The Spoilers (7 page)
Authors: Matt Braun
“Well, let's just say I've got pull with all the right people.”
“Then you must know my associate, Wong Sing? He resides in the town called Leadville.”
“No.” Starbuck sensed danger. “Never made his acquaintance.”
“How is that possible?” Fung's eyes were now veiled. “He leads the Sum Yop tong in Leadville.”
“What's his front?” Starbuck asked evenly. “What's he do for a living?”
“I am told he operates a laundry.”
Starbuck opened his hands, shrugged. “Not too likely we would've met. See, I don't care much for starch in my shirts.” He paused, flashed his gold tooth in a crafty smile. “I generally find a woman willing to do my wash.”
The statement was entirely plausible. In mining camps, white men were fond of saying all Chinamen looked alike. Moreover, those Chinese who owned businesses invariably ran a laundry or back-alley café. So it was understandable that the one who called himself Harry Lovett would have no knowledge of Wong Sing. Yet Fung was not wholly satisfied with the answer. He survived by trusting no man, most especially a blue-eyed devil endorsed by Denny O'Brien. He concluded the matter would bear further scrutiny.
A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Upon your return, you must make yourself known to Wong Sing. He would be honored to be of service ⦠should the occasion arise.”
“I'll do that very thing,” Starbuck said earnestly. “Who knows? Maybe we'll be able to swap favors here and there.”
Fung laced his fingers together, considered a moment. “Your request is most unusual. A hundred virgins, all of such tender age, are not easily obtainable.”
“No, I suppose not.” Starbuck feigned a sly look.
“Course, if I made it worth your while, you likely wouldn't have any trouble, would you?”
“Course, if I made it worth your while, you likely wouldn't have any trouble, would you?”
Fung nodded wisely. “I believe it could be arranged.”
“How much?”
“One thousand dollars a girl.”
“Holy Christ!” Starbuck appeared shocked. “That's a little steep, isn't it?”
“Perhaps,” Fung intoned. “On the other hand, where else would you turn? I alone govern the trade in slave girls.”
“You've got a point.” Starbuck hesitated, his features screwed up in a frown. “How would I know they're all virgins?”
“You have my word,” Fung said in a voice without tone. “Or if you wish, you may have them inspected by a doctor. Such matters are readily arranged.”
Starbuck pondered a moment, then laughed. “What the hell, it's only money! When can you make delivery?”
“Hmm.” Fung nodded to himself as though possessed of some secret knowledge. “I will consult with my associates and advise you. These affairs must be conducted with a certain delicacy.”
Starbuck found the statement too cryptic for comfort. “Don't hang me up too long. I'm already short on time.”
“I beg your indulgence,” Fung said politely. “In the meantime, allow us to entertain you. The treasures
of Little China are many and varied ⦠and quite often memorable.”
of Little China are many and varied ⦠and quite often memorable.”
Fung rose to his feet. Starbuck was assured he would be contacted, and on that note, the meeting ended. Bows were exchanged, then one of the hatchet men escorted Starbuck past the dogs and up the stairs. Once they were out of sight, Fung turned to the other guard with a look of sharp concern.
“Find May Ling!” he ordered. “Bring her to me now.”
Starbuck had no illusions about the girl. She was a gift from Fung, a young seductress meant to please and delight him. Yet she was also a spy, an enchanting interrogator with both the beauty and the thorns of a rose. He had no doubt his every word was reported directly to her master.
The invitation was extended the morning after his meeting with Fung. At first, aware of the danger, his reaction was to politely decline. Denny O'Brien had already offered him one of the Bella Union girls, and that was excuse enough to beg off. Then, wary of insulting Fung, he thought it wiser to accept. There were grave risks entailed, but he was an old hand at guarding himself in the clinches. Besides, he was horny as a billy goat and still extremely curious about Chinese women. Until he verified it for himself, the question of their east-west plumbing would always stick in his mind. He accepted, and the engagement was arranged for that evening.
Shortly after sundown, one of Fung's men met him outside the hotel. He was led to a building in the heart of Chinatown, then upstairs to an apartment on the second floor. The man knocked three times, bowed from the waist, and disappeared down the stairs. He was left alone before the door.
