The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  She drained the last of the beers and carried the tray up to the counter. The woman appeared from out back as Acid drew close.

  “All done?”

  “Yes, it was lovely.” She slid the tray over to her. “I’m sure I’ll be back again.”

  “Good to hear. You on holiday?”

  “Not entirely. Work.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, come back anytime. I always give discounts to good customers. My name is Tam. Tam Quan. This is my place.”

  Acid smiled. Nodded. “Nice to meet you, Tam. I’m… erm… Call me Sid.”

  “Sid. Okay. Well, you come back anytime, Sid.”

  Acid felt the door open behind her, a cool jet of air flowing into the warm café. At the same time, the smile on Tam’s cheery face wilted into a worried frown and all vigour drained out of her in one fell swoop. Acid twisted around, following Tam’s gaze to the two young men letting the door swing shut behind them.

  "What is it?" Acid asked, but Tam carried on staring at the two men. When she looked back and smiled, it was with eyes open as wide as they'd go.

  “It’s fine. Nothing.” She spoke hurriedly, as though trying to get rid of her. “Please come again, and enjoy your visit to Hanoi. Now if you excuse me, I need to deal with these customers. Thank you.”

  Acid narrowed her eyes. She knew fear, and this woman was terrified. She remained where she was, leaning with her back to the counter and watching the two men approach. Something about the way they walked through the small café made her uneasy. Prowled would be a better way of describing it. They wore matching black hoodies, with a white ‘O’ motif on the front. If Acid were to guess, she’d say they were in their early twenties, at the most. To complement their matching outfits, they both had shaved heads and thin pencil moustaches sitting above hackneyed sneers. They got to the counter and fixed Tam with a chilling stare. One of them barked something at her in Vietnamese. Acid had little knowledge of the language, but she picked out the word tien – money. She glanced from Tam to the men. Tam shook her head solemnly, looked at the ground.

  One of the men turned and leered at Acid. “Who are you?” he asked, with a thick accent.

  She shrugged. “I’m no one, sweetie. Was just having a bite to eat.”

  The man’s left eye twitched. “Well, now it’s time to leave. We are closed.” He pointed at Tam. “Tell her we are closed.”

  Acid stepped back. Held her hands up. “Listen, pal, I don’t want any trouble. You okay, Tam?”

  The woman glanced at her, then back to the men. She nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m afraid you need to leave, please. We have business to take care of. But it’s no problem. Everything is fine.”

  Acid raised her chin. “Are you certain about that?”

  “Yes. Please. Everything is fine.”

  Acid stared at Tam, then at the men. Then she slowly backed away. As she did, one of them lurched forward, snarling at her like a rabid dog. It made her jump, which pissed her off, but she put it down to the jet lag. Frayed nerves. Her reaction elicited an explosion of nasty, taunting laughter from the men.

  She froze, hitting them both with her trusty thousand-yard stare. The laughing stopped, but they weren’t backing down. One of them stepped towards her.

  “What do you want, bitch?” he snarled. “A photograph?”

  She didn’t reply. This wasn’t her fight, she told herself. She was here to find Spitfire, that was it. She held his gaze for a few more seconds, then turned and walked away. Whatever was going on here, it would only end badly and she couldn’t risk getting involved. She had limited time. Limited resources. Besides, this was probably a family dispute. Something and nothing. As she got to the door, she looked over to see Tam being led into the back room by the two men. She waited a moment, then opened the door and left.

  Sixteen

  A few minutes earlier and ten doors down, Vinh Gia Phan had been shutting up shop for the day. He said goodbye to the last of his students (the intermediate class tonight, they’d done well) and shut the front door. His plan now was to do some marking then head off home to bed. Vinh hadn’t been sleeping well at all lately. Not since Huy disappeared. Not since their row. He gathered up a large cardboard file, full of test papers, and moved through into the small windowless office at the back of the school.

