Tainted Treasure (China Marine)
Page 25
“But you, Mr. Martin, I cannot find anything about you that attests to your being involved in black marketing. Can I assume, then, that it was just a co-incidence that you were in Qingdao at that particular time?”
“You can, detective Chang. I’m afraid you flew all this distance to Manila for nothing. In fact, I think you’re way out of your jurisdiction. You have no arrest warrant, and you just struck out—as we say in baseball.”
Detective Chang smiled. “Unfortunately, university maintenance people cleaned up the crime scene, which, unfortunately, has brought my investigation to a standstill. I still think others were involved, but I have no proof.”
Recalling the words of his superior, his grandfather, to give the American the benefit of the doubt, Chang gave a somewhat exasperated sigh as he looked directly at Harry. “I think, therefore, I must draw a final conclusion on the deaths of the two. It will stand as it first appeared: murder by gun and murder by knife. A falling out between two thieves.”
He rose suddenly, reached forward and shook Harry’s hand. “It was good talking to you Harry Martin. Have a pleasant journey back to America.”
“Yeah, thanks,” said Harry. “Oh, and when you get back to Qingdao say hello to Shen Lee Ma and Colonel Pui for me. Tell them I had a great voyage.”
Detective Chang laughed. “Yes. A pleasure.” With that, he pivoted and walked out of the bar.
Sanya hurried over to the table. “What was that all about?”
“The detective was just closing loopholes,” Harry grinned.
“Good,” she grinned back. “Let’s go upstairs. My treat—”
CHAPTER 44
And Life Goes On
Harry Martin sat at the bar nursing a beer. The Pub was still the most popular watering hole in old town Saginaw. Even at this late hour the place was jammed with bodies, and some very nice bodies at that! The bar catered to the younger set, primarily twenties and thirties, but he had become a part of them due to Sandy and her gang of friends, and the ever popular dart game.
Bare brick walls with mortar oozing out between the bricks still stood the way they had been laid back at the turn of the century. Large rough-hewn booths set against the two far walls were crowded with boisterous people. It was Friday night, party night, and in spite of the sickening haze of cigarette smoke, they were partying hardy to the blaring sound of rock music.
Owners, Al and Gunther had welcomed him back with open arms. Had it been that long since they’d last seen him, January? It was mid-June now, almost six months. “Where the hell you been?” asked Gunther. “You just up and disappeared.”
“Phoenix,” Harry answered. “My mom’s been ill.” He lied through his teeth to his best friends. It was a story he had concocted back in January, a story he’d first told to his boss in order to get out of town in a hurry. It was a story he would stick with to eternity. The true story? Going to China? Who the hell would believe it?
Ever since he’d met with that damned black market dealing Joe Gionetti last January, and had found out where the hidden black market cache was stashed back in the old barracks building in Tsingtao, he’d been on the run. Stan Drezewski and his chink pal had been hot on his tail ever since. They killed Joe first, and then Sandy, the love of his life, sweet innocent Sandy, and she didn’t know one damned things about the cache. And then they came looking for him. Why? Because he knew the exact location of the money! Joe had made him a partner and all he had to do was go to Tsingtao to the old barracks, get the money, bring it back, and Joe and him would share it fifty-fifty.
Pure luck got him out of Saginaw aboard the Swedish grain carrier, Otto J. Nurad, the next day. The ship, loaded with grain for the starving Chinese, was headed for Shanghai and Tsingtao. And the voyage? That was another whole incident!
No! No one had to know the whole story. He’d take it to his grave.
Sandy? Al said she had a beautiful funeral in spite of the weather. The gang showed up. Lots of flowers; Harry’s large floral bouquet stood at the head of the casket. Yes, Harry said, he’d been out to the gravesite the first thing when he got back to town, had put flowers on her grave, sat on a bench nearby and told her he still loved her.
There was a heated dart game in progress. Chubby Fats Johnson had tried to get him involved but he had no interest in darts anymore, not since Sandy.
It was funny how after he had talked to Detective Chang that day back in Manila, all of a sudden the consulate had completed his paper work. He suspected they‘d delayed the paper work because of the detective‘s impending visit.
The young fellow at the consulate had even arranged for a flight out of Manila that very day, one that hop-scotched across the Pacific to Hawaii, San Francisco, Chicago and on to the Tri-City airport in Michigan which served Bay City, Midland and Saginaw. Screw them, at least he was out of Manila and back in Saginaw. His small bungalow had never looked so inviting. It was home. It’s true: there’s no place like home!
