The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  “Good morning,” she chimed as she got closer. “How are you?”

  Vinh shrugged. “I felt terrible when I woke up. But now I’m not so bad. How about you?”

  “I’m great,” she lied. “So, you ready to go?”

  “Remind me again where we are going.”

  She peered at him over her sunglasses. “To meet my contact. So I can arm myself. I’m hoping he might have some leads too. He’s been working this area for a few years so will no doubt have an ear to the ground. Can hopefully tell me where these Cai Moi people hang out.”

  Vinh looked at his feet. “We shall see. Thank you again for allowing me to accompany you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not sure why I agreed to it.” She sniffed. “But here we are. He might have seen your friend.”

  “Thank you. His name is Huy.”

  “Huy. Right. But you have to keep your mouth shut when we get there. I’ve never met this guy before so we have to step careful. Don’t want to piss him off.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  An awkward silence fell between them as they looked at each other. Acid pushed her sunglasses up her nose. “You ever wonder if you have a death wish, Vinh?” she asked.

  “I’ve spent too long getting caught up in my own wonderings. It did me no good. Now is the time for action.” He narrowed his eyes at her, as if seeing her afresh. “Do you? Wonder?”

  “I don’t wonder. I know.” She raised her head and looked down the road. “But it keeps life interesting, doesn’t it? Shall we go?”

  Twenty-Three

  Acid was to meet The Dullahan’s contact – a gun-runner named Sonny Botha – at 1 p.m. underneath a bridge in Yen Phu along an anabranch of the Red River. It would take them an hour by foot, but they had time. Besides, the walk would do wonders for both their heads. Blow the cobwebs.

  It had started off so well. They’d chatted some more, about life, about Vinh’s English school. About Huy. But as they passed by Long Bien Railway Station, the entire heavens opened and torrential, stinging rain drove them up the steps and under the station’s concrete awning for shelter.

  “What now?” Vinh asked. “You want to wait until it stops?”

  A large clock a few feet above them showed they had half an hour to get to the meeting point. If they waited for the rain, they would be cutting it fine.

  “How long do these tropical storms usually last?” Acid yelled over the thumping beat of the rain on the station roof.

  “Could be five minutes, could be fifty.” He shrugged. “We could wait ten minutes then get a taxi there if we need to?”

  She looked out at the enormous pools of rain already forming on the parched ground. It was coming down thick and fast. Now she wished she had her jacket.

  “Fine. We can wait,” she told him.

  And so it was that fifteen minutes later they were drying off in the back of a warm Grab Cab as it trundled at a snail’s pace through the back streets towards their destination.

  Acid glanced across at Vinh with narrow eyes. “I thought you were taking me on the local’s route. Being my guide. I think I could have found a cab on my own.”

  He beamed at her. “Yes, but you have to be careful. With a local man on your team, you won’t get ripped off.”

  She snorted heavily down both nostrils. “Team? Jesus, is that what you think we are? Well, we're here now, I guess. How much further, do you think?" She peered around the driver's seat to check the digital clock on the dashboard.

  “A few more miles. Will take us fifteen minutes. Maybe less.”

  Acid leaned back and watched out the window. Hanoi was a beautiful city. But unlike similarly spread-out metropolises – such as LA or Tokyo – there didn’t seem to be much going on in between the main areas of activity. As they left the Old Quarter, the trappings of tourism dwindled to make way for vast expanses of low-rate housing projects and concrete wastelands. They passed the odd convenience store here and there, but that was about it.

  “Have you visited Hanoi before?” Vinh asked.

  “A long time ago,” she replied. “Only for a few days. I was on a job, so didn’t have time to do much sightseeing.”

  He laughed softly. “I see. A job. Shit, I can’t believe I’m sitting here with a goddamn hit man. Sorry – hit person, is it?”

  “It’s neither,” she drawled. “Assassin is better. Hired killer is my go-to.” She swallowed, turned back to the window. “Was my go-to.”

  “You don’t seem like… one of those… if I may say.”

