Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  BARTLET LOOKED after him and then took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

  “He fooled me,” he said. “He looked like a Chinese bandit when he stopped smiling. Isn’t he taking a chance that somebody will pull a gun and let him have it before he realizes it’s just a joke?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe he is. But he’s willing to take

  She had been bound by somebody who knew his business the chance. At any rate he makes a living out of it and I suppose he figures the chance is worth it. That gun of his was probably obsolete at the time of the Boxer Rebellion. He must have found it in a junk heap and got the idea of using it on the whites here as a gag. He’s harmless and everyone likes him.”

  We forgot about Papa and started talking shop. The situation for newspapermen in Shanghai then was worse than it had been during the war. Our copy was getting out all right, but censorship was ridiculously strict. There were a lot of Japs left in Shanghai, a lot of Russians, a lot of communists, and a few Fascist Chinese organizations and trying to play the angles in that international mess, was enough to drive a guy nuts.

  We were working on another drink when Yang came over to say hello. Yang was a bland, neatly built Chinese, with pleasant friendly eyes. He wore European clothes and he always dressed sharply. I knew he was a very square guy. During the war he’d kept his place open and provided a good time for Jap officers. But how many of them got cyanide in their drinks, and how much information was collected from their drunken ramblings and forwarded to Chinese Headquarters, was something probably only Yang knew. And he never talked about it.

  I introduced him to Bartlett and he waved for a waiter and bought us a drink.

  “Here’s to peace,” I said.

  “An excellent toast.” Yang said with his strange little smile. “There is still work to be done but the worst is over, eh?”

  We talked for a while about nothing in particular, but I got the impression Yang had something on his mind, something he wanted to talk to me about. I wasn’t wrong.

  He stood up to leave, shook hands with Bartlett and then, almost as an afterthought, he said to me, “Do you remember that matter we were talking about the other night, Mac?”

  We hadn’t been talking about anything, But I nodded and said, “Sure.”

  ‘“Well,” he smiled, “there’s been a rather interesting development. I have the material now and if you’ve got a minute I’d like to show it to you. It’s in my office.”

  “I’d be glad to,” I said. I finished my drink, apologized to Bartlett, and followed Yang through the smoky cafe, down a narrow corridor to his office.

  HIS OFFICE was small compact and tidy. There was a safe there, one window and a second door that led to a rear entrance. The light came from an unshaded bulb that hung from a cord in the ceiling. There were several chairs and a desk.

  Yang locked the door behind him and waved me to a chair.

  “Please sit down,” he said. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “This is very good,” he said, pouring me a drink from a dusty bottle he’d taken from a wall cabinet. “I need your help, Mac.”

  I sipped the drink. “You’re right, this is excellent. And what can I do to help you?”

  He sat down in a chair facing me. “I am going to ask quite a lot. I want your help very badly and I can’t tell you why. If you are willing to help me you must realize that it will probably be dangerous. I don’t know from where the danger may come and that is another reason you are foolish even to be listening to me.” He smiled and went on: “I hope you will help me. I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

  “Well supposing you tell me just what you want me to do. Then I’ll let you know if I can do you any good.”

  “Fair enough,” Yang said. “I have a paper which must be delivered to a representative of Chiang-Kai-Shek. That representative will not be in Shanghai for another week. The information contained in the paper is highly important. I am leaving Shanghai. My usefulness here is done. I have become too well known. I must leave tonight. I want you to deliver the paper for me. I am asking a lot, because it is no concern of yours, but I would ask even more under the circumstances. Not for myself, but for my countrymen.”

  “That doesn’t sound like such a tough job,” I said. “I’ll take a crack at it.”

  “It may be more difficult than you think,” Yang said. “You will have to be extremely careful.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said.

  He smiled, a relieved grateful smile, and patted my arm. He got up, opened the safe and took out a plain manila envelope. He closed the door of the safe and handed me the envelope.

  “The name of the man you will deliver this to is Tao Lin. You can meet him here a week from today. Any of the bar tenders can point him out to you.”

  I put the envelope in my inside coat pocket and said, “Tao Lin, eh? That’s easy enough to remember. Don’t worry, Yang. I’ll take care of this.”

  “I won’t say thank you,” Yang said. “There isn’t any adequate word to tell you how I feel. Let us hope we wall meet again.”

  We shook hands and then I went back to the cafe. Bartlett was gone and I figured he’d had enough of the East for one night. I ordered another drink and drank it slowly. I don’t know how much time passed before the shot sounded.

  Maybe five minutes, maybe ten. I’m not sure.

  THE MUSIC had stopped and the cafe was quieter than usual. I was just finishing my drink when the welcome silence was shattered by a single shot.

  I was moving toward Yang’s office before the echoes died away. I don’t know why, I couldn’t have said for sure where the sound of the shot had come from, but something like instinct started me toward Yang’s office.

  No one else was going anywhere definitely. Some of the people stood up, and some remained seated, and after the first instant of shocked silence, they all began babbling.

  I went down the corridor to Yang’s office on the run. The door was locked and I didn’t waste time knocking. I hit it twice with my shoulder and the flimsy wood shattered.

