2. The Sin City Derby

Macau didn't smell a lot better than Hong Kong, and it wasn't no cleaner, but it offered more opportunities to an enterprising Christian gentleman like myself. In fact, it offered more opportunities to just about everybody, since it was where all the young Hong Kong bucks went to do their gambling and find their short-term ladyfriends.

I got off the ferry, trying to figure out what to do next, when a young blond guy pulling an empty rickshaw stopped in front of me.

“Howdy, brother,” I said. “Take me to wherever it is that the white folks stay when they're in town.”

“That'd be the Bela Vista Hotel,” he said in perfect American. “But you can do better at the Macau Inn, over on the Travesso de Padre Narciso.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, climbing into the seat. “Let ’er rip.”

“I can also get you into half a dozen high-class gambling clubs,” he said as he began pulling the rickshaw down the street. “And if you've got an interest in the ladies...”

“Well, mostly I'm here to raise money for my tabernacle,” I said. “But I gotta admit it makes more sense to go where the money is than where it ain't. And of course, part of my calling is to show wicked, painted Jezebels the power and the glory.”

He turned and grinned at me. “It sounds like you've got yourself a mighty interesting religion, Preacher,” he said. “I wouldn't mind joining up myself.”

“How'd a well-spoken young feller like you come to be in the rickshaw trade thousands of miles from church and home in the first place?” I asked him.

“It's a long story,” he said. “But the gist of it is that I hired on to work on an archeological dig in the Gobi Desert. Our boat docked in Hong Kong on a Saturday afternoon, and a bunch of us came over to the Sin City of Macau for one last fling before going out in the wilderness.”

“Makes sense,” I allowed.

“They told us to be back at sun-up on Monday, which was when the truck was leaving. I guess I overslept a little.”

“And they didn't wait for you?”

“I didn't get out of bed until half past Tuesday, and I figured they were all gone by then, so I looked around for some way to earn my passage back home. I thought I could be a croupier, or maybe a personal manager for some ladies of the evening, but all the good jobs were taken, and so I wound up pulling this goddamned rickshaw.”

He took a hard left turn, and suddenly I could see the Macau Inn straight ahead of us.

“Here we are, Preacher,” he said, sprinting the final fifty yards.

“Take it easy,” I said. “We ain't in no race.”

“Sorry,” he said, coming to a stop in front of the hotel. “Sometimes I pretend I'm still outrunning tacklers on the football field back in high school. It helps to pass the time.”

“You played football?”

“Sure did,” he answered. “And being an ex-halfback gives me an edge on the competition. If we see a single customer stepping off the ferry or out of a hotel, I always get there first.”

It was just about that instant that the Lord smote me right betwixt the eyes with a great big heavenly revelation.

“Are you telling me there ain't no coolie in town can match strides with you?” I said.

“Not a one,” he said. “I even had a couple of Big Ten scholarship offers—until they threw me off the team for a few minor infractions, that is.”

“What kind of infractions?”

“Oh ... Zelda, Thelma, Patti ... those kinds.”

“Brother,” I said. “How'd you like to get enough money for passage back to the good old U. S. of A. and have a little pocket money left over for an occasional infraction?”

“You've got a curious expression on your face, Preacher,” he said. “I can't quite tell if you're joking or not.”

“I never joke about money,” I said. “It's against the Third and Eighth Commandments. Come on inside and let's talk a little business.”

He pulled the rickshaw over to a side of the road and followed me into the Macau Inn. There was a great big fountain in the middle of the lobby, with about a dozen parrots dangling down from the ceiling in bamboo cages. There was a fat white man in a wrinkled suit and a fez talking to a couple of turbaned Indians in a corner, and an Englishman in tweeds was sitting on a leather chair, smoking a pipe and reading a copy of theChina Morning Post . We walked past the check-in desk and turned left at the restaurant, which was just about empty, it being the middle of the afternoon.

