Jack in a Box

by Pringle McCloy

  He shook his head. “Who I be?”

  I turned to Jackie. “Who he be?”

  “He should be Wichard. He’s the tall one.”

  “No way,” Bob said. “I be Wichard.” He puffed up his chest. “I be the big quiminal.”

  Joe hopped off the sofa, rushed to Bob, and gave him a shove. “Wanna bet?”

  Bob shoved back.

  Lord give me patience. “Hey guys! You can both be Richard. Ok?”

  They seemed to like that. They straightened up, put their arms by their sides, and grimaced. They looked like Richard, all right.

  I turned to Jackie. “Ok, Wildman. Go out and come back in.”

  He twirled my gun as he headed for the door.

  “Not that way. You may scare people in the hall. The bedroom. Come in from the bedroom.”

  Jackie disappeared.

  “Remember your line this time, Jackie. I looked at Bob and Joe. “You guys ready?”

  They nodded. They smiled. They were about as excited as King Chin in a knife shop.

  Jackie bobbed into the room twirling my gun. “Bomb!” he yelled. “Bomb in church. Bombs away!”

  Before I could say ‘cut’, Bob and Joe tackled Jackie, throwing him to the floor and pinning him there. Joe twisted his arm.

  “Alp!” Jackie hollered. “Alp me, Amster! Owe! Owe!”

  I jumped to my feet. “Get off him, you guys. You’re hurting him.” I tried to pull them off but they were determined.

  “Wichard says no.” Joe ground Jackie’s face into the floor. “Wichard wikes torture.”

  “Yes he does. But this is only a play. And you’re hurting Jackie. So get the fuck off or I’ll shoot you off.”

  When they finally released him, Jackie stood up, rubbed his sore arm, and handed me back my gun. “This isn’t any fun, Amster.” He sadly shook his head. “No fun at all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  SO NOW I WAS PATROLLING the back of the church and little did I know that Jack would crash to the floor and that I’d be carried away knocked out cold. Sometime later I woke up with a smoking headache. In front of me a jumbo television blared from the wall and beside me a comatose Jackie Chan was bound by copious ropes. We looked like two balls of twine with heads. Across the room, Shorty Poo, still in tuxedo, was seated comfortably in a striped armchair. He had added a Yankee ball cap to his ensemble and was watching America’s Funniest Home Videos, laughing his head off. Laughing is infectious so I laughed too.

  Shorty plucked a gun from the table beside him. “Don’t move.”

  Right. Like I was secured by more rope than the mainmast of the Bluenose and could move if I wanted to? I flashed Shorty my phoniest smile. “I’m not likely going to move, Shorty. Because you, you fucking little pig, have tied me up.”

  Shorty put down the gun. “Don’t move.”

  Finally. Finally Shorty had two English words to his credit. But it was becoming clear to me that Jackie and I were being held in the bottom level of Richard’s West Van beach house and to confirm this theory Richard came strolling through the patio doors.

  “Charlie, old boy!” he said cheerfully. “However are you?”

  “Sorry, Richard. No time for chit chat. I’m a bit tied up just now.”

  He tried not to laugh. “Very funny.” He said something in Chinese to Shorty and Shorty hooted.

  “Ha. Ha,” I said.

  Shorty picked up the gun. “Don’t move.” He was showing off his new vocabulary for Richard.

  Richard shuffled to the bar to pour himself a scotch. “I’d offer you one, Charlie, but it appears you’re incapacitated at the moment. I shall, however, share my good news. Jillian and I are married. She’s changing into her going away outfit as we speak and everything’s going brilliantly. Jack is my new dad-in-law. That sort of makes us brothers wouldn’t you say?”

  I said nothing.

  “Oh, come on!” Richard goaded. “Where’s your sense of humor? Surely you, of all people, understand thorough planning. No stone left unturned? I couldn’t exactly leave you in the church, now could I? Given your reputation.”

  My ear was itching and I needed to scratch it in the worst way.

  “No, I couldn’t.” Richard was talking to himself. “You were up to something. I’ve been sensing it all along. You’re in love with Jillian too. But unfortunately for you, old boy, she’s mine now. All mine. Better luck next time.”