He’d only been home a couple weeks when he got his old job back. His boss, Tom, had welcomed him with open arms. How was his mom? Great, Harry had replied. She was feeling much better, her health improved, weather out in Phoenix really agreed with her. Tom was pleased. Mom’s were important; you had to take care of them when they got older. He knew, for he’d brought his mom home to live with his family.
But Harry’s greatest joy was his new granddaughter, Beatrice. She was a red-headed bundle of joy. She always had a smile for him. He was told not to spoil her—but what the hell, he knew he’d do it anyways.
It was odd how he always ended up at the Pub. It was lively. People. Being out on the ocean in that damned little life raft for so long had taught him one thing: it was more important to be with people, especially those who cared for you.
His favorite chesty waitress, Janie, moved in past him, breasts brushing against his shoulder. She seemed pleased to see him back. How was he doing, she asked as she picked up an order. Good, he’d replied. He said he had gotten his old job back. The building trade was going great again. Things were booming in Saginaw. Local GM plants were doing great, too. The economy was moving forward. She smiled, that’s nice.
Gunther slid a beer across the bar to him. Leaning forward, he told Harry that Sergeant Frank Cavich had retired early from the Saginaw Police Department. He’d taken a job as Chief of Police in some small burg up in northern Michigan. “I think it’s Mancelona, wherever the hell that is?” he laughed.
Harry thanked Gunther. Frank was the first police officer at the scene of Sandy’s murder. Maybe one day he’d drive north and tell Frank the whole story. No . . . maybe not.
He remembered the very night the whole damned adventure started. It was right after leaving Joe Gionetti at the veterans hospital. Here! Right here in the Pub; right at this very spot is where he met First Officer Peter Selham from the Nurad. He’d come in looking for a sailor off his ship, understood he’d been in a fight. Harry acknowledged, yeah, a fight, but at the moment he was trying to figure out a way to get to China and recover Joe Gionetti’s hidden stash of black market money.
Like an idiot he’d agreed to go to China for his “new partner,” Joe. Now all he had to do was find a way. And then, after a couple of beers, Peter Selham had mentioned that his ship was loading grain for China. Destination: Shanghai and Tsingtao. That was the opening he needed, and before the night was over, and several more beers later, he and Peter were the best of friends. And it had gotten him aboard the Swedish grain carrier, Nurad.
Staring straight ahead, he ran the whole damned episode through his mind for the umpteenth time: Joe, Sandy, the Chink—and not to forget Stan and Mr. Ma. No one would ever know the true story of the past six months. Flush it out of your system like a healthy BM, he told himself. Life goes on.
Osa? Yeah, she was still on his mind a lot. She was very rich now. Lucky Sigmund. The two million? No. It was tainted money, money he didn’t want, or need. It would be more helpful to the newlyweds.
And
Sanya, the little Filipino bar girl, she had actually cried when he told her he was leaving, that the American consulate was sending a car over to pick him up.
At the consulate there was an important package waiting for him. Special delivery. It was thick. He looked at the label on it. From Albert E. Lazlo, Sydney. Sitting to one side of the lobby area, Harry had opened the package. To his surprise, he found it stuffed with fifty one thousand dollar bills, American. Enclosed was a nice note from Al and Judy, in Judy‘s flowery penmanship. “Invest wisely. Have a great life,” Love, Judy and Al. He had laughed.
Sanya was surprised to see him. She was sitting on a sailor’s lap when he walked into the Yellow Bar. She had squealed with joy, jumped off the sailor’s lap and rushed into Harry’s arms. Sweeping her off her feet, he had taken her by the hand and pulled her from the bar. Still hand in hand, he had walked her down the street, ignoring her questions as to where they were going until he came to an abrupt halt before that small boutique. “Is this the one you said you wished you could buy?” he asked her.
She looked at him somewhat woefully, then nodded yes. Yes, this was the one. She had always wanted to run a small boutique and get out of whoring. Too much disease, to many new diseases. She loved sex, but whoring was no longer a fun trade.
Taking hold of her elbow, he recalled walking her into the boutique. He talked to the handsome older woman. The price was still the same: ten thousand cash for the boutique and another five thousand for the contents, American, and it was hers!
The woman’s eyeballs popped out when Harry peeled off fifteen thousand dollars and slapped it in her hand. “Sanya,” he’d said, turning to his young companion, “you are now the owner of this boutique, and I wish you well.”
Totally bewildered, Sanya was suddenly overcome with emotion. She threw her arms about him, clinging tightly to him, crying tears of joy. Softly she had whispered over and over again, “Thank you, Harry. Thank you.”
He’d even given her five thousand to upgrade the place. From his point of view, it had been a good investment. He was sure even Al and Judy would agree.