  Vinh’s English language school was now in its sixth year, and although the days were long and the money not so great, he enjoyed his work. Plus the school was a testament to how far he’d come. With further to go, of course, but having the school helped. It had given him purpose again, after the accident. Enough that he now got out of bed each day. Over the years, his students had grown in both number and ability. Some of those studying with him since the early days were now fluent, and many of his students had landed good jobs off the back of his teaching. That was a good feeling, knowing he’d helped people better themselves. Even if he had no one to share it with.

  He lowered himself into the old wooden chair and scraped it under the desk. Next he slid open the top drawer and removed the bottle of whisky he kept there, along with a single cut-glass tumbler. Vinh was managing his drinking better recently, but this, the first drink after a busy day, had always been one of pure enjoyment (rather than those taken steadily until the early hours which were more of a crutch, a way to get to sleep), and after a long day he deserved it.

  He placed the tumbler down alongside the test papers. One drink, he told himself, that was all. He pulled the stopper from the whisky, delighting a little as the cork clung to the neck of the bottle and made a satisfying pop on release. His eyes closed as the heady aromas filled the room. It was hot and airless in the office, the tropical heat of summer already in full effect. Not for the first time, Vinh pondered how quickly the seasons came around each year. There’d been ten summers since the accident. Ten summers and a whole lot of whisky bottles.

  After pouring himself a decent measure, he replaced the stopper and returned the bottle to the drawer. He took a long drink, letting the harsh liquor play on his tongue before swallowing. His gaze drifted over the table, settling on the collection of photo frames on the far corner. They were the sort of adornments that had existed for so long they’d become invisible. One photo in particular caught his eye now. He lifted it from its home and held it to the light. The photo showed Vinh with two of his students, taken after their first English exam a few years earlier. They were all so happy that day – the boys, two of his best students, having passed their exams with top marks. Afterwards they went for food and cold beer and talked long into the night. Vinh remembered it as one of the first nights he’d enjoyed in many years.

  He traced his finger down the face of the boy on the left of the photo.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I have been slow and self-indulgent. But I promise, I will not fail you.”

  He turned the frame over and released the clasps before slipping out the photo and studying it again. It was true, he’d let his own fears and inadequacies get in the way. But no longer. He’d made a promise and it was time to step up. Besides, the school was now closed for a week. The summer holidays. He had the time, and no excuse.

  He folded the photo and stuffed it in his pocket. The marking could wait. He finished the whisky and was about to switch off the lights when he heard the front door swing open.

  “I am sorry. We are closed for the day,” he called out. No answer. He stepped out into the main space. “I said we are—”

  The sight of the two young men in the doorway stopped him in his tracks. They wore black hooded sweatshirts with the hoods covering their faces, but Vinh knew immediately who they were, and what they wanted.

  “You can’t do this.” He spoke angrily in Vietnamese. “We are good people. We pay our taxes to the government. This is not right.”

  The two men looked at each other before sauntering over to him. “The government doesn’t deserve your money,” one of them told him coming, close enough that Vinh backed up into the office. “You
pay us. You have a good life. Good business.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  The men sneered. “Then you have a bad life. Bad business. This is a simple choice for you. Don’t make the wrong one.”

  Vinh edged across the room. “Who says the government doesn’t deserve it?”

  “The Cai Moi say so.”

  “And who are they? I hear a lot about them. I see your street rats. But where are your leaders? Where can I find them?”

  The men looked at each other. “They are everywhere. The Cai Moi is The One.”

  Vinh frowned. He hated this cryptic bullshit. “Okay, and who is ‘The One’?”

  “We are The One,” the men shouted in unison. “The One is the Cai Moi. The Cai Moi is The One. Now, pay us your dues as arranged.”

  “As arranged?” Vinh sighed. “I arranged nothing, you stupid punks.” The men stepped closer and clenched their fists. They weren’t here to play games. Or explain themselves. “All right, all right, fine. I’ll pay.”