  She smirked out the window. “And what do those seem like?”

  “I don’t know. Cold. Robotic. Indifferent to life.”

  “I think you might be getting confused with The Terminator.”

  “Perhaps. You know what I mean.”

  Acid removed her sunglasses and looked at him. “Yes. I do. What you mean is how did I kill so many people and still maintain a degree of – what – humanity? Compassion? I don’t, Vinh, to be honest with you. A lot of my colleagues, my contemporaries, are as you describe. I guess a lot of them got into their line of work because they simply wanted to kill people. They’re psychopaths. But for me it was different. I sort of fell into it. Or was pushed. But I found I was good at it. Exceptionally good, in fact. And it paid well. Helped me have a life I wouldn’t have had any other way.” She leaned back. She’d been speaking twenty to the dozen, barking into Vinh’s wide-eyed face. “But it takes its toll. It has done. As I explained last night. For a long time, I justified it to myself, told myself the people I eradicated deserved what they got. And you know what? Most of them did. But who am I to make that judgement?”

  She shoved her sunglasses back on and turned back to the window. Vinh was quiet, but she could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face.

  “How many people have you—”

  “Nope.” She held her hand up to him before he could finish. “Never ask a girl her age, or how many people she’s killed.”

  Another laugh from Vinh. “I understand. Sounds to me like maybe you’re on the right side of this now. Doing the right thing. It’s good to face up to your past. Good to make amends.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “You sound like a friend of mine.”

  Shit.

  She hadn’t returned Spook’s calls. Not so much as a text to say she was safe. She imagined the poor kid climbing the walls. First thing she’d do when she got back to the hotel was call her. But for now she turned her attention back to Vinh.

  “That’s not true, though. What you said about making amends. It’s not what I’m doing. Not why I’m here.”

  “So why are you here?” he asked.

  “To find the man I’m looking for.”

  Vinh pulled a face. Not convinced. “What about Tam? You came back to help her last night. You didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah. I wobbled.” Acid sneered out the window. “And look where it’s got me. You in tow, slowing me down. Someone else to worry about.”

  “It must feel good though, to know you can help people?”

  “I have too much to think about in my own life,” she snapped. "I can't save everyone."

  Her words echoed both around the cab and in her head, only halted by Vinh a few seconds later saying, "Tell me about this man Spitfire. He is an ex-colleague? You were close?"

  Acid snapped her head to glare at him. “He’s no one. All right? Another name on my kill list.”

  She felt a quiver of something in her chest as she spoke. Heard the bats stirring in her psyche.

  Another name.

  Is that all he was?

  She pushed the thought aside. Couldn’t deal with the perplexity of the question. Not now. She had one purpose. Bloody retribution. Spitfire Creosote was going to die because of his involvement in her mother’s death. That was the end of it.

  “Well, whatever it is you need, Acid Vanilla,” Vinh said. “I hope you find it.”

  She didn’t reply
.

  A few minutes later, the cab pulled up on a side street opposite the river. Acid paid the driver and they departed the vehicle. The rain had stopped by this point and the hot midday sun was already drying out the wet concrete. As the cab drove away, Acid waited on the side of the road and stretched her weary muscles. Over to the east flowed the vast Red River, and a few hundred metres down the road spanned the Huong Duong Bridge connecting the centre of the Hoan Kiem District with Long Bien.

  “We’re meeting over there, under the bridge,” she told Vinh. She held her hand over her eyes to shield off the bright sun. “I think he’s already waiting. Come on.”

  They set off at a pace, marching down the busy main road and then cutting through the back streets leading to the riverbank. A black VW Transporter was parked up under the bridge. No one else around.

  Stepping carefully, Acid approached the van from the side, circling around the back until she could see herself in the wing mirror on the driver’s side. She locked eyes with the man in the driver’s seat. He stiffened. Frowned. She raised her hands and gave a curt nod that said, ‘It’s me.’ The man reached over to the passenger seat to get something and then opened the door. As he stepped out onto the gravel bank, he pointed a small pistol at her. A Springfield Compact from the looks of it.

