The henchman nodded and again lumbered out the front door. More sounds leaked through as he left – the crackle of gunshots, thunderous explosions, and horrified screams – all mixing together in a dreadful symphony. But in that moment, an opening presented itself. Feng’s attention was on Chow and the terror outside. Now or never. He pushed himself off the bar and raced forward.
The revolver whooshed around and aimed straight at Tom’s heart.
Feng Lung-wei wagged a finger. “Uh, uh, uh, Tommy. Don’t make me finish you off like this. I have something more fun planned for you.”
The front doors opened and in walked the hulking thug, clutching a menacing black object. It was the same Thompson submachine gun that had blown Ono to pulpy bits two nights ago. Tom swallowed hard as he saw his future in its barrel. Well, at least it was better than having every tendon sliced.
Feng and his henchman exchanged firearms, and the Thompson swung around in Tom’s direction. The gangster brat gripped its handles and eyed him up and down, accentuating the power he held. However, Chow was less impressed.
“Mr. Feng,” he whined. “We can’t waste any time. I’m an important man in the Ministry of Finance! They might hold me for ransom or—”
“Shut up!” Feng roared. “Are you a man or a woman? As soon as I finish off Tommy, we’re going to kill every single one of those Japanese devils outside.”
“Fight? Are you quite mad? We’re not soldiers,” Chow protested with a quivering voice.
“No, but we’re Chinese! And we will defend our city to the death!” Feng cried. His patriotism was stirring, Tom conceded. Perhaps it wasn’t for suckers after all. “But first, I have to tie up this knot.”
Tom ignored the butchered idiom and backed up until he hit the bar counter, his eyes fixated on the submachine gun’s barrel and drum. It was all over now. The only option now was to accept it.
His mind wandered to his parents, and if they would ever know what happened to their second son. He tore his eyes off the Tommy gun and focused on Mei-chen, helplessly squirming in one of the gangster’s firm grasp. He closed his eyes and bid farewell – to his family, to Mei-chen, and to Shanghai. But an eerie whistling noise opened his eyes. He’d heard that strange sound before in the trenches of France. It was the same scream of a falling bomb or incoming artillery shell.
Just as realization set in, the world exploded.
*****
The black river carried Tom downstream. Unable to resist, he lay on his back, stupefied and numb like an opium addict. Why fight it anymore? It was better this way. Painless and comforting. In a few moments, he’d be swallowed up by the abyss.
A hand dove into the dark water and gripped his arm. It heaved and pulled against the murky current, dragging Tom out onto the dry shore. He opened his eyes.
Mei-chen was crouching over him, rubbing her gloved hand across his cheek. No, not rubbing. A hard slap brought him further out of his daze. His ears were ringing, but the high-pitched drone was beginning to fade. He sat up, and found that his legs were covered in debris – splintered wood paneling, nothing too heavy. Mei-chen began pushing the rubble off. He groaned and kicked his legs free. Tom then took in the rest of his surroundings and found a wasteland.
Half of Club Twilight was completely destroyed, blasted to bits and powder. Only a gutted, skeletal frame was left behind. Broken glass, chunks of concrete, twisted metal, and ripped plaster covered the ground like an uneven, jagged carpet. He looked up and the roof had been ripped clean off, revealing a moonless night. Strangely, most of the bar had remained intact – bottles of Jack Daniel’s, J&B, Bacardi Rum, and Beefeater Gin stood erect and unfazed. Neon lights from the International Settlement illuminated the sky just enough to see the dark outlines of airplanes buzzing above. Had it been a bomb or a shell that had hit them? Didn’t really matter now, did it?
The ringing in Tom’s ears faded out completely, replaced by his own panicked breathing and his heart thumping against his ribcage. Club Twilight – his business, his home, his kingdom – was gone. He’d given his heart and soul to this place and it had all gone up in smoke in a matter of seconds. He wanted to cry, but no tears came. His nerves, his mind, his soul, went numb. His eyes swept the carnage, trying to find some proof that it was only a dream, a hideous nightmare, but found only more horrors.
A mangled corpse lay sprawled out a few feet away, singed and blackened. A pair of shattered glasses was enough to identify the body as Chow. Beyond him was another corpse, pulverized underneath a heap of debris. Blood oozed out as if he’d been put in an enormous vice and squeezed till his whole body burst. Although grotesque and swollen, Tom still recognized the poor bastard as one of Feng Lung-wei’s two henchmen.
