“We don’t want any trouble,” she told him. “We took a wrong turn, that’s all, looking for the bathroom.”
“That’s what I told him already,” Vinh said.
“See?” she said. “We’re simply here for a good time. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to turn around and leave you to it. No harm done. We get it, you don’t want people up here. But we aren’t a threat to you.”
She waited. Nothing happened. The tendons in the man’s trigger finger relaxed a jot, enough that she’d risk it. With her hands still raised and keeping her eyes on him until the last moment, she turned around. As she passed Vinh she shot him a wink, hoping he’d know what it meant.
In one fluid motion, she dropped and swung her leg into the side of the man’s shin sending him stumbling to one side. Vinh leapt forward and smashed the man's hand into the wall, enough that he dropped the gun. Acid grabbed it up along with a handful of the manager’s lank hair and dragged him over to the desk. Once there she kicked the back of his knees out and shoved his head against the desktop.
“All right, sunshine,” she said, pressing the muzzle of the Glock against his temple. “Now it’s your turn to talk. Fast.”
The man blubbered, trying to find the words. The whole turnaround had taken less than five seconds and he was in shock. He gasped something at her in Vietnamese. She ground the gun harder into his head.
“English.”
“What the fuck?” the man wailed. “I did everything you told me. I promise. We are clean.”
“We’re not who you think we are,” she told him. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the two ID cards. “These men. They work for you, yes?”
The man twisted his head to view the IDs. Not easy in his current position. He closed his eyes in a grimace. “They did work for me. Not any longer. I was told to sack them.”
She looked over at Vinh. He shrugged. Back to the man. “Who told you to sack them? Why?”
“The Cai Moi. The One,” the man replied, through sobs. “They own this club now. They own me. Those men were my bouncers but I knew they sold drugs in the club. Confiscated them and then sold on. The One dislike drugs. They dislike anything they don’t control.”
“These men attacked us this afternoon,” she said, closing her eyes. Every sinew in her body, every aspect of her psyche was screaming at her to pull the trigger. “Tell us why.”
The manager had actual tears now. He tried to look up at her, over at Vinh. “I swear to you, I do not know. They were in here last night. Drinking. Dancing with my girls. Showing off with their money. Lots of it. Rubbing my face in it. They were with another. An English man, in an expensive suit.”
She cast Vinh another look. Spitfire. He must have put them up to it. It meant he knew she was here.
“I don’t understand,” Vinh said, moving closer. “You said the Cai Moi want to clean up. What do you mean?”
“Please, let me up,” the man wailed. “I cannot think with the gun in my face.”
Acid paused a moment. Then dragged him up by the hair and shoved him towards the leather chair behind the desk.
“Sit,” she ordered, the gun pointed at him.
The man did as he was told. He looked from her to Vinh and back again with an expression of resigned concern. “Where are they now?” he asked. “Tran and Le, the men who attacked you.”
“Dead,” she snarled. “Who are The One?”
The manager whimpered, but told her, “The One are the Cai Moi. The Cai Moi are The One. Same thing. Most of them are young. They like to play games with people’s expectations. They came here a few months ago. Two of them. They told me they were taking control of my club and I had to accept it. They said the Andromeda was a bad element in the city. Drugs. Prostitution. But what can I say? It’s a fucking nightclub!” He paused for breath and ran his hand over his damp hair, playing for time. Acid aimed the gun a centimetre below his nose, her arm rigid. He continued. “They told me they now owned my club. They take half my profits. Tell me who to hire. Their mission is to clean up the city. So they say. Yet they do this by killing people? Hurting people? I don’t understand. But I hear stories. They are buying up lots of companies. Want a hand in all the industries in Hanoi. In Vietnam too. I hear their goal is complete control of the culture.”
“Where can we find them?” she asked.
The man leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Sweat poured from his forehead. “Are you kidding me? If I tell you, they’ll kill me.”
“Hey! Look at me!” she snapped. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll kill you.” She closed one eye over the gun barrel. It was the first time in a while she’d felt like this. Blood lust, it was one hell of a rush.
“Fine. If I tell you what I know, you will leave?”
“Abso-bloody-lutely.”
The manager shook his head. “I do not know of their main headquarters, I swear. But there is a factory across town. I can give you the address. I hear it has recently been taken over by the Cai Moi. They have people working there around the clock. No one goes in or out.”
Vinh stirred beside her. “That’s where Huy is. I know it.”
She looked from Vinh back to the manager. "What are they making there?"
“I do not know,” he replied. “The Cai Moi are secretive and their operations concealed. No one knows exactly what is going on. This is how they instil fear in the people.” He scrabbled around on the desk and found a piece of scrap paper. He jotted something down and held it out to her. “Here. Please, do not tell anyone I gave you this.”
She reached over with her free hand and took the note, passing it to Vinh without looking round.
“One more thing,” Vinh said, moving alongside her and holding up the now battered photo of Huy. “Have you seen this man? The one on the left.”
The manager leaned forward and squinted at the picture. Then he looked to her, not Vinh, his eyes wide with fear and confusion as he said, "Why are you asking me this?"
