Captain Jack in Singapore

or,

How Jack Harris Escaped Cutthroats, Convinced the Japanese Navy that Hed Drowned In the Strait of Malacca
And Test-Drove a Jeep December 1940, British Crown Colony, Singapore. So thats the lot, then? Yeve got nothing more to bet? The one-eyed Aussie named Johnny looked sharply across the table at Jack Harris. Their right hands locked in a death grip, their elbows strained for advantage on the pitted tabletop. The veins on Harriss throat throbbed. His face beet red, Harris gasped for breath. Jack, drunk, spoke through clenched teeth. Thats it, Johnny. Bottom of the damned barrel. The entwined fists writhed back and forth, like the head of a snake, first toward Harris, then toward Johnny. Gasping again, Harris leaned back. Well, he grimaced. A pause for breath, then Harris leaned sharply forward. Theres this. His left hand held out a German Luger, which had been stuffed in his belt. Johnny glanced at the Luger a moment, then back at the writhing fists. He took a moments pause at the increased stake. Hed won this stinking dive at dice in January 39. Leilani, the barwench, had come in the deal, together with the front door key. Business had been bloody good so far. And he could trade that Luger for notes hed signed in Manila to Colonel Saito. Might just lift the price on his head at that. So youll chance the Luger? Johnny cocked his head toward the barwench once. Harris creased his brow and gulped air. Mark it down, Leilani! Leilani twitched her left shoulder, then twirled a strand of her long black hair nervously around one finger. Turning her head slightly away from her employer, she made another mark on the chit of paper sitting at the bar. She twitched her left shoulder again. Harris, distracted by the bare shoulder under the strap of Leilanis red bordello gown, nearly let his straining arm fall to the table top.
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A moment more of strain. Harris struggled to recover lost ground in the arm-wrestle. One-eyed Johnny, sensing weakness in Harriss trembling hand and labored breath, leaned forward. Harris could smell the foul exhale across the table, and paled a little. So will you call the bet, Johnny? How about the club, against that Luger? Took it off a dead Nazi in Morocco. So yeve really got no more, ave ye? Harris, really straining now, grunted. Bottom of the barrel. Dead broke. Johnny laughed. Call the bleedin bet! The club, the girls upstairs, the whole stinkin mess, against your bloody Luger. And Johnny tossed the big iron front door key onto the bar in front of Leilani. Jacks eyes darted to the key, then back to Johnny. Johnny grinned, showing his black decayed teeth, and pressed with all his might to end the arm-wrestle with a quick thrust. Just then the street-front window burst inward into the bar. Shore Patrol! A Japanese soldier scrambled over a drunk, blew his whistle and bellowed, in surprisingly good English. You are all under Imperial arrest. Hands on heads, at once! Harris, taking this in at a glance, muttered something about Uncle Sam and the flag, and thrust the one-eyed mans arm summarily to the table, winning the match. Leilani? Harris exclaimed. The barwench, flashing a grateful smile at Captain Jack, tossed Harris the key to the front door. Harris scooped up the paper money sitting on the bar, then thrust the bills and the key inside his khaki overshirt. As the brawl erupted around him, Harris considered his options. The one-eyed Aussie had disappeared out the front door. Suddenly Harris stood straight up. In a loud voice he boomed, This club is under new ownership! We declare the bar open without charge to all Sons of Japan! The three Japanese soldiers stood behind their leader, blinking. The bar was suddenly empty. Harris could hear light footsteps padding down the upstairs bordello hallway. A wild thought would Leilani remember to collect fares as the patrons fled? A pregnant silence. Then the soldiers broke into smiles, lowered their rifles and stood up to the bar. Harris, as though he had been running the place all his life, snatched a bottle of Suntory and poured generous shots out along the bar. Soon the Japanese were jabbering among themselves, and Jack was sitting in the back room with Leilani. As he watched Leilani counting out bills to pay the girls upstairs, Harris could only wonder what on earth he would do with a bordello in Singapore. When, after what hed heard about what the SS had done to the French, what he really craved was Lederhosens scalp, laid on a platter sitting on the bar at the Raffles Hotel. The memory of the French village burned Jacks eyes. Uncle Sam and the flag. What the hell.

