He turned and walked to his mirrored bar, shot a blue cloud at his own, puffy, pock-marked face frowning back at him and poured a healthy portion of bourbon in his glass. He threw the burning liquid down his throat. It was liquid fire, totally taking his mind off his other problems. Diamonds, gold, bonds, piracy, smuggling…not to mention these political perverts who think that just because they run some stinking bureau or other they deserve a cut of whatever they imagine you're doing. And what was he doing, really? He was just helping a select few, very excellent businessmen and politicos get what they rightly deserved.
He laughed out loud at himself. Even he didn't believe any of that crap anymore. He was robbing from the poor and giving to the rich. “Whatever…that's the way the world works.” If you believed otherwise, go try to get justice from any one of a hundred government servants of the people in any of the provinces. You'd get a knife in the back long before you'd get a helping hand.
The Mayor’s Associate 1966
The mayor's associate would have to call in a few favors tonight. It wouldn't be easy either. The weather sucked. As usual, the phones were down and half the streets in the city were under more than three feet of water. He decided to go listen to Julia. She could get a message to the mayor's favorite smuggler if anyone could.
When he walked into the derelict salon she was singing at this week the discord struck him again. He might be a nameless underling to the powerful mayor of Manila, sopping wet from head to toe, his shoes oozing water like two sponges, but he knew music. His mom had been a singer. He listened to her from the day he was born till the day she died. He especially liked jazz, but swing, easy listening, hell even some pop if it was done right. And Julia could sing. The moon would be full tomorrow so she was singing her moon songs. He'd walked in on 'Blue Moon' and her sultry, honey voiced rendition was making him forget how miserable it was to have your underwear be so wet they chafed your balls.
Sitting at the closest table to her that he could find he ordered a cheap bottle of rum and a can of coke. By the time she got to 'Moonglow' he was starting to dry out and had begun to slur his words a bit. She took a break and came to sit at his table.
"Hi beautiful, yur in grrreat form tonight," he told her, sitting as tall as he could muster in the uncomfortable wooden chair.
Laughing, Julia replied, "Why my darling, I believe you're just the tiniest bit drunk," she said, leaning in and kissing his still damp nose, "Not to mention wet." She brushed water from the hair over his ears and ran her hand down the back of his neck, continuing, "Maybe now is a good time to ask you about that secret move you've been planning for me again."
The mayor's associate had been melting at her touch, but when she mentioned the move, he sobered up a little and pushed back into the chair again. "Nope, not a bood, I mean good time. I told you before I'm working on something big, but you have to be patient, my long haired beauty." He drooled just a bit on the last compliment, but she forgave him. She was sure whatever he had up his sleeve wasn't as big as he pretended, but she figured it was worth playing along for anyway.
For his part, he'd almost forgotten what he'd come in for and startled her when it suddenly came back to him.
"Oh! I forgot! Boris needs to meet me here tomorrow night. It's extremely important. Can you get him here?" He begged.
"Honey, you know my brother doesn't come and go simply to please me. He thinks he's a really important man, you know?" Julia replied.
She laughed a little at her own joke. The truth was she was fond of her brother and he thought the world of her, but she wouldn't call him in to meet her friend without knowing a bit more.
"I'm not even sure he's in Manila. He might be in the North," she continued.
Boris and Katie were the two siblings that still spent a significant amount of time in the northern province of Zambales where their father moved them shortly after Sophia died.
The mayor's associate jumped up and threw up his hands. "He can't be! He has to be here!"
When he realized that Julia was leaning back out of his way and that the few people that were in the salon were looking sideways at him he quieted down and finished his statement, "The mayor has a job that he personally requested him to do."
"The mayor has a job for my brother," Julia thought. That was definitely interesting.
"Well, of course I can't promise anything, but I'll really try to get him here by nine p.m. tomorrow night," she assured the Mayor’s associate.
Since Boris was meeting her at her house for dinner after she finished tonight, she was pretty sure she could at least get the message to him. Since whatever it was concerned something the mayor specifically wanted from Boris, she was also pretty sure he would be interested.
Julia was honorable enough to consider not telling Boris, in order to keep him out of potential trouble, but she was also ambitious enough to want to find him early and see if he knew anything more about what the request might involve.
Lucky Charms 1966
Boris flipped the old lucky charm from finger to finger. His father had given it to him on his tenth birthday. Well, back to him really, Boris knew. There had been no money for presents that year so he had received some token he’d found on a family trip years ago. Boris remembered being let down because he’d wanted his own bike. Instead he got a tarnished looking token his dad told him Boris had found himself years ago. Thanks a lot is all Boris could think, but he’d pocketed the gift anyway. When he’d first met the mayor he’d been fiddling with it.
“What do you have there, Boris?” The mayor had asked.
“It’s just an old lucky charm I got from my papa,” Boris replied. He’d then stuck it back into his pocket and had to fish it out again when the mayor asked to see it.
“I’ll bet it is lucky, Boris. You don’t know what it is?” The mayor asked.
“Some sort of Spanish token, I guess,” Boris had answered.
“Some sort…yes…the sort they call a gold doubloon, my boy.” The mayor looked him in the eye and continued, “I’ll give you a couple hundred pesos for it. I happen to collect them.”
