by James Dudley
Peng was accompanied by a sandy-haired European man who followed closely behind him, his expression grim and his eyes always watching. From prior surveillance photos, Richard recognized the man as Erich Schumacher, an East German who added a whole new layer of complication to the situation. A former Nazi Gestapo officer and worthy World War II adversary, Schumacher had made a new name for himself in the criminal underworld. Officially, he was a freelance arms dealer and assassin, working solely for his own financial gain. Unofficially, he worked for the KGB, doing the types of dangerous and deniable jobs that Soviet citizens just wouldn’t do.
Their drinks in hand, Peng and Schumacher stood up and moved to a secluded booth, where a middle-aged merchant captain was waiting for them. From his own booth, Richard did his best to watch them without making it obvious that he was watching them. He was too far away to hear anything, and he had never quite mastered the art of lip reading, but the short and animated conversation punctuated by an exchange of cash told him all he needed to know.
When Peng and Schumacher got up to leave, Richard gave them a momentary head start, and then slipped outside to follow them. They quickly turned off the main streets and went through some back alleys that were just as shady as the alleys near any shipyard in any city around the world.
Finally, they arrived at a seemingly abandoned warehouse where a group of workers were milling around, awaiting instruction. Richard slipped inside and took cover behind a pile of wooden crates, where he watched as Peng barked a set of orders and then left as quickly as he had arrived. Their instructions now clear, the men began to lift the crates and pack them tightly into the beds of nearby trucks. Seizing the opportunity provided by the dim lighting, his disguise, and the fact that the men were too hard at work to notice anything amiss, Richard slipped into their midst and began to work alongside them.
Richard helped place the last crate on the last truck in the lineup, and then climbed up into the truck bed and took a seat on top of a crate, as the other workers before him had done. One by one, the trucks peeled out of the warehouse and into the streets, carrying their presumably ill-gotten cargo. The temperature was finally beginning to cool now that the sun had gone down, but the air still hung thick with humidity. The trucks split up as they went, with different vehicles taking various side routes, but they converged once more when they arrived at the shipyard.
The merchant vessel MV Mandalay was moored to the pier, awaiting its final preparations before its scheduled underway time the following morning. With a well-rehearsed precision, the workers dismounted the trucks and began to offload the cargo. Following the crowd, Richard helped carry the back end of a particularly heavy crate while another man took control of the front. In unison, they walked across the gangway to board the ship, then strained heavily as they tilted and maneuvered their way down a narrow ladder well that lead to the cargo hold.
Once there, they could finally put the crate down in the first open space they saw. The hold was spacious and dimly lit, and was nearly filled to capacity with containers, some the same size as their box, and others much bigger. Richard knelt down to re-lace his boots as he took the scene in. His colleague glanced back to see what he was doing, then turned back around to head out for another load. Seizing the brief window of being alone in the hold, Richard climbed behind one of the higher stacks and hid. He watched in silence as the workers made several more trips, finally transferring the full contents of the trucks. When the final crates were secured, Richard was left alone in the hold once more.
Richard waited a few moments to ensure there were no more visitors, and then sprang to action. Producing a knife from a hidden pocket, he cut away at the packaging of the nearest crate and pried the lid open. He eagerly tore away the packaging, only to be greatly let down when he discovered what was inside. The crate was stuffed to the brim with a mass-produced order of the white and pink poodle skirts that were currently all the rage with American teens. He slumped backwards and threw up his hands. “Bloody yanks.”
After a moment’s reflection, a hunch came to Richard, and he dove back into the crate, rifling through the poodle skirts and tossing them aside. Sure enough, he soon reached a concealed second level of the crate underneath a false bottom, which he opened to reveal a neatly packed row of Leigh-Enfield No. 5 Mk 1 Jungle carbines. At last, the missing weapons were found.
