by Buzz Harcus
Captain Andress and Sanya couldn‘t figure out why Harry continued laughing. Had the shock of Osa‘s marriage been too much for him? Harry took a sip of fresh beer, then started laughing again. What a strange twist of circumstances: him risking his life to get the damned blood money, and poor Osa ending up with the money—and marrying Sigmund! Tears continued to flow down his cheeks. Crazy!
“Harry. I got to leave und pack,” Karl said. “My plane leaves in a couple of hours und I got to talk to der embassy people. Your pay vill be sent to your home address in Saginaw. Is dat okay?”
“Yeah. Fine,” replied Harry, still giggling. “I’ve got to stay here a couple more days. The embassy people said my paper work was fouled up. No sweat. I’ve got enough bucks left to have a good time here, and get my ass home. No problem.”
The two men stood, shook hands, and suddenly hugged each other. Each knew they wouldn’t see the other again. “And don’t let Osa know I’m still alive,” Harry called after his captain. “She deserves a good life.”
Harry sat at the table drinking another beer. Osa and Sigmund, and all his money! Damn Joe Gionetti and his damned black market money! Damn Stan Drezewski! Damn Mr. Ma! If I hadn’t gone to the hospital that night to talk to Gionetti, I’d be home and married and happy with Sandy. Damn them all!!
He ordered another beer. Sanya brought it to him then sat down beside him. “Are you happy or sad,” she asked seeing the forlorn look on his face. “You look lonely.”
Harry fixed his eyes on her pretty face, small nose and dark playful eyes. She sat looking at him, eyes searching his, waiting, much as a dog would wait for it’s master.
“I’m happy and sad,” he finally answered. “Mixed feelings. Why?”
He could feel his drinks. Somehow, at that moment, looking at Sanya reminded him of Sunny, the beautiful hostess at the adult theater back in Shanghai. Sanya’s eyes had that same sultry, come-hither look. Sunny was tall, thin, nice breasts, womanly where a woman should be womanly, and he could have had her that night, but for Osa.
“I can make you happy,” Sanya said, flashing a warm smile.
“How can you make me happy?” he asked staring at her, his mind somewhat confused at the moment. “What was your name again?” He was having trouble focusing on the girl.
“Sanya,” she grinned. “Upstairs. Come. You will see. I make you very happy.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Reluctantly he allowed her to pull him along up the stairs and into a small dingy room. Sanya closed the door and moved to him, immediately unbuttoning his shirt. “What’s this?” she asked pulling Osa’s panties from his shirt pocket. “You got another girl?”
Laughing, she took the panties and dropped them into a wastebasket. “You got me now. I’m your new girlfriend.” With that, she peeled open her blouse exposing two full creamy brown breasts, dark tips standing erect, and then the blouse was off.
Harry looked down at the youthful breasts, so tantalizing, so available. And then her skirt dropped to the floor and she stood naked before him, vulnerable to his searching, lusting eyes. He pushed her back and she settled on the edge of the bed, her hands working feverishly at his belt, his zipper, and then he stood naked before her.
“A condom,” she cried unwrapping one, deftly slipping it over his growing erection, her tiny hands working rapidly. Harry fell back on the bed and enjoyed the intense pleasure only a good whore could bring.
CHAPTER 42
A History Lesson From Sanya
Harry sat at a table just inside the Yellow Bar. Here he could watch the passing scene on the sidewalks and streets of Manila. Colorful jitneys rushed about in maddening fashion. Crossing the street in Manila meant taking your life in your hands. You had to be quick and alert.
Sanya had proven to be a most passionate lover during the last 48 hours. He enjoyed her child-like efforts to please him. Late the first day, like a member of the local visitors bureau, she took him on a tour of her town. They walked the streets, shopped in the small quaint boutiques and had a snack at a small sidewalk café.
At one point she stopped and pointed to a small boutique. “Harry. I’m not going to be a bar girl all my life,” she said seriously. “I’m saving my money and one day I’ll own that store.” She said it with a tone of determination. “I want to own something; I want to be my own boss!”