"Well? Have you?" she asked. But this time the man shook his head.
"Never. I have never seen him before. I swear."
She exchanged a glance with Vinh as he shoved the photo back in his pocket.
“All right. Thanks,” she told the manager, backing away. “I’ll keep hold of this too,” she said, holding up the gun. “If you don’t mind.”
“Take whatever you want. But leave me alone.” He batted them away with a limp flick of his hand.
She didn’t need telling twice. She turned and hurried back down the stairwell. At the bottom she halted and stuffed the Glock into the waistband of her jeans, covering it over with the hem of her vest top. Then as Vinh joined her at the door, they slipped out, moseyed across the dancefloor, and out of the club.
Twenty-Nine
Vinh waited until they’d got clear of the nightclub and out of sight around the next corner before he spoke.
“What do you think about this factory?” he asked.
Acid hit him with the same ironic half-shrug he’d experienced often since they’d met. It was annoying, but also kind of endearing.
“What else have we got to go on?” she said. “It can’t hurt to have a look. If they are forcing people to work there, maybe Huy is one of them.”
“It could be a trap.”
“Everything’s a trap.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. "What do you mean by that?"
Another shrug. “What I say. Love. Work. Life. It’s all a trap.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a very cynical person, you know that?”
“So they tell me. Do you have the address?”
“We’re going there now?”
“No time like the present.”
“But don’t we need some sort of strategy? Collect more weapons at least.”
“I’ve got this.” She patted her hip where she’d stuffed the Glock she’d taken from the nightclub owner. “It’s got a full cartridge.”
�
�Good for you. What about me?”
She sighed. “Look, we’ll scope out the place and get inside as stealthily as we can. Once there, we’ll find whoever’s in charge and ask a few questions. Okay? There’s your strategy. You don’t need a weapon. I can handle it.” He scowled, but she was having none of it. “Vinh, trust me. This is what I do. I’m a professional.”
They carried on in silence for a few minutes. Vinh pulled out the folded yellow paper from his pocket and read the address the man had written. He knew the area. It was walkable from where they were. Thirty minutes.
“If this is a Cai Moi controlled factory, it’ll have heavy security,” he said, once they’d walked a mile or so. “What did your man say – ‘Enough firepower to take down most of the Vietnamese army.’ We need to be careful.”
“Hey,” Acid said, playing hurt. “I’m always careful.”
Another silence. Vinh swallowed.
He was going to say it.
He needed to let the words out.
“You think Huy is dead. Don’t you?”
She didn’t respond. Which told him everything he needed to know. A shiver ran down his back. Though it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought the same. Did think the same. But saying it out loud? That was different.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she told him. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”
They crossed the street and headed down the side of a long carriageway leading away from the centre. If his calculations were correct, the factory should be visible once they got to the end of this road.
“I don’t know what I would do if he is dead,” he spoke into the night sky. To himself as much as his companion. “After Danh died, my son, I was a broken man. I still am, I suppose. I have done a lot of bad in my life. I told myself it was payback. Maybe this is the same.”
“Well, shit, Vinh,” Acid exclaimed. “Sounds like me talking.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“Oh yes. I get it, my friend. Bad karma, it’s a bitch.”
“Either way,” he continued, “searching for Huy – it has given me purpose again. Made me feel I am doing something good with my life. If he is alive, I must find him. If he is dead, then I need to know. At least then we can lay his memory to rest. Provide some peace for his mother.”
“She seems cool,” Acid said. “Tam, I mean.”
He chuckled. “Yes. Tam is a wonderful woman. I have known her for many years. I served with her husband before he was killed in action. We were all good friends, my family and his. Then tragedy struck and everything fell apart.” They got to the end of the carriageway. The factory was now in sight, next to a small patch of wasteland a few hundred metres away. He glanced at Acid. “So you feel this too, that you are to blame for your mother’s death?”
“You could say that,” she replied. Her voice was quiet. She didn’t look at him. “Which is why I need to kill everyone involved. Bring some balance back to my life.”
“Will it help?”
She sniffed. “Truth is, I’m not sure. But I’ve got no choice. If I don’t kill them they’ll only come for me and Spook one day.”
“Spook? Your pet?”
“My friend.”
“Ah, I see. Another codename?”
“A-ha.” She wagged her finger at him. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? But no, that’s her actual name. Spook Horowitz. Her parents were hippies.”
The factory was now veering up into the night sky in front of them. Vinh grabbed Acid by the arm and guided her into the shadows of the building opposite. “This is it. The Cai Moi factory. But please, Acid, if your man is here, don’t start shooting up the place until we know about Huy. If he’s a prisoner here, we need to step clever.”
She grunted a response and it sounded like she was agreeing. But then she was off, striding over the road and heading for the factory yard where two trucks were parked in a huge loading bay. He followed on behind, running to catch up, then falling in beside her as they traced the side of the factory wall before coming to a stop behind one of the trucks.
“There,” she whispered, pointing over to where the loading bay door was propped open. Beyond the doorway was a curtain made of clear plastic strips, each one a few inches wide. Beyond that, darkness. As they watched, a man appeared through the curtain. He was dressed in maroon overalls and carried a large box, which he placed in the back of the second truck before tracing his steps back into the factory.
