by Buzz Harcus
"I've spent a lifetime trying to find that damned money," he hissed. "I know Joe told you where it's hidden 'cause yer here for it. Right?" He jammed the gun harder into the soft flesh. Harry felt pain, blinked back tears that welled in his eyes. "Now yer gonna tell me where Joe stashed the dough, and I mean right now!" He yanked the gag from Harry's mouth. "Now, dammit. Now!"
Harry ran his tongue around the dryness of his mouth several times before answering. "I don't know where the money is. Joe never told me any -"
"Bullshit!" Stan exploded, slamming the barrel of the gun sharply across the side of Harry's head. "I know damned well he told you!"
Harry staggered, seeing stars, falling to his knees. Another sharp blow landed on his shoulder sending him crumpling to the floor. A terrified Osa screamed out in horror, the sound muffled in the dirty rag stuffed in her mouth.
"Harry," said Mr. Ma in a pleasant voice as he knelt beside him. "Why do you think I went to all the trouble of showing you how to get up to the University today if it wasn't to help you find your way back to get the money? I saw the way your eyes lit up when we toured the building. You know where the money is. We know you know. You can save yourself a lot of grief. Just tell us where the money is. It's just that simple."
He reached over grasping Harry's wrist, twisting it backwards until Harry gasped in pain. "As I said earlier, there must be a reason you came back, and I know it wasn't to renew our old friendship. Tell us, Harry."
"I don't know," Harry gasped through clenched teeth. He tasted blood, feeling a rawness where his face had smacked against the floor. "Joe was gonna tell me when I came back to the hospital to let him know I was gonna go back to China." He grimaced as more pressure was applied to his wrist. "Stan and the Chink had already killed him. He never told me anything, just that the money was in the building."
Mr. Ma applied more pressure. Harry gasped, the pain shooting up his arm, sure his wrist would break off. He knew he had to resist or he was dead. "All I know is it's in this building," he gasped, struggling for release from the pain.
Stan, who had been standing off to one side admiring the simple tactic applied by the black-belted Judo master, Mr. Ma, suddenly lashed out kicking Harry in the stomach with a sharp, snapping kick. Harry grunted and fell forward, coughing, spitting, curling up on the dusty cement floor.
"Hold my gun," Stan ordered, handing his piece to the surprised Mr. Ma. "I'll show you how to get information from the bastard!" He grabbed Harry, jerking him to his feet, and then slammed him back hard against the wall. "Joe didn't tell me a damned thing. Nothing!" Stan hissed through gritted teeth. "That little sonofabitch knew I was coming after him so he told you. I know he told you! That's our money, not Joe's! That little shit hid it on me. He was supposed to share it with us, not you. It's not your money. It's our money!"
He slammed Harry hard against the wall again. "I saw yer name on the hospital registry. You got there before me so I know he told you. I know he did!" In a rage, he bounced Harry off the wall several times. "Tell me where the money is! Tell me!"
"I don't know!" screamed Harry.
Gasping for breath from the physical exertion, Stan pinned Harry against the wall with his arm thrust under his throat. Looking into his bloodied face, he gasped, "Remember how we used to shake down the gooks, Harry. Remember how we shook 'em down and what we did to 'em when we caught them stealing? Ya' remember?"
His fist caught Harry hard in his stomach. Harry choked, gasping for air. Stan followed with a flurry of punches to his ribs and, suddenly, cracked Harry across his face with an open-handed, tooth- jarring slap that sent him staggering headlong into the corner. As his legs turned to jelly and he started to fall, Stan lashed out kicking him hard in his stomach once more.
Harry crumpled in the corner writhing in agony, afraid to scream out, his body shocked with pain. If his hands were free he'd kill the bastard!
Just as quickly, Mr. Ma was on him, grabbing his wrist, bending it backwards, sending a searing lightning bolt of pain the length of his arm. If he screamed, he knew they'd be on him like a couple of jackals, ripping him apart. He had to endure, had to wait them out. It wasn't just for him, but Osa: both of their lives were at stake.