Boris’ initial thought was to take the money and run, but his instincts were good and he answered. “I’d never be able to part with this one, Mayor. It was a gift from my dad and it has a lot of sentimental value to me.”
The mayor looked at him and grinned. “Right, sentimental value. Smart kid.”
“Okay, back to the little matter of the weekend project I have for you.” As quickly as his interest had sparked, the mayor’s interest in the coin was over.
It was still raining later that weekend when the three young Filipino stallions Boris had hired carted the boxes slowly from the ramshackle shed to the waiting carts. None of them were complaining, but you could see the struggle on their faces.
The job was, of course, made harder by the pouring rain and mud covered trail. The boys would get fifty pesos when the shed was empty, the carts were hauled to the nearby beach and the contents of the carts were again transferred to the waiting outriggers.
The rain caused just enough extra confusion and negligence that no one realized one of the boxes was left behind in the shed. It sat in a very damp corner, rotted and covered in fallen filth.
When all the boxes were loaded into the boats, Boris made sure his three outriggers would run the distance from the secluded beach to the larger private island with no failures. His safe transport was the critical piece. This leg of the journey would have to avoid rocks, as well as navigate large storm waves, quickly, quietly and safely with cargo that was both heavy and apparently, quite precious.
He ran one boat himself, with an armed man from the mayor, and kept in constant radio contact with the other two boats, which were piloted by his left and right hand men.
The work directed to him by the mayor had picked up significantly after the last election. If it continued to be as lucrative as the past year and a half he might soon have the vessel he was lusting after. It was the smalle
st of the boats that were deemed capable of traversing the sea between the Philippines and China. A distinct disadvantage in cargo carrying capability over larger ships, but a terrific advantage if one wanted to be fast and stealthy. And for most of his customers, stealth was the key.
Julia Sings on the Bund 1982
Orlando ordered another round as he listened to the American jazz music come out of the mouth of the beautiful Filipina. He was mesmerized by her voice the moment he walked into the club two days ago and had spent every hour outside of work there since.
Giving an involuntary shudder, he swallowed the remainder of his now warm Budweiser and straightened his spine. Two beers had accomplished the task he meant them to…he was neither anxious, nor tipsy.
As the singer put her microphone back in the stand, Orlando turned in his seat and stood to meet her before she slipped out of his reach again.
He offered his hand in a western style introduction and said, "Hi, I'm Orlando. I've enjoyed your voice for the last two nights and wanted to introduce myself. Can I offer you a drink?" Lucky for him, this was not one of the clubs that only allowed their singers to order the 'special' champagne when a patron offered them a drink.
"Thank you, Orlando, I would simply love a hot green tea. I'm parched and I don't need any more gravel in my voice tonight." She even smiled at him and shook his hand. This was farther than he had gotten with any of the Chinese girls in this club. After requesting two green teas from a passing server, Orlando continued.
"Excuse me for asking, but are you Filipina?" He was pretty sure she was, but didn't want to offend her if his hunch turned out wrong. "And I don't mean anything by the question, other than I am Filipino myself and I just thought, from your beautiful color, that you might be also."
He was trying too hard, he knew it, but she smiled again at the question. That, at least, was a relief.
"I am, Orlando. I've been here exactly two weeks now, and my name is Julia." Flipping her hair out of her eyes, she gave Orlando a glimpse of the exhaustion in her face…her eyes just a little puffy and darker underneath where she had made a rather skillful effort to disguise them.
"I hope you're enjoying Shanghai, Julia. It's an amazing city."
"Thanks, Orlando. I haven't seen much yet, but I love the jazz climate here."
"I can see that, the music seems like it's a part of you. Where'd you learn to sing like that anyway?"
"Like what, Orlando?"
"Like the music is an essence coming from deep inside. Like a resonating that I feel when you sing certain melodies."
"I've been told that before, I guess I learned it from my Papa. Mama died when I was a baby and Papa sang to us all the time. Well, me especially because I was the youngest. I guess he'd walk around holding me and singing to me all day."
She smiled at him and Orlando said, "I'm sorry about your mother, Julia. No child should by without their mother."
"Thank you, Orlando, but really, I don't remember her at all. Honestly, I don't remember my Papa's singing either, at least as a baby, but I guess something he did worked with me." Flashing him another brilliant smile, she took a last sip of tea and excused herself for her next set.
Back in Manila 1982
Moving opium was complicated enough without having to figure out who was dirty, but dirty in a way that would help you as opposed to dirty in a way that required a payoff. The vast majority of the connections the mayor of Manila had were what everyday people would call dirty. However, he happened to be a very good judge of character and was good at developing connections that were dirty in the good way. Now that he was expanding his business off shore he decided to get reacquainted with an old, trusted connection he'd been keeping in his back pocket for years.
He sat back in the buttery leather of his desk chair to watch the sun setting on the bay. When he closed his eyes he could still smell the rancid dampness of the people he would walk by near the bay on a daily basis as a kid. The mahogany desk and burled wood credenza were built and placed specifically so that from his chair he saw nothing of the shoreline. Specifically, the garbage and litter that was dumped there every day, as well as the poor that passed by. For one more minute he sat watching the light from the sun diffract through the pollution as it set beyond the water. Then he picked up the phone.
