No Accidental Death

by Garrett Hutson

  Doug managed a weak smile, still feeling stung by Lucy’s rebuke. “Thanks, Kenny.”

  “I must say, you look very cool under pressure. You’re quite the natural at it.” Kenny suddenly grinned. “It reminds me of that time a couple of years ago, the four of us were at Roxy’s, right after we met Lucy for the first time. Some American sailors were about to rough up a half-Chinese man for kissing a white woman, and you stepped in. Remember?”

  Doug nodded. “I remember.” That had been no big deal—no fight had ever started, he’d just helped to prevent it. Tonight had been much more serious.

  “Of course, we didn’t know you were a navy man then,” Kenny said, and then blushed, probably embarrassed to have brought that up. He followed with an awkward sort of shrug.

  “I’m sorry to have put a damper on the evening,” Doug said.

  “Are you kidding, old chum? This has been the most excitement Abbie and I have had in four months!”

  **

  “That Douglas Bainbridge has a knack for getting himself into dangerous situations,” Lucy grumbled while she and Abbie sat at the vanity in the ladies’ room. The sultry summer evening had put a shine to her face, so she got a compact out of her purse and powdered her nose, cheeks, and forehead. “Entirely too much of a knack.”

  “From where I sat, it looked like those Italians were in the wrong,” Abbie said, also applying powder. “Fascist bullies, that’s what they were acting like. They didn’t get their way, so they started a fight. A bunch of little Benitos.”

  “Typical childish male behavior all around, if you ask me. Did anyone ask that poor girl which fella she wanted to dance with?” As soon as she said it, Lucy realized the irony. “I mean, I know she’s one of those ‘Dollar Girls’—but shouldn’t she still have a say in which customer she wants to accept?”

  “I can’t say I blame those young men for losing their heads over her. She was stunning, wasn’t she?”

  Lucy had to admit the girl was pretty, but she would come short of calling her “stunning.” For starters, the girl was a little too made-up. “That one American boy was sure taken with her. The short, dark one. He kept paying for more dances, and wouldn’t let anyone else take a turn. Even one of his buddies looked a little steamed over it—before that Italian sailor got rough, anyway. That changed everything.”

  “Seaman Trebinski seemed like a sweet boy,” Abbie said. “But did you see how he jumped right in, throwing punches like a boxer? I would’ve never guessed. He seemed so happy-go-lucky, always smiling.” She sighed and snapped her compact closed. “I guess it just goes to show, you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  “Mmm hmm,” Lucy agreed. “I can admire his loyalty to his friends, though.”

  “Oh! Me, too! I didn’t mean it like that—just that he seemed to change in a heartbeat. A little bit Jekyll and Hyde, wasn’t it?”

  Lucy put her compact away, looked at her reflection, and sighed. “Do you suppose we’ve punished him enough?”

  Abbie giggled. “If he’s anything like Kenny, he’ll be squirming in his seat thinking about how angry you are. I don’t have to stay away long.”

  Lucy pursed her lips. “Doug’s a little more stubborn. Let’s wait a little longer.”

  The door opened behind them, and the American dance hostess entered with her tall Russian friend. She had her arm draped through the Russian’s, and looked as if she were on the verge of angry tears. “Stupid coppers,” she muttered on the way in, before she noticed Lucy and Abbie at the vanity, looking at her through the mirror. She glanced away quickly.

  “You won’t offend us,” Abbie said, turning to watch as the pair walked past. “Are you alright, dear?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” the American girl mumbled, her posture stiffening.

  Lucy took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder—as much to signal their continuing presence as because she wanted one—and struck a match. “Did they blame you?” she asked the girl’s reflection.

  The girl looked surprised that Lucy had asked that. “The police? Not exactly. They just kept asking what I said and did with the two who started it. They wouldn’t let it go. The same questions over and over, just a little different each time, like they were trying to trip me up or somethin’.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Abbie said, oozing empathy.

  Lucy knew it was their job for the police to be suspicious of everyone in these situations, but it angered her that they’d target a poor girl who’d clearly been caught in the middle. “It’s not your fault if men can’t control themselves.” She exhaled an angry stream of smoke.