Whatever he expected, Starbuck was not prepared for the girl's loveliness. May Ling was tiny, with a doll-like figure and large almond-shaped eyes. Her features were exquisite, with bee-stung lips and high cheekbones, all framed by a mass of hair black as obsidian. Her voice was odd and vibrant, and there was about her an aura of innocence destroyed. She smelled sweet and alluring, and gave off a sensual radiation as palpable as musk. He judged her age at somewhere between eighteen and twenty. A child-woman of evocative beauty.
Her apartment was small but richly furnished. The walls were decorated with silk prints and the floors were lushly carpeted; the bureau and several squat chests were finished in black, heavily lacquered, and trimmed with brass fittings. A tall Oriental screen separated the living area from the bedchamber, and a miniature kitchen was partitioned off by yet another screen. A low table, used for both entertaining and dining, was surrounded by plush floor cushions.
May Ling was dressed in a milk-white kimono that seemed to mold her body in melted ivory. Her English, like Fung's, was remarkably correct, with only a trace of an accent. She greeted Starbuck with a cordial bow, and showed him to the place of honor
at the table. In deference to his Western tastes, she served whiskey and provided a porcelain ashtray for his cigar. She was gracious, drawing him out with small talk, and gave no hint of embarrassment at the arrangement. She was there for his pleasure, and quite clearly eager to please.
at the table. In deference to his Western tastes, she served whiskey and provided a porcelain ashtray for his cigar. She was gracious, drawing him out with small talk, and gave no hint of embarrassment at the arrangement. She was there for his pleasure, and quite clearly eager to please.
Starbuck was indeed pleased. She was a creature of surpassing beauty, and the atmosphere was conducive to thoughts of erotic Oriental mysteries. The scent of joss sticks and sandalwood was heady, somehow intoxicating, adding to the sensation of her nearness. When she spoke her lips moved like moth wings, and she seemed to have an infinite variety of smiles, all suggestive of the night ahead. He watched, sipping whiskey, while she glided spectrally from the kitchen to the table. His hunger, mounting steadily, was not for food.
Dinner was one surprise after another. She served prawns simmered in a sticky, sweet sauce, and something that vaguely resembled pork, swimming in a thick black gumbo. Steaming bowls of vegetables, similar in appearance to seaweed, complimented the meat dishes, and with each course there appeared another mound of snow-white rice. Herbal tea and delicate cookies, tasting faintly of ginger, finished off the meal.
Starbuck thoroughly stuffed himself. He'd never tasted prawns, and the other dishes, though equally unfamiliar, were nonetheless savory. After dinner, he loosened his belt a notch and lit a cigar. May Ling cleared the table and poured him another whiskey.
Then she took a zither from a wall peg and seated herself across from him. Her fingers flew over the instrument like darting birds, producing a strange and haunting music. The sound was discordant to his ear, not unpleasant but seemingly without melody. To his amazement, she opened her mouth and began to sing. The words were meaningless, but the timbre of her voice was almost hypnotic, curiously intimate. Her gaze never left him, and he felt certain the song was meant to convey some seductive message. When she finished, he stuck the cigar in his mouth and applauded heartily. She blushed and modestly averted her eyes.
Then she took a zither from a wall peg and seated herself across from him. Her fingers flew over the instrument like darting birds, producing a strange and haunting music. The sound was discordant to his ear, not unpleasant but seemingly without melody. To his amazement, she opened her mouth and began to sing. The words were meaningless, but the timbre of her voice was almost hypnotic, curiously intimate. Her gaze never left him, and he felt certain the song was meant to convey some seductive message. When she finished, he stuck the cigar in his mouth and applauded heartily. She blushed and modestly averted her eyes.
The evening thus far was beyond anything he had imagined. The lavish meal and the haunting song were unaccustomed preliminaries to the mating ritual he normally practiced. Yet the girl herself was by far the greatest surprise. She had asked no questions and made no reference whatever to his dealings with Fung. Nor had she displayed even passing interest in who he was or where he came from, or the nature of his business. In short, she'd made no attempt to grill him, and seemed content merely with his company. He found himself somewhat bewildered, and more than a little curious. Tactfully, choosing his words, he asked her about herself. His interest was genuine, and from the expression in her eyes, he knew it was a question she'd seldom been asked. He prompted her, gently insistent, and she slowly began to talk.
