The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  She slammed the lid shut.

  A moment passed.

  Stillness.

  Acid rubbed a hand across her nose. Checked her lips for blood. She looked over at Tam.

  “Are you all right?”

  Tam staggered over to a mis-shaped plastic chair in the far corner of the room and lowered herself onto it. She was shaking. A nasty bruise had already formed under her left eye.

  Acid was about to go over to her when she heard a scrabbling sound coming from the kitchen. Still panting for air, she picked up the meat cleaver and waited. A second later, the first of the attackers put his head around the corner. His face was bloody and swollen, his shirt ripped down one side. Three deep lacerations poured with blood, where the fork had torn at his flesh.

  He looked at Tam. Then at Acid. Then at the large meat cleaver. Acid kept her eyes solely on him. The bravado had left him and he was no longer a threat, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She gripped the handle of the cleaver. An excuse. That’s all she needed.

  “In there,” she said, motioning to the freezer. “Get him out and piss off.”

  The man shuffled over and peered through the glass lid at his fallen accomplice. “Is he dead?” he asked.

  “No. But that can still change. Get a move on.”

  He eased the freezer top open and leaned in. His friend was regaining consciousness, and despite his broken arm managed to clamber out with help. Once on his feet, he grimaced at Acid. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

  “You don’t need to know who I am,” she replied. She looked at the door. “Best thing you can do, boys, is get lost. You understand?”

  The men didn’t move. Acid held the meat cleaver up to them.

  “Do you understand?”

  At last the men nodded and shuffled out of the room. But as they were leaving, another man appeared at the door to the dining room. Acid tensed, ready for another pass. This man was older than the first two, but more angry. He shouted something in Vietnamese as the two youngsters scurried past, then watched them leave, an expression of pure hate twisting up his face. Once satisfied the men had left the premises, he rushed over and knelt at Tam’s feet. He held her hand as they spoke, fast and breathless. The woman shook her head, waved her arms. She gestured at the freezer. At Acid. Then she put her face in her hands and let out a soft wail.

  Eighteen

  Acid lay the meat cleaver on top of the freezer as the man got to his feet and walked over to her. He was about five-six, the same height as she was in her heavy-soled boots. But older, late-forties perhaps, maybe more. He wore a crumpled linen shirt and crumpled beige chinos. A crumpled expression too. Although he wasn’t bad looking. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and also suspicion. Fair enough, she thought, he should be suspicious.

  He squinted at her, sizing her up. “Tam tells me you helped tonight. Thank you.”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “I was passing by.”

  The man frowned. “Is that so? My name is Vinh. I work a few doors down. Those punks paid me a visit earlier. I saw them come this way.”

  He held out his hand. Acid took it. It was rough, calloused.

  “Name’s Sid,” she told him. It still sounded stupid. She gestured to Tam, sat quivering in the chair. “Did she make me sound heroic?”

  The man allowed her a half-smile. “Who are you?” he asked. “I don’t think many tourists could inflict so much damage.”

  “Who am I? That seems to be the million-dollar question tonight. Like I said, I’m Sid. I’m no one. Just a passer-by.”

  Vinh raised his hand. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  “Who were those guys?” she asked. “What did they want?”

  Vinh went to speak, then held up one finger. He spoke to Tam softly in Vietnamese. Then back to Acid, he said, “I tell you what. Let me help Tam up to her apartment, and then I’ll buy you a drink. We can talk some more.”

  Acid frowned. “Not sure.”

  “Come, come,” Vinh went on. “A proper drink. I know a good place. It is quiet, dark, has good whisky.”

  She twisted her face, now only playing the role of uncertainty. He had her at good whisky. Hell, he had her at quiet and dark.

  “Fine,” she said. “But only the one. I have a busy few days in front of me.”

  “No problem. One drink.”

  “Well,” Acid said. “Maybe two.”

