No Accidental Death

by Garrett Hutson

  “Sounds fun to me,” Lucy said with a grin.

  “I think that’s planned for tomorrow night, after Pete and Julia’s party,” Doug said. “I’m not sure I have it in me to do that two nights in a row.”

  Kenny laughed. “Ha! You’re only twenty-seven, Douggie. Besides, we won’t be at Pete and Julia’s tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Why not?” Doug asked.

  “Silly!” Abbie said, swatting playfully at his arm. “Julia invited us, and I had to politely remind her that we were on the other side.”

  Doug groaned, embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of that. Kenny and Abbie were Canadians, and for all he knew one or both of them had some Loyalists in their family tree. An Independence Day party might be awkward for them.

  “And I don’t have Monday off work, like you Americans do,” Kenny added.

  Doug played at being shocked. “What? You mean the British court isn’t closed for a day of mourning?”

  Kenny worked as a solicitor, representing Canadian citizens at the British Court of China. Though his personal office sat on West Peking Road, a few blocks from where they sat, he officially worked for the court, and followed their schedule.

  “Ha! I’m afraid not, old chum. The English way is to quietly ignore embarrassing moments, eh?” He laughed at his own joke. “I have a client appearing in court on Monday afternoon, and the barrister will want to meet in the morning. No holiday for me. So what do you say? Shall we go out tonight?”

  “You’ve convinced me,” Doug said. “We’ll meet you at the Majestic at nine o’clock.”

  **

  The Majestic Café Ballroom on Bubbling Well Road, a block west of the towering Park Hotel, was just starting to get lively at nine o’clock. Doug bought dance tickets for all of them, refusing Kenny’s offer to buy his and Abbie’s.

  “My treat, since I’ve been gone.”

  “Then I’ll get the first round of drinks,” Kenny insisted.

  Unlike the majority of the cabarets and dance halls in the International Settlement, the Majestic Café catered to a mostly Chinese audience, though a fair number of westerners mixed in most evenings, perhaps a quarter of the clientele tonight.

  After getting drinks, they secured a table in a back corner, where they could watch the activity. Chinese couples in western attire waltzed and fox trotted around the dance floor. A group of about ten seamen in white and blue Italian Navy uniforms with starched caps, clustered on the opposite side of the dance floor, holding an animated conversation. Several groups of American seamen stood scattered around, downing drinks a little too quickly and eyeing the dance hostesses.

  The Majestic Café was renowned for the popularity of its dance hostesses, also known as “dollar girls”—mostly Russian women, who would share a dance with any partner for one Shanghai dollar. It was one of the reasons so many sailors started their nights here before moving on to either the all-night swing dancing at Roxy’s, or downtown to the brothels on Foochow Road.

  “Hey, it’s Commander Bainbridge!”

  Doug stood as four familiar faces in shore uniforms approached. Ben Trebinski led the group, followed by Nick Bonadio, Chet Heiselmann, and Roger Aikins. Ben started to salute, but Doug waved it off.

  “Hello, fellas. No need to salute when I’m in civvies.”

  “Yeah, don’t embarrass him, screwball!” Nick Bonadio whacked Ben on the arm.

  “Sorry, Commander.” Ben looked sheepish, and glanced at Doug’s companions.

  “No need to apologize. Boys, I’d like to introduce Miss Kinzler, and these are our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Traywick. These are some of the men from my ship—seamen Trebinski, Bonadio, Heiselmann, and Aikins.”

  “How do you do?” Lucy said, shaking hands in turn. Kenny and Abbie followed suit.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Ben replied with a big grin. “You Commander Bainbridge’s girl?”

  Doug cringed, but Lucy laughed. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  Nick Bonadio shook Lucy’s hand with both of his, and Doug wasn’t entirely comfortable with the devilish gleam in his dark eyes. “Commander Bainbridge never told us he had a girl.” Then he looked over Lucy’s shoulder at Doug. “She’s a looker, Commander.”

  Lucy laughed as she moved on to the next seaman, shaking Heiselmann’s hand. Doug stiffened. It was a weird mix of emotions, actually—he felt affronted on Lucy’s behalf, but at the same time felt a touch of pride at their admiration.