Her life, she told him simply, had been ordained
by circumstance. Her parents were poor, struggling to eke out an existence. Like many peasant girls, governed by a centuries old custom, she had been sold into bondage. The contract took effect on her tenth birthday, and by then she'd shown promise of beauty. One of Fung's agents ultimately bought her, and she had arrived in San Francisco not quite a year later. Unlike ordinary slave girls, Fung had taken a special interest in her. A tutor had been retained to teach her English and the art of conversation, and still another mentor had trained her in music and song. A woman of great wisdom had instructed her in lovemaking and the many exotic acts pleasurable to man. At age fourteen she had been accorded a great honor. Fung, her master and patron, had himself taken her virginity.
by circumstance. Her parents were poor, struggling to eke out an existence. Like many peasant girls, governed by a centuries old custom, she had been sold into bondage. The contract took effect on her tenth birthday, and by then she'd shown promise of beauty. One of Fung's agents ultimately bought her, and she had arrived in San Francisco not quite a year later. Unlike ordinary slave girls, Fung had taken a special interest in her. A tutor had been retained to teach her English and the art of conversation, and still another mentor had trained her in music and song. A woman of great wisdom had instructed her in lovemaking and the many exotic acts pleasurable to man. At age fourteen she had been accorded a great honor. Fung, her master and patron, had himself taken her virginity.
With a note of pride, she observed that since that time she had lived the life of a courtesan. She entertained those men, both Chinese and American, who were of special interest to her master. In return, she had been given her own quarters and the freedom to travel Little China as she pleased. Over the years many wealthy men had attempted to buy her, offering thousands of dollars above the price normally paid for even the most beautiful virgin. Yet, declaring her beyond value, her master had refused in each instance. That refusal had bestowed great honor on her, and wherever she went the people of Little China treated her with the respect reserved for one of position and rank. Few slave girls rose so high, and she considered herself the most fortunate
of women. Not yet twenty, she had found serenity and purpose in life. She existed to serve her master, and her days were filled with happiness. She was content.
of women. Not yet twenty, she had found serenity and purpose in life. She existed to serve her master, and her days were filled with happiness. She was content.
Starbuck believed her. She was a slave, and whether she called herself courtesan or whore, she would live out her days in bondage. All the same, she was happier than any white whore he'd ever known. She was at peace with herself and her world, and the serenity she spoke of was no act. Her voice, the expression in her eyes, told the story. She had found something in life that few people attain. Her mirror reflected the worth of her own esteem.
May Ling smiled and sang him another song. He lay back on the pillows, sipping whiskey and puffing his cigar. After a time, she put the zither away and held out her hand. He climbed to his feet, all but bewitched by her loveliness, and allowed himself to be led to her bedchamber. There she undressed him, and after stepping out of her kimono, she let him gaze a moment upon the golden swell of her breasts.
Then she showed him that Chinese girls were, after all, no different from white women. Some were simply better than others, and she skillfully persuaded him that she was the best.
Â
May Ling never questioned her master's orders, or his motives. To her, a man's body was like a zither, an instrument to be strummed and caressed. Several times during the night, using her own body to strike responsive chords, she had taught Starbuck exquisite
harmonies known only to a trained courtesan. Early the next morning, she undertook the balance of her assignment.
harmonies known only to a trained courtesan. Early the next morning, she undertook the balance of her assignment.
After a late breakfast, she suggested a personally conducted tour of Little China. Starbuck was feeling a bit frazzled, his juices sapped by her arduous and sometimes gymnastic lovemaking. Under normal circumstances he might have hesitated, but his brain was muzzy and he suspected nothing. Chinatown was Fung's domain, and seeing it through May Ling's eyes seemed very much in order. He immediately approved the idea.
On the street, she took his arm and guided him toward the center of Little China. As they walked, she chattered on gaily, explaining that the district was the largest Chinese settlement outside the Orient. Within a dozen square blocks, some thirty thousand people lived and worked, rarely ever setting foot in the white sections of San Francisco.
