"Sweet suffering Jesus, Harcourt, why didn't you wipe your ass before you came back here? Look at the dingleberries you brought with you." Sergeant Demange eyed the replacements as if he'd never seen anything so disgusting in his life. The twitching Gitane in the corner of his mouth only amplified his scorn.
"This is Sergeant Demange, men," Luc said. "He commands the section. You'd better listen to him, or-"
"Or I'll fucking well whale the shit out of you," Demange broke in. "Well, you syphilitic scuts, what do they call you?" One by one, the new men hesitantly named themselves. Demange clapped a hand to his forehead. "Napoleon? Merde alors! Well, I won't forget that-unless you get killed quick. Go round up canteens and fill 'em at the well. Go on-move! You never want me to have to tell you something more than once. Believe it, punk. You don't."
Thus encouraged, Napoleon moved. Marc and Louis gaped till Demange found fatigues for them, too. Luc smiled. He'd been on the other end of those growls not so long ago. This was better. Oh, yes. Much, much better.
Chapter 15
Pete McGill had never figured he would walk into a shop that sold carved jade and other jewels. Then again, he'd never figured he would fall in love with a White Russian taxi dancer. Life was full of surprises. He was enjoying this one a hell of a lot more than, say, getting stomped by half a dozen Japanese soldiers with hobnailed boots.
All the same, he'd come to the Jade Tree Maker out on Yates Road by himself. If he'd had any of his buddies along, they would have told him he was pussy-whipped. They might even have been right. But that would have made him more likely to try to punch them out, not less.
A Eurasian man in a sharp silk suit stood behind the counter. "Good day," he said in smooth English. The way he dipped his head was almost a bow. "How may I help you today, sir?"
"Right now I'm only looking," Pete said.
"Of course." The proprietor or clerk or whatever he was pretended the American Marine didn't exist. He was good at it. A white man would have kept sneaking glances Pete's way. This fellow didn't. He had the Oriental knack for not seeing what lay right under his nose. You needed that knack if you were going to live in the crowded warrens of Peking or Shanghai without going nuts.
If Pete tried to heist something, now… The man in the suit would turn out to have been watching all along. Understanding as much, Pete kept his hands to himself as he examined the merchandise.
Jade trees, sure enough. They came in all sizes from three inches to three feet tall, all qualities of jade-jadeite was a much more brilliant green than the cheaper nephrite-and all degrees of elaboration in the carving. Prices started at a few dollars Mex and went straight up like a mortar bomb.
He thought-he hoped-Vera would like a jade tree. He had cash in his pocket. A corporal's pay was nothing back in the States; in Shanghai, it made him well-off. He had nothing to spend his money on but cigarettes and booze-both cheap-and his lady love. Spend he would.
He picked up a jade tree: not a very big one, but full of detailwork in the carving of branches and leaves, and of peasants and cattle on the base. When he took it over to the counter, the Eurasian man dipped his head again. "You are a man of taste," he said.
Which meant the dicker would be harder. "How much do you want for it?" he asked.
"The price is on the tag here." The man in the silk suit tapped it with his forefinger. "One hundred twenty-five dollars Mex."
That was about forty bucks U.S.-a month's pay, more or less. The exchange rate went up and down, often wildly. Pete didn't get mad or storm out. He'd played these games before. "I know that's what the price tag says," he said patiently. "But how much do you really want for it?"
"You are an American," the Eurasian said. You've got lots of cash. Why do you care about getting gouged? Everybody in Shanghai thought that way, and with some reason. But only some. Even Vera thought that way. Pete might be head over heels, but he wasn't blind. He didn't think so, anyhow.
He stayed patient now. "I'm not an American general-I'm an American corporal. A hundred and a quarter Mex is too steep for me."
"What a pity," the man behind the counter murmured. For a moment, Pete thought there'd be no haggle after all. But then the fellow's narrow shoulders shifted as he sighed. "Perhaps, from an American corporal, I might take a hundred and ten."
Pete ended up getting it for seventy-five dollars Mex. He'd hoped to beat the Eurasian down to half the price on the tag, but this wasn't bad. The man swaddled the jade tree in cotton batting and wrapped it in newspapers full of incomprehensible Chinese hentracks. "Much obliged," Pete said. It wouldn't look like anything special as he carried it down the street. In a town where thievery was as much a sport as a crime, that mattered.
"Not at all, sir. A pleasure matching wits with such a good bargainer," the Eurasian replied. Of course he'd still made a profit at the price Pete paid-he wasn't in business for the fun of it. How much had he made? Was that a polite You sucker!? His face gave away nothing. Pete was glad not to have to face him across a poker table.
Bauble in hand, he walked down Yates Road. He knew where he was going next, and 332 was on the other side of the street from 343. Crossing meant risking his life, but he made it. KEN KEE-EMBROIDERY AND UNDERWEAR, the sign over the door said, with a picture of a lofty pagoda next to the words and some Chinese above them. Pete drew himself up straight before going in, as if advancing on an enemy trench. If you wanted something fancy in the way of lingerie, he'd heard, this was the place that had it.
The shopgirl who greeted him with a bright smile could have made a mint dancing in any of Shanghai's fancy clubs. She was tiny and gorgeous. "Yes, sir?" she said, her voice ringing like silver bells.
"Just looking," Pete mumbled again. This was harder than going up against a trench full of Japs. They just scared you; they didn't embarrass you.
He'd never bought lingerie before. He'd never dreamt he might want to buy lingerie. But when you found yourself with a gorgeous girlfriend, didn't you want to make her even gorgeouser? (The English teachers who'd rapped his knuckles at every mistake and helped encourage him to drop out of high school and join the Marines would have flinched, but not a goddamn one of them was within 5,000 miles of Shanghai.)
He nervously eyed a gown. He'd also never dreamt even silk could be so transparent. You could see the more substantial blue thing behind it right through the fabric. He wanted to touch it, but didn't dare. It looked as if it would tear if you breathed on it. When he thought about seeing Vera through that fabric, he had to turn away from the salesgirl till his hard-on went down.
When he swung toward her again, he coughed a couple of times and asked, "Um-how much for, uh, this one?" He pointed.
"Let me see, sir." She walked over and looked at the tag. "A hundred dollars Mex, even."
"Ouch!" Pete exclaimed. "That's more than I can afford."
"It's very fine quality." She didn't add And your girlfriend had better be, if she's going to put it on, but he could hear it in her chiming voice. She cocked her head to one said, studying him. "Well, what can you afford?"
No matter what the tags said, there weren't many fixed prices in Shanghai. "I was thinking, oh, fifty," Pete answered. Coming back with half the asking price was a standard opening move-a conservative one, but the place intimidated him too much to let him go any lower.
She nodded and came down a little. Pete moved up. He felt less confident than he had haggling with the Eurasian who sold jade trees. Thinking about jade trees didn't make him horny. Thinking about this gown… He almost had to turn away from the shopgirl again.