  “The table next to ours is still empty,” Kenny pointed out. “Why don’t you join us?”

  “That would be swell, thanks!” Ben said, taking a seat. The other three were too busy talking amongst themselves and looking at the dance hostesses.

  “Are you from Chicago, Mr. Trebinski?” Lucy asked as Doug held her seat for her.

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “I recognize the accent.” Lucy took a cigarette out of a silver case. Doug struck a match. “I’m from Chicago myself.”

  “Oh yeah? Which part?”

  “Andersonville, on the north side.” Lucy blew a stream of smoke upward.

  “I been up there once or twice,” Ben said. “I’m from the west side, myself. It’s a Polish neighborhood, not far from the Chicago River.”

  “My paternal grandparents lived near Lincoln Square. That’s northwest, I believe.”

  “Hey Nicky, there she is,” Chet Heiselmann half-shouted, smacking Bonadio on the arm and then pointing across the room.

  Doug followed Heiselmann’s finger toward a pretty young white woman in a bright red dress, with lipstick to match, dancing with a middle-aged Chinese man in glasses.

  “I call dibs!” Nick said, taking a step toward the dance floor and spinning around to point at his buddies. “I got her next, as soon as she’s done dancin’ with that chinaman. Youse fellas got that?”

  “Then I’m after you,” Heiselmann said, looking a bit stung. “I saw her first tonight.” He hurried after Bonadio.

  “You work with our Mr. Bainbridge?” Kenny was asking Ben, leaning around Doug, but Doug was too busy watching the mini drama play out among the sailors.

  Nick made his way around the edge of the dance floor, not so casually following the movement of the pretty girl as her partner spun her around. Heiselmann and Aikins kept right on Nick’s heels.

  The music stopped, the Chinese man in glasses bowed to her, and in the three seconds before the orchestra started the next number, Nick Bonadio approached the girl from the left, while an Italian seaman approached from the right. The two were converging on her simultaneously, and Doug couldn’t pull his eyes away.

  The Italian touched the girl’s arm a split second before Nick did, and started to give her a dollar—when Nick grabbed the man’s arm and pulled it roughly away.

  “Excuse me,” Doug said to his friends, barely glancing toward Lucy as he said it, and then hurried toward where the affronted sailor was shouting at Nick in rapid, angry Italian; Nick was shouting back in broken Italian, with a heavy New York accent.

  Heiselmann and Aikins shouldered their way in-between the Italian sailor and Nick.

  When Doug neared them, two large, muscular Chinese men who had previously stood by the entrance appeared on either side of the Italian sailor, taking him by the arms and pulling him off the dance floor. He continued to hurl a blistering stream of Italian in Nick’s direction, and Nick replied with a flick of his hand from the bottom of his raised chin.

  “Boys! Boys! You keep fighting and I won’t dance with any of you,” the young woman said in English, scowling at them, arms akimbo. Doug was taken aback by her American accent. He had expected her to be Russian.

  A tall woman in a shimmering blue sequined evening gown hurried over in matching high heels, saying in a deep voice with a heavy Russian accent, “Lola! Are you fine?” She had a thick mane of auburn hair swept back from her pale forehead in a tall wave.

  The American girl’s expression softened as she turned to look at her frien
d, gave her a smile, and squeezed her forearm. “Yes, I’m fine, Tatiana. Don’t worry. You know I can handle boys rougher than these.” She cast a sideways glance at Nick, Heiselmann, and Aikins.

  Doug eye fell to Lola’s hand, which remained on Tatiana’s forearm for several long seconds.

  “Hey! I’m not the one that started the rough business,” Nick said, stepping between Lola and Tatiana. “It ain’t my fault that I-tai can’t wait his turn.”

  Doug was surprised to hear the ethnic slur coming from Nick Bonadio; he was pretty sure Nick’s heritage was Italian.

  Nick half-turned toward Tatiana, who towered over him, and he put his hand on the front of her shoulder, pushing her back. “I’ll watch out for your friend, doll face. You can dance with my buddy here.” He nodded toward Heiselmann.

  “Everything ok here, fellas?” Doug asked the seamen.