“Another Miller’s, Harry?” called Gunther.
“Yeah,” replied Harry.
Janie slid in beside him. “Harry, are you okay?” she asked, her face serious.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. Ever since you got back to town, I see you come in here, order a beer, and then you just sit there nursing it and staring off into space. It ain’t right. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he grinned, surprised at her concern. “I’m okay.”
She took her order and walked away. Harry looked after her. She was concerned? He grinned. Same old Janie, though, tight black blouse and no bra, as usual, nipples hard against the thin material, mini-skirt, great legs in those high heels, and a nice ass. Whew!
And that long golden blonde hair down to the middle of her back, and those mischievous big blue eyes. He had to admit it, she was a looker, a beautiful girl—and a good personality, too.
He turned away. Thoughts. Yeah. The money he had sent home was well invested by his son, Jeff. He’d bought oil stock, energy stock, Coke and Pepsi stock, and invested in some new age company called Microsoft. What was it Jeff had said the other day, he was well on his way toward making his first million bucks already? Sheeit!
“Harry.”
Harry turned. Janie took his face in her soft hands just holding it, her playful blue eyes searching his, and then she planted a warm, wet kiss full on his lips that curled his toes. “You old fart! I really missed you,” she whispered. And then she kissed him again, and it was more than just a kiss, it was an invitation.
“Why don’t you come over to my place,” she said. “I get off duty in just a few minutes. I could rustle us up a couple of eggs, toast, get cozy. Okay?”
Al interrupted with two beers to be served. She winked at Harry and left.
“She’s asked about you a thousand times over the past few months,” the red-headed co-owner said as he sloshed glasses through the cleaning process below the bar. “I think she likes you, Harry,” he grinned. “Whatever you’ve got , it must be hidden.” He laughed at his joke.
“Well?” she asked a couple minutes later.
Harry gave her a warm smile. Reaching up, he put his hand to the back of her head and pulled her to him, their lips mashing. “I missed you, too, Janie,” he whispered. “I’ve got a growing hunger, and it’s not all for food.”
She cracked up laughing. “Now that’s the Harry Martin I remember!”
He laughed. It was good to laugh again.
“We could do something together tomorrow, too, if you want,” she said. “Go out to the mall, maybe drive over to Bay City, maybe go on a picnic, whatever—”
“Yeah.” He sat mulling over her suggestion. “Do you like banjo music?”
She looked at him, kind of questioning the remark. “Funny you should mention banjos,” she said. “My uncle played the banjo in a Dixieland band years ago. Yeah, I love banjo music. Why?”
“We could drive down to Owosso tomorrow. Big parade. The Flint Banjo Club has a float in it. I thought maybe we could see the parade, pick up a couple of banjo albums, visit the beer tent, get a couple of those thick brats with horseradish, cabbage and mustard. What d’ya think?”
“Yeah,” she grinned. ”Brats, beer and banjos—what a combination!” She laughed heartily. “Yeah, I’d love to.”
Al looked at Gunther and gave him a knowing wink as Harry and Janie left the bar a few minutes later. “Those two make a perfect match,” he said.
THE END
Author, Leslie F. “Buzz” Harcus served in the United States Marine Corps in China in 1947–48 in FMF-WESPAC, as a member of the Twelfth Service Battalion located at the USMC base in Tsingtao. Buzz honed his writing skills at Michigan State University, then in television production, media relations, promotion and in public health.
Retired, Buzz and his wife, Barbara, now enjoy living in northern Michigan. He continues writing, playing his banjo, and in the summer, crewing aboard a tall ship, the replica 1850’s schooner, Madeline, sailing the Great Lakes.
His first book, China Marine: Tsingtao Treasure, was released in late 2005, and has been readily welcomed by Marines and the general public.
Tainted Treasure continues the epic voyage of the Swedish grain carrier, Otto P. Nurad, on another challenging adventure as it departs the port of Qingdao, China, headed into the perilous waters of the South China Seas.
OTHER BOOKS BY BUZZ HARCUS
CHINA MARINE: TSINGTAO TREASURE
A novel about a Marine who goes back to China in search
of a cache of hidden treasure
by Buzz Harcus
ISBN 0-9642521-9-8
440 pages, $14.95
Web Of Greed
by Buzz Harcus
327 pages, $15
eBook 7.99
Kindle edition
ASIN: B0056J0MNU
eBook ISBN 978-1-4524-1281-8
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-692-01145-4
Sandhill Publishing
Harcus, Leslie F.
10385 Twin Lake Road, N.E.
Mancelona, MI 49659