Nearly forty-five minutes late, an annoyed DeWitt found the building that quartered the branch of Army Intelligence. Bounding up the stairs to the third floor, he threw open the door and started yelling about the city's lousy bus service and how public transportation was so much better in the city he called home.
“Is that a fact?” asked an armed guard. “Well, we'll see if we can make you feel better, private. But first I think you should get your sorry ass in to see the colonel. He's been waiting for you for some time now, but I'm sure he'll be glad to write a letter of complaint to the city's bus line right away. He doesn't have much else to do.”
The guard knocked on a closed door. “Yes, what is it?” a gruff voice demanded.
“It's that Private DeWitt to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
DeWitt walked in and gave the colonel a half-hearted salute. “That guard said you'd be glad to write a letter to the bus company to complain about their lousy service. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been late this morning, or at least not more than ten or fifteen minutes late.”
Colonel Ezekiel Worthy peered over his glasses. “Is that so,
private? Well, I'm so sorry that the nasty bus company inconvenienced
you. I hope that you're not too upset.” The colonel gnawed at his lower
lip. “A few words, if I may, soldier, before I write that letter. First of all,
if you ever have the colossal gall to show up late again for any reason
whatsoever, I'll hang you by your hairy balls and then send you to Fort
Leavenworth to spend the rest of your miserable life in solitary
confinement. Is that clear? Secondly, if you ever come in here and offer
that pitiful excuse for a salute, I'll make sure you'll never be able to
raise your hand above your dick. What the hell did they teach you in
basic training?
DeWitt looked confused. “But what about that letter to the bus company? Don't you think they deserve to hear about their poor service?”
Serving in Army Intelligence, the colonel encountered some bright soldiers, some considerably so. Was the man who stood before him a random variation, he wondered, slightly mad, or outright perverse. He wasn't sure.
“Private DeWitt, I'm going to forgive, or at least try to forgive, what's just been happening. We're at war now, and we need all the help we can get, even if it's not exactly the kind of help we would prefer. So sit down and I'll inform you of your duties. But first let me ask you what you know about spying. My guess is that you must know a good deal or the higher-ups wouldn't have sent you to me.”
“Well, colonel, I don't like to blow my own horn, if you know what I mean, but I do know quite a lot about spying and spies. For instance,” DeWitt smirked, “I read a lot about that Mata Hairy who spied for the Krauts during the last war and then took a bullet or two from the Limeys. He was a real good spy up to them.”
The colonel's arched his eyebrows. “Don't you mean Mata Hari, who was a she and not a he?”
“Well, sir, maybe I read the wrong books or maybe I just forgot. It was a long time ago.”
The colonel sighed. “Go on, private. Tell me what else you've learned about spies.”
DeWitt thought for a while. “Aren't they a kind of apple? Sure they are. You mean to say that you never tasted one of those Northern Spies? Personally, I prefer McIntosh or Golden Delicious but frankly, apples were never my favorite fruit. I'll take bananas or pears or watermelons or…”
“That's enough, soldier. I don't have all day for this horseshit. Now let me tell you what you'll be doing while you're here.” The colonel shuffled through a sheaf of papers. “I can put it in a nutshell. You'll be looking for enemy subversives, which is to say, anyone giving aid and comfort to the Japs. You might also sniff out some unfriendly Krauts and Wops, but the slant eyes are the main concern here on the Coast.”
“You've got the right man for the job, sir. Back east I was an expert at sniffing out anything from big-time criminals to ladies' underwear.”
The colonel stared at the gumshoe. “I don't care what the hell you were sniffing, soldier. Here you're going to do your job and duty as we see fit. You'll report here in person anytime you think there's a rat crawling around.”
“How large a rat, sir? I mean where I came from there were rats as big as dogs. Shouldn't I call a pest control center rather than bother you?”
Swiveling in his chair to look out the window and cursing audibly, the man in charge took a few minutes before returning to the puzzled look on DeWitt's face.