Richard began to make an attempt at re-packing the crate, but then his attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps descending the ladder. Moving as quickly as possible, he dashed across the room and pressed himself against the wall, crouching like a predator waiting for its prey. A round white light bounced towards the deck as a member of the ship’s crew came down for an inspection, holding a flashlight in his mouth while using both hands to hold onto the rails. As his foot reached the bottom rung, Richard struck. Forcefully yanking the man from the ladder, he placed him in a chokehold until he passed out.
His instinct to flee now in overdrive, Richard let the limp sailor drop to the deck and hastily climbed up the ladder. He peered around when he reached the topside level, and saw that Peng was having a conversation with the ship’s captain on the quarterdeck, blocking the principal avenue of escape. Thinking quickly, he ran back towards the stern and tested the tautness of one of the mooring lines tying the ship to the pier. Like a sloth hanging from a branch, Richard wrapped his hands and feet around the line and began to slide downwards. When he was far enough clear from the ship, he let go and hit the water with a mighty splash.
Chapter 5
Tommy arrived early on set, giving himself ample time to prepare for the long day of filming ahead of him. Having grown accustomed to a life of late night performances on the road, he normally enjoyed sleeping in. But something about being in a new hotel room for the first time always left him waking up throughout the night. He finally gave up on it and rolled out of bed just in time to see the sunrise over Repulse Bay from his window. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant, he took the short cab ride over to the set. He was the first cast member to arrive, while several members of the crew were just beginning to set up for the shoot. Louis Poutine watched it all unfold from his director’s chair as he sipped his morning coffee.
“Good morning, Tommy,” he greeted him. Louis held a well-worn script in his lap, suggesting that he had already been hard at work for some time. His tie was pulled down with his top three shirt buttons undone, and his once dark hair and moustache were looking ever more grey.
“Good morning, Louis. You’re looking pretty stressed out, so I probably shouldn’t pile on, but I have to tell you that I never actually learned my lines for this scene, so we’ll probably just have to wing it if that’s ok.”
Louis dropped what he was doing and looked up in stunned silence.
Tommy broke out in laughter. “I’m just kidding. You knew that, right?”
Louis breathed a deep sigh of relief. “You know, everybody likes to say that things were harder in their day, but I really think acting was easier when I first started out and the films didn’t have lines.”
After another illuminating heart-to-heart of the type that Louis had so often provided Tommy with throughout his career, Tommy made his way to the costume department. With a few alterations and repairs, the outfit he had worn for most of the Hawaiian portion of the shoot- the loose fitting trousers, white shirt with a neckerchief, blue overcoat, and black hat of a proper nineteenth century sea captain- was still largely intact. He was modeling the ensemble in the mirror when Tony and Lars stumbled in to change into costumes of their own.
“You know, these clothes are actually pretty comfortable,” Lars observed. “I kind of wish they would come back in style.”
“You should dress like a pirate for the premiere, we’ll say it’s a new Swedish style, people won’t know the difference,” said Tony.
“What if we started a whole new line of fake Swedish clothes?” Tommy added. “We could call it Pants Pantersson.”
&nbs
p; After costumes, the actors stopped off at makeup, and then finally to the set to begin filming. Today’s shoot was located in a beachfront bar that the crew had worked tirelessly to strip of all visible modern amenities and adorn with an appropriate nineteenth century décor. In this particular scene, the climax of the film’s first act, Captain Harry Rogers (Tommy) and his first mate Benjamin (Tony) become stranded in Hong Kong when their merchant ship, the SS Jenkintown, limps into port in need of expensive repairs that they cannot afford. Not knowing what else to do, they venture to a sailors’ tavern to see what help they can find. There, they meet Captain Joao Da Silva (Lars), the Portuguese captain of the notorious pirate ship Benfica, who challenges Harry to a series of drinking games with a cash wager on the line that is more than sufficient to pay for their repairs.