Mr. Ma placed his knee into Harry's neck cutting off his breath. Harry struggled, feeling his Adam's apple slowly turning to applesauce. He couldn't breath, could feel himself falling away, unable to struggle, to fight for his life. Even kicking out with his legs trying to break free was to no avail. This is a hell of a way to have your life end, he thought, as he slipped into unconsciousness.
The splash of cold water brought him around. He hurt like hell. He shook his head. His eyes opened slowly: same room, same cast of characters. In the corner Osa stared at him through tear stained, fearful eyes.
Harry wiggled his hand; it pained terribly at the wrist from the damned twisting, but it still worked. He had thought the damned fool was going to twist it off. Sucking in a deep breath, he felt sharp pains shoot through his stomach. His ribs ached. At least I'm alive, he ventured.
Stan squatted down grabbing Harry's head and twisting it so their eyes met. "You've caused me a lot of headaches, Harry, a lot of headaches."
"Bullshit!" Harry spat.
Stan shook his head. "Joe didn't want to tell us where the money is. Now he's dead. That little trick of yours back in Saginaw, she didn't want to tell us either." He grinned ruefully. "The Chink had a good time playing with her. Now she's dead!"
"So's the Chink!"
"Oh!" Stan replied, eyebrows raised. "I wondered about him. Thanks. He was getting greedy."
"I supposed those were your people down in Shanghai, too?"
Stan grinned. "I was gonna save you all the trouble of coming clear up here to Tsingtao, Harry. You cost me two good men."
"One of them was my son," Mr. Ma added. "My eldest son."
Harry thought better than to make a sarcastic comment about those playing with fire getting burned.
"And the rifleman on the dock?" he asked.
"He was supposed to nick you, put you in the hospital for a few days, long enough for us to get to you and get the information. Sloppy shooting." He paused, and then added nonchalantly, "He's not around anymore, either."
Jerking Harry's head up, Stan looked at him. Shaking his head slowly, he said, "I keep asking myself why old Harry Martin comes back to China? Why he comes back to the old barracks after dark? He says he don't know where the money is. Just a nostalgic trip, Harry?" Leaning forward, his face only inches from Harry's face, speaking in an ominous tone of voice, he continued, "I say bullshit. I say Harry Martin's here looking for my hidden money."
He thrust him away and stood up. His eyes traversed the length of his adversary. "Interesting jacket, Harry," he said suddenly squatting and grabbing at the material, jerking the jacket wide open. His eyes suddenly widened at seeing the seabag tied around his waist. He jerked at it, yanking it loose, and held it up before Mr. Ma.
"Lookee here, ain't this something! Old Harry says he don't know where the goddam money is, but he just happens to be carrying a seabag with him. What'cha gonna carry in the seabag, Harry? Our goddamned money, that's what! He threw the bag in Harry's face. "You lying son-of-a-bitch! You know damned well where the money's hid!"
In a rage, Stan lashed out, punching Harry solidly on his jaw, bouncing his head against the floor.
"Untie me, you bastard, and it'll be a different story," Harry hissed, shaking off the punch.
"Screw you!" Stan retorted, grabbing him, jerking him to his feet and throwing him bodily against the far wall. Harry hit solidly, his head bouncing, and he collapsed heavily to the floor. More cold water brought him around. Stan splashed another cup for good measure. Slowly regaining consciousness, Harry once, again, looked into the sneering face of Stan Drezewski.
"Well, Harry, what'll it be? More fun and games, or the location of the money?"
Harry shook his head trying to get rid of the cobwebs. Feebly, he respond
ed. "I told you, I don't know."
"We'll see," Stan grinned, rising. "We'll just see." He raised his foot aiming it at Harry's stomach, and then drew back. Harry closed his eyes anticipating a hard driving kick. "How many kicks do you think you can take before you bleed to death internally?" asked Stan as he prodded the point of his boot into Harry's stomach.
"Stan! Wait! The woman, maybe she knows," exclaimed Mr. Ma, grabbing Stan's arm. "Harry brought her ashore with him for some reason. Maybe he told her where the money is hidden."
"Good thinking."
Stan and Mr. Ma both turned their attention to Osa, now trembling with fear, looking from one to the other. Her face blanched white with terror. She had heard, they had killed another woman, that friend of Harry's. Now would it be her?