  Twenty minutes later they arrived at what Vinh explained was the perfect place to talk ‘away from prying ears’. Erol’s Place was a short walk from Tam’s bistro, across the main strip and down along a snaking side street. From the outside it was an innocuous wooden door, standing between an internet café and a mini-mart now closed for the evening. No sign above the door, no sandwich board inviting people inside. It was the type of establishment you’d never know was there unless you had prior knowledge. But those were the best types of drinking den, in Acid’s opinion.

  She settled her weary body down at a table a few feet from the bar whilst Vinh went up to get drinks, and scoped the place out as she waited. Vinh was correct about it being dark. The venue had no windows at all. The only light came from three dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling on long, winding cords. Tables comprised four upturned crates spaced out around the twenty-by-twenty-foot room. Small stools stood around each crate and along the far wall spanned a row of plastic chairs in all colours, the type children might sit at. It was unclear whether the décor and layout was a product of design or destitution. Maybe a little of both.

  Acid turned her attention back to take in Vinh, who was now being served. As she watched, he pulled something from out of his shirt pocket and showed it to the barman. She squinted through the gloomy atmosphere. It looked to be a photo. The barman took a decent look, lingering long enough to show willing, but shook his head. With sagging shoulders, Vinh retrieved the photo and stuffed it back in his pocket. Then he gathered up the drinks.

  “You like this bar?” he asked, as he joined her at their crate.

  “Sure,” she said. “My sort of dive.”

  He placed two large measures of amber liquid down in front of her. “Vietnamese whisky,” he said. “An acquired taste perhaps, but one worth acquiring.”

  He settled himself on his stool and held a glass up to her. She did the same, giving him a wink. They drank in unison, Vinh taking a decent enough mouthful and Acid gulping back most of hers. The whisky was sharp and had a fragrant smokiness to it, which was unusual but not unpleasant.

  Vinh sat back with a satisfied sigh and looked about the place. Acid followed his gaze.

  “So, Sid, let me thank you again for helping out my friend. She has not been well recently and those men are most unwelcome.”

  “Who were they?” she asked, placing her drink down and leaning in.

  “Those idiots tonight were nothing. Kids. Chuot duong – street rats. But who they work for, who they collect money for, that’s a different matter.”

  The man’s eyes sparked with intensity as he spoke. Acid let him go on rather than reply.

  “For a long time Hanoi was a peaceful city. Sure, we had dangerous elements, like in any city. But no organised crime. Nothing like in Bangkok or Ho Chi Minh City. But then, six months ago, the visits started. Young men, kids, like those sewer rats tonight. They said they worked for a new organisation. The Cai Moi. It means ‘new breed’ in Vietnamese. Most people here assumed it was simply a protection racket. We pay them so they don’t hurt us, or our businesses. No one liked it, but what could we do? Recently, however, it has gotten worse. People have been going missing. Local drug dealers mainly. Pimps too. No one you’d miss. But their bodies turn up mutilated in the most horrible ways imaginable. Word is the Cai Moi are clearing the way for their own operations. Preparing themselves to take over the city. It is a scary time.”

  Acid straightened. The Cai Moi. The people Spitfire was meeting with. “And you know nothing about them? Where they came from?”

  Vinh shook his head. “T
hey appeared one day. As if from nowhere. Infecting our city like a disease.”

  He took a long drink. Sniffed.

  “I take it the police are no use?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  He grumbled noisily. “They’re too scared or too lazy. Or they’re being paid off to keep out of it. Probably all three. The police in Hanoi have never worked for the people.”

  She waited a moment, then asked what she’d been waiting to ask since he returned from the bar. “What’s with the photo?”

  Vinh sat up. “You saw that?” He pulled the picture from his shirt pocket and unfolded it before handing it to her.

  “Thanks.”

  She held it up to the light. The photo showed Vinh with his arms around two young men aged around twenty years old. The younger men were both holding some sort of certificate and all three were beaming proudly into the camera.

  Vinh reached over and pointed to the man on the left.

  “This one, Huy, he is Tam’s son. No one has seen him for a long time. This is why it is so hard for her. Why she does not need the extra worry.”

  “He’s missing?” Acid asked.