“Have a seat,” I said, escorting my rickshaw driver to a small table.

“Don't mind if I do,” he replied.

“By the way, Brother, I didn't catch your name.”

“Harvey,” he said, reaching out and shaking my hand. “Harvey Edwards, and before we discuss any further business, you still owe me for the ride.”

“How much?”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Buy me a couple of beers and we'll call it square.”

“I can't do that, Brother Harvey,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a couple of coins. “This ought to cover what I owe you.”

“You got something against beer, Preacher?” he asked.

“Not a thing,” I answered. “Nothing slakes the thirst like a cold beer.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“Iain't got no problem, Brother Harvey,” I said. “Butyou —you're in training.”

“For what?”

“The rickshaw races.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? Thereain't any rickshaw races in Macau.”

I grinned at him. “Yet,” I said.

Suddenly his eyes lit up like little candles. “Oh?”

“Brother Harvey, I been mulling on it, and I can't see no reason why I should risk the Lord's money playing fan-tan and other games of chance with these local sharks when we can invite ’em intoour pool.”

“You know,” said Harvey with a great big smile, “I can't think of any reason either.”

“Good!” I said. “Then we're in business.”

“Fifty-fifty,” he replied.

I shook my head. “One-third for you, one third-for me, and one-third for the Lord, which is only fair, since He's putting up the money.”

“He ain't doing the running, though,” said Harvey adamantly.

Well, we hemmed and we hawed and we haggled, and what it finally came down to was that Harvey and I would split the first ten thousand pounds we made down the middle, and the Lord got Himself a twenty percent option on the rest, provided He produced fair weather and a fast track. That settled, we indulged in a couple of grilled Macau pigeons, and then I started asking him where we were likely to find the biggest plungers.

“No question about it,” he said. “They're all at the Central Hotel.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You're about the first person I've run across who hasn't,” said Harvey. “It's the biggest building in town, even if itis only nine stories tall. You can see it from just about anywhere.”

“Maybe I ought to rent a room there instead of here,” I suggested.

He laughed at that. “They'll be charging you rent every twenty minutes, Preacher,” he said. “It ain't exactly your run-of-the-mill hotel.”

Which was an understatement if ever there was one.

We waited til the sun went down and then made our way over to the Central Hotel, which despite its name wasn't a hotel at all. We walked in the main entrance, and found ourselves on the ground floor, which was crawling with coolies. There were small-stakes games of roulette and baccarat and fan-tan going on everywhere, and the girls were just about all in need of a little soap and water and a good dentist.

“These guys don't look like no high rollers to me,” I said as we began walking across the room.

“They're not,” replied Harvey.

“Well, then?” I asked.

“Follow me,” he said, walking toward a huge, winding staircase.

The coolies were a little better-dressed on the second floor, and the girls looked a mite healthier. By the third floor, they were playing with British pounds instead of Hong Kong dollars, and we ran into a bunch of Indians on the fourth floor. When we reached the fifth floor, most of the players were Europeans and well-dressed Chinamen, and the girls were so downright beautiful that I remarked to Harvey that I couldn't wait to see what they'd look like once we reached the penthouse.

“The gambling ends on the sixth floor,” he answered. “The top three floors are just bedrooms.”

So we made our way up one more flight, and the only difference between the sixth floor of the Central Hotel and the casino at Monte Carlo was that a third of the players here were Chinamen and the girls were all dressed for mighty warm weather.

“See that big Chinaman in the corner with his back to the wall?” whispered Harvey, gesturing to an ornery-looking feller sitting at a high-stakes poker table. “He's Lo Chung. He owns the place.” He pointed to the others at the table. “That's Bet-A-Million Reynolds, over there is Sir Reginald Thurmund, and that little guy next to Lo Chung is Gerhardt Guenther, the German ambassador.” He sighed. “Must be fifty million dollars sitting at that one table.”

