China Marine: Tsingtao Treasure

by Buzz Harcus

  He jerked the keys from the ignition, got out, locked the car and headed across the street. He glanced back momentarily, a paranoid habit he'd picked up somewhere along the way, always double- checking everything. The car was safe. He laughed. His friends kidded him constantly about his beat-up old "Betsy," but he had the last laugh. At least it was paid for, and it ran damned good. Maybe it used oil, but it was still good transportation. Maybe next year he'd be driving around in a new Mercedes convertible. Damn! Right back to China.

  Chapter 15

  TROUBLE AT THE PUB

  On entering the Pub, Harry stopped momentarily to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. A pall of smoke hung across the room. It burned his lungs. He'd quit smoking ten years earlier realizing he'd become a slave to the weed - cigarettes and coffee, cigarettes and sandwich, cigarettes and beer. First thing in the morning and the last thing at night. Two on the way to work, a pack or two at work, day in and day out. He was always coughing to clear his throat. At times he thought he'd cough his damned head off. And the burns: new suit, the sofa, the new leather chair, on the dresser, on the car seat - just carelessness, and costly.

  One day he quit cold turkey. It was hell for a few weeks but he did it and he was really proud of himself. Even his kids told him they saw a dramatic change in his personality. He was warmer, more caring. Laurie hadn't noticed, or if she had, she didn't encourage him. But he felt good. It was a personal achievement, one of many he faced alone over the next few years until he got his freedom. Now he accepted the choking smoke philosophically; it was the price he paid to be with friends.

  As his eyes grew accustomed to the room, he recognized several familiar faces. He nodded and waved as he made his way toward the U-shaped bar where Gunther was on duty. The place was packed wall to wall with bodies, and some really nice bodies at that.

  The Pub was one of the popular watering holes in Saginaw. Located in Old Town, the Pub catered to a younger set, twenties and thirties crowd. Harry felt like a misfit at his age, yet everyone seemed to accept him, more than likely because of Sandy.

  The attractiveness of the Pub was its simplicity: bare brick walls

  with mortar oozing out between the old bricks, just as the walls had been built at the turn of the century. Large booths lined each main wall, the table tops thick wood slabs from the lumbering days. Like the walls, the rough-hewn plank flooring was also original, adding to the bar's unique atmosphere. Older wags said the bar had once been a stable.

  In sharp contrast, tall multi-colored director's chairs circled the U-shaped bar. Harry waved to several more acquaintances as he eased onto one of the just-vacated chairs, acing out a young, bearded, longhaired kid.

  "Hi, Harry. What'll it be?" Gunther said slapping a napkin down in front of him.

  "Make it a light draft, Gunther," Harry replied. "What's all the excitement about? I just saw a police car pulling away."

  As he spoke, he carefully scanned the room. More familiar faces, but Sandys wasn't one of them. Maybe she was in the can.

  "We had a doozy fight," Gunther replied, setting a frothy glass on the napkin. "Al's cleaning up the last of the mess now." He nodded over his shoulder toward the far corner. "Sent some poor sailor to the hospital, put Butch in the hoosegow and sent Marlene home drunk. The bitch!"

  Harry craned his neck to see beyond Gunther's huge frame. In the far corner lay a demolished chair next to the broken popcorn machine, it's glass facing shattered on the floor. A1 was busy sweeping up broken glass and popcorn.

  "Butch in jail? How'd it happen?" Harry asked and pulled a roll of bills from his pocket, peeled off a single and tossed it across the bar top toward Gunther. As he spoke he continued searching for Sandy. "Fats" Johnson was in one of his usual heated arguments at the dartboard - but still no Sandy.

  "Hi, Harry. How's tricks?"

  Harry swiveled around as blonde, blue-eyed Janie, his favorite chesty waitress, slid in next to him.

  "Two light drafts," she called out to Gunther stopping him before he could reply to Harry's question.

  "Not bad, Janie. Not bad." Harry replied trying not to stare

  down at her full breasts. One thing about Janie hed learned: she was proud of what she had and loved to flaunt it. Tonight was no exception. Her breasts, which would make any average girl feel inferior, were accentuated by a tight-fitting sweater and, as Janie didn't believe in wearing a bra, her hard nipples pushed taut against the fabric. Skin-tight corduroy jeans and calf-high western boots completed her bold outfit.