“Come on,” Acid said. “He’s going for another load. We’ll move nearer and slip inside when he comes back.”
Silent, and keeping low, they edged down the side of the truck until they got to the rear doors. They stayed in the shadows, watching the plastic curtain for movement, ready to move. Minutes ticked by. No sound but their deep panting breaths falling in time with one another as they waited. Eventually the curtains peeled open and the same man reappeared carrying another box. They waited until he passed them, then scurried across the loading bay and up some stone steps into the factory. Once through the curtain they followed the corridor around until they got to a set of doors. Acid leaned against the wall and stretched out her arm to ease one of them open half an inch. She put her face against it.
“Clear,” she said, then eased the door open some more and slipped through.
Vinh followed her into what looked to him like a canteen area, though it was unused and had been for many years. A layer of thick dust covered the wooden tables set up along one wall. Opposite the tables, two battered vending machines were empty of any goods.
They made their way across the room and out a door the other side. Beyond it was another sprawling corridor with windows along the left-hand side. Many years of dust and grime had rendered the windows opaque, but here and there Vinh noticed gaps in the dirt. He crept over and peered through to see a large room with six long tables lined up across its width. On each of the tables sat two rows of sewing machines – he counted sixteen on each table – with men and women feverishly working on them. He put his face closer to the glass. Every worker had the same type of material, a thick, maroon-coloured cotton. He recognised it as the same material as the overalls worn by the man loading the truck.
He lifted his head. “What do you think they’re doing?” he asked.
Acid held her hand up to the glass and rested her forehead against it. “Looks like some kind of uniform.” She squinted through the grime. “Do you see Huy anywhere?”
Vinh was already scanning the many faces of the workers. Men and women of all ages and sizes. The only likeness that connected them was how wretched and broken they appeared. As his attention moved from face to face he saw the same gaunt expression. Brows knotted with intense concentration. Eyes alert with fear. But no sign of Huy. He turned to Acid.
“No. I don’t see him.”
They continued along the corridor and through the door at the far end, which opened up into a larger room full of boxes similar to those being loaded into the truck. Before Vinh could stop her, Acid lifted one down and was knelt over it.
“Careful,” he whispered. “We don’t want to give ourselves away.”
But she wasn’t listening. She tore a long strip of packing tape from the box and lifted the cardboard wings either side. The box was full of clothes made of the same maroon material. Acid pulled out the top item and held it out at arm’s length. A shirt. She held it by the shoulders, letting it fall so they could both see. The shirt had been made in a military style, with winged collars, two covered pockets, one on each side, and epaulets on the shoulders. But that wasn’t all. On the left-hand side, above the pocket, was embroidered a small yellow circle, as though done in brushstroke. Underneath this, four symbols and Vietnamese words in the same yellow embroidery.
Acid held it close to him. “What does it say?” she asked.
He stared at the cloth. At the words written there.
“Cai Moi Liberation Army,” he whispered. “What does that mean?”
Acid stuffed the shir
t back in the box. “Means these guys aren’t interested in organised crime, Vinh. They’re forming a bloody militia.”
Thirty
Acid returned to the box of uniforms and was pulling out a pair of stiff-cotton maroon trousers when she heard shuffling behind her and felt the cold metal of a gun muzzle prod her in the neck.
“Ah, shit.”
She raised her arms in the air and looked up to see Vinh doing the same. Two guards. One behind each of them. Vinh’s guy had a Type 56 rifle – the Chinese variant on the AK-47. Serious stuff. No doubt Sonny’s merchandise.
She glanced at Vinh. “Keep cool,” she told him. “We can handle this.”
The guard behind her growled something in Vietnamese and prodded harder with the rifle barrel. He moved the muzzle into the small of her back as she slowly got to her feet. The unease coming from him was palpable. He was jumpy. Nervous. That could be useful. Or it could be extremely dangerous indeed.
She kept her arms raised as the bats screamed across her synapses. The room shifted. Her awareness sharpened, from grey to technicolour. Relaxing into her peripheral vision she scanned the area. She still had the Glock in her waistband but that was a last resort. She’d never take out both guards without one of them killing her or Vinh. Even if, by some feat of superhuman ingenuity, she did manage to take them both out (it had happened before but when she was younger, more on form) the noise of the gunfire would alert more guards.
Enough firepower to take down most of the Vietnamese army.
It made sense now.
The two guards were shouting at each other, unsure what to do next. It was clear now they were new recruits, ordered to guard over the workers with no instruction on how to deal with intruders. The guard holding Vinh could only have been around eighteen. Acid thought of the street rats. That made sense now as well. Young, disillusioned men with no prospects were often ripe pickings for these sorts of organisations, easily moulded and manipulated to fit in with the leader’s mad ideology. But it also meant they lacked experience. Their training the streets rather than the military. A few feet away she sensed Vinh’s eyes on her, trying to get her attention. She followed his gaze over to where two thick ropes hung down from the ceiling, part of an old pulley system. She glanced back at him and gave one brisk nod. She understood. But he needed to get them over there.
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 39