“They got a privy up here?” I asked as one of the hostesses passed by, and she pointed it out to me. I told Harvey to stay put, then went off by myself, pulled out a handkerchief, folded it into a nice neat square, folded Cornwall's money over it, and then slapped a rubber band around the whole thing, so it looked like I was walking around with maybe forty thousand pounds of cash rather than four hundred.

Then I went back out onto the floor and rejoined Harvey, who was getting a little nervous in the presence of all that money. We wandered around the room, exchanged pleasantries with a couple of hostesses, stopped to watch the action at the roulette wheel and the craps table, and finally wound up at the fan-tan game, where a Greek and a Korean were having a contest to see who could go broke first. I whispered to Harvey to go back to the rickshaw and that I'd meet him there in just a couple of minutes. He looked kind of curious, but he did what I told him.

“Ido love the smell of money,” I said, turning back to the fan-tan table.

“Perhaps you would like to join us,” suggested the Greek.

I shook my head. “Too tame for me, brother.”

He laughed so loud that everyone turned to see what was going on.

“You find fan-tantame ?” he said.

“Yeah. It's almost as dull as poker and craps,” I said. I pulled out my bankroll, tossed it carelessly in the air and caught it a couple of times, and then stuck it back in my pocket. “Guess I'll go out looking for somereal action.”

At which point Lo Chung got up from his poker game and walked over to me.

“Good evening, Father,” he said, bowing low.

“As a matter of fact, it's Reverend,” I said. “The Right Reverend Lucifer Jones.”

“It is not often that we play host to a man of the cloth,” he said. “We have a reputation as the Sin City of the Orient.”

“Well, I'm afraid it's gonna be even less often, brother,” I said. “I like excitement when I bet.” I reached into my pocket and fiddled with my bankroll again. “Nothing all that exciting here, except maybe for that little hostess with the green eyes and dress to match.”

“We try to accommodate all our guests, Reverend Jones,” he said, looking greedily toward my pocket. “Perhaps if you would tell me what type of gambling excites you...?”

“Glad you asked, brother,” I said, kind of gently shoving him aside and speaking to the room at large. “Ladies and gents, I came here by rickshaw, just like a batch of you folks did—and I got forty thousand pounds that says my rickshaw puller can whip any rickshaw puller you put up against him at any distance from fifty yards to six furlongs at equal weights.”

“Now just a minute, Reverend Jones!” said Lo Chung. “This ismy gambling establishment. You cannot arrange your own transactions with my customers!”

“Sorry, Brother Lo Chung,” I apologized. “I certainly didn't mean to step out of line. I suppose I'd best take my leave of you.”

I walked to the head of the stairs, and then stopped and turned back to the room. “The race starts in front of the Macau Inn at nine o'clock tomorrow morning,” I said. “I'll cover any and all bets.”

Then I ran down the stairs just before a couple of Lo Chung's bouncers could throw me down. I saw the cutest little lady serving drinks as I passed the third floor, but I didn't have time to start no conversations and I figured if I just grabbed her and carried her down the stairs with me the extra weight would slow me down enough so the bouncers could catch me, and so a brief and tender romantic moment went unrequited.

I yelled to Harvey to get ready to roll as I burst out through the front door with a couple of hundred coolies staring at me, but no one followed me, so thankfully he didn't have to use up no energy or calories or nothing getting us out of there, and ten minutes later we were back at the Macau Inn, sitting in the bar, him sipping an iced tea and eyeing my beer the way I had eyed that little hostess on the third floor.

“Have you given any serious thought to how you plan to cover all those bets tomorrow?” he asked.

“Me and the Lord'll think of something,” I said. “After all, we got all night, ain't we?”

“All night isn't that long, Preacher.”

“The Lord made the world in six days,” I said. “That's one for each continent, the way I figure it. Now, if He could make Asia in a day and have time left over for creating the sun and the moon and swiping one of Adam's ribs, surely He don't need all night to solve this minor inconvenience.” I finished up my beer. “You just make sure you don't bust no legs coming out of the starting gate.”

