The Clown Prince of Kowloon
Page 11
Tommy was anxious to get back home and put this all behind him, but if there was a role he could play in cleaning up this mess, he felt honor bound to take it. He jumped up and shook Han’s hand. “Count me in.”
*****
Han docked his boat in a familiar out cove along the coastline of Macao, confirming that this was a route he had sailed many times. When they stepped onto land, Tommy was dismayed to discover that the weather in Macao was somehow even more hot and humid than it was in Hong Kong. He was sweating bullets as they trekked and lugged their bags through the tropical sun.
Eventually, they reached the more built-up part of town and passed through Senado Square. With its central fountain surrounded by street vendors and historic colonial style buildings, it reminded Tommy of Brazil, or at least what he had always imagined Brazil would look like. A block away from the square, they ducked into a small café and dropped their bags as they found a seat at a table.
“Wait here a minute,” Han said, before disappearing into a back room.
Tommy looked around and took in the sights while he waited for Han to return. If it weren’t for the heat, Macao would have been a place he would love to spend a vacation. The style of architecture, the pace of life, and the proximity to the beach were all major plusses, and at least from what he could smell, the food was amazing. If Hong Kong Harry was profitable enough to warrant a sequel, maybe this would be the place to film it.
About fifteen minutes later, Han returned with another man in tow. “Alright, Tommy, it’s time to roll.”
“Can’t we get something to eat first?” Tommy pleaded, looking jealously at the delectable dishes that the people at surrounding tables were eating.
“Trust me, the man we are going to visit will feed us very well.”
Taking Han’s word for it, Tommy gathered up his bags and followed along. The man Han had been talking to led them to a waiting red Pontiac Bonneville convertible and told them to get in. Tommy and Han took the back seats, and the man proceeded to drive them outside of the city and down a rural road that eventually became a dirt path. The path led to an iron gate, where the driver rang a buzzer, alerting the guard in a nearby shack to open the gate and let them in. The driver then continued down the path, finally coming to a stop in front of a palatial country estate.
“Mr. Wang will be expecting you,” the driver said as he waited for them to debark and then pulled the car away.
“Alright, we’re here,” Han said.
“Wherever here is, it’s a nice place,” Tommy said as he admired the surroundings.
“As we discussed on the boat ride, Ricardo Wang is the Macao equivalent of Walter Wong. He more or less runs the place, or at least the shadier parts of it. He’s also a big fan of Hollywood, and he definitely knows who you are and has probably seen some of your films,” Han explained.
“Well then, let’s hope he liked them,” Tommy said as a butler opened the front door, led them inside, and took their bags.
The butler led the way to a large living room, whose open windows overlooked a colorful tropical garden. They sat down on a velvet couch, facing a marble-encrusted fireplace with a portrait of Henry the Navigator on top.
“Wow, Han, you may be much more well-connected than I thought. How did you get an in with this guy?” Tommy asked when they sat down.
“A few years ago, his yacht got wrecked in a storm. I picked him and his crew up in the Antelope, and he’s owed me ever since.”
Once they had gotten comfortable on the couch, Ricardo Wang made his entrance. He was a mustachioed man with slick-backed hair, wearing a seersucker suit with no tie and several gold chains around his neck. The bastard son of a Portuguese sailor and a local woman of the night, Ricardo rose from his humble beginnings to run a small gambling and smuggling ring that expanded over time into an empire that allowed him to afford the grandeur in which he resided.
“Han, my old friend, it is such a pleasure to see you! And Tommy Malloy, I cannot express what an honor it is to have a real Hollywood star enter into my abode. I know you have much to discuss, but first, we must eat and drink. Mr. Malloy, I heard you were coming, so I obtained the best Irish whiskey I could find.”