  “Yeah, we got it under control, Commander,” Nick said, brusquely, barely looking at Doug. He handed a pair of Shanghai dollars to the American girl, Lola. “Here, honey, I’ll take two dances, back-to-back. Let’s go.” He took her in his arms and spun her onto the dance floor.

  “You dance, sailor?” Tatiana said in her rich contralto voice, looking down on Heiselmann with arched eyebrows.

  “Yeah, sure, why not?” Heiselmann dug a dollar out of his pants pocket.

  “We better keep an eye on those I-tais, Commander,” Roger Aikins said, nodding toward the cluster of Italian seamen, who were all glowering at them. “You know how they are—can’t keep their tempers.”

  Doug chose to ignore the subtle racism, and addressed the main issue. “Don’t antagonize them further.” He put his hand on Aikins’ shoulder and turned him away. “Don’t get into a staring contest with them, or you’ll make it worse. Understand me, Seaman?”

  A flash of anger crossed Aikins’ hazel eyes for a second, but then it disappeared as quickly as it came. He looked back at Doug passively. “Yes, sir.”

  Doug didn’t miss the note of resentment in the response. “Come on, sailor; let’s go back to our side of the room. Get a beer and cool down.”

  “Yes, sir.” Aikins walked beside Doug, staring straight ahead. Ben Trebinski met them half-way, and Doug handed Aikins off to him, advising them both to go to the bar for a bit.

  “Everything alright, Doug?” Lucy asked when he retook his seat.

  “I think so,” he said, and took a big drink of his gin and tonic.

  “What was all that about?” Kenny asked.

  Doug faked a smile, trying to look relaxed and amused by the whole thing. “Just some competition for a pretty girl. You know how fast those things boil over when you’re that age.”

  “That’s true,” Kenny agreed.

  “They all seem so young!” Abbie said, touching the string of pearls at her neck. “It’s as if all of a sudden I’m a mother and an old lady.”

  Lucy laughed, leaning toward Abbie and putting her hand on her shoulder. “I know! They all called me ‘Ma’am.’ It felt so odd. How old are they, Doug?”

  “Twenty or twenty-one, I think.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I’m only twenty-three, for crying out loud. They could have called me ‘Miss’ instead of ‘Ma’am.’”

  Doug took her hand. “How about a dance, then? You can show them just how young you still are.”

  *

  They danced for two numbers. Then after the start of the next song, a commotion rose from the other side of the room, shouts in English and Italian, and the bang of wooden chairs falling onto the floor.

  The music stopped, and the men in the orchestra turned to see what was happening.

  “I got more dollars, wise guy, and I was here first!” Nick Bonadio’s voice rose above the others.

  Doug and Lucy looked over to see Nick Bonadio face-to-face with the Italian sailor from earlier, each with a fist-full of the other’s shirt.

  “You had two dance, merda Americana maleducato!” the Italian replied, and looked down long enough to spit on Nick’s shoes.

  Crowds of American and Italian seamen gathered around them, all shouting.

  “Go back to the table,” Doug said to Lucy. “Stay with Kenny and Abbie, I’ll be right back.” He started toward the collection of sailors, who were now shoving one another.

  “Doug, wait!” she shouted, but Doug was already rushing through the crowd, who all stood and watched. He had to nudge several people out of the way, and by the time he got close, the shoving matches had turned into a full-fledged brawl. Tables and glasses went tumbling, crashing onto the ground.

  While Nick and his Italian opponent traded the first punches, Ben Trebinski leapt over tables and flew at Nick’s adversary, landing a blow on the side of the Italian’s jaw that created an audible crack. Ben landed atop the stunned sailor, landing punches, left after right.

  The American dance hostess, Lola, had fled into the arms of her tall Russian friend, and they watched in open-mouthed horror as the melee expanded. Doug paused beside them, and briefly touched Lola’s arm to get her attention.

  “Are you hurt, Miss?”

  She seemed surprised by his concern, and shook her head.

  Doug didn’t wait for her to elaborate, and rushed to where Ben Trebinski was pounding on the Italian sailor, who shielded his face with his arms. Nick Bonadio, nose bloodied, had moved on and was punching a different Italian seaman.

  Doug grabbed Ben by the shoulders. “Ben! That’s enough, stop it, now!”