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*************** The next morning, Captain Jack surveyed the mess in the bar. An unholy reek of spilled whiskey, sweat and wet oak flooring wafted up. Leilani? Leilani appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a white nightgown. Sweet Leilani. Yes, Captain. At least she could speak English, Jack thought. Gibberish, what they spoke on the streets here. Leilani, do we have the receipts from last night? Yes, Captain, I have them in my room. Get dressed then, and Ill speak to you down here in five minutes. Yes, Captain. Captain Jack sat at the rear table, his table now. The reek of stale liquor, cigarette smoke and cheap perfume from upstairs made his stomach lurch. Oh, for some coffee, he thought. Leilani appeared in a housedress, with a brown leather sack fat with bills. She turned the contents out onto the table. Holy . . . Captain Jack took a look at the pile of bills Leilani had spread out on the table. How much, Leilani? Oh, Captain, I think about the same as the night before. So, how much to the, uh, girls? They are paid before they leave for the night, Captain. They are not to be paid any more from this. Mmm. Leilani, is there a safe somewhere? Oh, yes, Captain. It is in the office. I think we have enough here to keep operating. Dont you think? Oh, yes, Captain. The one-eyed man always took the money, every night. This is the first time I have seen so much in one place, the next day. Why dont you keep this in the bag for now, Leilani? Yes, Captain. And you can keep running things, and find a bartender? Yes, Captain, I have a younger brother, very trustworthy. He is working now at the hotel across the street. Bring him in this afternoon. You run things. Take half the money for yourself, and use the
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other half to run the place. If you need to pay for protection, do it. Do you have any coffee? Yes, Captain. My brother will bring some from the hotel. Great. Just crackerjack Crackerjack? This is American expression? Uh, yeah. Just bring coffee. Captain Jack swept the table mess away, then wiped off his mouth. The coffee appeared almost instantly. Leilanis fingernails were clean, polished. Ahh! Yes. Honey, thats great coffee. Excuse me, Captain. Thank you, Leilani. Mental note not to use so much Stateside slang. ********** Three nights later, Leilanis brother tended bar. Leilani sat in a ballgown at the table in the back, writing something in a new leather book. Jack, thoughts a little clouded from the Singapore Sling sitting next to its five empty brothers, looked down at Leilanis book. The figures swam before his eyes. Blinking, Jack stumbled against the table. Leilani looked up. Yes, Captain? Leilani, are we still making money? Yes, Captain. More tonight than last night, and more last night than the night before. And youre paying the appropriate cumshaw to the Harbor Master? But no. I pay something every day to Saitos captain. The Japanese run the docks. It keeps us safe. Good. Great job. Leilani hesitated for a moment, then spoke directly. Captain, I sent one of the upstairs girls away last night. Why? She was the youngest daughter of a tribal lord from the back country. Saitos men told me the tribe had sent armed men to fetch her. I was concerned your enterprise not be interrupted. I sent her home with Saitos safe passage and a little money. Captain Jack looked at Leilani for a moment. Good move. Leilani smiled and gazed downward. So, Leilani, are you keeping the money safe, and taking your half? Yes, Captain. My brother gives me the money from the bar, and I store it in the safe in the
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office. So she knew the combination. What a girl. Captain Jack dimly remembered spinning the safe and opening it. Was it the night before? Or the night before that? Damned Singapore Slings. Aces, doll. Just keep my share separate, and . . . Just then an explosion was heard several blocks inland. Then another. Japanese soldiers raced pell-mell along the quay toward the sound, rifles ready. A ships bell rang and rang, alerting soldiers still aboard Yamato, the greatest battleship in the world. Twenty minutes later Captain Jack Harris stood, stripped to the waist, in a long line of men, both Native and English. Iron shackles bit into Jacks wrists and ankles. The prisoner standing behind Jack smelled like fish. A Japanese soldier roared at the front of the line. All prisoners are to march in step! You are prisoners with no honor! Left! Right! Left! Right! The line began to shamble along, the clink of the irons tapping out a harsh rhythm on the dock. The line moved in front of Jack. He tried to keep up with the cadence, but stumbled when the fish-stinking prisoner fell against Jacks shoulder. Jack pitched forward on the salt-soaked dock timbers. The toe of a dull, sweat-stained Japanese boot twitched a few inches away. And what do we have here! Did you not hear my order to march! Jack thought of options, saw none, and spoke calmly. No, no, sir, uh, Captain. Just a slip on the wet Jack could not finish the word dock before the butt of the soldiers rifle hit him on the side of his head. Rather than knock Jack out, the blow seemed to bring him to his senses. He jumped up, wavering as he gained his footing, and stared. If you hit me again, youll regret it. The Japanese soldier kicked Jack cruelly in the crotch. When Jack was down, he struck Jacks temple again with the rifle butt. Jack fell back on the stinking prisoner behind him. A Japanese officer stepped up to the soldier whod kicked, then struck Jack. A stream of incomprehensible Japanese directed itself at the soldier. The soldier snapped to attention, his rifle against his shoulder. The officer, a short, sweating man with piercing dark eyes and a ruddy complexion, looked directly down at Jack. You are an American. It was not a question. Yeah, what of it? We are not presently at war with America. I have no orders to hold you. So where did you learn such good English, Captain? At Crenshaw High School. Before the Emperor called me to service.

