Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs (7 page)

"This employer," Indy said. "It's Lao Che, isn't it?"

Wu Han was silent.

"What kind of mess are you in?"

"Please, Dr. Jones. You must remember my family."

"Where is your family now?" Joan asked. "Perhaps we can help them, and then you would be free of this gangster."

"Family dead," Wu Han said, his English disintegrating as emotion welled up inside him. "Parents and baby sister die in the influenza epidemic."

"I am sorry," Joan said.

"Do not be," Wu Han said. "It is the cycle of things. We loved each other very much in the time we had."

"But if they are dead," Joan asked, "how is Lao Che controlling you through them? It doesn't make sense."

"He has their souls," Wu Han said softly.

Joan looked puzzled.

"Their ashes," Indy said. "The bastard has their ashes."

"Yes," Wu Han said. "He controls many of my people in this way. We are required to do detestable things, to assist in the enslavement of others through opium and prostitution. I keep his books. But I am ashamed, just the same."

"How long must you work for him for the release of their ashes?"

"Ten years," Wu Han said. "For each individual."

"You'll be in your fifties before you're free," Joan said.

"I have no choice," Wu Han said.

"We're talking about their ashes," Joan said. "Not their souls."

"This is China, Sister," Indy said. "If the dead aren't buried ritualistically in the family plot, then their souls wander the earth, begging for their living relatives to end their anguish."

"That's ridiculous," Joan blurted.

"Is it?" Indy asked. "I'm sure that some of your beliefs seem equally absurd to Wu Han. Only, he's polite enough not to say so."

Joan blushed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No," Wu Han said. "I am the one who should apologize, for burdening your carefree evening with my unimportant troubles. Please, forget about all of this. I will show you a different club, where the hot jazz is the cat's nightclothes."

Wu Han stood up.

"Not yet," Indy said.

"You would like to stay?"

"Tell me this," Indy said. "More than anything else, would you like to be free of this dishonorable life and sure that your family will rest in peace? And if this were to happen, you would accompany the expedition and finish your education when we return?"

"Of course, Dr. Jones. But—"

"No buts. And call me Indy."

"Please," Wu Han said. "I cannot break my agreement with Lao Che. I would lose face and dishonor my family. There is nothing I can do. I made a promise."

"
I
didn't make any promises," Indy said. "And if I allowed a friend of mine to be tortured in such a fashion by a drug-dealing, pig-faced, two-bit gangster like Lao Che, I would lose face. Can you understand that?"

"Friend." Wu Han spoke the word reverently.

"Dr. Jones," Joan said. "With all due respect to Wu Han and the remains of his family, I don't think we ought to get involved. Don't you think we should let the authorities handle this?"

"Lao Che probably has the ashes of their ancestors locked up in that little cabinet of his," Indy said. "Wu Han, which of those urns behind him belongs to your family?"

"Third shelf, middle. The stone urn with the characters for peace and prosperity."

"Sister, I'll need your help—if you're game, that is."

"Of course I'm game, as you say. If you truly think we can help Wu Han without getting all of us killed."

"Don't worry," Indy assured. "Odds are they can only kill one of us before the others get away. I'm going to the men's room now, and I am going to act extravagantly drunk. When I get back to the table, I'm going to be in a rather unpleasant mood. So remember, I'm not your friend."

"Not my friend?" Wu Han sounded puzzled.

"We'll be pretending."

"Yes, of course."

When the band reached the end of the number, Indy stood, swayed for a moment, then reached over and took Joan's half-empty glass of wine and finished it. Then he slapped it back down on the table with such force that it tumbled over, rolled to the edge, and broke on the floor.

All eyes turned toward them.

"Sorry," Indy said with a stupid grin and just enough of a slur to be convincing. Then he ambled across the room and backed clumsily into another waiter, whose tray crashed to the floor.

"First night on the job?" Indy asked.

"Please, sir," the waiter said, reaching first for the mess on the floor and then for Indy's elbow. "Won't you let me help you to the—"

Indy shook him off.

"I'm fine," Indy insisted, and continued on.

The band leader glanced worriedly at Indy, then struck up a lively version of "Ain't We Got Fun?"