“I could beat most of the local coolies on one leg,” answered Harvey. “Don't worry, Preacher—it's in the bag.”

“All right,” I said. “It's about time you headed home and got a good eight hours, so you'll be all fresh and ready to go in the morning.” Then I changed my mind. “You know, now as I come to think on it, it's probably better than you spend the night here. Can't chance you running into traffic and getting all tuckered out on your way here tomorrow morning.”

“I don't have any money for a room.”

I tossed him my room key. “Take mine,” I said. “I'll get another. You can pay me out of your share of the winnings.”

He picked up the key and headed off to the room. Then, just to make sure he didn't do nothing to damage his wind on the eve of the big event, I rounded up all the girls in the lobby, rented another room, and made sure that none of ’em were available just in case he came looking for a little infraction. It was a long and arduous chore, but I figured I owed it to him, and I was sure that my Silent Partner would understand that I was only doing it for the benefit of His tabernacle.

I got up a bit before sunrise, tiptoed out of the room, and went down to the front desk, where a young Chinaman was smoking a waterpipe and doping out the races.

“Got a safe deposit box for hire, brother?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the clerk, pulling out a box and handing me the key. “That'll be one Hong Kong dollar.”

“How'd you like to make somereal money?” I said.

“I wouldn't be adverse to it,” he admitted.

“Good,” I said. “Comes nine o'clock, this place is gonna be crawling with rickshaws and big spenders. A lot of them are going to want someone responsible to hold their bets.” I pulled a pair of hundred-pound notes off my roll, which was still wrapped around the handkerchief, and handed them to him. “This ought to make it worth your while.”

“Yes, sir!” he said with a great big smile.

“Now, as you can see,” I said, sticking the roll into the box, “I'm putting forty thousand pounds in here. You're my witness.”

“Right,” he said, barely taking his eyes off his own two hundred-pound notes, which was probably close to half a year's wages for him.

“Okay,” I said, handing him the box. “Lock it up for safekeeping.”

He put the box back in place, locked it, and returned the key to me.

“Now, just so you've got this straight: you're legally empowered to take bets up to forty thousand pounds. Once you've reached the limit, or there ain't no more money being wagered, stick it in another lock box and keep the key yourself.”

“Then what?”

“The winner gets the contents of both boxes.” I leaned across the counter and whispered in his ear: “And if things go right, this could be a daily chore for you—at the same rate of pay.”

“I'm more than happy to be of service, sir,” he assured me with a greedy grin on his face.

“Somehow I thought you might be,” I replied.

Then I went off to wake Harvey, took him down to the restaurant for a breakfast of orange juice and tea, and walked back into the lobby at about a quarter to nine. It was filled to overflowing with coolies and their backers, all lined up to lay their bets with the clerk.

At nine o'clock sharp, we all walked outside, where Harvey and 23 other rickshaw pullers lined up across the broad street. Then it was just a matter of setting the conditions, which turned out to be twice around the block, or just under half a mile. Harvey was pawing at the ground with his feet, and his eyes were bright and excited, and I thought he might break out whinnying any second.

There must have been a good five hundred people crowded up and down the street, not all of them Chinamen, and finally we let Bet-A-Million Reynolds fire the gun that started the race.

Harvey opened up a quick two lengths on his field before they hit the first corner, and was leading by twenty yards when they passed the finish line the first time. They disappeared from sight around the corner a second time, and when they hit the homestretch Harvey was only leading by a length—but as he passed by he winked at me, and I realized he was just trying not to discourage the competition from trying him again. He won by about half a length, and before I could go to the desk to pick up our winnings, Sir Reginald Thurmund and Ambassador Gerhardt Guenther were demanding a rematch that night.