  Ben twisted around at the feel of hands on his shoulders, and for half a second Doug thought he was going to get slammed in the face. But then Ben’s eyes went wide, and his arm dropped. He scrambled to his feet.

  “I’m sorry, Commander—I thought you were one of the I-tais.”

  At least four big-built Chinese bouncers were now grabbing brawlers indiscriminately, and hauling them toward the door.

  “Let him go, Ben.”

  Ben’s eyes softened, and he nodded in resignation. The Italian sailor crawled away. “He shouldn’t have hit Nick like that. I had to stand up for our crew.”

  Doug didn’t know what to say. If he disagreed, he would lose credibility with the men. But he couldn’t encourage such disorderly conduct, either.

  Police whistles blasted from the doorway, saving Doug from having to further reprimand Ben. Several constables came pouring in. Club patrons hurried out of the way, dashing for the sides of the ballroom.

  “Come with me, before you get yourself arrested,” Doug said, grabbing Ben by the arm and tugging him away from the brawl.

  It was too late. Police constables, mostly Sikhs in red turbans, systematically surrounded the brawlers, and began closing in with batons swinging.

  “Duck!” Ben shouted, putting his hand atop Doug’s head and forcing him down into a crouch a second before a police baton swung at where his shoulder had been. Then pairs of brown hands grabbed them both and hauled them backward across the floor.

  3

  “No, I wasn’t part of the fight,” Doug told the man who had identified himself as Detective Sergeant Masterson. “I was trying to get my friend there out of harm’s way when your men entered the club.” He hoped his attire—white dinner jacket, black dress pants and black tie—would be persuasive.

  The detective sergeant looked over Doug’s passport, and handed it back to him. “How does a gentleman such as yourself come to be acquainted with a navy seaman, Mr. Bainbridge?” he asked in a working-class English accent.

  “Because it’s actually Commander Bainbridge, United States Navy,” Doug said, pocketing his passport. “Seaman Trebinski and several of the others are posted to my ship, the USS Valparaiso, which is anchored in the Huang Po.”

  The detective sergeant’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Doug with more than a little suspicion. “Were those men under your supervision this evening?”

  Doug shook his head. “I’m off duty, enjoying a night out with my friends. The seamen in question are on shore leave. We arrived here ind
ependently of one another, I assure you. However, feeling a certain responsibility for their welfare, I attempted to intervene. I’m sure you can understand why I would try to get them out of harm’s way.”

  The detective sergeant nodded slowly, seeming to weigh this argument. “Yes, I can understand that, Commander Bainbridge. But answer this—were your men involved in the outbreak of fighting with the Italian sailors?”

  Doug didn’t want to lie outright, so he chose to equivocate. “I’m not certain how the fight started.”

  The look on the detective sergeant’s face said he didn’t buy it, but he snapped his notepad shut. “That will be all for now, sir. I’ll ask you to remain in the club for the time being, in case I have any follow-up questions for you.”

  Doug had little doubt the police would want to ask him more after they’d compared notes from their conversations with Ben, Nick Bonadio, and the others. He thanked the detective sergeant and returned to his table.

  Lucy looked relieved to see him approaching; but then she scowled and crossed her arms as he took a seat next to her. “You shouldn’t have done that. You could have gotten yourself seriously hurt, and it would be no one’s fault but your own.”

  That stung. “I was needed.”

  “No, you weren’t. Those men don’t report to you.”

  “Not directly. But they can still take orders from me. I’m the only officer from the ship present, so I had a certain obligation.”

  Her lips pursed. “You’ve really taken to the officer’s role these last weeks, I see.”

  Abbie put her hand on Lucy’s arm, but she looked at Doug when she spoke. “That was very brave of you, Doug. We were just worried for your safety. You understand, don’t you?”

  He nodded, but kept his eyes on Lucy when he answered Abbie. “Yes, I understand. I appreciate your concern, all of you.”

  “I think I need to visit the ladies’ room,” Lucy said, bolting from her seat and clutching her small purse. “Abbie, you’ll come with me?”

  Kenny slid into Abbie’s empty chair after the women left. He clapped Doug awkwardly on the shoulder. “Now that the ladies are gone, I can say that I admire what you did, Douggie. I wish I were that brave.”