  He spoke to Shorty for a few minutes before heading out the door. Shorty picked up the gun. “Don’t move, Chow-we.”

  What? Three words now? As twilight came creeping into the room Shorty started to yawn. It appeared that kidnapping two youngsters had tuckered the old guy out. When he finally nodded off into a snoring coma Jackie opened his eyes.

  “What did Richard tell Shorty?” I whispered.

  “It’s not good, Amster.” He thought for a minute. “Well, some of it’s good.”

  “Such as?”

  “We get a trip to China.”

  “We do? What’s not so good?”

  “We go dead.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “It could be worse, Amster. We just get shot. No torture.”

  Well, that was just fucking lovely. When Shorty Poo woke up from his nap we’d be properly prepped for a luxury trip to China aboard a private jet. Bang!

  I couldn’t even shake with fright I was so tightly bound from shoulder to wrist but in the early throws of twilight I could see Jackie’s face and he didn’t look frightened.

  “You’re not scared?”

  “No. It has to happen sometime. You scared Amster?”

  ‘Yeah. A little. There are things I wanted to do.”

  “Wike?”

  I thought about it. “I guess I wanted to have kids.”

  “Why?”

  “Kids seem to like their own parents. I guess I just wanted to be liked.”

  “I wike you, Amster.” He smiled.

  “You do? I’m not likeable, Jackie. You know that. What exactly do you like about me?”

  “You act like such a big shot and you’re not. You’re just a big phony. That’s what I wike.”

  I smiled. “I like you too, Jackie. Let’s plan to have fun together on the other side.”

  “What side?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I guess what matters is what we do here on earth.”

  He thought about it. “I’ve wived good. I was a dentist in China. Did you know that, Amster?”

  “You’re only twenty years old. How could you be a dentist?”

  “Twaining. Since I was fifteen.”

  “Were you any good?”

  “The best.”

  I was struggling for my pocket with a free dangling hand.

  “It’s no use, Amster. You’ll never break the ropes. You can’t cut them because bad guys took your knife. And I can see guards outside with dogs. Our goose is cooked.”

  I had been mulling the possibilities all along. “How are you at crying, Jackie?”

  He shot me a quizzical look. “I’m the best at cwying. I cwied a wot when I was widdle. When I was hungry. We only had wice to eat and sometimes we didn’t have any wice at all.”

  I wanted to hug him but my arms were tied. So, I decided to gamble since I didn’t have much to lose. I was thinking that maybe Shorty had a mother or a brother or maybe even a dog. Maybe Shorty had a heart somewhere in that stocky little body. “Are you any good at tripping, Wildman?” Although his legs were bound, as were mine, we could likely move them in a clump.

  Again Jackie smiled. “I’m the best at twipping.”

  “Ok. Here’s what we do. You start to cry your little lungs off and if we’re lucky enough to reach Shorty’s soft spot he’ll come to you. That’s when you swing your feet and trip him my way where I’ll bash his head in with my shoes. Got that?”

  “Got that. I am the best at cwying and twipping.”

  I nodded. “Now.”

  Jackie began to howl like a long-lost wol
f and sure enough, Shorty gave his head a shake, rose from his chair, and came over to investigate. Clockwork. Jackie took out his feet, I bashed his head with my shoes, and the rest is history. Since I’d already retrieved my lighter from my pocket I quickly burned through the rope and was able to free myself before cutting Jackie loose with a knife from Richard’s bar. With Shorty temporarily out cold for we needed to scurry.

  Jackie stretched his little arms. “You saved us, Amster! We’re saved.”

  “Not until we make it through the ravine out back without alarming the dogs.”

  “Ravine? Oh, Amster! I’m good at ravines.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  WE WERE FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO flag a cab on the old highway into West Van, due to Jackie’s frantic jumping and waving the Yankee ball cap he’d stolen from Shorty, and a hard-up driver needing the fare. At the Pan Pacific I said to Jackie, “Go get your uncle Tony. Tell him to come pay the cab. But do it quietly. Do not, I mean do not, let Richard see you.”

