Sonny laughed. Shook his head. “Not a chance, love.”
“I’ve got plenty more dong where that came from.”
“It’s not worth it. But truth is, I met them in a location similar to this. I didn’t get a good look at them. It was dark and they wear hoods. They all do. Like I say, a bunch of weirdos.”
Acid thought of the street rats from Tam’s place. “Nothing else you can tell me?”
“Sorry, love. Even if I wanted to get involved, which I don’t, I’ve got nothing.”
“Well, thanks for everything.” She heaved the holdall strap over her shoulder and nodded to Vinh that they were leaving. “I guess I’ll see you around, Sonny.”
“Sure,” he replied, sliding the door shut. “One thing, though. They might be weirdos but they’re bad news those Cai Moi buggers. If you’re going after them you’ll need a hell of a lot more firepower than what you’ve bought. And if you ask me, you’re going to need backup.”
She turned, walking backwards as she spoke. “Don’t have backup. But thanks for the heads up.”
Sonny shrugged. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. A girl and a teacher against those crazy bastards…” He tilted his head back. “No offence, but I don’t fancy your chances much. I mean, I hope you prove me wrong. But from what I’ve heard, you’re as good as dead.”
Twenty-Four
“A girl and a teacher? Cheeky bastard.” Acid sat back, dropping her head to the headrest. After flagging down another Grab Cab they were now on their way to her hotel.
“But he might be correct about needing backup,” Vinh told her. His eyebrows knotted above his small nose. “Why don’t I stick around a while longer?”
“We’ve been through this.”
“But one person against the Cai Moi? It’s a stupid idea.”
Acid peeled her shoulder away from the hot, sticky leather of the seat-back and looked him in the eye. “I’m all about stupid ideas, sweetie. The stupider they are, the more unexpected. The more unexpected they are… well, you got the element of surprise on your side.”
She opened her eyes wide, a manic grin spreading across her face. She’d felt the bats awakening the last few hours and now they were on a feeding frenzy, nibbling at her nerve endings and filling her soul with an unenviable drive to put herself in harm’s way as soon as possible. Vinh, though, was watching her with an expression she couldn't entirely read.
“Seriously, don’t worry,” she told him. “My plans don’t involve taking on the Cai Moi. I’m here for Spitfire. I’ll find him, get him alone, and do what I need to. I’ll leave the Cai Moi to do what they want.”
He sighed. “I see. And if that means killing innocent people? Taking sons from mothers?”
She rubbed her hands over her face. “Ah, Vinh,” she said on a sigh. “Give it a rest, will you? I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say you’ll help me.”
A surge of annoyance and chattering tension clouded her thoughts. The only thing keeping her from pushing Vinh out the taxi door was the dawning realisation that most of this frustration was directed inwards. More so on what she was about to say.
“Fine. I’ll help you find Huy. Okay? Will that shut you up?”
Vinh gasped, as though getting the all-clear on some terrible disease. “Thank you, Acid. I swear you will not regret this. I will help you. Trust me.”
“I’m only here for a few days, Vinh. Remember that. Once Spitfire’s dead, I’m gone. Whether we’ve found Huy or—”
She trailed off as two motorbikes reappeared in the rear-view mirror. She’d noticed them a few miles back, but dismissed any worries as unfounded, the bats being overzealous. But now she wasn’t so sure. She twisted around to watch them out the back window. The bikes were two car lengths away. Kawasakis. ZX10s, by the looks of it. Nice bikes. Except they remained a steady distance away despite the slow-moving traffic.
“Hey, Vinh, I think we might have—”
“Yes,” he cut in. “They appeared right after we set off. I’ve been watching them too. I hoped I was mistaken, but they’ve matched our every turn.”
Acid dragged the heavy bag onto her knees and was about to unzip it when Vinh put his arm across her.
“No. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m arming myself.” She shrugged his arm away and unzipped the bag. Keeping her hands out of sight from the driver, she found one of the Berettas and screwed the thread protector cap from the end.
“Wait. You can’t be shooting people in broad daylight,” he whispered. “We’ll get arrested. Or shot.”