But where was that gangster brat himself? To his surprise, the other muscle-bound gorilla – very much alive – was busy helping his boss out of the rubble and to his feet. Feng Lung-wei still clutched the Tommy gun like a mother would her child. Although his pinstripe suit and overcoat were ripped in places, Feng was unscathed, albeit a bit groggy. He wobbled back and forth, steadied only by his henchman’s firm hand.
The Tommy gun swooshed in Feng’s shaky hands and unleashed a barrage of bullets. But his aim was off and the lethal spray poured into what remained of the bar, shattering the liquor bottles with violent explosive bursts. His mind and will deadened, Tom just sat there next to Mei-chen as the broken glass rained down like crystal showers. The Tommy gun fire arched and stopped as Feng Lung-wei – still woozy – almost keeled over. The beefy thug grabbed him and strained to keep his boss upright.
Mei-chen’s gripped Tom by the shoulders, jerking him back and forth.
“Tom, we have to get out of here!” she cried.
After a few moments, Tom’s numbness faded rand was replaced by a visceral instinct. She was right, they had to get out of there. Feng Lung-wei would recover soon and finish them off anyway. There was one opportunity for escape – the Bentley out back.
Summoning the entirety of his strength, he rose with Mei-chen and plodded their way through the wreckage, navigating in between the bombed-out hallways and walls that were left standing. Reaching what had once been the back door, they discovered a new shock. The Bentley was still there, but a pile of debris had caved the roof in as if it were a tin can. All four tires had burst under the pressure, just to add insult to injury.
“Son of a bitch,” Tom growled, slamming his fist against the twisted hood. Mei-chen tugged at his arm, leading him away from the Bentley and into a back alleyway.
“We have to go, Tom! He’ll kill us!”
Shots of rifle fire echoed through the night, confirming that the fighting was still on. But war or no war, they’d have to lose Feng Lung-wei in the streets of Chapei if they hoped to survive the night. Tom took one final look at the ruins of Club Twilight and said his farewell. Bitter tears surfaced but he blotted them out. Then, he turned with Mei-chen and ran for his life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The streets of Chapei were a choked with panicked people running pell-mell. An animalistic terror hung in the night air, so thick it was palpable. The fleeing throngs were made up of every facet of Chinese society – lowly coolies, overeducated students with protest signs, factory workers, women from the cotton mills, refugee peasants who’d fled famine and floods and now ran from bombs and bullets. The seething crowds rushed eastward, toward the International Settlement and safety.
Tom gripped Mei-chen’s hand as they ran alongside this sea of humanity. A loud buzzing drone up above demanded his attention. He looked up and – despite the moonless night – saw the outlines of several biplanes buzzing around over Chapei. Bombs released from their undersides, falling to the ground with a hideous whine. Explosions ripped apart buildings, sending plumes of smoke surging up into the dark sky.
Those bastards were bombing the city! Similar raids had happened during the fiendish savagery of the World War, but technology had improved much in the last eighteen years. How much damage c
ould modern airplanes do? In that billowing smoke, Tom could see the future of warfare. Everyone – soldier and civilian – would be a combatant.
Tom swallowed his anger and kept running, never lessening his grip on Mei-chen’s hand. How strange to be running with a woman he’d handed over for certain death less than an hour ago. But out here, in this hellish night, nothing made sense any longer. People pushed, clawed, and trampled over each other just to gain a few extra feet. Maybe this is what Pompeii looked like just before it was smothered by volcanic ash.
Up ahead was the intersection of Kungwoo and Washun Road, where another swarm of people merged into with the stampeding horde. They were still deep in Chapei but nearing the International Settlement with every step. Sure, they’d be in Little Tokyo when they crossed over, but the Chinese Army wouldn’t dare cross the border lest they provoke all of the Western powers. The injustice of it left Tom with a bitter taste in his mouth. Even after Mayor Wu had accepted the demands, Japan had struck the first blow without warning. He could only hope men like Captain Tung were up to the challenge.