I hemmed and hawed as if I thought Harvey was too tuckered out to run again, and finally let them talk me into it, for midnight, sharp. We told the crowd when to come back, and then Harvey and me went to the desk and picked up 37,000 beautiful British pounds, counted it a couple of times and stood there admiring it for a few minutes, and then put it back in the safe.

“Easiest money I ever made for a rickshaw ride!” he laughed.

“We should just about double it tonight,” I said, “and then we'll start running you in handicaps.”

“Handicaps?”

“Yeah,” I said. “After this weekend we'll never get another even race, so you'll probably have to tote weights in your rickshaw, just like a racehorse.”

“Make the race downhill and the weights might actually help me go faster,” he suggested.

“That little law of physics ain't exactly lost on me,” I replied. “Ain't no law says you have to run the same course every time out.”

Well, we loafed around the hotel for most of the afternoon, but when I saw Harvey smiling at a couple of early-blooming flowers of the night I sent him to his room for a nap, and then, just to make sure that he couldn't give in to temptation, I took them off to my own room for the next couple of hours, where I got me an education in various Chinese arts that were even more complicated than fan-tan.

I could have spent another few hours saving Harvey from further temptation, and generous Christian gentleman that I am I was all set to do so, but at about seven o'clock he pounded on my door to say that he was going down to the restaurant to grab some dinner. I didn't want his stomach to go cramping up on him, so I took my leave of my lovely companions and went with him to supervise.

“I'll have a thick steak, and make sure that it's rare,” said Harvey as the waiter approached us.

“Belay that order,” I said. “He'll have two glasses of orange juice and a cup of coffee.”

“Preacher,” he said irritably, “sooner or later you got to let me eat something solid or I ain't gonna have the energy to run. I'm starving!”

“You can't run a full stomach,” I told him sternly.

“I can't run on one that's been empty for a day and a half, neither!”

“You're really all that hungry?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Okay,” I said, turning to the waiter. “Bring us a thick steak.”

“Rare,” added Harvey.

“Yes, sir,” said the waiter, bowing.

“Does that come with a salad?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine. Bring ’em out at the same time.”

“And what will you have, sir?”

“I'm having the steak. My friend here gets the salad. No dressing.”

“Preacher!”

“Ah, what the hell,” I said, giving in to my soft Christian nature. “Bring him a half order of dressing, on the side.”

“Thanks a heap,” muttered Harvey.

He didn't say another word til the salad came, and then he wolfed it down so fast I thought he might take a couple of bites out of the plate by mistake, or maybe on purpose, and I noticed that he licked my steak plate clean while I was settling the bill, but when we left the restaurant I was satisfied that he was in perfect shape for the race.

The crowds started showing up at about ten o'clock, and by a quarter to midnight there must have been a thousand people, but the betting was going real slow since Harvey had impressed the hell out of ’em in the morning and they wanted to wait to see the opposition and have the odds posted before they started laying their money down.

Then, suddenly, everything got real quiet, and a big black limousine pulled up and Lo Chung stepped out. He looked like he'd had happier days.

“Howdy, Lo Chung,” I said, stepping forward. “Welcome to the Sin City Rickshaw Racing Club. I thought you'd be tending to business over at the Central Hotel.”

“All my customers have comehere ,” he said grimly.

“Well, we'll shoot ’em right back to you once the race is over.”

“You must not continue to interfere with my business, Reverend Jones,” he said.

“Who's interfering?” I said. “You run roulette wheels and fan-tan games, I run rickshaw races.”

“I warn you, Reverend. I am becoming seriously displeased with you.”

“Six or seven weeks, and everyone'll get tired of trying to beat my champion and go back to blowing their paychecks over at your place, Lo Chung,” I said. “You just gotta learn to be patient.”

“Just remember, Doctor Jones, that my patience is not unending,” he said, and got back into his limo and drove off to the Central Hotel.

