Fukuzaki raised his hand and held it there. Was he having second thoughts or just flaunting his power? It didn’t matter any longer. Tom turned away and bit his lip.
The crack of a gunshot ripped through the air. Tom looked up and gasped. The Ensign wobbled, and fell to the side, blood spurting out from his temple. Mei-chen opened her eyes and stared at the dead Ensign in stunned silence. Angry cries erupted from the Marines as they raised their weapons, searching for the hidden threat. Across the street, the glint of a rifle barrel snaked out of an open window. Apparently, the Japanese fears about snipers were very real.
Another gunshot tore straight through a Marine’s forehead, hurling him backward. Disregarding the danger, Commander Fukuzaki strode past Mei-chen – still cowering on her knees – and pointed at the sniper’s nest.
“Utee! Utee! Utee!” Fukuzaki shouted for the Marines to open fire, his guttural voice descending into an animalistic roar.
Having found their footing, the Marines began firing enough ammunition into the sniper’s nest to make the fireworks at Chinese New Year look tame. The window cracked and shattered, but more bullets rained down at the Japanese and found their deadly mark. Another Marine was struck and slammed to the ground, blood and gore spilling out all over his Cracker Jack uniform.
Through the incessant hammer of gunfire, Tom saw an opening. Rushing forward, he helped Mei-chen to her feet, clutched her hand and raced in the opposite direction down the alleyway between buildings. Passing under the enormous Coca-Cola wall painting, Tom dared a brief glance behind him. The Mikado’s Marines kept shooting, including Commander Fukuzaki, taking pot shots with a pistol. Somehow still alive, the sniper continued showering bullets at them.
Running alongside Mei-chen, Tom felt a mixture of both gratitude and envy toward him.
*****
Only when the gunshots faded did Tom and Mei-chen stop to catch their breath. They were in southern Chapei now, just blocks away from the International Settlement and safety. The damage was just as bad here, and few storefronts survived without cracked windows or bullet holes. All of Shanghai would look like this before long. And Tom Lai was running away from it all. What kind of man was he? The Japanese had invaded his city, destroyed his nightclub, and almost executed him.
A coward – that’s what he was – if he fled into the International Settlement. Besides, Feng Lung-wei was still out there. Even if he survived the Japanese, he couldn’t escape that gangster brat. The Green Gang would still be watching every port, so he couldn’t run away to San Francisco with his tail tucked between his legs. No, better to stand and fight here, like a man. Besides, the 19th Route Army would need all the help it could get.
“Look Tom! Look!” Mei-chen squealed, pointing up ahead. “We’re almost there!”
Tom peered down the street and – through the wispy fog of the early morning – stood the Stone Bridge. Thronged by a mass of seething, desperate humanity, it offered the only chance of survival. As Tom and Mei-chen approached, a squad of red-turbaned Sikh police officers became visible, struggling to control the onrushing crowd.
You had a better chance of beating back a tidal wave, Tom thought. There was a magnetic pull emanating from the panicked swarm, but Tom’s feet remained planted to the ground. His future spread out before him in vivid clarity. Whether he lived or died, it would be in Shanghai.
“Mei-chen, I’m…I’m not going.” Tom’s throat felt strained as the words were forced out.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her face swirled with a mixture of worry, bewilderment, and irritation.
“My city needs me,” Tom said, standing firm.
“Why? Don’t be a fool, Tom. You’re not a soldier! You don’t even have a gun anymore! Leave the fighting to the 19th Route Army!”
“I can’t keep running. Wherever I go, Feng Lung-wei will find me.”
“Not if you go back to America and—”
“The Green Gang has every exit out of Shanghai covered. They’ll be watching me, but not you.”
Mei-chen shook her head. “Then wear a disguise! Anything! Tom, this city is going to burn to the ground. Do you really want Shanghai to be your grave?”
Without hesitation, he gave a firm nod. “I can’t think of a better city to be buried in.”
The joke pulled a little laugh out of her. “My God Tom, what are you saying?”
Tom rested a hand on her shoulder. “Go to America and live the life you’ve always wanted.”
Mei-chen bit her lip and nodded. “You’re too good for this wicked city, Tom. It doesn’t deserve you.”