  He nodded. “I am good at qwiet. What room?”

  “The Crystal Pavilion.”

  I bummed a cigarette from the cabby and was shaking the cobwebs out of my brain when a familiar voice called out. “Hampton, you bonehead!”

  I walked toward the shadows. “Slick Willy Chan! Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Kow Gong said you’d be here eventually. Had a little trouble along the way, did you? You look a little rough.” Even in the shadows the guy oozed class. His shiny dark hair had grown back to shoulder length and he gave his head a toss.

  “A little. Richard tried to off me. Jackie too.”

  If he was surprised he didn’t show it. “Funny you should mention Richard. Have I got a story for you!” He held up a picture and we stepped into the well-lit porte-cochère. “Analyze this.”

  I studied the black and white photo.

  “What do you see?”

  “I see a man and a woman?”

  “And?”

  “He is big and she is little.”

  “Brilliant. What race?”

  “She is Asian. He’s Caucasian. Her hair is straight. His is curly. Both are in their early twenties I’d say.”

  “Does the guy look familiar?”

  “He does. But I’m not sure who he reminds me of. Maybe Nicolas Cage. Nick with big soft curls.”

  “Age him a little and what do you get?”

  “Old Nick Cage?”

  “Ah huh! And who do you know that looks like old Nick Cage?”

  “Jack.”

  He stuck the photo in my face. “I think so. What do you think, Charlie?”

  “Yep. It’s Nick.”

  “Charlie!”

  “Willy!”

  “You’re just like him, you know.”

  “Like who? Nick?”

  “No. Jack. Jack will never be dead as long as you’re alive.”

  “What’s your point? I knew it was Jack all along. He hasn’t changed that much.”

  “My point would be this. You asked me to find Richard’s mother in Beijing. And you gave me clues from Mini Chin. And I did find Won Chang. She gave me this picture.”

  “Of her and Jack.”

  “Precisely. As you know, Jack takes frequent business trips to Beijing and has for thirty some years. During one of his trips he met, and fell in love, with Won. They had an affair. Then Won disappeared. She wouldn’t let him find her again. But sometime later her brother Genghis and his childless wife announced the adoption of a baby. John Richard Chang.

  My heart had gone into a wild thumping mode. Another of Willy’s tricks? “You’re not trying to tell me that Jack is Richard’s father, are you? That’s way too bizarre!”

  “There’s no doubt about it. I talked to Richard’s mother myself. She gave me this picture, among others.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that Jillian and Richard are sister and brother?”

  “I mean exactly that.”

  So, now all I had to do was rush right into the Crystal Pavilion and get shot like the proverbial messenger. Luckily, Willy was on my heels.

  “Are you sure it’s safe for you to come in?”

  He brushed a spec of lint from his suit. “I’m a free man now. Now that Richard is Jack’s son I’ll likely get promoted. By both of them”

  It was a Jillian wedding, alright, a dazzling ice palace of crystal, silver and white: white tablecloths, silver chairs, and bushels of white flowers spilling from tall silver vases on myriad tables. Yes, it was a Jillian wedding. And I was just the guy to bust it up.

  The newly-weds were standing at the podium when we arrived. Jillian looked regal in her chic Chanel suit and little pillbox hat and had never looked happier.

  Richard was speaking. “We want to tell you how very much we appreciate your love and support. And I can’t say this enough. I’m so grateful for this beautiful woman beside me. Thank you, Jack. I shall love and treasure her forever.”

  Applause. And cheers.

  Jillian stepped up to the microphone. “Ditto for me. I also thank you for your love and support. And I thank Jack for this lovely day. I would also like to thank Richard’s parents. We know they’re watching from above and sending us their love. Richard and I are the luckiest people in the world.”

  The band started to play People.

  “That’s pretty corny,” I said to Willy.

  “So when are you going to piss on their parade?”

  “You sure you don’t want the job?”

  “Ah, Charlie. You’ve always wanted Jillian. Go claim her.”

  I snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray. “Wish me luck.”