“Soldier, they say that some people are not as dumb as they look. In your case, I'd say that you're much dumber than you look. If you don't learn the ropes—and quickly—I'm going to send you to say 'hello' to our Nip friends in the Pacific. Or I could change my mind and send you to Fort Leavenworth for the war's duration. My guess is that you'd be fit for cleaning latrines, especially with all the shit you're giving me. NOW BUCKLE UP!”
DeWitt looked down at his belt but saw no problem. Why is the colonel busting my balls? he wondered.
Sir, you've got nothing to worry about. Back in New York, people used to say, 'If the case can't possibly be solved, DeWitt's your man.”
“I believe that, soldier. Now before I set you loose on the city, I “have a few more instructions. First, you'll always wear civvies, so that you won't stand out in the crowd as military. Second, you'll be discreet in your intercourse with others. And by that, I don't mean you'll use a condom whenever a piece of tail passes by. I mean don't blab. Spies and Axis sympathizers are everywhere, despite the internment camps. “As for funds, besides your regular army pay, you'll have an expense account, which is not, repeat not, for taking your ass to nightclubs like the Cocoanut Grove in the Ambassador Hotel or the Bowl in the Biltmore, or for picking up cuties who are more interested in picking you up, if you get my meaning. Now any questions? Good. And don't forget to pick up the address of your new quarters from the sergeant outside my office. You'll like the family you'll be staying with. They're one hundred percent patriotic, and the son will watch your back. You will be needing that, believe me. Good luck then. Dismissed!”
DeWitt felt like telling the colonel that he was capable of washing his own back, but the latter was already leafing through his sheaf of papers.
Chapter 4
DeWitt's relocated quarters lay in the heart of Chinatown on Broadway, only a few blocks distant from Union Station. Houses that interspersed neighborhood shops, both draped with signs he could not understand, the crowds jostling and speaking a language he could not fathom, and strange, sometimes hostile looks he received when he and his luggage exited the cab announced that he had arrived in a new world. “I'm here to win the war for my country,” he said to himself as he took a deep breath of the city's mid-afternoon spring air mixed with the odors of Cantonese-style Chinese cooking. This was true—to an extent. Patriot though he assured himself that he was, he would have favored civilian life and its occasional private eye jobs, evenings at The Slippery Elbow with its colorful collection of lushes and semi-lushes, and an occasional night in the boudoir of some good-looking, preferably single dame.
The house, situated on Broadway, was a two-story wooden-frame structure that had seen its better days, better years, better decades. It hinted vaguely that pink or rose had been its original color, but only a desperate gambler would place a bet. Surprisingly, perhaps illogically, a well-tended lawn, complete with flowers and Buddha statuary, fronted the house, adding a touch of grace to its depressing exterior. DeWitt leaned on the buzzer a few times before the front door opened. “Whatcha want? We don't need no life insurance. My husband, he already dead.”
Priding himself on his clever mind and vast experience as a gumshoe, DeWitt immediately guessed that the woman was none other than his hostess and landlady, Mrs. Lotus Blossom Chow.
“You must be Mrs. Chow. I'm Dick DeWitt, the new boarder Uncle Sam sent over.”
>
The woman, short, plump, and with piercing eyes, asked “Why you
not say so in first place?”
“I just did, Mrs. Chow.”
“Okay, soldier boy, come in and I show you your room on second floor. My son, daughter, and me, we live on first floor with our five cats. My husband, poor man, he died when a streetcar run over him. I told him he drank too much, but he never listens to his little Lotus Blossom… that's me, Lotus Blossom Chow.
As she spoke, the soldier boy noticed a shy female standing in the hallway several feet behind them. She must have been in her late twenties, he guessed, but he knew how hard it was to figure out the age of colored people, whether they were yellow, black, whatever.
Sensing her presence, Lotus Blossom called her daughter to come and meet their new boarder. “Soldier boy, I like you to meet my only daughter, Feng Shui Chow. She good girl studying shorthand at some school. You will like talk to her. She very smart. Like her mother.” She smiled. “Also, Mr. Soldier Boy, make sure you only talk with her. If you put hands on her, you will lose your… well, you know what you will lose. By the way, my son, who is at work now, is policeman here in Chinatown. He one tough guy.”