Tom shook his head. “I thought you were my true love, Mei-chen. But now I realize it’s this city. Shanghai and I were made for each other. And a man doesn’t run when the love of his life is in trouble.”
“Tom, my real name is—”
He raised his hand and slid it over Mei-chen’s mouth. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll always be my Beautiful Pearl.”
Tom let his hand drop and Mei-chen’s lips curled into a bittersweet smile. Although her mascara ran, her lipstick was smeared, and her black hair was mussed, she was still look painfully beautiful. Without thinking, Tom leaned over and kissed her, holding her tight. The cacophonous shouts from the nearby throng died away and “Sing-Song Girl of Old Shanghai” played in his mind.
He let her go, and the hideous sounds and sights of the present came rushing back. She nodded, turned, and ran toward the Stone Bridge, gateway to her new future. Tom watched her go, wondering who she was and who she would become. Ho Mei-chen was an enigma, one he could never truly know. But at least for a little while, she was his.
Within moments, the seething crowd swallowed Mei-chen up and carried her out of his life forever.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tom doubled back and headed deeper into Chapei and the war. Hopefully, that enlistment offer from Captain Tung was still valid. He’d be at the North Railway Station, provided he wasn’t dead already. The crisp air carried the sounds of gunfire from blocks away. And here he was – walking through a war zone without a weapon. He’d need some form of protection if he was going to make it to the North Railway Station. The best he could hope for now was pilfering a firearm from the corpse of a soldier. Or a gangster. Suddenly, the gruesome image of that flattened Green Gang thug from last night entered Tom’s mind.
He pressed northward, toward the remains of Club Twilight. The deeper into Chapei, the more severe the damage became. Skeletal frames of burnt out automobiles lined up against buildings gutted by bombs and artillery, while bloodied bodies of soldiers and civilians lay strewn about like trash heaps on the empty streets. It fueled him, propelled him forward, and stoked a burning resolve to fight back.
The sound of gravel popping beneath tires halted him in his tracks. Someone – either friend or foe – was near. Tom dashed into the safety of a nearby alleyway and pressed his body up against the wall. The rumbling grew louder like the growl of some angry tiger approaching. A truck loaded with Japanese Marines – wearing steel helmets and with fixed bayonets – sped by, followed by another, then another. They were pouring men and materiel into Chapei for a final push.
Soft crying inside the alley caught Tom’s attention. A few feet away, partially hidden in the darkness, a mother and her baby had taken refuge there. Peering into the shadows, Tom could make out her face, smudged with dirt, and her eyes were wide and fearful. The woman grasped her infant tighter and curled into a defensive position. Although they’d never met, this woman could have been a photographic print of the same woman he’d seen at the Red Swastika Society.
Tom fished into his pocket and pulled out what remained of his money. He grabbed her trembling hand and pressed it into her palm. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Not where he was going.
“Get down to the International Settlement,” he said. “This should be enough to give you a new start.”
The woman stared blank-faced for a while, then closed her fingers and pocketed the money.
She nodded and bowed her thanks, causing the baby to give another soft cry. Tom put a finger to his lips, then stuck his head out of the alleyway. The coast was clear and the harsh rumbling of Japanese trucks faded into the distance. Without looking back, Tom slipped out to the street and pressed on.
*****
Tom approached the ruins of Club Twilight with a mix of apprehension, disgust, and homesickness. Here was his past life, smashed into hunks of brick, splintered glass, and pulverized wood. There was no time to ruminate about what happened or stew in self-pitying bitterness. All Shanghai was in peril now, and just like in 1918, Tom Lai was going to do his bit.
Stepping through the rubble, he scanned the remnants for any signs of a weapon. Most of the bar still stood, a defiant, mocking gesture. Tom suppressed the urge for a drink and kept fumbling through the wreckage. Half of Club Twilight’s structure remained upright, but an occasional groan from its beams suggested it was ready to topple over any minute.