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But . . . Silence, American. I grew up in your country. Then my country called me. Bushido called me. We will soon rule the Pacific. You keep prostitutes. You will go with the prisoners. *********** Two hours later. The sun dipped ever toward the horizon, Jack stood just inside the Japanese harbor captains door. Jack could hardly stand up. The smell of the candle in front of the Japanese officer bit at Jacks nostrils. Jack felt like he might hurl up whatever was left in his stomach. Captain Suhiro Tanaka had served the Imperial Navy since the invasion of Manchukuo in 1931. Now, at 32, he was a hardened sea captain, with important business interests in opium and pearl trade between Manila and Rangoon. He finished what he was writing, signed his name and looked sharply up at Captain Jack. I understand you are educated. Name and reason for being in Singapore? Captain Jack Harris. Born and raised in Oakland, California. Here in Singapore on, uh, business. I thought you sounded like an American. We are not presently at war with America. That might change if your President Roosevelt interferes with our oil shipments from the Dutch East Indies. Not my problem. I run a saloon. We have information you might be training with the Flying Tigers in Burma. That would make you an enemy of the Empire. Flying Tigers? Never heard of them. Tanaka slapped Jacks face, hard. A trickle of blood ran from a corner of Jacks mouth. You will not toy with me, American. You deny the Flying Tigers are training flight crews outside Rangoon? What the hell you are talking about? Why dont you go beat up some poor peasant streetwalkers, and leave me alone? You disrespect me! And you keep prostitutes. Your club is needed for comfort of Japanese soldiers. Guard! A Japanese soldier rousted Jack from the room, and down a stairway to a rattan cage filled with stinking men. As the soldiers dragged him off, Jack wondered whether joining up with the Tigers had been a good move. But that Tanakawhat a bastard. **********