  He moved over to a tall cupboard at the side of the room and took his time reaching for the key lying on top.

  “Hurry up, old man,” one of the street rats snarled. “We haven’t got all day.”

  Vinh tensed but let the old man comment go. “Before I pay you,” he said, turning back around. “I’m looking for someone. A friend’s son. My student.” He pulled the photo from his pocket and shoved it at them. “Have you seen this man?”

  The men fell silent as they took in the photo. Underneath the hoods, their faces drop.

  “What are you talking about?” one of them yelled. “What is this?”

  “Just a question,” Vinh replied. His heart was playing a fast rhythm against his ribs. “He’s gone missing, and I heard rumours he upset someone. The Cai Moi, perhaps. I’m asking you if you’ve seen him.”

  “No!” the men roared, speaking as one. “We have not. We are here to collect. Not to answer questions.”

  Vinh turned back to the cupboard. He’d known it was useless. He clicked open the latch and eased the doors open. In front of him was a bag of money, his week’s takings. Next to this on the shelf was a small marble ashtray. He glanced behind him. The street rats stood a foot away. But if he moved to one side, he could obscure their vision. He did so and reached for the ashtray, felt the cold weight of it in his hand. It was heavy. Heavy enough to do some damage. But what then? Did he want to go to war with these people? Would it help find Huy? He was wrestling with himself when he felt a tug on the back of his shirt.

  “Don’t be stupid, old man.”

  Vinh released the ashtray. “What?” he spluttered. “I was getting you the money.”

  As he turned around, one of the street rats slapped him across the face.

  “Fool. You don’t want to make an enemy of The One.”

  Vinh held his face. His cheek stung. The fact it was an open-handed slap and not a fist stung just as much. He backed away as the street rats hustled in front of the cupboard and grabbed the bag of money. One of them pulled out a roll of notes and counted out eight million dong.

  “There we go. Not so hard is it. Six million for your levy and two million as punishment. For disrespecting us.”

  Vinh looked down as the two men sauntered towards the exit.

  “Don’t make this mistake again. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” he yelled. “Yes, I fucking understand.”

  With tears welling in his eyes, he strode over to the men and grabbed hold of his door, pushing them outside as he forced it closed. It was an imprudent act. He knew that. Borne out of frustration and anger. With himself as much as the street rats. The men (more like boys, he realised now) pressed their faces against the glass and went cross-eyed at him. Vinh sighed.

  Not today. Not like this.

  He locked the door and watched the street rats through the glass as they waved and blew kisses. Then he shuffled back into his office and poured himself another large drink.

  Seventeen

  Acid Vanilla was out the door of the bistro and a hundred metres down the street when she stopped in her tracks.

  Damn it.

  She’d been battling herself ever since seeing Tam steered into the back room of her bistro.

  “Come on, Acid. You haven’t got time for this.”

  She closed her eyes. Her head was telling her one thing – to leave well enough alone, to walk away – yet a stronger part of her, that fluttering pressure she often felt in her chest, told a different story. Her manic, bipolar energy could easily get her into dangerous situations. Yet in her profession, harnessed the right way, it could be viewed as a superpower. It drove her. Helped her stay awake for long periods. Had her take big risks that often paid off. Inspired creative thinking. So when the bats called, she listened.

  And right now they were saying, Turn around.

  They were saying, Help that woman.

  Acid stared at her hands already balled into fists. The sinews were taut and ready, the knuckles white. She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Then she turned around and marched back to the café.

  The dining area was empty as Acid slipped through the door and eased it shut behind her. She padded over to the counter and strained her head to see into the back room. Long blue ribbons of material hung down over the door, blowing in a gentle breeze. Beyond them was a small kitchen. A thick chopping board sat on a wooden counter top, with a bunch of spring onions scattered on top. Acid looked for the meat cleaver or kitchen knife she hoped would be there, but she couldn’t see one. She moved over to the doorway and pressed herself against the wall. From there she could see further into the back rooms. The kitchen was only a few square metres, but it opened out into another room with a large chest freezer along one wall. The owner, Tam, was sitting on a spindly wooden chair in the middle of the room with the two men looming over her. They spoke fast, in Vietnamese, but their tone was clear. Their body language too.