Tom soon came across the mutilated body of Chow, staring back at him through shattered spectacles. All of his scheming and double-dealing had led him here. A fitting end to such a crooked snake. Funny, this nightclub had been Tom’s entire life, yet it was also the reason he’d been marked for certain death. If there had been no war, Tom would be in Chow’s place and Club Twilight would have become Feng Lung-wei’s Pleasure Palace. Maybe the club’s destruction was actually a mercy killing.
Tom continued onward, before stumbling upon the grisly remains of the Green Gang thug, smashed between thick piles of debris. Dried blood crusted around his lips, nose, and eyes, turning his bloated, swollen face into an enormous scab. Tom planted one shoe – now caked with dust – on solid footing, gripped some loose rubble, and heaved. The rest of the gangster’s body became visible, along with his firearm – a Smith & Wesson revolver. Tom snatched it up and slid it into his pocket.
He turned to leave, but sentimentality kept him put. Instead, he wandered around what had been the dance floor where the Twilight Band had played “Chinatown, My Chinatown,” “Limehouse Blues,” and every other jazz song this side of Harlem. Now, every melody rang out in Tom’s head like a dirge, a funeral march for Club Twilight. The table where Charles Whitfield regularly sat was now reduced to a pile of splinters. Through a gaping hole in the wall, the back storage room was visible where poor Yan Ping had met his gruesome fate.
The upstairs had been blown away, leaving only the twisted husk of the stairs that had led up to where his private apartment had been. He saw ghosts of the past, Mei-chen, Whitfield, Yan Ping, the band, the bartenders, the taxi dancers, and clientele streaming in and out of Club Twilight, an endless parade of light. Within moments, it was all gone, replaced by a battered shell.
At least it had existed – at least they had all existed – even if it had been fleeting. Tom lowered his head and said a prayer – for Yan Ping who was with his ancestors now, for Whitfield who he forgave and hoped forgave him, for Mei-chen longing to escape the demons of her past, and for Club Twilight, his kingdom, his home, now just a memory.
Squealing tires jerked Tom’s head upward. A black Mercedes screeched to a stop across the street. Tom ducked behind the back wall into what remained of the back storage room and peered out through the gaping hole. Feng Lung-wei and his surviving henchman hopped out of the Mercedes and strode toward the ruined main dance hall.
Clutching his Thompson submachine gun like a one-man army, Feng Lung-wei bellowed, “Oh Tommy! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
With the Tommy gun firm in his hands, Feng Lung-wei looked like a Hollywood gangster – flashy, yet dangerous. However menacing Feng was, he had seen better days. He’d cleaned the blood off his face, but his fancy pinstripe suit and overcoat were wrinkled and torn. That brutish, hulking henchman of his lurked nearby, brandishing a revolver of his own. How the hell did these two idiots survive the war so far? This vicious whelp must have been even more determined to kill Tom than he’d thought.
“No use hiding, Tommy,” Feng called out. “We saw you scurry in here like the rat you are. I knew you’d come back here, so we parked the Mercedes just a block away and waited. What have you got stashed away here? Money? Guns? Or maybe you just want to drown yourself in Scotch and memories?” He croaked out a rattle of cruel laughter. “If you come out now I won’t make you suffer too much.”
Tom peered through the hole in the wall and called out, “Who’s calling who a rat? I’m surprised you didn’t piss your pants, run back to Frenchtown, and beg Uncle, or should I say ‘Papa Tu,’ for protection!”
Feng swiveled the Tommy gun around and blasted away. Tom dove down as the bullets flew through the hole and pinged off what remained of the half-ruined wall. Cracks grew and groaned under the added pressure and injury. It would keel over if this kept up.
“Pretty clever, aren’t you Tommy? Well, you’ll never live to tell anyone you figured out who I really am,” Feng went on. “Besides, I can’t have you spilling the milk about my plans for Club Twilight.”
“That’s ‘spilling the beans,’ you idiot,” Tom called back at him.
“Beans, milk, who cares? All that matters is that if Tu Yueh-sheng knew I tried to make a little money behind his back, then even I – his own son – wouldn’t survive the night. Not only that, he’d probably cut every tendon in my body for trying to kill you, his precious ‘American nephew.’”
Still crouching low, Tom yelled out, “I’m touched that your pop still has a soft spot for me.”