  The girl’s weak smile and tiny nod were her only acknowledgement. Then she leaned her head against her tall friend’s shoulder and began to quietly cry.

  “Manager tell us to leave when police finish, and not come back,” the Russian said, and stroked the back of the American girl’s brown hair.

  A trio of Chinese women walked by on their way to the door, and cast sideways glances at the two.

  “We should leave,” Abbie whispered to Lucy, and got up from her seat.

  “I’ll join you in a minute,” Lucy said, also rising. “I want to finish my cigarette.”

  Abbie nodded. She mouthed back I’ll wait in the hall, and slipped out the door.

  Lucy followed, and put her foot in the doorway to keep it from closing all the way. She glanced back at the two dance hostesses and said, “I’ll make sure no one comes in and bothers you, honey.”

  “Thank you,” the Russian said in a husky voice. She stroked her friend’s arm, and kissed the top of her head before resting her cheek there.

  Lucy understood; she focused her eyes on the narrow opening her foot created in the doorway and gave them their privacy.

  **

  Lucy hardly spoke when she and Abbie returned to the table, after a lengthy absence that Doug suspected was prolonged on purpose. Kenny seemed to notice, as well, getting chattier than usual, and laughing a little too hard a few times.

  Doug mostly kept his eye on the spot near the front of the club, where the men from his ship were corralled by the police.

  It wasn’t long before Detective Sergeant Masterson strode to their table, greeting them with a crisp nod. “We got all the facts we need, Mr. Bainbridge. You and your friends are free to go.”

  “Thank you, officer,” Kenny said, rising and putting his hat on his head, then reaching for Abbie’s hand.

  Doug was in less of a hurry. “Are you going to release the men from my ship as well?”

  Masterson frowned. “Some of them will be given citations for drunk and disorderly conduct, and allowed to leave. But most of them will have to come with us to the station, and face charges for violent disorderly conduct, destruction of private property, and resisting arrest.”

  Doug was hardly surprised, though he’d allowed himself to hope for better. “Will they be held in the precinct station? Or taken to the jail downtown?”

  “That’s not for me to decide, sir.”

  “Would it speed things up if their commanding officer came to take custody of them?”

  “You can take that up with Detective Inspector Hyland, sir. He’s in charge of this investigation.”

  Lucy tugged at his sleeve, below the table where no one could see. “Doug, come on, let’s leave.”

  He didn’t reply, but got up from his seat and gave her his hand. “Thank you, Detective Sergeant.” Lucy took his arm, and they walked toward the door in silence.

  Ben Trebinski gave Doug a sheepish smile as they passed. “Sorry, Commander.”

  “It’ll be alright, Ben.”

  Chet Heiselmann and Nick Bonadio stood close, their hands cuffed behind their backs. They appeared to bicker. Doug steered a few feet closer as he and Lucy passed; Chet was saying in a quiet but sharp voice, “It ain’t right you not lettin’ anyone else take a turn, Nicky. I had my dollars ready, too, you know.”

  “I told you already, she’s gonna be my girl soon.” Nic
k didn’t bother to keep his voice down, and it carried. “Then I’ll have to knock your block off if you try to horn in.”

  Lucy stiffened against Doug, and her grip on his arm tightened.

  “I need to stop at a telephone booth before we move on,” Doug told Lucy and the Traywicks when they got to the sidewalk. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Understand completely, old chum,” Kenny said. “We’ll wait here, and watch after Lucy for you.”

  Doug hurried to the corner, put a nickel into the pay telephone, and dialed the phone number.

  “Wéi, nǐ hǎo!” a young woman’s voice answered in pitch-perfect Mandarin.

  This caught Doug by surprise. He’d expected English, so it took him a second to form the question in Mandarin. “I’m calling for Montgomery Rose—is he available to speak?”

  “One moment, please,” she replied in English, with a Chinese accent. The receiver clunked down, and then she called out “Monty! Telephone for you!”