Chapter 62
TROUBLE IN THE OLD STORAGE ROOM
Peiping was hot and muggy in July, Harry recalled as he and several other Marines began their five-day leaves in the ancient city. The fifth floor of the Hotel De Peking was reserved primarily for visiting American servicemen. Pimps were quick to meet you when you arrived, knocking on the door of your room, a bevy of girls in tow ready to service you. For twenty bucks you could rent a whore for a week. There was a ledge, approximately three feet wide that ran along the length of the fifth floor. The whores were a happy lot, always eager to please, running around in the scantiest of attire, and they delighted in flitting from room to room along the ledge, popping in to see who the newcomers were, and what women they had selected.
Stan had barged into his room with a couple of other Marines, all soused, feeling no pain. He had spotted the girl as she entered the room from the window ledge. She was young, spirited and lithe, chattering away in her sing-song language. No free samples without payment first, she had laughingly told Stan as he had drunkenly grabbed for her breasts, lightly stepping away from him as she spoke. In a sudden rage, he smashed her fully in her mouth, his fist breaking teeth, and before she could utter a cry of pain, he hit her again, then grabbed her arm and spun her across the room where she toppled out the window and across the ledge. She fell five stories to her death.
Stan had shown no remorse. He said the girl had slipped. The authorities shrugged; others had slipped and fallen off the ledge. What was the loss of one more whore?
Watching Osa at that moment, Harry's heart went out to her. Life meant little to Stan. He would kill her if he wanted, much as he had killed the young whore in Peiping. He could still see the crumpled, lifeless body of the young whore lying on the pavement outside his hotel.
An evil grin appeared on Stan's face as he dragged the helpless Osa to her feet. The grin turned to laughter at the look of fear in her eyes. Turning to Harry, he said, "Ya know what, Harry. We tailed you since you left the ship. Could have picked you up anytime. Anytime. But we had to see what your game plan was, to see if you really were going for the money. We knew you were making your bid for it when you left the restaurant and started up the hill toward the old compound." He laughed derisively. "This dumb broad was easy to sucker away from the Tivoli. All Mr. Ma had to do was tell her you'd been injured and she came right along." He laughed again. "As a matter of fact, you are injured, and soon you'll be dead!" He roared with laughter at his comment, which elicited a chuckled from Mr. Ma.
Then, as though turning off a water spigot, the laughter stopped as he faced Osa. Grabbing her face in his hand, dirty fingers digging into her cheeks, he growled, "Do you want this woman dead, too, Harry?"
"No! She doesn't know anything about this!" Harry cried out. "Let her go!"
Stan removed the gag from Osa's mouth. "Let's see what she has to say."
"Harry," she pleaded in a trembling voice, "who are dese men?"
Before Harry could answer, Mr. Ma had moved behind her grasping her wrist, twisting. A scream of pain burst from Osa's mouth, a scream that chilled to the depths of Harry's soul.
"Don't hurt her!" he screamed. "She doesn't know!" In a futile gesture, he tried to rise, to move to her defense, but Stan caught him sharply with a backhanded blow knocking him back down. Almost immediately his pistol was aimed at Harry's head.
Osa screamed at seeing Harry fall, and then screamed in pain as Mr. Ma applied more pressure to her wrist.
"Stop!" Harry yelled. "The money's up on the fourth floor, in the old supply room."
"Where in the room?"
Harry hesitated. Osa's gasping scream brought an answer.
"Turn her loose and I'll take you to it." He knew if they found the money he and Osa would be killed. He had to fight for time, time to keep them alive, time to figure another way out.
"Now we're getting somewhere," Stan grinned.
Mr. Ma slipped his gun inside his belt, pulled a knife from his pocked and flicked it open. The polished metal gleamed as he knelt before Osa. With a quick motion of the knife, the rope around her ankles fell to the floor. "We go upstairs," he hissed, stopping momentarily to pick up the seabag and a satchel by the door.
Jerking Harry to his feet, Stan snapped off the light and the foursome moved slowly out into the darkness of the corridor. Gingerly, they made their way along, and up the steps to the fourth floor. The building was silent except for their labored breathing and intermittent sobs escaping from Osa.