  The stink of cordite hit my nostrils. There was blue smoke in the room curling lazily around the bare light bulb.

  Everything was about the same as when I’d left. Except that the door of the safe was open.

  And Yang was sprawled in the chair behind his desk with an ugly blue hole in his forehead!

  THE CHINESE police are efficient in a ponderous fashion. The inspector from the local lock-up was a fussy little man with spectacles and no hair. The first thing he did was to chase the curious crowd out of the corridor and back to the cafe. I showed him my press card and he let me stay.

  He went around the office then looking at everything. He went through the safe, looked through Yang’s desk and even got down on the floor and scouted around like a beagle hound.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “Anything,” he said, and went on looking for it.

  I noticed that the second door of the room was open. It had been open when I barged in. My guess was that the killer had come in the back, surprised Yang, gone through the safe, then shot him after he’d gotten what he wanted. Or had found that what he wanted was gone.

  I had a hunch the latter was correct. I had a hunch that what the killer wanted was a plain manilla envelope which at the moment was in my inner coat pocket.

  I went through the second door and down a flight of steps that ended at another door. I opened this door and found myself looking into the black night.

  So I went back to Yang’s office. There were two more policemen there now, evidently representatives of what we’d call the coroner’s office. They confirmed the fact that Yang was dead, and left.

  “Are you going to close the place?” I asked the fussy little inspector.

  He shook his head. “Maybe learn more by leaving it open,” he said. He sounded like he’d been reading Charlie Chan. But he looked pretty smart.

&nb
sp; I went back to the cafe and ordered a drink. The orchestra was playing again, and something like normalcy was coming back to the place. Drinks were being served, the waiters were busy and everyone was chattering about the murder.

  I knew I didn’t belong there. If the killer wanted the envelope I had then my best bet was to clear out and get back to my hotel. But I stayed.

  I had liked Yang. I wanted to get whoever had pumped that bullet into his skull. I didn’t have any plan, but I felt I could learn more at the cafe than I could back hiding behind a locked door at my hotel.

  I FELT a light hand on my shoulder. I turned around and there was a girl standing behind me, smiling. One of her hands rested on my shoulder and the smile was meant for me alone.

  “May I sit down?” she asked. Her voice was low and husky.

  I nodded to the empty chair at the table. She sat down sideways on the chair, so she faced me directly, and crossed her legs. I waved for a waiter.

  “The rum slings are good,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  So I ordered her a rum sling.

  She was Eurasian. Probably Russian and Chinese. Her skin was pale and flawless and there was enough Mongol in her blood to give her features an interesting look without making them heavy and lifeless. She wore a tailored white suit and her bare feet were thrust into small red sandals. Her hair was dark and her eyes would be either green or blue depending on the li-lit. Or on how she was feeling.

  “A lot of excitement,” I said.

  “It happened before I got here,” she said. “I have never been here before, but I knew Yang. It is unfortunate.” She sipped her drink slowly.

  “When did you know Yang?” I asked.

  Many years ago. I worked with him in Hong Kong. I learned that he was m trouble. That is why I came here tonight.”

  “You didn’t make it in time,” I said. “What kind of trouble was he in?”

  She shrugged slim shoulders. “The trouble is always the same for people like us. It takes different shapes, and comes from many sides, but it is always the same kind of trouble. Did you know him well?”

  “So-so,” I said. “He bought me a drink when I came in as a rule. The good stuff. And we talked occasionally. That’s about all.”

  “I thought you might have known him better than that,” she said. She put her drink down and looked at me directly. Her voice was very low. “I am looking for his friends.”

  “You might call me a friend of his,” I said. I was getting interested.

  “Is there someplace we can go and talk.”

  “I THOUGHT it over. I didn’t know what this was leading to, but I’d never find out if I didn’t take a chance. “Yes. That stairway in the corner of the room behind the orchestra leads up to several private rooms. The girls use them when they are entertaining their friends. We can talk there.”

  She looked over toward the stairway, then back at me. “I don’t know this place. Will it look odd if I go upstairs?”

  I shook my head. “The little girl’s room is up there too, so no one will wonder about what you’re going up there for. Go into the second room on the left side of the corridor and wait for me. We’d better go up separately. I’ll have another drink and meet you there in about ten minutes. Okay?”

  “Very well.”

  She left the table and I watched her slim straight back until she disappeared behind the orchestra stand. I ordered another drink and looked at my watch.

  The ten minutes passed slowly. I waited another five for good measure, then sauntered toward the stairway. I stopped at the orchestra stand and glanced about the smoky room. No one seemed interested in where I was going.

  I went up the steps to the second floor. The corridor was dimly lighted, there was no carpet, and the walls were dirty. I walked to the second door and knocked lightly.

  There was no answer. I put my ear to the thin wooden panel but I couldn’t: hear anyone moving in the room. I knocked again. When a minute went by with no response I tried the knob. It turned and the door opened.

  The room was dark. I couldn’t hear a sound. I didn’t like it. I closed the door behind me, shutting off the thin bar of light came from the corridor. Then I groped for and found the light switch.