  A man’s voice replied something muffled, and she said, “He speak Chinese, but he sound American or Engrish.”

  “Hello? Montgomery Rose speaking.”

  “Commander Rose, this is Commander Bainbridge. I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s been an incident with several of the men from the ship.”

  “I wondered if it was you, when she said you spoke Chinese. What’s the incident? Anything I should worry about?”

  “One of the men—Seaman Second Class Bonadio—started a fight with an Italian seaman tonight at the Majestic Café. It started a general brawl between American and Italian seamen, and the police were called. I witnessed it. Several of our men were arrested.”

  “Christ almighty!” It occurred to Doug that while he had heard Rose curse before on the bridge, this was the first time he’d heard him blaspheme. “How many of them?”

  “Close to a dozen. I’m not entirely certain—you see, the police were going to let a few of them go with just a citation for drunkenness.”

  “Thank God for small miracles,” Rose muttered. “The Majestic, that’s right around the corner from my place. I can be there in five minutes. The police station’s only a few blocks farther, I could be there in ten.”

  “That’s where they’ll be taken, at least for a while. I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I thought you should know.”

  “I appreciate that, Doug. And I appreciate your discretion. I’ll take it from here. Good night.”

  The line clicked off.

  Doug could imagine the dressing down that Nick and his cohorts were going to receive later.

  4

  Sunday, July 4

  “Doug! You made it!” Pete said, beaming at Doug and Lucy when they walked into the suite on the twenty-first floor of the Park Hotel. He strode toward them, somehow not spilling a drop of the cocktail in the high-ball glass in his hand, and clapped Doug on the shoulder.

  Clearly, Pete didn’t hold a grudge—which was something Doug should have known all along. It would be out-of-character for Peter Tolbert to still be sore after all these weeks.

  Fortunately, Lucy was no longer holding a grudge about Doug’s bravery last night—his foolhardiness, according to her. She smiled warmly at Pete, and they kissed each other’s cheek.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you two—has it really only been six weeks? It feels like ages since you’ve been around, Douggie. Make you a gin and tonic? And what about you Luce—Champagne cocktail? Or we have Cointreau, I think.”

  “Champagne cocktail would be lovely, thank you, Pete.”

  Julia Tolbert sauntered over, an enigmatic smile on her lips as she made eye contact with Doug. “Well, hello Douglas. So nice of you to join us today. When I mailed the invitations, I wasn’t sure you’d be in port, but I took the chance.”

  Something about the way she said “in port” touched a nerve with Doug, but he smiled politely and thanked her for the invitation.

  “And hello, Lucy,” Julia said, extending her fingers to Lucy to shake, lady-like. “I’m so glad you were able to wrangle him up. Happy Independence Day to you both. I must say, we’ve missed you around here, Douglas.”

  Doug thought she sounded sincere—or, at least, what passed for sincerity from Julia—and he felt a little touched by it.

  “I’ve missed being here,” he said as Pete returned and shoved a gin and tonic in his hand. Dr. George Howerton and his wife Betty followed a few steps behind, and George clapped Doug on the back.

  “Welcome home, sailor!” he said in his rich baritone. “All’s well on the China seas, I hope?”

  “As well as can be hoped for,” Doug said, and didn’t elaborate.

  “Lucy’s only told us a little,” Betty said, her quiet voice such a contrast to her husband’s. “Abbie and I met her for lunch a few times while you were away, and she filled us in on where you’d been, but that’s all.”

  Doug couldn’t begin to describe the relief he felt at the reception. Now he wasn’t sure why he’d been so worried. He told them a few stories—safely scrubbed of the crude language most of the crew used—and managed to keep them entertained far longer than he would have expected. Fred and Stuart joined their circle after a few minutes, each with a pretty young Chinese girl on his arm.

  “It sounds like you had quite the adventure, Douglas,” Julia said when he’d finished.

  “Is it strange being back among us land-lubbers?” Pete gave Doug a playful jab with his elbow.

  “Feels like I never left.” Doug caught Lucy’s eye, and gave her a wink.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, slipping her arm through his.