During the final preparations, Tommy paced back and forth, silently reciting his lines, and getting into the head of his character. Finally, Louis finished his adjustments, satisfied that the lighting and sound were exactly how he wanted them. A group of extras were in place, ready to create enough background merriment to portray the proper atmosphere. By the time Louis snapped his clapperboard and said, “Action!” Tommy could already feel the magic of the movies, transporting him to another era.
The filming went smoothly, for the most part. There was a little bit of the usual bloopers and slip-ups, and they were forced to take one extended pause to chase away a seabird that flew into the middle of the set. But overall, it was a successful day of work. Tommy, Tony, and Lars played off each other perfectly, displaying exceptional chemistry and comic timing as they proceeded through a series of comically tense negotiations and one-upping, followed by a rollicking competitive montage of darts, billiards, and various drinking games. Ultimately, Tommy’s character is victorious and must accompany Lars back to his ship to collect his winnings. In the final shot of the scene, the three sailors step out onto the beach, where one of Lars’ officers runs in to intercept them.
“Captain, we finally have favorable winds! We need to get underway tonight!” The young actor portraying the officer delivered his lines with just the right amount of urgency. He likely had a bright career ahead of him.
“Captain Da Silva” gesticulated and opened mouth as if to give an order, then took one step forward and face planted in the sand, having enjoyed his time ashore just a little too much. The naturalness with which Lars sold the scene convinced Tommy that he had probably actually been drinking during the shoot, all in the name of “method acting.”
The young officer looked down at his captain with his mouth agape, then back up at Tommy as if he expected him to do something. Tommy reached down, grabbed Lars’ hat, and put it his own head with a mischievous grin. “Well I guess I’m the captain now.”
“Cut!” shouted Louis. “That was great work, everybody. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”
Tony loosened up his neckerchief and began to unlace his boots. “Alright, Tommy, we’re free! What do you say we hit the town and get into some trouble, just like the old days?
“I wish I could,” said Tommy, who now had a much different idea of what “getting into trouble” entailed. “But I actually have to run some errands.”
*****
Tommy made it back to the hotel, showered, changed into a plain grey suit, and ate some quick snacks just in time to see the sunset over the bay. He walked back out just almost as quickly as he arrived, carrying a briefcase with several of the film reels packed inside. By day, he played a merchant captain stumbling his way into maritime piracy. By night, he played a film star stumbling his way into media piracy. Such was life as a comedian turned CIA consultant.
A short walk away from the hotel, Tommy caught a bus to Central. From there, it was another short walk to the terminal where he boarded the Star Ferry to travel across the harbor from Hong Kong Island to Kowloon. The ferry was filled nearly to capacity when it left the quay and began to sail across Victoria Harbour.
Throughout the trip, Tommy was attempting to rehash his CIA instructions and come up with plans for every scenario he may encounter, but he kept getting distracted by the new and overwhelming sights. The son of a shipyard worker, Tommy had spent a lot of time around seaports, but the harbors of places like South Philadelphia and Camden, New Jersey couldn’t quite compare to what he was seeing now. Against the dramatic backdrop of the bright city lights and the looming presence of Victoria Peak, everything from supertankers to fishing junks transited in and out of the harbor, creating the nautical version of a busy city street. To the untrained eye, it was chaos, but to the sailor’s eye, there was a beautiful order in all of it.
The ferry reached the dock on the Kowloon side, and the passengers stood and pressed for the exit. Tommy had ridden the New York subway plenty of times, so he was no stranger to aggressive, tightly packed crowds, but Hong Kong seemed to take it to a whole new level. He pushed and squeezed his way through the crowd as he stepped back out into the city, got a brief respite of fresh air when he cut through the open green space of Kowloon Park, then dove back into the madness on Nathan Road, Kowloon’s main thoroughfare.