  “Yes. For nearly six months now. He was a good kid. And a superb student. I teach English and he studied with me. But then one day, I found him on a corner selling drugs. Marijuana, a bit of cocaine. This is not good. I told him he had to stop and I thought he’d listened. But then,” Vinh looked down, embarrassed, “things turned sour. We had a row. Tam and I, and Huy. Words were said. Soon after, he disappeared.”

  Acid finished her whisky. “How old is he?”

  Vinh sighed. “This is the problem. He has recently turned twenty-one. So, no one can help. He is a man now, so they say he is responsible. But I know something is wrong. He would not up and leave without telling his mother.”

  “And you think the Cai Moi have something to do with it?”

  The low lighting cast deep shadows over Vinh’s face as his expression shifted. “Yes. I do. I spoke with some local pedlars. They told me the Cai Moi found Huy selling drugs and took him away. As I say, a lot of drug dealers have turned up dead. I am worried the same has happened to him. But we have not found a body.” He finished his own drink. “I haven’t told Tam any of this.”

  Acid considered it. Then she picked up the glasses. “Same again?”

  He looked at his watch as though fighting with himself. Then he waved his hands, as if to say, Why not?

  At the bar she laid the glasses and some notes on the counter, pointing to an exotic-looking bottle of whisky on the shelf. The gruff barman nodded and filled up the glasses, free-pouring until a meniscus of liquid bulged out over the rims. She leaned down and slurped the top off both, then carried the drinks back to the table.

  “Do you know where these Cai Moi people hang out?” she asked, sitting down.

  Vinh took the drink from her. “You don’t want to know. They are dangerous people.”

  “Okay. Granted. But what if I do want to know?”

  A curious smile touched the edges of his mouth. “I thought you were just a passer-by?”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “All right, maybe I’m not just a passer-by.”

  “No shit. A passer-by who can beat the hell out of two tough-guy street rats. Who looks like some punk-rock movie-star. And those eyes. I can’t stop staring at them. Who are you, Sid?”

  She flicked him a look. “All right, calm it down. And my name isn’t Sid, okay? It’s Acid. Acid Vanilla. I’m in Hanoi looking for someone. A man called Spitfire Creosote.”

  Vinh stared at her through a confused frown. “Acid Vanilla? Spitfire Creosote? Come on, you’re messing with me, right?”

  She leaned forward, speaking softly. “No, I’m not. They’re codenames. Sort of. It’s a long story. So I take it you’ve not seen him? Tall guy, blond hair, a look of Daniel Craig. Some say. Though not me. But I suppose he is handsome.” She looked away. Looked down. Then back at Vinh. “So that’s a no then?”

  He curled up his mouth. “I am sorry. I have seen no one fitting that description. What has he got to do with the Cai Moi?”

  She took a sip of the whisky. It was going down incredibly well after the first one. “Not sure. I know he’s in Hanoi setting something up for our boss – his boss – but what, I’m not sure. What’s the Cai Moi’s end goal?”

  “No one knows.”

  “I was guessing guns. Maybe drugs, if they’re taking out all their rivals. I’m meeting a contact tomorrow who might tell me more.”

  “Jesus.” Vinh sat back on his stool. “Who the hell are you, Acid Vanilla? What’s the story here?”

  Acid looked him dead in the eyes and blew out her cheeks. “You actually want to know?”

  He held up his glass. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

  So, buoyed by the warmth of the whisky and the strangely soothing presence of this man she'd known for less than two hours yet sensed she could trust, she told him. About how she came to be working for Beowulf Caesar at Annihilation Pest Control, arguably the best assassin network in the world. She told him about meeting Spook, and how sparing her had put a price on her own head. To the point she’d had to go underground, killing four of her colleagues. As her story went on, Vinh engaged her with empathetic nods, upping the ante with concerned grunts as she got to the part about her mother and how Caesar had murdered her along with the entire old people’s home where she’d lived. Finally, she told him about the seven bullets on the shelf back in London – her kill list – and her bloody mission to eradicate the whole of Annihilation Pest Control. Caesar included.