Behind them came a loud revving engine, like the roar of some enraged celestial dragon. Tom whipped his head around and saw a gleaming black Mercedes piling toward them. Gripping Mei-chen’s hand, he pressed them both up against a building as the car sped past, plowing through the tail end of the fleeing throng. Pedestrians were catapulted aside and thrust up onto its hood in stunned disbelief. Primal screams merged with the existing chaos of the night, adding to the atmosphere of insanity. The car skidded to a grinding halt at the intersection of Kungwoo and Washun. People slid off the Mercedes, some dead, some howling in pain, but nobody stopped to help. The mad rush eastward didn’t stop.
A door opened and out stepped Feng Lung-wei, Tommy gun in hand. He unleashed a volley of bullets, tearing huge gashes into the brick building Tom and Mei-chen were up against. Training leftover from the US Army kicked in, and Tom slammed his body to the ground, pulling Mei-chen down with him. Blazing away with the Thompson, Feng Lung-wei took halting, jerky steps toward them, laughing with sadistic glee. Still, his aim went awry, arching up and down, side effects from earlier. Although probably suffering from a concussion, this gangster brat was as dangerous as ever.
More people surged forward, paying little attention to this giggling madman with a Tommy gun. The firing stopped as Feng peered into the onrushing crowd. Crouching down, Tom led Mei-chen to a nearby alleyway and braced himself. He’d only get one shot at this. He needed to put every ounce of his strength into this one blow. Balling his fist, Tom let his anger surge within him. Bitter memories surfaced – Feng Lung-wei’s sadism, Chow’s treachery, Mei-chen’s double life, Whitfield’s betrayal, and Club Twilight’s utter destruction. They flowed through his veins, leaving him quaking with rage. Even more memories bubbled up. His uncle’s murder, his father’s constant criticisms, and a lifetime of slurs – Chink, Heathen Chinee, Slant Eyes, Yellow Monkey.
Feng Lung-wei turned into the alleyway, probing for a clear shot with the Thompson. Like a spring, Tom launched upward with a devastating uppercut, hurtling the gangster brat backward into the street. He followed up the attack with a hard right cross, and a swift blow to the gut. Feng doubled over, but Tom gave him no reprieve. Gripping Feng’s collar, he hammered another punch dead center in his face. The gangster brat stumbled backward, collapsing a few feet away from the Mercedes, still parked at the intersection Kungwoo and Washun.
Although he still held the Tommy gun in an iron grip, Feng spat out a gory cocktail of blood and broken teeth. He looked up at Tom with a groggy, pained expression, and tried to lift the submachine gun, but wheezed and fell over. Taking huge gulps of air, the gangster struggled to maintain consciousness as he writhed about on the ground. Blood droplets flecked his white shirt and pinstripe suit. At this moment, Feng Lung-wei looked more like a wounded animal than a man. One stomp on his throat would finish off this vile creature. But before Tom could land the killing blow, Feng’s henchman lurched out of the Mercedes to defend his master.
A frigid breeze rustled the thug’s silk changshan shirt as he strode forward. Tom braced to defend himself and thrust out a quick jab into the gangster’s meaty chin. The punch startled the brute but did little else. Drawing his thick fist backward, the thug landed a shattering punch into Tom’s stomach, like a lion swatting a fly. The gangster landed another across his face. Before he knew it, Tom sagged to the pavement. He took in large gulps of the chilly night air to cool his burning lungs and tried to stand. But the thug’s punches were too powerful, and he collapsed again.
Panicked masses continued to rush past them like a great surging river. Some glanced over at the strange scene unfolding before them, but still, nobody bothered to intervene. The brutish gangster loomed over Tom, a cruel sneer plastered over his thick lips. He rummaged through one of his voluminous sleeves and withdrew a pistol – Tom’s Browning automatic. The thug pressed the muzzle against Tom’s forehead for a quick execution.
But before the bullet came, two gloved hands wrapped around the gangster’s thick, blocky head. The thug vomited out a guttural scream as he thrashed about, trying to dislodge his attacker. Mei-chen’s slender body held tightly behind him, her fingers pressing deeper and deeper into the gorilla’s eyes. The opportunity was quick, but Tom didn’t hesitate. He launched forward and pounded the thug in the gut, doubling him over and sending the Browning pistol clattering to the floor.