Well, that kind of put a damper on things for a couple of minutes, but then Sir Reginald and the German ambassador showed up, each with what looked like a higher class of coolie, and a few minutes later the race was under way, and this time the coolies broke on top and Harvey just kind of lagged behind in third place, biding his time until the last hundred yards or so, where he came on to win by just under a length.

We cleared another twenty thousand pounds, stuck it with the rest of our money in the hotel safe, and went to bed, him alone and me with such temptations as I didn't want him to have no part of.

Next morning I woke him up again, and escorted him down to the restaurant.

“You know what I dreamed about last night?” he said after I'd ordered him a grapefruit juice and a cup of coffee.

“Women?” I suggested.

“Nope.”

“America?”

He shook his head. “Food.”

“Harvey, I'm your manager,” I said. “You gotta trust me. Haven't I made us close to 60,000 pounds already?”

“Sooner or later you gotta give me something to eat or I'm gonna be too weak to pull that damned rickshaw,” he protested.

“After this morning's race,” I said. “We'll give you an hour to cool out, and then you can have the biggest steak on the menu. That'll give you more than twelve hours to digest it and sleep it off before you run again at midnight.”

“You promise?” he asked distrustfully.

“I swear it on my mother's grave,” I said, which seemed to please him. At any rate, it had to have pleased him more than knowing that my mother was currently running an establishment for fallen women in Wichita, which was in fact the case, but somehow it just wouldn't have sounded as impressive to swear on my mother's sporting house.

Well, we finished breakfast and walked outside, shouldering our way through a few hundred Chinamen, and what we came to was Lo Chung, leaning against his limousine and doing his damnedest to look inscrutable.

“You're up early today, Lo Chung,” I said by way of greeting.

“I finally decided that if I couldn't beat you, I should join you,” he replied.

“Well, that's right thoughtful of you,” I said, “but the Sin City Jockey Club ain't in the market for no partners.”

“I meant that I intend to join you as a competitor,” he explained. “Let me make sure I have the conditions correct. You state that your man can outpull any rickshaw in Macau?”

“That's right.”

“And there are no other conditions?”

I shot a quick look at Harvey, figuring that Lo Chung was thinking of bringing in some Chinese track star who we hadn't never heard of, but he just gave me a confident nod.

“That's right,” I said. “There's ain't no other conditions.”

He pulled a huge wad of bills out of his pocket. “I'll match whatever winnings you've accrued so far.”

I looked at Harvey again. He looked fit and trim and confident, even if his stomachwas rumbling to beat the band.

“Okay, Lo Chung, you got yourself a bet,” I said, and escorted him to the desk while he placed his roll on deposit in the safe.

“Shall we outline the course?” he asked as we were walking back to the street.

“Well, usually they just run around the block a couple of times,” I said.

“This may be the biggest wager ever made on a race in Macau,” he answered. “I think more people should be able to see it. I suggest that we race from the ruins of the St. Paul Cathedral to the Temple of Kun Iam.”

“That's pretty close to mile,” I noted.

“Isn't your man up to it?” he asked with a smile.

“Five yards, five miles, it makes no difference to me,” said Harvey.

“Excellent!” said Lo Chung. “Shall we walk to the starting line?”

“Wouldn't you rather wait by the finish?” I asked.

“All in good time, Reverend Jones,” he said. “I'll see the finish, too, never fear.”

I figured that meant he planned to have his limo drive him to the finish line once the race was underway, and made up my mind to hop a lift with him since I didn't relish walking all the way to the Temple of Kun Iam in the morning sun.

The St. Paul Cathedral, which had fallen into a mild state of disrepair and now consisted of nothing but four walls, a staircase, and a lot of weeds, was about half a mile from the Macau Inn. Harvey, surrounded by a bunch of kids who all wanted his autograph, started toting the rickshaw there, with me and Lo Chung and a few hundred betters tagging along behind. As we were walking I realized that I'd been so busy watching Harvey's diet that I'd neglected to eat breakfast myself, so I stopped by a local food stand and bought a couple of sandwiches and an apple, stuffed the apple and one of the sandwiches in my pocket, and munched on the other as we made our way to the starting line.