  When she’d finished, Acid leaned back in her seat and waited for Vinh’s response. She’d never told anyone that story before. Not a civilian, at least. Spook was the only person in the world who knew the whole sorry tale, and she was no longer a civilian. What she was, Acid was still unsure. Although with both dismay and surprise, she found herself smiling at the thought of her. She'd ring in the morning as soon as she woke up. Put the kid's mind at ease.

  “That is a crazy-ass story, Acid Vanilla. I’m sorry about your mother.” Vinh gestured at her t-shirt. “This is the organisation? Annihilation Pest Control?”

  Acid looked down at the logo and twisted her mouth to one side. “Yeah, it’s an old shirt. Stupid, really. I packed it by mistake.”

  He smiled, but he was thinking. Thinking hard, by the looks of it. He leaned forward. “It sounds to me like we might help one another out. What do you say? You help me find Tam’s boy and I’ll help you find this Spitfire person. I have expert local knowledge. I can be of excellent use to you.”

  Acid tensed. She wasn’t expecting this. She looked at the table, busied herself by running her finger around the rim of her glass.

  “No. Sorry. I have to do this alone,” she told him. “I can’t risk you getting hurt. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  He scoffed. Looked at the ceiling.

  “I’m serious,” she went on.

  “Serious about dying, it sounds like.”

  “Maybe. Problem is, it never seems likely in the moment.” She pouted her lips, thinking. “But no, sorry, I can’t. I’ve had too many people die around me. I can’t be responsible for anyone else.”

  “You would not be responsible,” he pleaded with her. “Please, I know the dangers but I need to do this. For myself as much as Tam. Huy and me, we are close. We were.”

  Acid sniffed. Was there something he wasn’t saying? “Why are you so bothered?” she asked him. “I get that he was your student. But if this Cai Moi are as dangerous as you say, this could be a suicide mission. You want to risk your life for this kid?”

  Vinh fell quiet. His turn to stare into his glass. When he spoke next his voice was quiet and hoarse with emotion. “I want to help because I know how it feels to lose a son,” he said, without looking up. “It is ten years since my son died. Ten years and it feels like only yesterday.”

  Acid didn’t know what to say. “Shit.
That’s terrible,” was all she had.

  “He was only a small boy,” Vinh went on. “Six years old. He had so much life in him. It wasn’t fair.” He peered up at the ceiling. An attempt perhaps to compose himself, but it was pointless. He looked back at her with tears in his eyes. “After he died, I fell apart. As did my marriage. I’ll never get over losing him. I know that. And why should I? A father shouldn’t get over something like that. But every day I’m learning to cope a little better, and I suppose this is another coping strategy for me. I want to find Huy so Tam can at least put her own pain to bed. The not knowing is killing her.”

  Acid sipped at her drink. Truth was she could do with Vinh’s help. His familiarity with the area, at least.

  She smiled as he raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m sorry,” she told him. And she was. But the words felt false to her. Spook liked to inform her often of her inadequacies with outward displays of empathy and compassion, but she liked to think she was getting better.

  “You’ve been looking for Huy all this time and not found anything?” she asked.

  Vinh shook his head sadly. “I’ve not looked hard enough. When I found out the Cai Moi may have been involved, I panicked.” He chewed at his lip. “I’ve been such a useless fool. I should have upped my search, but I let fear hold me back. I decided tonight, when those street rats came to my school, I would not let them make me a coward any longer. So, please, let me work with you. We can help each other. You never know, I might surprise you.”

  Acid sat upright and rolled back her shoulders. “Sorry, Vinh, I can’t risk it. Plus, I’m only here for five days. You’ll slow me down. If I find anything out about Huy, I’ll let you know. But I have to do this alone.”

  “Fine. I understand.” He narrowed his eyes, and for a second Acid saw something familiar. He had genuine pain eating away at him, she’d seen that earlier, but this was something else. It was rage. Quiet, white-hot, seething rage. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it faded away, replaced by an expression of blank composure. “What will you do to find this man Spitfire?”