Once inside the men's room, Indy nodded pleasantly to the attendant who held a basket of hot towels at the ready. Indy walked to the mirror and inspected his hair, then jerked a thumb toward the dance floor. "There's a heckuva mess out there," he said. "A drunk dumped a big tray of drinks on the floor. They can't seem to find the janitor. Maybe you should go help."

The attendant looked uncertain.

"Go on," Indy urged, pretending to admire his own reflection. "My date would like to dance, and we can't with that mess out there." He dug in his pocket and dropped some coins onto the attendant's plate.

The attendant nodded and hurried out.

As soon as the door closed, Indy went to the ash can by the door. Except for one smoldering cigar butt, it was clean—the attendant apparently took his job seriously—and Indy unfolded the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his dinner jacket and laid the square of cloth on the floor. He frowned as he picked up the moist cigar butt with his bare fingers and flung it away. Using both hands, he repeatedly scooped sand from the ashtray into the handkerchief. When he thought he had about the right amount, he tied the corners of the handkerchief together. Just as he was shoving the package into his sock, the attendant returned.

"It is under control, sir," the attendant announced.

"Of course it is," Indy agreed, and left.

Indy repeated his performance with only slightly diminished vigor on the way back to his table, but he did not sit. "I want you to introduce me to Lao Che," he said as he used both hands to steady himself on the edge of the table.

"But Dr. Jones," Wu Han said. "Perhaps now is not the time."

"Now," Indy insisted, a little louder than necessary.

"As you wish." Wu Han lowered his eyes.

Indy leaned on Wu Han's shoulder as they made their way to the corner table. Joan followed a few steps behind, and with every step berated Indy for his inability to judge his capacity for liquor.

Lao Che was flanked by his three sons. All were from different mothers. There was one fat one, one painfully skinny one, and one that was as handsome as the others were homely. Each, however, had the telltale bulge of a gun hidden beneath his jacket.

In Chinese, Wu Han quickly begged the gangster's pardon and apologized for Indy's vulgar behavior. Lao Che laughed and said that all Americans were fools, so why should this one be any different?

Lao Che seemed only vaguely aware of Wu Han's identity.

"Do you work for me?" Lao Che asked suspiciously in Chinese.

Wu Han replied that he had been assigned to assist with the American expedition, then quickly filled him in on the details.

"I am pleased to meet you, Dr. Jones," Lao Che grunted in English. "I am glad that you are enjoying yourself. May I get you anything more? Or for you, Sister?"

"No, thank you," Joan said. "And I think Dr. Jones has had quite enough. As you can see, he can be quite a handful."

"I'm afraid she's right." Indy grinned.

"Is this your conscience?" Lao Che asked. "Tell me, why does a Catholic sister accompany you? Planning to make some converts upon your arrival in Mongolia, Dr. Jones?"

"I do what I can," Joan said. "One soul at a time."

"As I do!" Lao Che said. "One cannot abandon the spiritual side of life in pursuit of earthly pleasures, eh? And speaking of earthly pleasures, I hope you are not feeling too badly in the morning. Would you like me to send one of my girls home with you to nurse what will soon be an aching head? It is the best hangover remedy I know. I'm sure that the good sister will turn a blind eye to such an act of mercy."

"No thanks, Lao," Indy said. "And if the sister has a blind eye, I've yet to find it."

Lao Che laughed.

"This one—what the devil is his name? I have so many employees that I forget—tells me that everything is in order for your departure," he said. "I hope that you and Mr. Granger have found him to be of some service."

"Yes," Indy said. "He is an excellent employee. You should congratulate yourself on being a good judge of character—and a shrewd businessman."

"It just takes the right incentive," Lao Che said modestly.

"You also seem to be a fine judge of collectibles," Indy continued. "From our table, I couldn't help but admire your collection of funerary vases. Wu Han attempted to discourage me from asking you about it, saying that you would be too modest to discuss them. But I would really like to see them up close."

"They are nothing," Lao Che said.

"Really, they are quite compelling," Indy said, sounding more and more sober. "Even from a distance, I could tell it is a rather complete collection. If you would grant me just a quick examination, I would be most grateful."