Feng barked another laugh. “He’d be relieved to hear that your twist was the spy and not you. Say, whatever happened to sweet little Mei-chen?”
Tom whipped the revolver out of his pocket, slid in front of the hole, and fired back. Feng and his henchman took cover behind heaps of debris. Tom ducked back down and avoided a steady blast of bullets from Feng’s Tommy gun that poured through the open hole and smashed against the wall. More cracks emerged, wooden beams began to splinter and snap. A few more of these exchanges and what remained of Club Twilight would all come crashing down.
With that much firepower in Feng Lung-wei’s hands, there was no way Tom could outshoot him. But maybe with a little extra effort, that gangster brat and henchman would be crushed like cockroaches. Edging closer to the hole, Tom cupped his mouth.
“Mei-chen was sick and tired of Shanghai. Said there was too many two-bit punks who fancy themselves real public enemies here!”
“Tommy you...son of a bitch!”
“Your English is improving! Did you learn that one from Black Mask?” Tom taunted, then hit the dirt.
Feng Lung-wei responded in Chinese, screaming, “Sha! Sha! Sha!” Die! Die! Die!
Another wave of lead crashed against the wall, ripping out huge chunks. The submachine gun’s hideous scream of rat tat tat continued uninterrupted for long, excruciating moments. Explosions continued to tear the wall asunder, showering Tom with splinters and debris. Finally, the Tommy gun ceased and the violent bursts were replaced by a high-pitched wail. The cracks in the wall were widening, ready to give way. Tom leaped to his feet and – concentrating all his strength into his shoulder – rammed the wall like a juggernaut. The structure cracked and bent, pulled down by the sheer weight of itself.
Through the massive hole, Feng Lung-wei was visible, grasping his Tommy gun. Fear ignited in his youthful face. The gangster brat spun around and ran, along with his brutish henchman. The wall came crashing down, sending up a thick cloud of dust, rubble, and pulverized debris. Tom struggled to see, but the acrid cloud obscured his vision and left him gasping for air.
Instead, he turned and ran the opposite direction, away from the smoldering rubble. He stumbled into the back alleyway, where his Bentley – still squashed like a pancake – remained parked. Steadying himself against the crushed hood, Tom sucked up as much clean air as he could, soothing his burning lungs. Looking back, the dust cloud was dispersing and revealed the two gangsters to be very much
alive and retreating to their Mercedes parked across the street.
Raising his revolver, Tom aimed and squeezed off a few shots, but Feng and his thug were too far away. Within moments, they were back in the safety of the Mercedes, which roared to life and rocketed forward. Squealing tires announced its new direction – they were doubling back for a renewed assault. The Mercedes swerved around and rumbled over the ruins remains of Club Twilight like a tank treading across no man’s land.
Tom fired a few more shots of his revolver, which pinged against the Mercedes’ hood. Fighting off an overwhelming horror, Tom ran and ducked back into an alleyway, too narrow for the gangsters to follow. There was no way to outrun or outgun Feng Lung-wei now. Not unless he had help. The North Railway Station offered the only chance of protection now. If he could reach it, that is.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Tom ducked out of the alleyway and onto the Woochen Road. A caravan of refugees passed him on the other side, a pathetic mass of wounded civilians hobbling south. Only he was crazy enough to head north, deeper into the war zone. But only the 19th Route Army could match Feng’s Tommy gun in firepower.
Tom kept running and glimpsed behind him. The Mercedes hooked onto Woochen Road and sped forward. There was no slowdown, not even for the throng of refugees that clogged the street. Tom kept running, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the hideous sight behind. The Mercedes slammed headfirst into the crowd, tossing bodies aside, flipping them up onto the hood, or mercilessly crushing them beneath its tires.
There was nothing Tom could do, not yet anyway. He kept stealing glances behind him and realized that this tragedy had bought him some time. The Mercedes had slowed down as if bogged down in a swamp. Behind the steering wheel, the Green Gang thug tried to maneuver around the caravan to no avail. Feng Lung-wei leaned out of the passenger window, aimed his Tommy gun, and fired wildly. The bullets ripped through the crowd and cut down the remaining survivors.
Shanghai Twilight Page 20