Tommy smiled as the butler took a bottle from Wang and poured him a glass. At least so far, he was pretty certain he was going to like this guy. The three men dove right into a conversation that mostly revolved around travel and films, and all the while, the household staff kept the drinks filled while bringing out a succession of appetizers, each one more impressive than the last. Eventually, they adjourned to the dining room, where they were served a sumptuous dinner of galinha à portuguesa, a Portuguese/Chinese fusion dish consisting of a mildly spicy chicken curry in a creamy coconut sauce, which Tommy thoroughly enjoyed. This was followed by a dessert of pastéis de nata, a popular Portuguese egg tart pastry. After dessert, they adjourned once more to the verandah, where they watched the sunset while drinking port and smoking cigars.
Several hours after Tommy and Han first arrived at the estate, Ricardo Wang was finally ready to discuss business with them. He led them upstairs to his office, where they took seats in front of his antique wooden desk. In keeping with Ricardo’s interest in film, the walls of the office were decorated with posters from various movies. As Tommy glanced around, the first posters he recognized were of John Wayne and Henry Fonda in Fort Apache, Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly, and Frank Sinatra in High Society, and Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis in At War with the Army. Finally, tucked away in a back corner, he noticed a poster of himself dressed in a Navy uniform from the 1955 comedy Seaman Schmuckatelli, a film he was particularly proud of.
“Alright, what can I do for you?” Ricardo asked as he assumed a commanding presence behind the desk. He proceeded to listen patiently as Tommy and Han explained the current situation and General Sheng’s efforts to co-opt the Triads.
“So basically, what we’re asking for, is an alliance,” Han explained. “We believe it would be in your best interests, not to mention ours, to ride into Hong Kong and become our strong horse.”
Ricardo nodded along. “And what exactly can you offer me in this arrangement?”
Tommy opened up his bag and spilled the film reels onto the table. “An exclusive relationship to sell bootleg films; the best films, straight from Hollywood.”
Ricardo looked through the pile. “These are some good films, and there is certainly a lucrative untapped market for them on the mainland. This is a good start. What else you got?”
“Sheng has exclusive relationships with the Triads regarding weapons and drugs, but he never touched gambling. We’re in a prime position to exploit the Hong Kong gambling market,” Han said.
Tommy elaborated further, “They might bet on horses now, like they do everywhere else, but there is a whole new world of sports out there. I have friends in Philadelphia, New York, and L.A. that make a killing running gambling rings for baseball, basketball, boxing, you name it.”
Ricardo was sufficiently intrigued, and they went on to hammer out the details of the arrangement until he neared his decision. “I am ready to agree to this deal, provided you agree to one further condition.”
“You name it, we’ll probably do it,” Han said.
“I own the largest casino in Macao, and we are always looking for entertaining acts to bring in,” Ricardo explained. “It would be a great honor for me if the two of you would perform a comedy show there.”
Tommy jumped up and shook his hand. “Mr. Wang, you have yourself a deal.”
Chapter 19
Beneath the waters of the Pacific Ocean, Lieutenant Commander Frank Maldini stood in the control room of the Skate-class submarine USS Starfish. It was the maiden deployment for the newest addition to the U.S. Navy’s new cutting-edge class of submarines fueled by nuclear power, a game changing advancement in undersea warfare. It was also Maldini’s first venture as an Executive Officer, the second-in-command of a ship. It filled him with a bit of nostalgia that this depl
oyment was bringing back to the waters where he first set sail during the height of the Pacific War.
After brief stopovers in Pearl Harbor and Guam, the Starfish was to proceed to the Western Pacific to conduct training and maneuvers with the HMS Apollo, a British Amphion-class submarine that still used the more traditional diesel-electric power. The crews of the two submarines were both looking forward to some good-natured competition and ribbing about their different propulsion systems, as well as the relative merits and achievements of their respective national services.
Afterwards, both subs were scheduled to dock in Hong Kong for a long weekend of ceremonies, inspections, and much-needed recreation. However, their plans were altered when new orders came in to track the merchant ship M/V Mandalay, which was suspected of smuggling stolen British weapons. As the submarine silently followed in the merchant ship’s wake, Maldini grinned at the thought of how many more talking points he would have to use at his British counterparts’ expense.