“Feng Shui, make tea and put out nice almond cookies for this gentleman while I show him to room”
The room Mrs. Chow had set aside for her boarder was moderate sized and swept clean, though it smelled strongly of disinfectants. A single bed, an old table and chair, an older couch, and a badly scratched wardrobe made up its contents. The walls contained a few Chinese prints and scrolls. More eye-catching was the large American flag pasted above the bed's headboard. Unfortunately, it was upside down. A floor lamp and small desk lamp were meant to provide the room's artificial lighting; a view of the family garden in the substantial backyard promised decent daylight illumination.
“You like room, yes? Man who live here before you say it was good enough for Forbidden City in Peking.”
“Why did he leave then?”
“Oh, he got killed in fight in opium den down the street. You like opium? I can get you good stuff,” she whispered, “but don't say word to daughter Feng Shui or to policeman son. Okay?”
DeWitt nodded his assent and wondered what kind of situation he might be getting into.
“Let's go, soldier boy, and we have tea and almond cookies. Then we have good supper when son come home.”
Unbeckoned company arrived as DeWitt was trying to figure where to put his civilian and military clothes, utility kit, and bottle of booze. The company announced itself with a variety of meows, purrs, and hisses. As DeWitt later ascertained from Mrs. Chow, the felines were Sing-li, Ting-li, Ming-li, Ling-li, and Chang-kai-Shek—four females and a menacingly large tom. Two of the furry quintet, including a snarling Chang, had situated themselves in his suitcase and showed no indication of vacating the premise. Letting discretion form the better part of valor, DeWitt decided to unpack after the tea and cookies.
The tea hit the proverbial spot, the cookies reminded him that, in the fast-paced events of the day, he had missed lunch. Mrs. Chow insisted that he have more tea and more of the almond cookies; Feng Shui insisted on remaining standing behind her mother and staring at DeWitt. “How come you have such big round eyes?” she asked.
An old nursery line came to mind: “The better to see you with, my dear.” Feng Shui giggled and lowered her glance. Lotus Blossom neither giggled nor lowered her glance. “What you mean by that, soldier boy? You making round eyes at my daughter? Have I not warned you?”
DeWitt made amends as best he could. He did not intend to make Feng Shui blush, he protested, wondering even as he spoke if people with yellow skin could blush. “Everyone I know,” he lied miles beyond the boundaries of little white lies, “will vouch that I am, and always have been, a gentleman.”
The self-advertisement seemingly mollified Lotus Blossom, and the two continued to sip tea, consume cookies, and talk about this and that. Lotus was in high spirits until DeWitt brought up the subject of the war. The smile left her face and she began pounding on the table. “I hate those Japanese bastards. You know what horrible things they do to men, women, and children in Nanking? You know how they show no mercy?” She stopped to wipe her tears and paused to compose herself. “You know what I wish, soldier boy? I wish America build a big bomb, bigger than any one has even thought of, and then throw it down on all Japan. Yes, that is what I wish.”
Conversation lagged; tea and cookies lay untouched. Feng Shui announced that she was going to her room to rest. A key opening the front door lock broke the painful lull.
“Hi, Ma, I'm home.” The uniformed man who entered was Low Fat Chow, Lotus Blossom's be loved son and, though she would never admit to it, favorite offspring. He was tall and on the slim side. His handshake, made after introductions, proclaimed his strength, but the long raw scar that disfigured the left side of his face from ear to jawbone warned that pure strength does not necessarily triumph.
Low Fat was ravenous after a hard day on a hard job. He asked DeWitt to join him for some Tsingtao beer. DeWitt was happy to oblige, though he would have been happier to have a drink of hard stuff. While Lotus Blossom and Feng Shui prepared supper and set the table, the two men got acquainted and forged an early camaraderie. DeWitt, who was normally suspicious of anyone whose complexion was darker than his own, was surprised by Low Fat's likeability.