Tom scooped it up and jerked it straight at Feng and his henchman. Mei-chen released her clawing grip and rushed over to Tom’s side. The two gangsters stared in helpless horror. Blood drooled out of Feng’s mouth but he said nothing, while the henchman held up pleading palms.
“Please…don’t shoot venerable sir,” the thug bawled out. Tom spat in disgust. Like so many tough guys of the underworld, they turned yellow when the shoe was on the other foot. Tom wanted to toy with them, make them squirm the way he had, but there was no time. Placing a bullet in their bellies so they could bleed out slowly would be fitting retribution. He aimed the automatic but an oncoming sight froze him stiff.
Coming north on Washun Road, an armored car stamped with a Rising Sun insignia trundled forward, following by a wall of Japanese Marines. Lighting the way with flares, the bluejackets kept a safe distance behind, but their rifles opened fire. Bullets crashed into the crowd, scattering people in all different directions. A sinister turret atop the armored car wobbled and took aim, sending a staccato volley into the chaos. Bullets screamed and whined, slapping the ground, the Mercedes’ windows, and human flesh. Tom, Mei-chen, and the henchman all joined Feng on the ground as they took cover.
Dear God, they must be firing at him! After all, he was armed and it was easy to mistake him as a soldier in this darkness. Up ahead, the congestion was too great to make an escape, so they’d have to beat a retreat back the way they came. In the chaos, the henchman grabbed Feng Lung-wei – who still held his precious Tommy gun – and bundled him into the Mercedes. The thug took the wheel, fired up the engine, and rocketed northward down Washun Road, away from the Mikado’s warriors.
A good idea. Before the Japanese could fire another volley, Tom and Mei-chen turned and ran westward on Kungwoo, deeper into Chapei.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As Tom and Mei-chen ran, the streets grew more deserted and ghostly. Those brave enough to flee were already gone while the rest just hunkered down and prayed. Understandable. A squadron of fighter biplanes swarmed up above like hornets whose nest had been disturbed. There was just enough illumination from the International Settlement’s neon lights to make out the Rising Sun roundels on their wings. Elsewhere in Chapei, the clouds of acrid smoke funneled high into the sky.
Just where the hell were the Chinese planes to intercept them? Maybe there weren’t any. Instead, the Japanese pilots soared through the Shanghai sky as if it were a barnstorming performance. Up ahead, Tom could make out four uniformed figures in the gloomy distance. As they neared, aspects
of their uniforms stood out – peaked caps, blue tunics, white gaiters. Some of the Mikado’s Marines, no doubt.
Tom grabbed Mei-chen and dove behind a parked car, still intact despite the bombing. He raised the Browning automatic up, angling for a clear shot. But as the four figures approached, the uniforms became even clearer. Their peaked caps were ornamented with the White Sun emblem of the Kuomintang. Never in his life did Tom Lai expect to be grateful to see cops from the Public Security Bureau, but today was a strange day. He pocketed the Browning in his overcoat and Mei-chen called out.
“Chinese! Don’t shoot!”
The four cops spun around, jerking their guns – three rifles and a Mauser pistol. It was obvious from the weaponry that these police officers were headed to the front lines.
“Who are you?” the senior officer barked, keeping his Mauser leveled.
“We just fled from the Japanese on Kungwoo Road,” Tom said.
The officer’s eyes widened. “Japanese? How many?”
“At least a full platoon,” Tom said, before adding, “and an armored car.”
The four policemen looked like they’d just swallowed broken glass. Still, their leader tried to dash any pessimism.
“We’ll meet these invaders head on! Right men?”
The other cops gave languid nods.
“Where is the 19th Route Army?” Mei-chen asked.
The senior officer snorted. “The 19th Route Army has taken up defensive positions. As soon as the Japanese devils are in place, we’ll spring the trap! We’re on our way to give them support.”
A harsh droning sound filled the air. Tom looked up and saw a white biplane offset by blood red roundels beginning to dive. Behind the buzzing propeller, a pair of machineguns spat flame and lead down at the street below. Tom and Mei-chen dove behind the nearby automobile, while the four police officers crouched down and fired their guns. The bullets kicked up chunks of pavement but failed to hit anything aside from parked cars and signposts.
Shanghai Twilight Page 16