Acid hit him with her seasoned don’t-piss-me-off stare. “Thanks, sweetie. I realise that. But if they are Cai Moi, then I want to be prepared.” She gestured into the bag. “I’m attaching a silencer, see? Less attention.”
Vinh looked over his shoulder. His face said they were still being followed. “Can we try something else first, please? How much money do you have with you?”
Acid went into her head, did the maths. “Around two million dong. Give or take.”
“Can you spare it?”
“I suppose so. What’re you thinking?”
Vinh leaned forward, pulling at his seat belt. He spoke to the driver in Vietnamese for a few seconds. The driver, a thin man in his late twenties, twisted around to look at Vinh. He said something in return but didn’t sound happy. Acid watched the exchange, the two men barking at each other. They were clearly bartering over something.
She heard Vinh say, “Okay?”
But the driver went off again, pointing at the road ahead. Pointing out of the side windows.
Vinh held his nerve. “Okay?”
The driver made a loud tutting noise, but relented. “Okay,” he said.
Vinh sat back and shot her an enormous grin. “Hang on,” he told her. “I think it’s about to get rocky.”
Acid didn’t have a chance to reply before the cab driver floored the accelerator. She grabbed the handle above the door, steadying herself as the car swerved into a hard left.
“Jesus. What did you say to him?” she yelled.
“I told him you were a famous English actress and if he lost those troublesome photographers on the motorbikes then we’d pay him two million dong.”
She stuck out her lip and nodded. “Nice work. Woah. Shit.” She gripped the handle tighter as the car swerved to the right and headed down a narrow back street. Through the windscreen they watched as people leapt out of the way of the speeding taxi. The driver kept his foot down all the way to the end of the lane then took another sharp left. Here the road opened up onto a three-lane carriageway. The driver straightened the car and turned around to Acid. He showed all his teeth as he grinned, looking her up and down.
“Hey, eyes on the road,” she told him.
He said something in Vietnamese. It seemed positive enough, so she gave him the thumbs up and he turned back to the wheel before gliding across three lanes of traffic. He steered them down an exit lane off the main carriageway and circled around to join a minor road leading into an underpass. As they waited at traffic lights, Acid and Vinh glanced out the back window. No motorbikes in sight. But that didn’t mean they were safe. Not yet.
“I told the driver to drop us a few streets away from my house,” Vinh said. “If the Cai Moi have been following you, then your hotel is compromised. You can’t go back there.”
She tensed. “My suitcase is there,” she told him. “And my passport. And my jacket.”
He shook his head. “We’ll go later. When things have calmed down. For now, we need to get somewhere safe. Agreed?”
She didn’t like it but she agreed, clutching the bag of weaponry to her as the lights turned green and the driver slammed his foot on the pedal. They sped off in a screech of tyres, the driver shouting, “Let’s roll,” in a bad American accent.
They left the underpass and the driver leaned on the pedal some more. A few minutes later t
he wide roads of downtown became the winding, narrow streets of the Old Quarter. Vinh leaned forward again and shouted something at the driver who, at the end of the next tree-lined street, slowed and turned into an alleyway wide enough for the car to pass through. At the far end they came to a stop and Vinh patted the driver on the shoulder.
“We’ll get out here,” he said to Acid. “My place is a few minutes away.”
She nodded and went into her bag for the rest of the money. She handed it to Vinh, who slapped it firmly into the driver’s waiting hand. The driver stared greedily at the pile of notes and stuffed them in his pocket without counting. Then he twisted around in his seat and said something to Acid.
“He wants a photo with you,” Vinh told her.
She glared at him through her glasses. “Absolutely bloody not.”
The driver unclipped his phone from the dashboard holder and held it up, smiling eagerly and nodding his head.
“It’ll only take a second,” Vinh said. “You’ll make his day.”
Acid seethed, but eventually gave in. They all got out the cab and she positioned herself next to the driver as Vinh took the phone and did the honours. The driver grinned excitedly, sticking both thumbs up to the camera. Beside him Acid folded her arms, sunglasses in place, dark red pout turned up to the max.