It was a very wide road, lined on both sides with restaurants and hotels displaying vertical neon signs lit up with Chinese characters in a variety of colors. According to his CIA instruction packet, Tommy was seeking out the lair of a man named Chao Hung. All he knew about Chao is that he was an accomplished smuggler and trader of illicit goods who fell somewhere in the middle management level of the triads, as Hong Kong’s equivalent of the mafia was known. Tommy had interacted with these types of men a great deal back home, as they owned many of the clubs he performed his stand-up act in, and he assumed this wouldn’t be terribly different. The languages and cultures may be different, but the combination of greed, pride, and honor that motivated these men was universal.
Having committed the directions to memory, Tommy turned onto a side street, then down a smaller side street, and finally into a back alley, where he found what appeared to be a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. He double-checked the signs and cautiously stepped inside. The restaurant was dimly lit and empty, save for one employee. An unfamiliar but enticing mixture of scents wafted through from the kitchen.
“May I help you, sir?” the server asked in fairly proficient English.
“I’m from the public works department. I’m here because your plumbing system is overdue for inspection,” Tommy said, using the code phrase that his instructions had designated.
The server nodded as he handed Tommy a menu. “Mr. Hung will see you shortly. In the meantime, feel free to order some food.”
Tommy looked over the menu, which had Chinese characters next to their English translations, and decided on a dish called cha siu bao, a baked bun stuffed with barbeque pork. The server returned with the dish a short time later, and it greatly exceeded even Tommy’s most optimistic expectations. After he finished eating, Tommy sat and waited until the door to a back room opened up and two serious looking men, one Chinese and one European, walked out on their way to the exit. As they passed by Tommy, the European one paused and let out a mighty sneeze that he had been holding back for far too long.
“Gesundheit!” Tommy instinctively exclaimed.
“Danke,” said the man. He paused for a moment and looked Tommy over. “Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
“Ja,” said Tommy.
The man smiled as he turned to leave. “Auf wiedersehen.”
Tommy nodded and tipped his hat, having completely exhausted the limited German vocabulary he had picked up during the war. The server then returned to clear Tommy’s plate away as Tommy paid the bill.
“Follow me, sir; Mr. Hung will see you now.”
Tommy followed the server to the back room where Chao Hung was seated behind his mahogany desk. He was a large man, dressed in a bespoke three-piece suit with several gold chains draped across the vest. A ceiling fan whirred overhead, providing the only circulation in the otherwise stuffy room. As Tommy stepped insid
e, Chao rose to shake his hand, smiling with recognition.
“Mr. Tommy Malloy! It is not every day I get a movie star in here.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hung.”
Now that he was standing, Chao walked over to the side table where he kept his record player, put on a vinyl record, and sat back down. “I just got this in today; ‘Jail House Rock’ by Elvis Presley. You like it?”
“I love it. It’s the future of music.” In actuality, Tommy’s record collection almost entirely consisted of the type of classic Italian crooning made popular by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Tony Vespa, and he really didn’t understand this new rock and roll thing that all the young kids were into.
Chao rapped his fingers on the desk, getting back to business. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Malloy?”
“I have a proposition for you that could benefit us both. As an actor, I have access to a wide variety of films that most people do not. Now, I believe, and I’m sure you can agree, that there is a large untapped market for these movies here in Hong Kong, but even more so in mainland China. So here’s what I’m proposing:f I’ll get you the films, you get them across the border and onto the black market. We can negotiate a profit-sharing arrangement that is fair to both of us.”
Chao rubbed his chin in contemplation as he listened. “You are correct about the market potential for this product. I have actually already established a network of my own for this very thing. So, tell me, what movies would you be able to get me?”
Tommy opened up the briefcase and pulled out a film reel. “How about Citizen Kane? Orson Welles, 1941, an all-time classic.”
Chao shook his head. “That movie bored me. I never understood why it has such critical acclaim.”
Tommy fished around for another reel. “The Searchers with John Wayne, it’s a great film, just came out last year…”
Chao cut him off. “Enough with the dramas, do you have any comedies?”