He smiled at her. “Is it for sale?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I never asked.”
“Let’s find out.” He steered her into the boutique. A handsome, well dressed older woman came around the corner of a counter asking if she could help them.
“Is your store for sale?” asked Harry.
The woman grinned, it was the tired grin of one who had been approached many times before. “If the price is right,” she answered as she looked him over, the colorful shirt, then at the young tart with the loose fitting blouse, tight short skirt, and high heels. Obviously a whore, she thought. What kind of scam was this guy working?
The woman gave a steep price, one that brought a whistle from Harry and a gasp from Sanya. The woman smiled. They were no good. Trash.
“Now give me a reasonable price,” Harry countered. “Bottom line.”
“Yes. Bottom line,” Sanya said sharply. “I love your boutique. I have shopped here often. I would love to have this store as mine.”
“Ten thousand—and five thousand for all the merchandise.”
Sanya looked at Harry, tears suddenly brimming in her eyes. “I’ll have to work another ten years to save that much money.” she choked. Harry thanked the woman and hustled Sanya out the door. He didn’t have that kind of money; neither did she.
That night in his hotel room he lay in bed beside Sanya trying to think of a way to help the poor girl. True, she could do something better with her life than whoring.
Restless, he lay on his side observing her asleep. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, an air of innocence about her, breathing softly. He smiled recalling the way Osa had lain on his bed just a short time ago, sound asleep, also wearing an air of innocence. Sandy? Yeah, he had watched her sleep, too. Even Janie, the waitress at the Pub the night he was on the run back in Saginaw. He’d hidden at her place to escape Stan; yeah, her golden blonde hair had fanned out across the pillow, and she slept the sleep of the innocent. He rolled over on his back. Why had he thought of Janie of all people?
“Hey, Marine,” Sanya called, shaking Harry awake. “We have breakfast and then I want to show you something.” Sleepily Harry cocked an eye open looking at the lovely naked creature straddling him. “And I’ve got something to show you,” he said, a nasty grin crossing his face as he suddenly came fully awake, rolling her off him and wrestling her to her back. “Harry! No! I’m serious—Ohh!” she exclaimed at seeing his erection. “Okay then, after breakfast,” she giggled, grabbing for him.
“History today,” said Sanya as they left the restaurant. “You rent a car, Okay?” Harry nodded in agreement. A multi-colored, beat up old Jeep, or as they called it locally, a “Jitney” with bucket seats was rented for the day. And yes it was runable.
As she drove, Sanya gave him a guided tour and history lesson about the second World War and the battles that were fought in the Philippines. Harry listened but was distracted time and again at her driving ability, quick stops, lane changes, running lights and all the time her endless chatter. His heart leaped into his throat several times, but she continued on unaware of his concerns.
The city of Manila was fresh and new. New stores, high rise buildings, fancy stores, cultural center, pavilions and parks and much more. The harbor was clear of any presence of the war and the hundreds of sunken ships that had once littered it.
Sanya proved to be a wealth of information. Her grandfather had fought alongside the Americans as a member of the Filipino Army, then as a guerilla attacking the hated Japanese any way they could. Over the next several hours she drove them past Bilibid prison where so many p
risoners had been held, past Fort Bonifacio to the Manila Cemetery to see the beautiful memorial dedicated to those who fought and died for freedom, and for those who had lost their lives in the internment camps at Camp O’Donnel, Bilibid, and Cabanatuan. It was a solemn ride for both of them on the “Trail of Tears,” the ill-fated road of the Bataan Death March.
At Mount Samat Harry was surprised to see a huge cross at the very top, one that could be seen for many miles. Sanya informed him the cross had been erected in honor of the men and women who fought the Japanese. Here, at Mount Samat, was fought one of the great final battles before the surrender to Japan in April of 1942. During April each year a special celebration is held honoring those who gave their lives in the war.