  “Luck.”

  I made my way through a room filled with friendly hellos. It was a family wedding, after all.

  “Hampton!” Jillian squealed. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  Richard’s eyes bugged out of his head.

  I gave Jillian a hug before grabbing the microphone.

  “Ten to one,” shouted Billy the Bookie and the guests came alive. There went selfish Charlie again, ruining the day. It was always all about him. They were definitely in. Chairs pushed back and money changed hands faster than a squirrel could shimmy up a tree.

  I looked out at a room full of eager faces. Boy, was I in trouble. “I’d also like to thank Jack for Jillian,” I started.

  Small applause and a few moans and groans. Surely I could do better than that.

  Oh, oh. Trouble. Shorty Poo came puffing into the room looking pissed. Was it about the goose egg on his head? Or life in general. The goose egg, I figured.

  “I have loved and adored Jillian my whole life.”

  A few boos. The vultures were hungry for action.

  “And I know that she loves me.”

  Big boos. I was suddenly the boring part of the evening.

  “And I’m hoping that someday she’ll marry me.”

  Gasps. Gasps, followed by thunderous applause. Charlie had delivered. He was ruining the day. Billy leapt out of his chair to start paying people off. Or, was he collecting? A little of both, I suspected. He was known for coming out even.

  “What are you doing, Hampton?” screeched Jillian above the roar.

  Richard stepped up. “I think you’ve said quite enough, old boy. The woman is married to me.”

  “Fight,” someone hollered and the crowd went wild. “Fight, fight, fight,” they chanted.

  Now, I’m not adverse to the taste blood in my mouth from a good fight. But instead I said, “Unless you want to sleep with your sister, Richard, you’d better listen up.” So now I was suddenly John Wayne?

  Maya Chan collapsed onto the table in a dead faint, her face falling into a fluffy piece of cake. Tony shot me a look that could kill a calf. Shorty Poo drew his gun and began to muscle his sore head through the room. “Don’t move, Chow-we.” At the head table King Chin and Freddie were sharpening their bread knives with their thumbs, a promise of real knives to come. No
worries. I figured Jack’s crooked cops could keep them at bay with guns.

  A loud rumbling went rolling through the room as the guests huddled together to weigh the new odds. Was Charlie about to take a bullet? Primarily known for his knife skills, was Shorty Poo as good with a gun? A few guests nodded and hoped.

  Jillian was whining the Jillian whine. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Charlie! You’re supposed to love me!”

  “Oh, he loves you alright.” Richard nodded at Shorty Poo. “And he wants you for himself.”

  I could see Jack thumping toward me from the corner of my eye. “You’ll be the death of me, Hamster! You’ll be the fucking death of me! You don’t even have the decency to show up for your sister’s reception and now you’re trying to bust it up?”

  I held up the picture.

  Jack grabbed it, studied it, and looked accusingly at me. “Where did you get this?”

  “From Willy. He gave it to me.”

  Willy stepped up to the podium. “Richard’s mother gave me that picture, Jack. And she told me the story. You are the father of her son. And her son is Richard.” He produced an envelope from his pocket. “These are pictures of Richard growing up. Her brother sent them to her regularly.”

  Jack flipped through the pictures before handing them to Richard. “It’s you.”

  Richard had only to look at the first one before shouting. “You stole these, Willy! You stole these from my aunt. You’re nothing but a common thief!”

  Willy took the insult well, likely because he was a thief. But never common. “These pictures were given to me by your mother,” he said evenly. “She’d like to see you. You and Jack. You can hear the truth from her.”

  Jack turned back to the picture in his hand and nodded. “It was before I met your mother, Jilly. A couple of years before.” He looked at Richard. “How old are you son? Thirty-two? Thirty-three?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “And Jillian is thirty. It makes sense. I did love Won though. And I tried to find her. But she was a good hider, I’ll give her that.” He turned to his new son. “I’ve felt the bond all along, Richard. I just didn’t know what it was. I think we need to track down your mother together. I don’t know how you feel about me. And I don’t know how you feel about your aunt being your mother. It’s a little complicated I think.”