  "I'm free tonight if you're interested," she said, winking at Harry. He grinned and winked back. "Thanks I'll keep that in mind."

  She smiled showing strong, straight white teeth. She ran her tongue casually around her upper lip. "You do that. It could be interesting." On an impulse, she grabbed a bar napkin and quickly jotted her address on it. "If you need me, I'll be home at this address after two." She folded the napkin and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "If I can be of any help at all -" she whispered rubbing her firm breasts against his arm as she departed to deliver her two light beers. Harry watched after her. Nice ass, too, he thought.

  "Yeah, some sailor off one of them foreign ships loading at Wickstrom elevators made a pass at Marlene," Gunther said leaning across the bar. "And, well, you know how hot-tempered Butch is. None of us expected it, least of all the sailor. All of a sudden Butch lowered the boom. Pow! He beat the hell out of the poor guy."

  "Yeah, that Butch has a mean temper," Harry said taking a deep swallow of beer. "Course, a lot of the problem with Butch is Marlene; she still thinks she's the same hot little thing she used to be years ago when she was a teenie-bopper. I bet she came on strong with the poor sailor, that old 'come on' routine -"

  "She did just that, Harry," Gunther nodded "I watched her when she came in tonight. You could tell there were bad vibes between her and her old man. She was cold as a witch's tit to him. Completely ignored him. The first thing she does is down a boilermaker, then she orders another and then starts down the bar socializing, playing up to guys, rubbing her boobs against them. When she came to the sailor he probably thought he'd found a good thing, probably didn't know she was Butch's woman, and made a pass at her. She really played up to him, his 'cute' foreign accent. He got turned on and, pow, Butch turned him off. The bitch. Personally, I think Butch would be a hell of a lot better off without her."

  "Naw. I think they deserve each other. I've see them operate for two years now. Butch is the same way with women. He likes to hustle 'em, give the gals a lot of attention which, in turn, really pisses her off. Naw, they deserve each other. That, I'm sure," Harry said and took a quick swallow of beer, then started to laugh.

  "What's so funny?" Gunther asked, puzzled.

  "You don't suppose they're into kinky sex, ya' know, getting each other all worked up by doing these crazy things, then, horny as hell, they go home and knock off a good one?"

  Gunther grinned. The more the outlandish thought sounded plausible, the bigger his grin grew until it turned into laughter. It hit him hard and he slapped his big hand hard on the bar. "That's a good thought, Harry. Goddamn, I never thought of that." He roared. Harry laughed harder, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched Gunther, infected by his hearty laughter.

  Still shaking his head, a chuckling Gunther moved off down the bar to serve another customer, still wiping tears from his eyes.

  Harry wiped at his eyes, and then took another swallow of beer, emptying the glass. "Another one, Gunther," he called down the bar. He peeled off another single and slapped it on the bar next to his empty glass. He looked around the room; still no sign of Sandy. How long can a female stay in the john?

  "Have you seen Sandy tonight?" he asked Gunther, just setting a fresh glass of beer in front of him.

  "Yeah. She was here earlier. She got pissed off at having to wait for you and took off with some young stud." He tried to keep a straight face, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him.

  "Okay, smartass
. Where is she? Is she hiding somewhere?"

  Gunther stood grinning down at him, the smile pasted on his broad face.

  "C'mon," Harry pleaded. "We've got a date tonight. I'm already late -"

  "Harry, when are you gonna make an honest woman out of that cute little doll? Ya' gotta pop the question soon. It's the only decent

  thing to do."

  "I will. I will." Harry hunched forward motioning Gunther close. "I've been giving some serious thought to it. Honest. I think I can convince her. Got an idea that might do the trick. Now quit stalling. Where the hell is she?"

  "Gone." The smile faded. "She took that dumb drunk Marlene home after the fight. She probably doesn't want to see anyone; Marlene barfed all over her. What a mess, and that cute little Sandy looking like she just stepped out of a Nieman-Marcus catalog. Marlene puked all over her. The damned drunk!"

  "No shit? Damn!" Harry swore. "Did she say whether she was coming back or not?"

  "I doubt it. She was a mess from head to toe. She said she'd get Marlene home - then she was going home. Sounded like she was calling it a night."