A tour bus had pulled up close by as they stood solemnly observing. Many older Americans stepped off the bus, women holding the hands of their husbands, squeezing them, whispering to them as the men stood quietly, tired worn faces looking about, and then on a whispered call they came to attention, every last man erect, and saluted. They had not forgotten their comrades.
It was a somber ride back to the rental shop, and then a short walk back to the Yellow Bar. Harry realized Sanya was no ordinary bar girl. She had great strength and resolve. She might be a bar girl, but inside she was a fighter—one who lived life, respected her ancestors, and fought for freedom. He knew in her heart she was determined to change her life.
CHAPTER 43
A Visit From A Qingdao Detective
Harry waited and fumed. The American Consulate’s young member searched and searched but could not find his papers. He apologized profusely to Harry time and again, but the paper work was really fouled up somewhere in the system.
Damn them! By now Karl was back in Stockholm. He was home! He wanted to go home, too!
Manila was a great city. But it wasn’t home!
And as much as he liked Sanya there was no way he could help her; he didn’t have that kind of money! At least not here! Right now, all he wanted to do was go home and get his life back in order. No, he’d not pursue the two million; Osa deserved it. She had a new husband and a new life. With a look of disgust at the young consulate guy, he headed back to the Yellow Bar. Lunch time.
Sitting just inside the doorway of the bar, Harry munched on a ham sandwich, chasing it down with beer.
“Mr. Martin?” asked a tall slender oriental man wearing horn-rimmed glasses coming into the Yellow Bar. Harry looked up at him. Maybe the paper work had been accomplished. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m Harry Martin. You from the consulate?” The man smiled, shaking his head no.
“I asked about you at the consulate and a young gentleman said I could probably find you at the Yellow Bar. You and I have much to talk about.”
Harry looked the guy over. Tall, thin Chinese, with coal black hair, kind of good looking guy, nice smile, dressed in a tan suit. Harry returned the smile and asked, “What could you and I possibly have to talk about?”
“Qingdao. Let me introduce myself. I’m Detective Lui Chang.”
“What would you and I have to talk about regarding Qingdao?” replied Harry, an uneasy feeling jolting through him, sensing something bad might be coming his way.
“May I?” the detective asked pointing to one of the chairs at Harry’s table. “I have an interesting murder case I’m working on.”
Harry pushed out a chair across from him with his foot. Chang seated himself. “I wanted to talk to you because you, an American Marine, was also in Qingdao at the same time another American Marine, a Stan Drezewski, was found dead along with the body of our respected Harbor Master, Mr. Ma.”
Wearing his best poker face, Harry said, “So?”
“The bodies of Mr. Ma and Mr. Drezewski were discovered a week after the ship, Otto J. Nurad, left the port of Qingdao. They were found in the fourth floor attic, if you will, of the Fine Arts building at Shantung University.”
“So?” Harry said again.
The detective smiled. “Doctor Wei, the administrator, recalls taking you, the ship’s captain, his first officer, and Mr. Ma on a tour of the building.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small pocket booklet, and flipped through a few pages. “Yes. I believe it was your old barracks building, and you had said something like, it’s like returning to my old barracks—”
“Yeah. I remember. It was our old barracks building, my home for a couple years while I was stationed there.”
“You even asked about the fourth floor room.”
“Yeah. We used to keep our weapons locked up in there. Mr. Ma asked if I‘d like to see it. I said no, it was just another room.”
Detective Chang smiled. He placed the small notebook on the table then continued, “When I first saw the room it was a shambles. Both men lay dead in a locked room. Locked from the inside, I might add. Very interesting. Many holes had been knocked or punched in one of the walls. I think they were looking for something hidden behind the wall. I have no idea what it could be. Perhaps that is why they fought. It appears that one of the two men stabbed the other and, in return, was shot by the other man. Very unusual, don’t you think?”
Harry shrugged.
“The dead man, Drezewski, lay by the chimney. He held a gun with a silencer attached. Mr. Ma lay close to the damaged wall. He held a Marine knife—a K-bar, something apparently Marines carried—in his hand.