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Jack did not know how long he had been unconscious after being kicked into the rattan cage. He awoke in midday, judging by the heat. And the smell. Everywhere, fish, fish, fish. A man with a suppurating angry gash on his left cheek threw Jack a fish. So yer princess has awakened, Mates. Just look at the newest Jap prisoner sailor!. How long before this one throws up? This last followed by general deep male laughter. The small room was filled with filthy men, most stripped to the waist. Dont worry, Princess, we aint sailed yet. We still got time for fishin. Another guttural laugh broke out among the huddled men. Come on, Princess, lunch break is over. Time for work. Jack was pushed roughly to his feet. The men filed out of the small hold and into a larger one through a small hatch. Fish. Everywhere, fish. Fish in large piles on the floor. Fish in baskets. And in the middle of the room, a pile of guts. Take a knife, Princess, and fillet the bloody stinkers from stem to stern. Then throw the guts onto the pile. The fish go into briny barrels. We eat the guts for dinner! Haha. The others hard at work, Jack grabbed a knife about a foot long from a chest next to the gut pile, then slit a slippery fish from tail to gills. Guts poured out onto the floor. He tossed the fish into the brine and took up another. Make lively now. We only get to eat whats left over after the officers lot goes to market. I hear they pay Yank dollars for it up at the weighing dock. Jack grabbed another fish, slit it tail to gills, poured out the guts, threw it into the brine. And another. Over and over again. Six hours later it was getting dark. Jack had nearly stopped smelling the acrid fish. Exhausted and nauseated by the smell of guts, sweat and diesel oil he slit another fish from tail to gills, poured out the guts, threw it into the brine. And another. Jack thought if he ever got off this damned dock, hed never eat a fish again. A Japanese sailor appeared, blew a whistle. Gash-face spoke. Time for dinner, Princess. The men dropped their fish and knives immediately and filed out into the smaller hold where they had spent their midday break. Jack looked around for a chow line. Gash-face laughed. After the Japanese have had their fill, Mate. Just enough to keep usn from starvin. Great, thought Jack. A sailor threw down a barrel into the cage. The men struggled for handholds. Jack shouldered his way to the front, and stuck his hand into the barrel. Fishguts. Jack groaned and threw the guts back into the barrel. Too good for the guts, are we? Gash-face thrust his face within an inch of Jacks. Yell not survive without some protein, Princess. Or is the guts too rank for yer delicate nose? With that the man swung a meat hook straight at Jacks head.
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Jack jerked sideways like a linebacker. The meat hook lodged in a timber behind Jacks head. He kicked Gash-face in the stomach. The man fell back, and suddenly there was a brawl everywhere in the small hold. Fists, feet, blood flying, flesh thudding into flesh. The Japanese guard rushed down from the foredeck. Stand fast! Stand fast! Unwisely, he came down the companionway and opened the door, his bayonet drawn and pointing forward into the mass of brawling men. Jack, slinking behind the guard, turned and darted up the steps to the dock, grabbed a barrel and used it to knocked the guard cold. Three steps, dive. Then Jack swam as fast as his screaming lungs could take him. Jack took a breath at the surface. Bullets streamed through the water around his head. Then he swam as deep as he could, under the hull of the trawler standing at dockside. No sign of guards on this side of the ship. Great! Jack struck out across the harbor, swimming for the nearest junk as though his life depended on it. Shouts in Japanese rang out all across the harbor. No one thought to look Jacks direction. He swam straight out toward a large junk riding anchor a short distance away. Jack reached the hull of the junk, dove deep, surfaced, took a breath. Now the hull lay between him and the Japanese trawler. *********** About 3:00 a.m., Jack pulled himself out of the inky water and onto the quay. The trawler was gone. Soaked to the skin, blood ran from cuts in his face, scalp and hands. A tall, slender Asian man in a khaki shirt and shorts stood next to a strange, boxy-looking car with, what looked to Jack, as no windshield. The man took a drag from an unfiltered cigarette, and looked both ways up and down the dockside. Jack took a chance. Do you speak English? Yeah, man. Whats it to you? Im trying to get back to my club. Can you help me? Why should I help you? The Japanese tore up the dock tonight looking for you. Maybe theyll pay me to hand you over to them. Ill pay more. I just gotta get back to my club. Okay, Boss. Fifty dollars, US. Ill double it if you can get me there safely. A thin smile. Youve just hired yourself a Chinese, Yankee. Im Jack. Whats your name?

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Twan. They shook hands. Twan motioned Jack to a boxy green car with no windshield. What the hell is this car, Twan? New Yankee soldier car. Jeep. Looks damned useful. Four wheel drive, good Ford four-cylinder, good on rough road. You drive, Yankee. Aces, Twan. Back to Singapore.

*********** Leilani sat at the bar in the same red ballgown. She paid no attention to Jacks appearance. Captain Jack, you have been away. I have the receipts from last night and tonight. But there was trouble here two nights ago. A Japanese ship docked, and a German officer and his men came here. They were looking for their ex-captain, they said. They took all the whiskey, and beat my brother most brutally. He is home with my mother recovering from his wounds. Captain Jack thought a minute. Then he spoke quietly and urgently to Leilani. Leilani, I have to leave Singapore tonight. Keep the bar. Keep the money. If I ever come back, give me some of it. God knows youve earned it. But Captain -- Hush, child. Keep good accounts and pay the cumshaw, and keep the Japanese and the tongs happy at all costs. And NEVER let that German and his men into this place. On your life! Do you swear? Yes, Jack, of course. Leilani looked at him a moment, full in the eyes. Jack was surprised to see regard and respect there. Now go back to work. You never saw me. You never heard me. Yes, Jack. And then Captain Jack slipped out the back door. ************ Three months later, standing at the Raffles bar, his belly full of chop suey and Tsing Tao, Jack turned to Twan. See that German? Thans eyes darted to Lederhosen, who stood with
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several uniformed Wehrmacht around the piano, swilling beer. Yeah, Boss. Ive never met the Nazi bastard. But hes going to pay for what he did. Yeah, Boss.

Finis

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