“We’re at periscope depth, Sir,” the Lieutenant currently on watch as Officer of the Deck informed Maldini. “Would you like to have a look?”
“Let me see that,” Maldini said as he pulled the periscope up to his eyes. About three nautical miles ahead of their position, he could see the stern of the merchant ship as it cruised towards its next destination, blissfully unaware that it was being stalked by a silent killer.
Maldini marked the Mandalay’s position on the chart, noting how much easier tracking an unsuspecting commercial cargo ship was than his typical duties of cat-and-mouse evasions with the Soviet navy. Now that he thought of it, the last time he had tracked merchant shipping at sea was back when he was wreaking havoc on Japanese convoys.
Like many men around his age, the war had forced Frank to grow up quickly. He still had vivid memories of playing football with neighborhood friends on a Sunday afternoon, only to come inside to find his family huddled around the radio, listening to the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor. He joined the Navy as soon as he could, and was rushed through the V-12 officer training program at Villanova University. He made it out to the fleet just as the final stages of the naval war were beginning to ramp up, and managed see quite a bit of action in a short period of time. As the Allied island-hopping campaign moved ever closer to Japan, the submarine force played a vital role in interrupting Japanese shipping and enforcing a crippling blockade.
After the war, Maldini wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with his life, so he figured why not just stay in the service. He steadily rose through the ranks, and was in the right place at the right time to be selected as one of the first officers to man the new class of nuclear submarines. It was a challenging career, but it was also a rewarding one that had allowed him to travel all over the world and see things that he had never dreamed about growing up in Philadelphia.
The Commanding Officer arrived in the control room shortly after Maldini, and was quickly brought up to speed. With a methodical precision, they organized and delegated the appropriate tasks to make sure that the Mandalay’s position was properly marked, and that the appropriate messages were conveyed over the radio. While undersea tracking was often a stressful task, tracking an unsuspecting merchant ship on the surface was something they could do in their sleep. Now that the target was acquired, all they had to do was wait and see where it was going. If all went well, they could still make their scheduled port visit.
With things under control for the time being, Maldini glanced down at his watch and realized he was running late for a very important engagement. The life of a submariner was one with a twenty-four hour schedule and very little sunlight, and as such, it was important to maintain what semblance of routine that they could. One such routine was “XO’s movie night,” which was celebrated every Saturday at 2100.
Maldini made his way to the wardroom, where every officer not otherwise on watch or resting up for the next watch was gathered around the table waiting for him, a bowl of popcorn and a pot of coffee at the ready.
“What’s it going to be this week, Sir?” a young Ensign asked.
“Another Tommy Malloy movie?” a Lieutenant prodded.
“How did you know?” Maldini said as he pulled down a white screen at the head of the table and placed a film reel into a projector. The fact that the X.O. was a childhood friend of the fellow Philadelphian was a topic of frequent discussion in the Starfish wardroom, as well as having a significant impact on the weekly selection of movies.
As the film began to roll, Maldini gave the necessary introduction. “We’re going with some early Tommy Malloy today, before he made it big. It’s a funny one, and the real stories that it’s based on are even funnier. For this edition of X.O.’s movie night, I present The Boys of Saint Beatrice.”
The 1949 black-and-white comedy had been Tommy’s first leading role, as well as his first effort at screenwriting. In the film, he portrayed the ringleader of a group of unruly teenage troublemakers at an all-male Catholic boarding school, who were ultimately put in their place and taught respect by a strict but fair nun. Having actually attended similar schools with Tommy throughout their childhoods, Frank knew that Tommy’s performance in the film was very much reflective of his real life experiences, and in many ways, he really wasn’t acting. The young officers, skeptical at first at the choice of an older film, soon became engrossed in the plotline and filled the small room with their laughter. Maldini leaned back in his seat as he sipped his coffee cup. Moments of respite were rare in his business, and he had to make the most of them.