  “You have the code?’ His voice was gravelly, no doubt the result of many late nights in smoky bars.

  “Mr Botha?” Acid ventured. “I’m here to make a purchase.”

  “The code!” he snapped, screwing up his nose. “I need the code or I’m gone.” His accent was strange. Afrikaans, mixed with cockney, mixed with Jamaican. A mid-Atlantic twang curled his vowels.

  “Blue Lagoon,” she said firmly. “The Dullahan sends his regards, by the way.”

  The man paused a second, before his face cracked into a wide smile. Age-wise, he was hard to place. Late sixties possibly. But he had a certain energy to him that, coupled with decades of sun exposure, meant he could have been younger. With his wild grey hair and masses of silver jewellery, he reminded Acid of late-period Keith Richards. A bundle of dirty shammy leather held together by bracelets and pirate-charm.

  “The Dullahan. Fuck me.” He whistled. “Hearing from that old fucker again sure took me back. I couldn’t believe it when he called me up. Thought the old bastard had retired.”

  Acid grinned. “He says he has. But we both know, people like him don’t ever really retire.” She stepped closer and held out her hand. “My name’s Acid Vanilla.”

  He took her hand in his rough palm. “Charmed,” he drawled. “But don’t worry, love, I know who you are. The great Acid Vanilla. I’ve heard all the tales.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh yeah, your reputation doth proceed you, and all that shit. How’s your boss doing? I’ve sold to him occasionally over the years. Big Ceez.”

  “He’s not my boss any longer” she said. “But I am looking for him. Do you have a location at all?”

  “Sorry. What do you need him for?”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Oh?”

  “Will that be a problem?”

  Sonny looked away and chewed on his bottom lip. Acid glanced behind her, at Vinh standing pensively around the back of the van. She widened her eyes at him. Stay cool.

  “Will that be a problem? No, course it won’t be a fucking problem!” Sonny held out his arms as the tension dissipated. “Jesus Christ, if I had any bleeding allegiances in this game I’d be broke within a week. Nah, you go for it, love. And call me Sonny, by the way. ‘Cos that’s me name.” He let out a long wheezing laugh and stepped forward. He was about to open the van’s side panel when his face dropped and he pointed his gun over her shoulder. “Who the fuck are you?”

  She spun around to see Vinh had appeared from behind the vehicle.

  “Woah, woah,” she yelled, holding her hands in the air and stepping between the two men. “He’s with me. I can vouch for him.”

  Sonny kept the gun raised, his sinewy arm stiff with vigilance. “Who the hell is he?”

  “My name is Vinh Phan. I am a friend of Acid’s,” he said, speaking softly. “I am a local man. A teacher. I am not a threat to you.”

  “It’s true,” she added. “He’s helping me get around the city. He’s golden. I swear to you.”

  Sonny held his poise a few seconds longer, then lowered his gun. “All right. I trust ya.” He stuffed the gun back into his belt and closed one eye at Acid. “You got the payment?”

  She patted her shoulder bag. “Right here. You got some toys for me?”

  “Sure have.” He ran his hand under his nose. “Take a look at these bad boys.”

  He slid back the side panel of the van to reveal a large black holdall, the only item in the cavernous space. He grabbed one of the handles and dragged it towards him. Acid watched eagerly as he unzipped the bag and spread it wide.

  “May I?” she asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  The bag was full of weapons. Handguns mainly, along with two SIG Sauer Copperheads and a Scorpion VZ61. Small for subs, and powerful, but still cumbersome for the covert mission she had planned. A black shiny Glock 45 lay on top of the pile. She lifted it out and felt the grip. Checked the sight, checked the clip release.

  “One of my best sellers,” Sonny told her. “Comes with the standard seventeen mag. But I can do you a twenty-four, if you’d prefer.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Next Acid pulled out two Beretta FSs. Brand new. Reassuringly weighty in her hands. They were fast becoming a firm favourite of hers. Accurate and reliable with impressive firepower.