  "Damn. No message for me?"

  "Naw. She was pissed off about Marlene - said you'd understand."

  Harry slammed his hand hard on the bar. "Damn! If I'd been on time she might have missed the whole incident." He shook his head, then a grin started breaking across his face as he looked up at Gunther. "You can bet your last dollar I'll hear about this later."

  But, secretly, inside he felt relieved that she was home. There were too many young studs hanging around the Pub. Always, there was that gnawing feeling inside that she might dump him for a younger guy, yet she seemed satisfied. He couldn't figure out why, but it made him feel good.

  There was a day, he recalled fondly, when they were lying naked, making love in front of an open patio door that looked out across a field of golden wheat ripening in the late summer sun. "Ya' know what I like about you, Harry," she said, gasping, at the same time knocking his stiff arms outwards so he fell tight against her, bringing forth a grunt of delight as his full weight pressed down, driving his manhood deeper into her. "We have a lot of fun together. We enjoy the same things, making love in the afternoon -" her hungry lips met his, tongues momentarily dueling - "hanging out together, holding hands, sharing, touching, you're not old, not as old as your

  age. You're young and you'll always be young. I don't want anyone else. I'm happy. You make me happy." She wrapped her legs around his waist squeezing him tightly to her. "Now make me happy again."

  Harry grinned remembering the moment. The remark about his age had stuck with him. Yet, each time a young, good-looking stud appeared on the scene and started to hustle her, he got an uneasy feeling, wondering if this time he might be the "Mister Right." She had married Mister Right once before only to find out he was Mister Wrong. Now, a free spirit, she enjoyed life with no strings attached. "I just don't want to get involved any more than we are right now. Don't talk marriage. Not now. Let's just enjoy what we've got, okay?" She had said it quietly, but emphatically. He had accepted it although the twenty years difference in their ages still nagged at him.

  Chapter 16

  LOVE LOST FOR THE NIGHT

  “Harry, how's it going?" Harry swiveled around in time to see Al moving behind the bar under the lift section, dumping a dustpan full of broken glass into a wastebasket. "Gunther tell you about your damned friends, Butch and Marlene?" he asked.

  "Hold on," Harry exclaimed, raising his hands defensively. "Acquaintances, yes; close friends, no. Don't put me in the same category as those two."

  "Goddamn them," A1 said putting his broom and the dustpan away. "This is the last time for those two. Butch is gonna pay for all the broken glass, broken chairs, broken popcorn machine and my time to clean up the mess! I run a good clean place. I don't need that macho stud or his hot-ass wife on the premises. Piss on 'em! They can take their damned business elsewhere. They're nothing but grief!"

  Harry nodded in agreement. "Maybe this'll teach them a lesson, an important and expensive lesson. Was the sailor hurt bad?"

  "Hell yes he was hurt bad! Had to haul him away in an ambulance. Hell yes he was hurt!" He drew himself a beer. "The swabbie was getting happily loaded. He wasn't hurting anyone. Marlene deliberately teased him, leading him on. He probably figured he was in for a good time with her. The poor slob. He didn't know what hit him; it happened so fast. Butch punched him so hard you could feel his jawbone crack. Then Butch gave him several quick body punches and finally smashed the guy in the face again. He went sprawling backwards across the room, fell over a table and chairs, his hand smashed the glass on the popcorn machine, and when he hit the deck, the damned table landed right on his leg. You could hear the bone snap like the crack of a rifle shot."

  "Yeah, and Al was over the bar and smacked Butch on the back of his skull with his billy club before Butch could land another punch," Gunther chimed in. "Butch went down in a heap and Marlene started screaming bloody murder. She was trying to get at Al, and she was screaming and carrying on something awful. Christ, what a mess. I called the police and they were here in a couple of minutes."

  "Police ambulance took the poor swabbie over to St. Mary's Hospital emergency ward," Al added. "Medics said he had a broken leg and broken jaw."

  "That poor guy will be out of commission for at least six to eight weeks," Harry said, shaking his head. "How'd Sandy get involved? Was she hurt?"

  "Naw. Poor kid. She was trying to get Marlene calmed down. The dumb bitch just stood there screaming and yelling at me, at everybody, that I'd killed Butch. She dropped to the floor flopping over the guy, carrying on like he was dead. Sandy finally got her on her feet after Butch started stirring. Then what does Marlene do but puke her guts all over Sandy. Geez! Poor kid!"