  “We went out with Kenny and Abbie last night, to the Majestic, and then to the Paramount,” Doug said. “I thought we might run into all of you at some point.”

  “We were downtown, at the Ambassador,” Pete said. “Julia and I had to go to a big dinner party with some colleagues from the bank, at a townhouse in the French Concession, and the Ambassador was the closest. We arranged for everyone to meet us there. If I’d known you were back, Doug, I would have sent word to you.”

  “I wish we’d known,” Lucy said, casting a sideways glance at Julia. “We ran into some excitement at the Majestic, though.”

  “Oh?” Julia asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow expectantly.

  “A fight broke out between a sailor from Doug’s ship, and an Italian sailor, over a girl. It turned into a big old-fashioned bar-room brawl, like what you see in Wild West movies.”

  Doug cringed at Lucy’s description. He was embarrassed to have his friends think the men on his ship were a bunch of common bar brawlers.

  This seemed to thrill their friends, though, who began peppering them with questions.

  “The fight spread because the fellas were defending one of their own,” Doug explained. “It was camaraderie, a certain esprit de corps.”

  “Sounds more like rage militaire to me,” Julia replied, staring right at Doug with another one of her enigmatic smiles.

  “You should have seen Doug spring into action.” Lucy suddenly sounded proud of what he’d done.

  “You jumped into the fight?” Betty asked, eyes wide as saucers.

  Doug shook his head, but Lucy answered. “Not exactly, but he pulled one of the men from his ship off of this Italian sailor he was beating up.” She looked at him with a teasing smile. “He tried to restore order single-handedly.”

  Everyone laughed, and after a second’s embarrassment, Doug had to laugh with them.

  “Way to go, Doug!” Pete said, slapping him on the back again, but not as hard this time.

  “How noble of you, Douglas,” Julia said with a Cheshire cat grin.

  **

  The party grew as the afternoon progressed, with more of Pete and Julia’s friends and acquaintances arriving. The drinks flowed, the suite grew stuffy in spite of the open windows, and laughter filled the air.

  Doug pulled Lucy into a corner in a vain attempt to find some quiet.
“It sounded earlier like you were actually proud of what I did.” He raised his eyebrows as he watched her reaction.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” Lucy said, waving it off. “You know I love that about you, the way you always try to make things better. I don’t always love the specific things you do, in the moment—but I know you always mean well, and that’s one of the things I love about you.”

  Doug put his arms around her and kissed her.

  “Go get your own room!” George shouted from nearby, his deep voice booming over the din of conversation. He gave them a wicked grin and a wink.

  Doug felt himself blush. Lucy, by contrast, looked unperturbed. “Good idea, George. Maybe we will.”

  Doug’s blush deepened, and George roared with laughter.

  “Hey everyone, I’ve got a surprise!” Pete shouted from the other side of the room. He struck a match and lit a stick in his hand, which sent a shower of sparks flying. “Sparklers!”

  The women standing on either side of him squealed and jumped back from the hot little sparks, and Pete laughed and waved the sparkler over his head, coming dangerously close to the ceiling a couple of times.

  “That won’t end well,” Doug muttered, while Pete passed out sparklers to everyone around him.

  Lucy slipped her arm around his waist. “I was about to suggest that we leave early anyway,” she said. “Doctor’s orders.”

  5

  Thursday, July 8

  Doug slipped on a bathrobe, opened his front door long enough to grab the morning paper, and walked to the kitchen. He tossed the newspaper onto the table without looking at it, and started his electric teapot. A few moments later, sipping a cup of tea, he sat and picked up the paper.

  The front page of that morning’s Shanghai Herald announced:

  JAPANESE ATTACK AT MARCO POLO BRIDGE

  FIGHTING BREAKS OUT WEST OF PEIPING BETWEEN JAPANESE AND CHINESE FORCES

  Doug read the opening paragraphs of the full-page article quickly, looking for any indication that this was a skirmish, a localized irritant, and nothing more. But his hopes were soon dashed—a fire-fight last night at the famous bridge had quickly escalated.