“By the way, I ain't seenyour rickshaw yet, Brother Lo Chung,” I said.

“It's waiting for us at the Cathedral.”

When we got to within maybe fifty yards of the Cathedral, I turned to him. “You must be wrong, Brother Lo Chung,” I said. “Ain't nothing there but a horse and buggy.”

“A horse andrickshaw ,” he corrected me.

“Well, that's one way of getting it here,” I said. “Where's your puller?”

“Right there, Reverend Jones,” he replied.

“But that's a horse!”

“How clever of you to notice.”

“That ain't in the rules! Get rid of it and get yourself a man to pull your rickshaw!”

“You explicitly stated that your man could outpull any rickshaw on Macau,” said Lo Chung. “You never said that it had to be pulled by another man.That is my puller.”

“No way!” I yelled. “You get a man in front of that rickshaw or the bet's off!”

“The bet ison , Reverend Jones,” he said, and suddenly I was looking down the barrels of a couple of dozen pistols in the hands of his friends and relations, all of who were dressed in black. “Perhaps next time you will think more carefully before cutting in on someone else's business.”

“Well, maybe I'll just tieour rickshaw onto the back of a car,” I said.

“That would be against the rules,” said Lo Chung. “You've already named your puller. He's the one taking on all challengers, remember?”

“I'm gonna have to think about this,” I said.

“Well, think quickly,” said Lo Chung. “The race starts in seven minutes.”

I walked over to Harvey.

“What about it?” I asked in low tones. “Think you can beat a horse?”

“Not a chance,” he said dejectedly.

Then an interesting notion struck me. “Don't be so all-fired sure of that,” I told him. “The horse don't know he's in a race, does he?”

“What are you driving at, Preacher?” asked Harvey.

“When the race starts, why don't you just walk calm and natural-like toward the Temple of Kun Iam? If he ain't got no reason to run, he'll either stay right where he is or fall into step behind you. Maybe we can win this thing without you breaking out of a walk!”

“I think you've got something there, Preacher!” he said excitedly. “Let's give it a try!”

“Okay, Lo Chung,” I said, walking back to the Chinaman. “We accept your puller.”

“Good,” he said, walking over to his rickshaw. “I knew you'd see the light of reason.”

He began clambering up onto the seat.

“Nowwhat the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

“I'm willingly giving my puller a handicap of 183 pounds,” he said.

“You can't do that!”

“There is nothing in the rules prohibiting me from sitting in my rickshaw during the race,” he said, as one of his henchmen handed him a whip and another began putting a bridle over the horse's head.

“Imade the rules!” I shouted. “And I say that ain't legal!”

“Shall we put it to a vote?” asked Lo Chung.

“All right,” I said furiously. “Let's just do that!”

Lo Chung nodded to his men, who turned their pistols on the crowd. “Will any man who thinks my actions constitute a breach of the rules please fall down with a bullet in his chest?” he said in a loud, clear voice.

Nobody fell down, or did much of anything else.

He smiled at me. “There you have it, Reverend. A unanimous vote. Now, if you have no further objections, I'll send some of my men ahead to make sure no one absconds with the money.”

I had plenty of objections, but it didn't seem all that desirable to voice them at that particular moment. I suggested to my Silent Partner that time was running out fast, and that if He was going to intervene He'd better do it quick, and damned if He didn't come up with an idea.

I looked around until I found an old coolie with a bamboo fishing pole maybe ten or twelve feet long and asked if I could borrow it. I don't think he understood a word I said, but he just kept chattering and bowing until finally I took it out of his hands.

“Going fishing, Reverend?” asked Lo Chung with a chuckle. “I thought you were here to watch a rickshaw race.”

“Yougot a whip,” I said. “It's only fair thatI should have a whip.”