“I got a few good ones.” Vinh handed the camera to the driver. “Now let’s get out of here. Want me to carry that?” He pointed to the holdall at Acid’s feet.
She gave him another hard stare over the top of her glasses. “I can manage. Thanks.”
“Cool, cool you,” the driver shouted. He waved at them as he climbed back into the bright green Toyota and held up his phone. The photo of him and Acid was already his wallpaper. “I see you, bye.”
Acid and Vinh smiled politely and held their hands up in a wave as the driver revved his engine unnecessarily and pulled away. They watched as he got to the end of the alley and disappeared around the corner.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she snarled. “Bloody famous English actress. I hate actresses. Nothing but hard work.”
“You know, I heard the same about assassins. Apologies. Ex-assassins.”
Acid flicked her hair one side, then the other. “You’re not wrong.”
Vinh smiled. “You made his day. And he helped us out. We all win.”
She hauled the heavy bag onto her shoulder and was about to tell Vinh on this occasion she’d give her feminist pride a break and let him carry it, when she heard a noise behind her. A noise which sounded uncannily reminiscent of a motorbike engine.
Twenty-Five
Acid spun around to see her estimation was correct. One of the Kawasaki bikes waited ominously at the end of the alley. As she let the bag fall to the ground, she heard another engine and spun around to see the second bike at the far end. They had them trapped. The riders switched off their engines and kicked the bike stands down.
She glanced from one to the other as they dismounted. They wore matching leather bike-suits. Black gloves. Black boots. Black helmets too. If Acid wasn’t so full of adrenaline and panic, she might have appreciated the effort. But as it was, all she could do was stand there with her mouth open as the riders crossed their arms over their chest and each drew two sharp tanto blades from behind their backs.
They edged closer, swords drawn, ready to spill blood. Acid glanced at the bag of weapons. No time to load up a clip or get one in the chamber. But she had the knives. She dropped to her knees and pulled out two blades and the push dagger too.
“Here, take this.”
She held one of the knives up to Vinh. But he was no longer by her side. She snapped her head up to see him running towards the rider at the far end of the alley.
What was he playing at?
The rider ran towards him, swords raised, ready to slice him in two. Acid grimaced. She didn’t want to watch but couldn’t take her eyes away. As Vinh got a metre or so away from the rider – just out of range from the sharp steel of the blades – he dived at him, feet first. His body became a human spear, going low and straight, smashing into the man’s left knee with both feet. The impact forced his leg backwards and against itself with a sickening snap. Screaming in pain, the rider stumbled forward, dropping his swords and grasping desperately at his shattered knee cap. Vinh was on his feet in a second and dropped the rider with a sharp elbow below the helmet. The blow caught the man in the Adam’s apple and knocked all the air out of him. For a finisher, Vinh yanked off the helmet and grabbed the rider’s head in both hands, smashing it into the concrete. Over and over he went, lifting his bloody, broken head and pummelling it into the ground. A few more goes and his body went limp. Out cold. Possibly dead. Vinh glanced up at Acid with wide, frenzied eyes. “Look out!”
She scrambled to her feet, just dodging a blade as the second rider swung wildly at her. She side-stepped back on a diagonal trajectory, trying to escape the slashing blades as the rider came at her. With the push dagger in her raised fist, she jabbed impotently at the flailing whirlwind of steel and fury. The man was forcing her towards the side of the alley. A few more steps and she’d have her back against the wall, in more ways than one. She held the push dagger up, guarding her face. Above her she could see an old fire escape, one of those weighted ladders you could pull down to climb up. Or a better option – smash it down on your attacker’s head. The ladder was old and rusty as hell, but it might work. The man swung at her again. A searing pain ripped through her forearm and she cried out, dropping the push dagger. She yanked her arm into her body. The laceration was long but not too deep. Except now she was unarmed. But now she was unarmed. Worse still, she felt the cold brick of the wall behind her. She glanced up, assessing the height of the ladder, the strength she’d need. In front of her the man crossed the blades over his shoulders, ready to slice her head off. She had one chance at this. Seconds to spare. She leaned back. Put all her weight on her quads…
But then…
Her attacker dropped to the ground as the reassuring sonic crack of a bullet leaving a barrel reverberated through the alley, hot gas hitting cooler air. The bullet had drilled a hole clean through the helmet like it was nothing. The man was dead. A few feet away stood Vinh, holding a pistol at arm's length.
