorian in Nob Hill. He even shortchanged the Kuomintang on his annual donation, all for this beautiful creature trussed up before him.
“After I passed those documents along,” Mei-chen continued, “I asked Charles to forge the right credentials. I was to become Margaret Wong, an American citizen and leave Shanghai behind me forever. He sympathized and risked his career for me.”
“And his life.”
She grimaced and bit her lip. “I…I didn’t mean to. All I wanted was a new life…in Meikuo.”
“Well, if you had just waited then you would have gotten your ticket to San Francisco,” Tom said. “Or haven’t you heard? There isn’t going to be any war. Mayor Wu accepted the Japanese demands.”
A mocking laughter filled the room. “You don’t know the Japanese like I do. Manchuria made the Navy jealous. They want war to prove to the Emperor that they’re true warriors. Besides, it’s not just Commander Fukuzaki provoking these incidents.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“Remember those Japanese monks who were assaulted?”
“How could I forget?” Tom asked with a shrug.
Mei-chen continued, “An Army attaché, Major Tanaka and his mistress, a Manchu princess, paid Chinese thugs to attack them. Shanghai was already a powder box, and they hoped that incident would ignite the conflagration. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Commander Fukuzaki must have been jealous of their plans. Two nights ago, I saved a Japanese couple from three Chinese hoods in the pay of Yoshida,” he said, pointing to the blood stain.
Mei-chen gave another laugh. “The Imperial Army and Navy compete over everything, even staging phony attacks.”
Tom almost howled at the absurdity of it all. Phony attacks with real victims. He thought back to the fight with Yoshida in the Golden Unicorn pub, then to Yan Ping’s murder, and near decapitation of Mei-chen. Then it dawned on him.
“Yoshida didn’t know who you were? That’s why he almost killed you.”
““With spies, everything is compartmentalized. The less people know, the less they’ll reveal under torture. That’s why Yoshida tried to kill too, in a misguided attempt to regain his honor. He didn’t know you ran the club that supplied Fukuzaki with intelligence. Why should he? Yoshida was an agent provocateur, not a spy.”
Tom rubbed his neck involuntarily. “Well, face is everything in Shanghai,” he said, before polishing off the rest of his Scotch. The burning liquid slid down his throat, leaving him relaxed. Ho Mei-chen – whoever she was – was more of an enigma than he thought. Whether this latest version of her past was the truth or complete fiction was impossible to tell, and perhaps it didn’t really matter anymore. She wore different masks for different people – but what was the real face behind them all? Perhaps there wasn’t any.
Still, two questions remained and refused to be unanswered.
“Tell me,” Tom said. “Did you love Whitfield?”
“No.”
The answer came unforced, unrehearsed, and unemotional. Tom dreaded the next question, but he was unable to stop it from leaving his mouth.
“Did you ever love me?”
A brief melancholy shone in her brown eyes, before they settled to the floor. Her response was almost a whisper.
“No.”
Well, at least she was honest. Tom reached over to the nightstand and set his empty glass atop an issue of Photoplay. Tears began to form, but he squeezed his eyes shut. No, he couldn’t let her know how much she’d hurt him. Instead, Tom stood up and walked over to the phonograph, his back turned to her. Drying his eyes, he put on the record “Sing-Song Girl of Old Shanghai” and let the now-haunting melody fill the room.
Tom let his eyes wander everywhere else except to her – his US Army Citation Star, the framed photograph of him with Chiang Kai-shek, the squashed cricket on the ground. Anywhere but those alluring brown eyes that had hypnotized him so many times. He thought back to every dance, every kiss, every laugh, every night they’d shared together – all lies. He fumbled for his cigarette case and lit a Lucky Strike.
“Can I have a puff?” Mei-chen asked, raising her voice over the music.
Tom turned around to face her. Despite her pathetic condition, she wore a small smile. He pulled the cigarette and wedged it between her lips. She took a deep inhale, held it for a moment, then breathed it out through her nose. Tom took a drag and sat back on the bed.
“Don’t all spies ask for a cigarette befo
re they’re executed?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling. “Just like Mata Hari.”
“I hope I die beautifully,” she said with a wistful sigh. She looked back over and added, “I never tried to frame you, Tom. I don’t know why the Green Gang thinks you’re involved in this sordid business, but I’ll make sure they know you’re innocent.”
“Well, it is my club. But thanks anyway.”
“Whatever happens…I…I just want to thank you…for everything. You’re a decent man, Lai Huang-fu.”
Tom couldn’t suppress a smile. Perhaps it hadn’t all been a lie.
A sudden knock at the door sounded like a machine gun.
“Who’s there?” Tom demanded.
“Tick tock, Tommy!” Feng Lung-wei’s reedy voice came through the other side. “Your time’s up!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mei-chen flashed Tom a worried look, but within moments, a grim stoicism appeared on her pretty face. Tom hopped off the bed and opened the door. Feng Lung-wei – flanked by his two hulking henchmen – stared back at him. As always, he wore an overcoat over his black pinstripe suit, matching fedora, and an arrogant grin.
“We would have been here sooner but it’s a damn madhouse out in Chapei,” Feng said, walking inside the apartment. His two goons followed and slammed the door shut behind them. Focusing on Mei-chen, he said, “Well well, looks like you kept your promise, Tommy. You delivered the spy – gift wrapped!”
Feng’s two gorillas shared a laugh.
“I’m surprised, Tommy,” Feng continued, slapping Tom on the back. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Figured you as too soft.”
Such praise made Tom’s skin crawl. He cast a forlorn glance over at Mei-chen, who wore a dignified expression even in such humiliation.
“Just take her and go,” he managed to say.
Feng didn’t respond and instead circled the tied up girl, his eyes crawling all over her. After a moment, he took her by the chin and leaned closer.
“Are you really a Japanese spy?” Feng asked. “Or are you just taking the fall for your little boyfriend?”
Shanghai Twilight Page 14