“It seemed odd to me that he would carry a Marine knife. Odd indeed, because there was no sheath for the knife on his person. I can’t see Mr. Ma carrying such a weapon in his pant’s pocket or jacket pocket. It is a very sharp knife. And further, if he had suddenly pulled it out to stab Mr. Drezewski, the man would have pulled his gun and shot Mr. Ma before he even had a chance to use it, don‘t you agree?”
Again, Harry sat quietly, poker faced. He shrugged. “Possible.”
“You knew both men,” Detective Chang continued. “Drezewski was in your outfit when you were stationed in Qingdao. Mr. Ma had told Colonel Pui that he knew you from thirty years ago, that it was nice to have you return to Qingdao.”
“So?” Harry said. “I knew Stan Drezewski back then. He was a bad Marine, got involved in black market activities, got caught and sentenced to prison. I lost track of him when I left China. The same goes for Mr. Ma.”
“I find it too much of a coincidence that you and Stan
Drezewski arrive in Qingdao at the same time. And, further, you are the only American on an all Swedish grain carrier. Very unusual.”
“A job’s a job. I took the job aboard the grain carrier because times are hard in the States—the United States—right now. So I ended up in Qingdao unloading grain for the people of China. Stan? I have no idea why he was in Qingdao. Like you said, unusual coincidence.”
Chang offered one of those inscrutable Chinese smiles.
“We found a strand of rope in the lower level of the building. We got a blood sample from that which we checked against Mr. Ma and Mr. Drezewski’s blood samples. No match. We also found another blood sample in the fourth floor room. No match to the others. Now I think that is strange. I have a theory, if you’ll allow me to present it, that others were in the room. I think there were one or two other people in that room at the time of the two deaths—murders, if you will.”
Harry continued with the poker face.
“If there were others in the room, how did they get out?” Chang asked with a puzzled look on his face. “I have checked and re-checked the room and I cannot find another entrance or exit to the room—yet I think others were in the room!”
After several seconds, Chang asked, “Were you one of them? Were you in the room with Mr. Ma and Stan Drezewski?”
“No. I was out on the town with the Swedish cook from our ship—”
“Yes,” interrupted Detective Chang. “Osa Peterson. That is also strange. A man at the Tivoli recalls the lady leaving the bar with Mr. Ma. Later, a young police officer recalled seeing a couple, a sailor and the white woman, who were lost and looking for
directions back to the Nurad. Was that you?”
Harry leaned back in his chair thinking. He took a long draw on his beer. Was the guy setting a trap for him, or what? Finally, he said, “I recall that the lady and I were lost. I do recall asking a police officer for directions back to the ship. No men
tion of Mr. Ma.”
“Would you willingly give me a blood sample?”
“No. I would not. I’ve had enough excitement in my life in the last few weeks. I was thrown overboard to the sharks, survived, got rescued, got in to Manila, saw my ship sink, lost my lady friend—she married someone else—and I really want to close this whole bad episode and go back home.”
“Would you go willingly back to Qingdao to answer more questions?”
Harry took a long swallow of beer. He looked at Chang, at the famous stoic face of the oriental. “No.” Grinning, he gave a slow shake of his head. “Nope. Nothing back there is of interest to me.”
At that moment Sanya stopped at the table. “Drinks?” she asked, glancing from Harry to other man. Both shook their heads no.
“I think you’re on a fishing expedition, detective,” Harry continued. “Just because I was in town, and just because I knew both the deceased, does not really implicate me in their deaths, does it?”
“No.” Chang found himself getting a little tight; he was interrogating a man who knew his way around. “I will say this,” he said, “we have learned that Mr. Ma was taking bribes. He was not an honest man. He was cheating the government. That is very dishonorable. I have also found out that his son, Shen Lee Ma, our current harbor master, and Colonel Pui are involved in the same kind of unscrupulous operation. They are now in jail.
“I have found, also, that Mr. Drezewski was deeply involved in the black market while stationed in China, as you just mentioned, and that he and Mr. Ma, and another unnamed Marine, had an established partnership going back to that time.