Acid gasped.
Swallowed.
Found her voice.
“Jesus Christ. Thank you.” She clocked the pistol. Not one of hers. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Vinh frowned. “We’ll talk later.” He stuffed the gun into his belt and let his shirt fall over it. “Let us go to my house, quickly.”
She nodded. “Grab anything you can find from your guy. IDs. Wallets. Let’s see who these pricks are.”
Vinh ran back to the first man as she examined the dead rider at her feet. Blood was already seeping from under his helmet into a growing pool of sticky crimson. She unzipped his leather suit and located a wallet in an inside pocket. She flipped it open to reveal an ID card. Jackpot. She stuffed the wallet in her jacket and ran over to collect the holdall. In the distance she could hear the faint sound of a police siren over the dull hum of the city. Time to get out of here. Time for some answers.
Twenty-Six
Vinh could sense Acid’s intense gaze on him even though he had his back to her. Despite this, he kept his cool. Busied himself positioning, and then repositioning, the jug of coffee percolating on the stove top. Once that distraction became tiring he moved to the small cupboard above the counter and took down two white china cups. He padded over to the table and put one down in front of his guest and the other at the place opposite. He stepped back a moment, then leaned over and twisted his own cup around so the handle faced the opposite way. After which he returned to the stove.
“Come on, Vinh.” Acid sighed. “Spill the beans.”
He removed the now-whistling coffee jug and carried it over to the table. Picking up each cup in turn, Acid’s and then his own, he poured out the coffee. All the while tryi
ng to ignore the palpable impatience and curiosity projected his way. He sat. Took a sip of coffee. It tasted good. Not as strong as he sometimes made, but welcome.
“What do you want to know?” he asked softly.
She leaned over to him. “You can start by telling me how an English teacher takes out a guy armed with a couple of Katana blades. That was bloody impressive.”
Vinh fought a smile. “Tanto blades. Smaller.”
“Semantics. Stop messing around.”
He placed his cup down and moved his chair so he was nearer to her. Then he rolled up his shirt sleeve to show her the tattoo. A star in a circle, surrounded by a laurel wreath.
“You think you’re the only one here with a past?” he told her. “I wasn’t always a teacher.” He traced his finger over the Vietnamese words under the main design. “These words say, ‘Determined to win’. The motto of the People’s Army of Vietnam.”
“I bloody knew it when we shook hands yesterday," she said. "Teacher's hands aren’t usually so rough. I figured some sort of handiwork at first.”
“No, these are hands of war.” Vinh brought them up inches from his face, staring into his palms. “I served with the army from the age of seventeen until I was forty-five. I was involved in many wars. Against China. Against Cambodia. You may have heard these wars referred to as conflicts. But they were not, they were wars. Many men died. My friends, but not me. I killed many. I have much blood on my hands but no regrets. So you see, Acid, we’re not too different, you and me.”
She raised one eyebrow. “So why leave the service? Why become a teacher?”
He took a deep breath, to be able to say what he rarely spoke of. “I was a good soldier. Loyal, brave. After serving for so long they allowed me a month’s leave, to spend time with my family. I’d arranged for us to go on a day trip. To Ho Chi Minh City. District One. The area some still call ‘Sai Gon’. My son was young, excitable. He saw something across the street and ran out without looking. The man driving the car had no chance. My son was killed instantly.” A tear formed in the corner of his eye, but he made no move to wipe it. “My wife and I were devastated. We had been rowing when it happened and were not watching him. We could not deal with the guilt. The pain. She blamed me. I blamed her. Blamed myself too. We split up a few years later. Then I found out she’d killed herself. Overdose.” The words stopped and the tear fell from his eye to roll down his cheek. He wet his lips to try again, tasting salt at the edge of his mouth. “I guess in this sense we’re similar as well. Death drives us. Only I chose to use my pain to help others. I became a teacher. Tried to bury my grief in books.”
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 37