  "Sandy shoulda' punched her lights out right then and there," Gunther said. "Instead, what does she do but take the drunken bitch home."

  "My invitation's still good, Harry," Janie said sliding in next to him, her bosom pressed firmly against his back. "Sandy's out and I'm available. Two drafts, Gunther," she said without taking her eyes off Harry. "I understand you're really good. I'd like to find out."

  "Somebody's been telling tales out of school," Harry said, a coolness in his voice.

  "Best offer you'll get tonight," Janie shrugged, picking up her two drafts. "I'm damned good, too!" She swiveled around and walked away.

  "She — it!" Harry muttered. Still, he caught himself looking after her, the swing of her shapely hips as she walked away.

  "And Butch is in the cooler for the night," Gunther said returning from the cash register. He caught the agitated look on Harry's face.

  "Hey, don't pay any attention to Janie She's just her usual horny self. If it wears pants and there's a bulge in the front, she after it. She'll have some guy in tow before the night s over. That's just Janie. What else can you say?"

  "Yeah. She's harmless, but a lot of fun" A1 grinned as he reached up for a glass. He was tall, muscular, with thick blonde hair that contrasted with his reddish-blonde mustache. He was of Swedish extraction with deep blue eyes peering out from his sharp angular face. A devil-may-care smile crossed his face.

  As A1 drew a beer, Harry saw the familiar scorpion tattoo on his right wrist, a souvenir of "Nam." He never mentioned the war but you knew he still lived it. He was one of five survivors of the Scorpion platoon. His buddies said he was the devil in hand-to-hand combat; quick, fast and deadly.

  Gunther was older, about age 48. A generation earlier, he'd fought his way across Korea from the Inchon invasion, and on up to the Chosin Reservoir where all hell broke loose. Half-frozen, in constant fear, they had fought for their lives back across Korea's cold, rugged mountains before an unrelenting foe until they were evacuated. The blaring of Chinese trumpets still pierced his nightmares, chilling him.

  A1 shook his head. "Yeah, that poor swabbie never knew what hit him. Out for the count. Probably still in emergency. Hey! Gunther!
Make sure we check our insurance coverage. I don't want any damned lawsuits. Better yet, call our damned lawyer, that's what we pay him for."

  "Another one?" A1 asked grabbing up Harry's almost empty glass and refilling it before he could answer. He slid it back down the bar. Harry fumbled in his pocket for a loose bill. "On the house, Harry, I treat my good customers on a rare occasion." He grinned, lifting his glass. Harry hoisted his glass in silent salute, and then took a long swallow.

  "Hi Harry. What're you doing here?" Fats Johnson said stopping beside Harry, his pudgy fist clutching several darts. "I thought I saw you going into the vet's hospital about two hours ago. What's the matter? You're stomach acting up again?" He threw a beefy arm around Harry's shoulder. "Christ, we can't have you hospitalized. Who would we beat at darts?" He laughed heartily. It brought a sheepish grin to Harry's face.

  It was true. Ever since he teamed up with Sandy, he'd lost his skill with the darts, buying many a round of drinks for the opposition. But, he had to admit to himself, his love life had greatly improved since he met her.

  "Yeah, that cute little Sandy's got your old ass tacked up on the dart board," Fats chortled. "And you know we just love sticking it to you!" Fats continued, chuckling at his remark, much to Harry's growing embarrassment. "You must have hidden talent, Harry, 'cause it sure don't show in darts." His comment brought a round of laughter causing Harry to squirm even more.

  "You got ulcers from worrying over buying us drinks all the time?" Fats chided.

  "Is somethin' wrong with you?" A1 asked, suddenly concerned.

  "No. I don't have ulcers and I'm okay. The only thing wrong with me is my suffering pride and thinning wallet from buying for you turkeys all the time," Harry replied jokingly. "Actually, I stopped by the hospital to see a guy I used to know way back when, hell, before any of you were even a gleam in your old man's eyes." He laughed. "Naw, this guy's got terminal cancer. The docs don't expect him to live more than a year at the outside, maybe six months. He saw I lived in town and wanted to see me, shoot the breeze, the good old days, do him a couple of favors."