Lao Che fingered the key to the cabinet, which hung from a golden chain around his neck.

"Really, Dr. Jones," he said. "Most of them are quite common."

"Where are your manners?" Joan scolded. "Can't you see that you are embarrassing Mr. Che?"

"I wasn't trying to embarrass him," Indy said. "Actually, the museum would be interested in purchasing some of the jars to complete its funerary exhibit. But I can understand how he would be reluctant to part with them."

"Dr. Jones!" Wu Han protested. "Such things are not for sale."

Lao Che smiled broadly.

"Come now," he said. "In the interest of contributing to a museum collection, it is possible I could be persuaded. Which of the urns were you most interested in?"

Lao Che slipped the chain over his head and turned, poised with the key in his hand.

"The jade one on the top shelf," Indy said.

"Some of them still contain ashes, unfortunately," the gangster said as he swung open the cabinet door. "After so much time, who knows who they belong to? But propriety insists that the remains stay here in Shanghai, where they belong, because eventually a descendant may be found."

"Of course," Indy said. "The museum is interested only in the pieces themselves."

Lao Che carefully took down the jade urn and placed it on the table, under the watchful eyes of his sons.

"Exquisite," Indy said. He drew his glasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. He bent down so that he would be at eye level with the piece.

"May I?" he asked.

Lao Che hesitated.

"The museum would be willing to offer a handsome price for pieces of this quality," Indy said.

"Please," Lao Che beamed. "Be my guest."

Indy picked up the jar and cradled it in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over the intricate reliefs of hissing dragons and soaring cranes.

"It is Manchu," Lao Che said.

"From the Manchu Dynasty?" Joan asked.

"No," Indy said. "It is a relatively recent piece from the large ethnic group called the Manchus. There are more than fifty such groups in China, each with a separate culture, set of beliefs, and language. That's why there's been an almost constant state of civil war, and why travel and politics are so difficult here. Properly, only the Han are considered true Chinese. But even among the Han there are scores of subgroups, and hundreds of dialects."

"Is there an example of a Han vase?"

"Yes," Indy said, and returned the jade container to Lao Che. "This stone one here in the center. Lao, do you mind?"

The gangster picked up an urn beside the one Indy wanted.

"No," Indy said. "The Han vase, there. Yes."

Lao Che nervously handed over the stone vase. Wu Han sucked in his breath and closed his eyes.

"See how plain this one is?" Indy said, and he held it just below the edge of the table as he showed it to Joan. As he did, Joan leaned over and pretended to inspect it. With his thumb, Indy tapped the pocket of his jacket. Joan tugged upon the pocket with a forefinger, and in one motion Indy lifted the top from the urn and poured the remains of Wu Han's immediate family into the right pocket of his dinner jacket.

"No ornamentation except for the bold characters for peace and prosperity. Rather simple, don't you think?" Indy held the vase up. "Now, on the bottom here—"

"Dr. Jones!" Joan shouted.

The vase slipped from Indy's fingers and fell to the floor. Indy dove to retrieve it and pulled the handkerchief with the ashtray sand from his sock. He spilled the contents onto the floor around the vase.

"Oh no, look what I've done," Indy said. "It seems I've scattered the remains of some poor devil all over the floor. Here, let me gather it up."

Wu Han nearly passed out, and had to clutch Joan's arm to keep from joining Indy on the floor.

"My sons will clean up the mess," Lao Che said.

"Are you sure?" Indy said, placing the urn on the table and shaking his handkerchief into it. "I think I've got most of it here."

Lao Che's skinny son joined Indy beneath the table while the fat one peered into the urn and made a sound of disgust. With his thumb and forefinger he removed a cigarette butt from the sand.

"Sorry," Indy said, his head bobbing above the table. "Must have come from the floor."

Lao Che grunted.

"Perhaps we should continue this another time," Indy suggested, getting to his feet and patting the sand from his knees. "Maybe when I'm a little more sober than I am right now."

Lao Che stared at Indy in surprise.

"Come along, Dr. Jones," Wu Han said, pulling him by the arm. "Let's get you to bed. The first stage of a very long journey starts in the morning, and you need to be ready."