The Butler answered, but he was put through to the retired Foreign Service Director quickly.
"Luis, kumusta, good evening, I'm sorry to bother you, this is Ciro, Mayor of Manila." If there was one thing he learned early, it was to not push your ego on another important person by assuming they knew who you were and giving them the opportunity to cut you down to size by feigning no knowledge of your existence. Luis had every reason to remember who he was, but that was beside the point.
"Ciro, of course, so nice of you to call, how are you?"
"I hope I'm not bothering you, Luis? If I am I can call another time?"
"Don't be absurd, my old friend, what's up? What can I do for you?" Luis was smart enough to know Ciro needed something and it wasn't election season. Actually, he much preferred that these sorts of 'friends' called only when they needed something. After retiring last year as the Philippine Foreign Service Director Head of Shanghai branch, Luis had a lot of other interests. He kept his ear to the ground in order to know who was still vital, on both shores, but that was enough.
"I have a delicate business start-up in Shanghai I'd like to run by you, Luis. I can't think of another person more capable of understanding my situation and offering advice than you." He heard Luis noisily sip what was probably tea. That was Luis' one downfall, he didn't drink any alcohol at all. Ciro picked up his bourbon, swirled the ice around the amber liquid a bit, wafted the oaken and honey scent under his nose and took a quiet swallow. When he heard the rattle of the tea cup being set back down he started listening again.
"I assume this is a discussion better held in person, Ciro?"
"Everything is better in person, Luis, you know that. I would be in your debt if you do me the honor of being my guest to discuss my business situation over Chinese cuisine. I can have my secretary make us reservations for tomorrow night, if that pleases you?"
"Yes, that's fine, Ciro. May I suggest the Grand Shanghai Intramuros? Call tomorrow and let me know the exact time, please."
"Thank you, salamat, Luis. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Grand Shanghai 1982
The taxi dropped the mayor off in front of the Grand Shanghai, under the portico. The style of the building was unique and there was a worker installing new decorative welded iron works on the surrounding surfaces of the front facing doors and windows. The ironwork was detailed and quite artistic, adding flair to the openings and giving a more Oriental feeling to the façade.
“Where are you from, young man?” asked the mayor.
Extending his hand, the young man answered, “I’m from Zambales, sir.”
The mayor just glanced at the worker’s very dirty hand and returned his gaze to the iron works. “That’s very nice work you are putting up. Who created these pieces?”
“Orlan deJesus, sir,” the young man answered.
“Tell him to stop by the mayor’s office sometime, I may be interested.”
With that, the mayor dismissed the worker and Orlan watched as the official turned to greet an older gentleman that had just stepped out of a jeepney at the curb. He thought he would finally have something interesting to tell Katie when he saw her later at her uncle’s house.
#
Inside the Grand Shanghai Ciro nursed his bourbon. Other than ostentatious decoration, he could never understand what people liked about China, let alone Chinese food. He hadn't eaten at this particular place before, but he assumed the food would be dry and hot, just like the other Chinese restaurants he'd been forced to visit. The Chinese didn't know how to use fats. The rice was dry, not sticky, they included things like chicken's feet in a dish and where were the sweet meats? It was no wonder there were not very many Chine
se that had a good, healthy weight. Even the flavors got to him…fennel, sulfur, even cinnamon…those weren't flavors for meals. He could eat a good curry any day…better yet, just give him some red and green chili peppers and he was happy. His friend Luis had ordered the Jasmine tea from Fujian province called Mo Li Hua Cha.
"How is retirement treating you, Luis? I see you're not doing nearly enough eating to keep up appearances," Ciro laughed. He laughed at all his own jokes. It was an indulgence he gave himself.
"Retirement is treating me well, but it's true, Mayor, I've lost five pounds in the past year. It must be having to eat my wife's cooking again." Luis also laughed at his own joke.
They chatted about Manila's growth issues and challenges, as well as recent happenings in one of the southern provinces well known for its separatist ideals.
When they finished the shrimp steamed dumplings, Luis broached the topic that initiated the dinner, as he didn't want to get roped into a lengthy discussion at the very end of the meal. "So, old friend, tell me about this Shanghai business you have questions about."
Ciro waved to the waitress for a second bourbon and started telling Luis about the export / import business he'd been developing. "The new president has been a strong supporter of more global markets for Filipino products. At the same time, as our economy grows there are also many opportunities to exploit at home." Taking a sip of his bourbon, he shoved his main course aside and continued building the 'empty box' of his new enterprise for his dinner guest, who could never know which imports, exports or markets he was most interested in exploiting.
"I have a trusted young captain I've been working with in Zambales for a number of years now, moving goods between provinces quickly, safely and without incident. As my export / import business idea was coming to fruition, his expansion from transport within the islands to the China Sea and beyond also became a reality. Therefore, I have the Filipino and transportation pieces of the equation, but I'm coming up empty handed on the Chinese side."
Game of Wit and Chance_Beginnings Page 6