The Chinese, May Ling noted proudly, were an industrious people. Some twisted cigars for a living, others worked in clothing and shoe factories, and many served in white homes as cooks and houseboys. For the most part, they were frugal, followed the ancient religious rites, and kept very much to themselves. Yet they were not the simple peasants, ignorant and humble, so commonly portrayed by whites. Almost all were fanatic gamblers, playing the lottery and fan-tan, and even a variation of poker. Opium smoking was widely practiced, and the trade in gow pills, pipe-size balls of opium, had evolved
into a thriving industry. There were even exclusive establishments for white gentlemen and their ladies. Unlike common opium dens, the service there was discreet and costly, the
gow
pills of superb quality.
into a thriving industry. There were even exclusive establishments for white gentlemen and their ladies. Unlike common opium dens, the service there was discreet and costly, the
gow
pills of superb quality.
Still another misconception, May Ling went on, was the belief by whites that Orientals were sexually backward. To the contrary, the Chinese were a very sensual people, connoisseurs of the flesh. A Chinese man seldom limited himself to one woman, even if he was married and had a family. Nor was it considered shameful for a Chinese woman to enjoy the act, and express that joy through inventive byplay passed down from mother to daughter. In fact, the Oriental preoccupation with sex manifested itself in many forms. The most widely known was the flourishing trade in slave girls. Nowhere else on earth was the appreciation of eroticism so vividly demonstrated.
May Ling suddenly stopped. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with secret amusement. “Would you care to attend a slave-girl auction?”
“Would I!” Starbuck said, astonished. “I'd like nothing better.”
“I believe one is being held this morning.”
“You really think they'd let us watch? I've heard these things are sort of private, invitation only.”
“Oh, yes,” May Ling trilled happily. “You are with me, which means you are a very special friend of the master. We would not be turned away.”
“Well, what are we waiting for? Hot damn, a real
live slave-girl auction! You're just a sackful of surprises.”
live slave-girl auction! You're just a sackful of surprises.”
“Perhaps we shouldn't.” May Ling mocked him with a tiny smile. “These girls are not virgins, and much older than those you wish to purchase. You might be disappointed.”
Starbuck laughed. “Don't worry your pretty head about that. C'mon, chop, chop! Let's go!”
With a minxish giggle, May Ling took his arm and led him to the corner. There they turned onto a side-street, then walked toward a warehouse halfway down the block. A squad of hatchet men, uniformed in the regulation pajama suits and black hats, stood guard outside. Approaching them, May Ling let go a volley of Chinese, her tone gracious, yet somehow imperious. The men bowed respectfully, and one of them rushed to open the door. She stepped through, followed closely by Starbuck, and directed him to a vantage point along the wall. From there, they had an unobstructed view of the entire warehouse.
Starbuck was reminded of a livestock auction. A large crowd of men, both Chinese and white, were ganged around a wooden platform. The auctioneer, a jolly-eyed Chinaman with a loud mouth and a winning smile, walked the platform like a captain commanding the bridge of a ship. Beyond the platform, huddled together in a forlorn group, were a hundred or more Chinese girls. One at a time, they were brought forward by the auctioneer's assistants and stripped naked. Shoved onto the platform, they were then forced to parade before the crowd like prize
broodmares. The prospective buyers were allowed to examine each girl before the bidding began.
broodmares. The prospective buyers were allowed to examine each girl before the bidding began.
May Ling briefly explained the complex system underlying the slave-girl trade. Her master placed an order with procurers in China for delivery in San Francisco on a certain date. Upon arrival, the girls were secreted in padded crates, invoiced as dishware, and American customs agents were bribed to pass the bales without inspection. While special orders were often filled for wealthy whites and prosperous Chinese tradesmen, the cargo was generally sold at open auction. The choicest girls, selected for their youth and attractiveness, were auctioned off to men looking for a concubine and jobbers who resold to smaller, inland markets. Prices varied from girl to girl, but usually started with a minimum bid of $200 and climbed to $500 or higher. The refuse, those unsuitable for auction, were sold to waterfront brothelkeepers or put to work in the Chinatown cribs.
The virgin market, May Ling remarked, was conducted on a somewhat higher level. Procurers in China contracted for the girls at an early age, generally two through five. The parents then raised the girls, and the procurer meanwhile contracted to deliver virgins of a specified age group, and on a specified date, in San Francisco. Even now, her master held contracts on some four hundred virgins, ages two through sixteen, who were available for delivery on demand. Thus, there was always a plentiful stock to supply future markets.
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