  Acid scanned the area. Under the counter by the cash register she saw a plastic tray of metal cutlery, forks, spoons, along with chopsticks and napkins. Side-stepping over, she silently picked up a fork before returning to her vantage point by the entrance to the kitchen. She pressed the end of the fork down against the doorframe, bending the handle up and over in a right angle. Once done, she held it in her hand with the handle gripped inside her fist and the sharp tines jutting out under her thumb. Not bad. It would do some damage. She pumped her fist, familiarising herself with the makeshift weapon.

  Shouts came from the other room. Peering around the doorframe, Acid watched as one of the men raised his hand and brought it down hard across Tam's face. Memories flooded back. A cold, silent rage rose in her chest. But it felt good. It felt like home.

  She slipped through the blue ribbon curtain and into the kitchen, sneaking around the sink unit and along the back wall. The room where the men were holding Tam was a few feet away, but they had their backs to her. She moved like a ghost, the metal fork clasped in her fist, ready to strike. She was nearly on them when Tam looked up and her eyes widened. Acid made to shush her but it was too late, she’d already let out a small yelp of surprise. The two men turned and stared at her for what felt like forever. Bodies frozen in time. Brains not yet caught up with what they were seeing.

  Then they snapped back to life and pounced.

  Acid blocked the first man’s punch and jabbed him hard in the side, breaking flesh with the fork spears. He yelled out and clutched his side as his crony parried with a roundhouse kick. She leaned back in time, the air rushing past her face. The man came down from the kick as she stepped around him. She administered a sharp elbow to the nape of his neck and he went down. A boot to the face finished him off. The force of the kick smashed the back of his head into the wall and knocked him out.

  She spun around to find the first man advancing on her. He’d found a large meat cleaver and was brandishing it ov
er his head ready to bury it in her skull. Dropping the fork she grabbed up the chopping block, shielding herself as the man swung wildly. The speed and frenzy of the attack took her by surprise but she parried his movements with the thick wooden board and was able to land a push-kick in his stomach. It sent him flying back into a shelf of pots and she could ground herself. She glanced back over her shoulder, at Tam cowering in the corner next to the chest freezer. Their eyes met. Acid looked at the freezer. Then back at Tam. The woman nodded, she understood.

  Across the other side of the kitchen, the man had steadied himself and was bracing for another onslaught. He held the cleaver over his head and rocked his weight onto his back foot. As he launched himself towards her, Acid stepped back. She held the chopping block up until the last second and then spun it away from him like a matador dummying a crazed bull. The swiftness of the action caught the man off guard. He tried to correct himself but the momentum of his strike meant he was on a trajectory he couldn’t pull out of. As he stumbled forward, she grabbed hold of him from behind and ran him forward.

  “Now!” she yelled.

  With an alacrity belying her calm demeanour, Tam yanked up the lid of the freezer so Acid could fling the man over the side. He fell hard onto piles of frozen vegetables and cuts of meat but managed to grab the lip of the freezer to keep himself upright. He still had hold of the sharp cleaver. He flailed it at Acid but she swerved out the way and wrapped her arm tightly around his forearm. Getting below his elbow to minimise his range of motion, she brought her fist to her chest, locking his arm under her armpit and applying upward pressure on his wrist. The man gnashed his teeth and dropped the cleaver. The second it hit the ground, she spun around, smashing a sharp elbow into in his face. The cartilage in his nose crumpled on impact. Then still holding his wrists, she dropped to one knee, forcing his elbow joint against the side of the fridge and snapping his arm with a loud crack. The man screamed out in pain as she brought the freezer lid down on his skull and shoved him into the freezing depths of the cabinet.