With a heavy-duty bolt cutter, Stan made short work of the lock on the storage room door. The door opened wide and Osa and Harry were roughly shoved into the room. Closing the door securely, Stan turned on a flashlight and shined it around the room. It was small, cramped, and dirty with a thick layer of dust covering the floor and several boxes stacked just inside the door. It was obvious from the cobwebs hanging in the corners and strung out across the room that no one had been in the room in ages. Just about the way they had left it so many years ago, Harry observed. Even the old chimney in the center of the room was strung with cobwebs and covered with a layer of dust.
Stan moved close to Harry, shining the light full in his face. "Where?" he hissed.
Harry nodded toward the far wall. "There, in the wall, behind the plaster."
Stan played the light on the broad plaster wall. Some of the graffiti written by Marines was still faintly visible under a thin covering of whitewash, now a soiled gray. Except for a heat register, the wall was barren.
"Where in the wall?" Stan demanded.
"In the wall, that's all I know, that's all he told me."
Mr. Ma flicked on his flashlight and stepped over to examine the wall. He started tapping the plaster. "It could be plastered behind the wall, Stan. It's hollow."
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Stan snarled, giving Harry a sudden shove. Harry reeled backwards until he abruptly bumped into the chimney. "You said you knew where the money was. Now we'll have to punch out the whole damned wall!"
Harry slid down the rough-chinked brick of the chimney to a sitting position. If they found the money, he and Osa were dead. At least, for the moment, they were alive and as long as they were alive, there was hope.
Stan was tapping the wall now, moving along, thumping at it feverishly, as though the money would suddenly jump out at him if he struck the wall just right. Mr. Ma returned to the prisoners shining his light first on Harry, then up at Osa. Tears streamed down her cheeks in endless ribbons, punctuated by periodic, gasping sobs.
Harry's heart went out to her. He wished he'd never told her about his quest for the money. She would never have ended up in this damned mess.
"Sit down, please," Mr. Ma said, pushing Osa toward Harry. She knelt, and then rolled backwards leaning up against the chimney next to him.
"I'm sorry, Osa," he whispered. "I had no idea it would come to this." It was little comfort as he listened to her soft, gasping sobs. Maybe, he thought, if he could just get around to her, to touch her, to comfort her, maybe even get our hands together, perhaps they could untie the knots binding their wrists. It was a long shot, but then, anything was worth a try.
At the far wall Stan and Mr. Ma had begun pounding on the plaster, c
ursing with every thumping of the wall. From the sounds of their voices, their tempers were getting shorter by the minute. Harry struggled, twisting his wrists, trying to loosen the knots, forsaking the idea of getting Osa to help. She was so terror-stricken, she was almost a basket case. "I wish I'd taken that damned magic course," he swore to himself.
Now the two were punching holes in the plaster. They're making enough noise to raise the dead, Harry thought, even to bring the security police to the rescue.
Frustrated at his inability to undo the knots, Harry leaned back against the dusty, grimy chimney. His body was dulled with pain, his mind muddled. Glancing to his left, he could faintly see the old secret entrance they had built in the other outside wall. He could faintly detect the outline of the hinges glinting in the dim light from the distant flashlights.
Neither Stan nor Joe was aware of the door. It had been built after the two were sent back to the States to a federal prison. Even the commanding officers were unaware of the door. It had been pre-fabricated and put up in less than an hour, the time the officers were at mess.
Maybe if he could get to the door, just maybe he could get out. He looked at Osa. No. Any attempt to get out the door would be futile. They'd be dead before he got to the door.
"God damn it, Harry!" Stan swore, his breathing raspy as he came back to the chimney, brushing cobwebs out of his way. "You know more than you're telling us!" He squatted in front of Harry grabbing his chin so that he looked right into his eyes. "Where's the damned money?"
"I don't know. Joe said it was in the far wall. It's supposed to be hollow."
"It's hollow all right, in places! If we don't find that damned money soon, you're a dead man!" He glanced over at Osa. "You'll both be dead!"
"It's there," Harry replied. "Joe said it was there. It's there, somewhere..."