The Adventures of Indiana Jones and Short Round

2

His stomach growled loudly.

Short Round hugged his belly against the clenching pain and mentally scolded the organ to be quiet. His bright brown eyes never left his target.

The American's back was facing him. His wide brimmed hat was pulled low over his face, but Short Round knew he was an American. His skin, although more swarthy than other American tourists he had pick-pocketed, was lighter than his own. The smart pants, leather coat, and hat he wore were not of Chinese fashion. He reminded him of the cowboys in the American films he had watched sneaking into the Tai-Phung Theater.

The American was sitting inside the Gung Ho Bar. Tourists always had full wallets. They were also the most likely to "lose" them. Locals were too cautious to leave their wallets out.

Like a mouse creeping upon a sleeping tiger, Short Round slipped into the bar behind the unsuspecting American. A Chinese man spotted him, but only tipped his glass, pretending not to notice the pickpocket.

Gathering courage from this, Short Round crept up behind his victim and slipped his hand into the man's pocket. His thieving fingers identified a fat wallet and drew it out. Clutching his prize with both hands, Short Round began to make his daring escape. Releasing the breath he was holding, a triumphant grin spread across his face.

Crack! A cord coiled around Short Round's waist like a snake, freezing him in his tracks. Fighting his paralyzing fear, the boy turned his head to glance behind him. The American was standing now. His large, strong hands gripped the other end of a whip.

With long strides, the tall man crossed the room and grabbed his arm. This snapped the pickpocket out of his numb shock and he began to struggle, but the American's grip was strong.

  "Please, mister," he begged in his native tongue, forgetting that the man probably couldn't understand him. "Please, I will give it back! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

  "Relax, kid," the man grunted. Surprised at hearing his language spoken by a foreigner, Short Round stopped squirming. He stared up at the man with wide eyes, suddenly aware of all the curious onlookers watching at the scene before them like a cinematic cliffhanger.

The man seemed to notice too because he picked up his wallet from the floor, Short Round didn't even notice that he had dropped it, and tossed some Chinese currency on the bar casually, never letting go of the thief's arm.

With a flick of the wrist, the whip loosened from Short Round's waist. The American gathered it up in his hand as he dragged the kid out of the bar, away from the judgmental eyes.

His heart pounded in his chest as the American pulled into the empty alley next to the Gung Ho Bar.

  This is the end, Short Round thought as he stared into the towering man's shadowed eyes.

  "If I let go of your arm, you know you can't run, right?" the American asked in Chinese.

Eyeing the whip, the boy nodded. He released him and the boy drew back, but he didn't run.

  "What's your name?"

  "Short Round."

  "You know English?"

  "A little."

  "Your name is Short Round? Is it because your short?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. Opium dens, they call me that."

The man bent down to his hight and pushed his hat back, revealing light brown eyes that were surprisingly gentle.

  "Where are your parents?"

  "Dead. Japan bomb Shanghai when I four." He held up four fingers.

The man nodded as if he expected that answer.

  "Are you hungry?"

In response, Short Round's stomach growled again. The boy grinned sheepishly while the American's lips quirked with amusement.

  "I suppose that's why you stole my wallet."

  "Sorry."

The man rose and Short Round tensed.

  "Relax, kid. I'm not going to turn you in."

  "Why?"

  The man looked at him dead in the eyes and answered seriously, "Because you're just a kid facing unfortunate circumstances."

Short Round didn't understand half the English words the man spoke, but he understood the message.

  "Come on, kid. I'll get you something to eat."

Three of Short Round's strides equaled to one of the American's, but he wasn't about to pass up a free meal.

  "Who are you, mister?"

  "My name is Dr. Indiana Jones."

  "Doctor? You make people better?"

  "No, I'm an archeologist." Hearing only confused silence, Dr. Jones explained, "I find artifacts, old objects to put in a museum."

  "Ahh," Short Round nodded, understanding. He had been to a museum before. He had snuck in one to hide and spent the next few hours looking at the exhibits until he was kicked out. He had always wondered who put those things there.

The smell of food began to waft through the air, making Short Round's mouth water and his stomach clench painfully again.

They entered a small restaurant. At a table, a young Chinese man rose from his seat to greet Dr. Jones.

  "Indy, who is this child?" he asked in English.

  "This is Short Round. Short Round, this is my friend Wu Han."

The boy waved and grinned up at the man.

  "Now that you are here, Indy, I will order our food now. I will get more for the boy." Wu Han smiled at Short Round before leaving to speak with a waiter.

  "Dr. Jones?" Short Round began timidly. "Why did Wu Han call you Indy?

  "It's a nickname my friends call me."

  "Oh." After a pause, he asked, "Can I call you that?"

  "Only if I can call you Shorty."

  "Okay, Dr. Jones! You be Indy and I be Shorty," the orphan agreed happily, excited that he had finally found a friend.

Little did he know that was the start of the grandest adventure of his life.