*****
For several days, the Starfish and the Apollo took turns tracking the Mandalay and doing their best to fit in whatever training and drills they could in the meantime. It became a well-drilled routine that continued until the merchant vessel finally dropped its anchor alongside one of Hong Kong’s outlying islands.
Maldini paced through smoke-filled tension of the control room, pausing to look over the shoulder of the quartermaster who was marking their position on their chart.
“It’s the island of Tung Lung Chau, Sir,” the quartermaster said.
Maldini studied the nautical charts closely. Tung Lung Chau was close enough to Hong Kong to be in the middle of everything, yet still far away and depopulated enough to provide seclusion.
“Periscope depth!” the Captain bellowed in the background.
“Periscope depth, aye!” replied the helmsman.
The submarine slowly rose through the water, stopping just shy of the surface. A short distance away, the HMS Apollo was doing the same thing. For the next several hours, the respective submarine crews looked on through the lens of the periscope while the cargo ship came to a rest at anchor and launched the small boats that would serve as its conduit to the nearby island shore. A well-organized group of men on the shore was preparing for the Mandalay’s arrival, and they immediately set to work getting ready to bring the cargo ashore.
Maldini took his turn on the periscope, and watched intently as the ship’s crew methodically carried a long procession of wooden crates topside, placed them onto a system of pulleys, and lowered them onto a succession of small boats that had pulled alongside. The boats made a continuous loop of bringing crates to the shore and then returning to the ship to take on another load. Meanwhile on shore, a series of trucks had arrived, and the men on the beach were constantly working to transfer the crates from the boats to the trucks, which would then disappear over the horizon as they drove up the rocky hill. Maldini stepped away from the periscope and allowed another officer to have a look.
“XO, what did you see up there, Sir?” the Officer of the Deck asked him.
Maldini paused to light a cigarette and mentally formulate the messages he was going to have to send out. “It looks like we just stumbled upon the biggest gun running operation this side of Al Capone’s Chicago.”
Chapter 20
When the sun set over Macao, it didn’t mean that it was getting dark, it simply meant that the natural
light of the sun was giving way to multi-colored neon glow of the casinos. Outside of the largest of these casinos, Tommy and Han approached the back entrance in a gondola, dressed in brand new tuxedoes that Ricardo Wang had picked out for them. The gondola slowly glided through the dark waters of the bay, two rows of paper lanterns lighting illuminating its path. From their vantage point, they could see the long line of people who were already queued up in front of the casino, waiting to see their show.
“Are you nervous?” Tommy asked Han, who was already on his third cigarette of the boat ride.
“It’s just I’ve never done anything bigger than background acting. This is a really big stage for just a street kid from Aberdeen,” Han said.
“Well if it makes any difference, I’m just a street kid from South Philadelphia. And besides, if you don’t mind me saying, the crowd isn’t exactly coming to see you,” Tommy said.
“Thanks, that does help,” said Han, “But I’ve never really done comedy before, and I just don’t know if I can do it.”
“Well it’s a simple act that’s been tried and tested many times,” Tommy explained. “I have the hard part, making all the crazy jokes and pranks. All you have to do is be a competent straight man to act as my foil.”
“Isn’t Tony Vespa usually the competent straight man?”
“Yes, he is.”
“But he’s really good at singing and stuff.”
“So? Can Tony Vespa do kung-Fu?”
Han was still pondering the question when the gondolier tied the boat up behind the casino and led them inside. Ricardo Wang was waiting for them in the lobby, and led the way as they walked to a dressing room behind the casino’s main stage.
“It’s a capacity crowd out there,” Ricardo explained. “Portuguese, Chinese, British, they’re all here to see you. It’s the biggest international act I’ve ever hosted here.”