  “Berettas. Now we’re talking,” Vinh exclaimed behind her.

  Sonny turned and looked him up and down. “Teacher, huh?”

  Vinh shrugged.

  “I’ll take all three,” she said, aiming the two Berettas out at arm’s length. “What else have you got in there?”

  They returned to the bag and she selected two Cold Steel Recon 1 tactical knives and a Safe Maker push dagger.

  “Can you throw these in too?” she asked, lifting out a double shoulder holster in oxblood leather and a couple of Octane 9K silencers.

  “Sure can, love.”

  “What about ammo?”

  Sonny chuckled to himself. He leaned around the side of the inner compartment and came back with a box of Speer Gold Dot 9mm.

  “Hollow points. Core bonded for zero separation and maximum damage,” Sonny told her. “Ten cases. Each with twenty rounds. Should do you all right, no?”

  “Sure will. Thank you. You got something I can put all this in?”

  Sonny grumbled, but began lifting the remaining weapons out of the holdall. “It’s a good job I like you, girly. Here, take this.” He slid the bag over and helped Acid pack her weapons. Once done they faced each other.

  She squinted into the bright sun. “What’s the damage?”

  “A hundred and fifty-eight million dong.” Sonny grinned, as if relishing the ridiculously large number.

  From her bag, she took two rolls of notes and handed them over. "It's all there. Count it if you want."

  “Oh, can I? That’s very kind of you.” Acid went to reply but Sonny erupted into more chesty laughter. “Don’t worry about it. I trust you. And if it’s not all there, I’ll come looking for you and cut your bloody hands off. Simple as that.”

  She stuck out her bottom lip. “Fair’s fair.”

  “Indeed.”

  Next to her, Vinh bristled. She could feel the energy coming off him. “One more thing, Sonny.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice. “There’s a reason Vinh is with me. We both have a vested interest in the Cai Moi. I take it you’ve heard of them?”

  “Heard of them?” Sonny told her. “Everyone in Hanoi has heard of them, though few have seen them. Although I have. Bunch of bloody weirdos, if you ask me.”

  “One of Caesar’s men is over here setting up some deal. But I’m not sure of the details. M
y first theory was drugs. But now I’m leaning more towards guns.”

  Sonny was silent, but you could see the cogs turning. He was working out her angle, how much he should say. He coughed up a ball of phlegm and spat it on the ground.

  “Nah,” he told her. “Not guns. I sold to those guys a few months ago. Like I say, weirdos. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say they like drama. Theatrics. I thought I was meeting with Siegfried and fucking Roy at one point. Thing is, though, they bought enough firepower to take down most of the Vietnamese army. A shit ton of subs, pistols, assault rifles. They don’t need any more damn guns.”

  “I’m worried they’ve taken my friend, or worse,” Vinh cut in. “I wondered if you might have seen him.”

  Acid turned to him and muttered under her breath. “Don’t screw this up, Vinh.”

  But he wasn’t listening. He pulled the photo from his pocket and offered it. “Please, have a look. He has been missing now for some time.”

  Sonny let out a deep sigh but held out his hand. “Go on, let’s have a look.”

  Acid chewed the inside of her cheek as Vinh handed over the photo. “The man on the left. Huy.”

  Sonny held it out in front of him. “You know, it’s funny. He does look familiar.”

  "You know him?" Vinh asked, his face lighting up.

  But Sonny twisted his mouth to one side. “I’m sorry, I can’t think. Maybe I’ve seen him somewhere, maybe nowhere. I wouldn’t want to give you false hope, mate. The old thinking box isn’t what it used to be, you know how it is.” He handed back the photograph.

  “Thank you anyway.” Vinh bowed his head and turned to Acid. “Apologies. I had to ask.”

  She gave him a thin-lipped smile. Then back to Sonny, she said, “So you met with the Cai Moi? Can you provide some more intel? I’ll pay, of course. Where they’re based. Names. Whatever you know.”