In addition to the requisite large bowl of rice, the evening meal consisted of a larger bowl that contained a serpentine figure in a kind of oily broth. “What is it?” DeWitt asked. Lotus Blossom beamed and said that it was a special dish she made for special guests. “It is fresh, Mr. DeWitt.”
DeWitt, who feared slithery reptiles almost as much as he had feared his former wife, controlled incipient nausea. “Did I see its head move?”
“Oh yes,” Lotus Blossom answered. “Daughter Feng Shui insist that eel is best when still living. But do not worry. It will not bite you once you eat it.” Mother and daughter burst into raucous laughter; Low Fat looked embarrassed; DeWitt asked where the bathroom was.
After retching, DeWitt returned to find the Chow family heatedly speaking in Chinese. “We sorry you no like my cooking, Mr. DeWitt. Everyone else likes eating eel, especially when it's still alive.”
DeWitt somehow managed not to race back to the bathroom. Forcing a weak smile, he tried to squirm out of the embarrassing predicament. “Sorry, Mrs. Chow, it must have been something I ate for lunch. I think I'll take a walk now. A little fresh air might do the trick.”
“Only a goddamn Chink would serve an eel, and a living one at that,” the soldier boy swore to himself. “What's for the next meal? One of their cats?”
DeWitt strolled to nearby Union Station and found a diner. With nearly all the counter stools and booths occupied, decided that the food would be more to his liking than that served up by Lotus Blossom Chow. His guess proved correct. The liver and onions, which he laced with a generous helping of mayonnaise and a dash of tabasco sauce, did the trick. He walked out of the diner a contented man. Whether he heard the waitress yelling that he had not left a tip remains a mystery.
While walking back to his dwelling on Broadway, he pondered his first move in keeping his country free from enemies. According to the package of instructions that accompanied the Chows' address handed to him that morning, he was to reconnoiter Little Tokyo. DeWitt knew shit from Shinola better that what was meant by reconnoiter, but rather than call headquarters, he decided to explore the nearby area in the morning.
When he returned to where he was staying, he found Lotus Blossom and Feng Shui deeply engaged in playing some sort of game, and Low Fat improving his education via The Police Gazette. DeWitt said good night; the women said nothing; the son grunted.
Once upstairs, Dick remembered that he had not fully unpacked his possessions. Striding over to the open suitcase, he noticed a foul, sour smell and a good deal of wetness inside the luggage. His years as a gumshoe once again put him on the s
cent, so to speak: the $‸#@%‸& cats had peed all over the contents.
Chapter 5
DeWitt was in a foul mood when he awoke after a restless night of tossing and turning on an uncomfortable mattress and finding the stench of feline urine continuing to odorize the items in his suitcase.
“Mrs. Chow, did you know that your cats peed in my suitcase while I was not in my room yesterday?”
“Why they do that?
“How should I know? They're your damn cats,” he sputtered.
“You think I tell them to go pee-pee?” soldier boy. “You think Lotus Blossom do such thing even to round eye?
DeWitt managed to contain his rage, not least of all because of the meat cleaver his landlady was holding. The two then brokered an uneasy truce. The soldier promised not to harm any of the cats; the landlady promised not to let her pets into his room. As a bonus, Lotus Blossom threw in the location of a nearby laundry where he could take his soiled clothing.
After gathering his dirty items into an old, ragged pillowcase Lotus Blossom had given him, he took out and wiped the urine-coated bottle of Jack Daniel's from his suitcase and took a few swigs. Then he took another and decided to hunt down subversives. After all, he told himself, I am a law-abiding, one hundred percent American patriot.
A man need not express his love of country on an empty stomach, DeWitt told himself, as he headed for the diner that fed him last evening's meal. On the way he stopped off at the recommended laundry. The wizened man behind the counter smelled what DeWitt handed him and asked if he often wet himself. DeWitt refrained from telling the geezer off or from what he preferred to do, namely, give his yellow skin a deeply purplish hue. He again kept his anger in check, not because he respected the man's race or age, but because he feared the man might have a weapon under the counter or have connections with the feared criminal Tongs who terrorized Chinatown.
The Spycatcher Caper Page 3