  I blinked when the light came on and then I saw the girl.

  She was lying face downward on the narrow bed. Her arms were bound to her side with a triple strand of silk rope. Her ankles were bound with the same type of silken cord and the end of the rope had pulled tight and knotted about her throat, so that her legs had been bent backward. Her body was arched like a tautened bow. It was a neat way to strangle a person slowly.

  I MOVED fast. When I reached her side I already had my knife out and opened. I slashed the single cord that was strangling her and then turned her on her back. Her eyes were closed and her back was flushed, but I saw that she was still breathing faintly.

  Whoever had bound her had done an efficient job. One or two more minutes and I would have been too late. I cut the cords at her elbows and ankles and then felt for a pulse.

  There was a beat, but it was erratic and faint. It didn’t sound good to me.

  Her lids fluttered open and she tried to say something, but her voice was husky and weak.

  “Never mind,” I said. I chafed her wrists for a minute or so and she began to look a little better. I tried the pulse in her wrist again and it was still skipping erratically.

  “I didn’t see anyone,” she said, and I had to lean forward to catch the words. “The room was dark when I came in. I was looking for the switch when I heard someone behind me. A hand went over my mouth and then I think I passed out.”

  “Who wanted to kill you?” I asked.

  “They didn’t want to kill me,” she said weakly. “They were looking for the paper Yan” was to give me. They must have searched me and when they found I didn’t have it they tied me and left.”

  I was listening and thinking. That crack about the paper Yang was to give her made me think. But the thinking didn’t produce any spectacular results.

  “What kind of paper was Yang to give you?” I asked.

  “Please don’t ask me,” she whispered. “I was late. I came after he had been killed. I don’t know who he gave it to.”

  “He gave it to me,” I said. Maybe that wasn’t a smart thing to say but I knew I could trust the girl. After all she’d damn near been killed by the same people who’d killed Yang.

  She was looking at me as if I’d suddenly gone crazy.

  “You have it!” she said.

  “Sure,” I said. I pulled out the plain manila envelope and showed it to her. “And now I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  “Not right away,” a voice behind me said.

  I HAD the standard reactions. I’ve always thought it was a gag when I read about people, whose hair crawled and who felt their stomachs turning to ice. Believe me, that’s not just exaggeration. It happened to me.

  I turned around slowly and then I got a shock that made all the rest of the night’s excitement seem uneventful by comparison.

  Bartlett was standing in the open door of the closet and he had a wicked looking gun in his hand.

  After the shock I felt relieved.

  “If this is a gag,” I said, “it’s not funny.”

  “It’s no gag,” he said, and when I heard his voice I believed him. He sounded tough and cold.

  “What is it, then?” I asked.

  “Business,” he said. “I want that envelope you’ve got. Give it to the girl.”

  I didn’t have a chance to. She reached over and plucked it from my hand. She swung her legs off the bed and stood up. She slipped the envelope down the front of her dress and the glare she shot at Bartlett was green and unfriendly. But definitely.

  “You damn fool,” she said viciously, “you almost killed me.” Her hands went to the angry welt about her throat. “That phony rope trick almost worked too well. You said I’d be able to breathe didn’t y
ou? That’s good! I’d have sold my soul for a teaspoon full of air, you clumsy fool.”

  “You’re all right now,” Bartlett said impatiently. “It was the only way we could convince him you were on Yang’s side. That’s what made him open up. Now beat it and make it fast. I’ll take care of him after you’ve got a decent start.”

  “So you two were in this together,” I said. That wasn’t a brilliant deduction. It wasn’t meant to be, I was just talking for time. What good time would do I didn’t know.

  The girl said, “So long, sucker,” to me and started for the door.

  I said, “You’d better get a job that’s less exciting. That heart of yours isn’t going to hold out much longer.”

  “It will last longer than yours,” she said, but she looked like the idea scared her. She opened the door, looked both ways, then slipped out.

  I sat down on the bed and looked at Bartlett.

  “Mind if I smoke?” He didn’t say anything so I lit one. “You fooled me completely. What did you do? Kill Yang after he gave me the envelope?”

  He nodded. Like most people he was willing enough to talk about his own cleverness. “I knew when I went through the safe that he must have given it to you. So I had the girl pick you up afterward. I didn’t want to bat you over the head until I was sure you had it. If you didn’t have it I didn’t want to bother you. American citizens are not the best people in the world to push around. But I’ve got to put you out of the way now.”

  “Sure,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. “So then you tied the girl up and waited in the closet. And you figured I’d feel I could trust her when I saw that she’d almost been killed by the same guy who killed Yang.”

  “That’s it,” Bartlett said.

  HE RAISED the gun about an inch so that the bore of the barrel centered on a spot approximately two inches above the bridge of my nose.

  When I saw his knuckles begin to whiten I knew I might just as well take the thousand-and-one chance that was all I had left.

  I ducked and drove toward him as hard as I could. I heard the gun go off but I didn’t feel anything, so I kept driving. My shoulder hit him just above the knees and we went down together.