And with that, I climbed into the chair of Harvey's rickshaw.

“Are you crazy, Preacher?” he demanded. “I can't beat the damned horsewithout you!”

“Fair is fair,” I said, smiling back at Lo Chung. “And when we win, I don't ever want anyone saying we done it because Harvey didn't have a passenger and the horse did.”

Lo Chung busted out laughing at that, and Harvey kept muttering to himself, and a couple of minutes later we were lined up, nose to nose, in front of St. Paul's Cathedral, pointing toward the Temple of Kun Iam about a mile away.

“Are the contestants ready?” asked Sir Reginald, who had volunteered to be the official starter.

“Not quite,” I said, fiddling with the wire on the end of the fishing pole.

“What are you doing, Reverend Jones?” demanded Lo Chung suspiciously.

“Just making sure my whip is in working order,” I said.

“You whip me with that thing and I'll give you the beating of your life!” muttered Harvey under his breath.

“Okay, now I'm ready,” I said after another moment or two.

“Splendid!” said Sir Reginald. He pulled out his little ivory-handled revolver. “On your marks, get set, go!”

He shot the pistol off just as I swung the fishing pole, with my apple attached to it, in front of the horse's face. He lunged at it, almost throwing Lo Chung out of the rickshaw, and Harvey got off to a quick lead.

“What's going on back there, Preacher?” he asked as he ran along. “Where the hell is the horse?”

“You worry about the running, and leave the horse to me,” I said, hanging over the side and dangling the apple just in front of the horse's nose. Whenever he reached for it, I flicked my hand and moved it a few inches away from him.

Lo Chung was beating the horse with his whip and cussing a blue streak, but evidently the poor animal hadn't had no more to eat than Harvey had, because he just ignored Lo Chung and kept his eyes peeled on the apple.

Well, we ambled along like that for almost three quarters of a mile, and I took a quick peek ahead and could see the Temple of Kun Iam maybe three hundred yards ahead of us. Then our rickshaw hit a big dip in the road and I almost fell out, and by the time I had regained my balance the horse had reached out and finally got his teeth into the apple and bit it off.

“Step it up, Harvey!” I yelled. “We got problems!”

The horse didn't speed up, but he didn't slow down none either, and I could see that he was going to be done with the apple before we crossed the finish line, and there wasn't no doubt in my mind that once that particular event came to pass he would finally respond to the whip that Lo Chung kept beating him with.

Then I remembered the other sandwich that I had tucked away in my pocket, and I figured what worked for one puller might work for another, so I quick tied it to the end of the fishing rod just about the time the horse downed the last of the apple and we had maybe forty yards to go.

I reached out and stuck it just out of Harvey's reach, and he took off with a burst of speed that would have done Jim Thorpe proud. Lo Chung's rickshaw was coming up fast on the left, but Harvey was inspired, and we crossed the finish line a good half-length in front.

I let Harvey grab the sandwich then, and he kept running as he stuffed it in his mouth.

“You can stop now!” I said. “We won!”

“I saw fifteen of Lo Chung's friends and relations standing there in front of the Temple with their guns out and looking very upset for this early in the day,” he hollered back at me.

“But we got all our money back at the Macau Inn!” I said.

“It's only money.”

“What's soonly about money?” I demanded.

“You do what you gotta do, Preacher,” said Harvey, heading straight toward the dock. “Me, I'm getting out of town alive and intact. There'll be other rickshaw races, and I aim to have my legs still attached to the rest of me when I run in ’em.”

I looked back and saw Lo Chung standing beside his rickshaw, raising all kinds of a ruckus, and then a few of his friends and relations looked after us and fired a couple of shots in our direction, and suddenly a boat trip to the mainland started looking better and better.

“After all,” I said aloud, “what is a man profited if he wins a hundred thousand pounds sterling and loses his innerds?”

Harvey said “Amen!” and jacked up the pace as the Temple of Kun Iam faded into the distance behind us.