The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  She returned to her starting position, ready for another run-up. Above her she could make out Vinh, silhouetted against the blue-black sky. He leaned over the side, willing her on impotently. Behind her, Acid could hear the dogs approaching. A few seconds more and they’d be on her. She rocked back onto her heels and propelled herself forward. Half a metre from the wall, she leapt at it. This time she grabbed hold of a corner stone with her left hand, and with her right she found a loose brick with a gap down one side where the mortar had crumbled away. She dug her fingers in and held on, kicking her feet and searching for a foothold. Below her the dogs made their rancorous presence known, all snapping jaws and vicious barks.

  With gritted teeth, Acid adjusted her grip. But she couldn’t hold on much longer. She peered down at the mass of teeth and sticky strings of saliva. Six mad eyes filled with pure evil. They flung themselves at her as Acid readied herself to fall. But before she let go she pushed off, landing a short distance behind the dogs. The move surprised the hounds and gave her enough time to scramble to her feet. Before they turned, she was already running towards them. The bats screamed in her head. Time slowed down. The dog standing nearest the warehouse was the largest of the three, likely an older male. As she approached he locked eyes with her, gnashing his teeth and readying to pounce. But he wasn’t fast enough. One more stride and she had her foot on his back. He was a sturdy beast and she could feel the thick layer of muscle beneath her boot. But still, with the full weight of an adult woman pushing off against him, the dog let out a pained yelp. She felt the mutt’s back buckle, but with the extra height she could reach the ledge and scramble up her planned route. Her fingers grabbed onto the bottom rung of the ladder and she pulled herself to safety. Clear of the dogs’ teeth, she hung there for a few seconds to catch her breath. Below her they were in a frenzy, the male dancing around chomping at the throats of his fellow beasts as though it had more to prove.

  “Acid?” It was Vinh. He held his hand out to her. “Quick. Someone might hear them.”

  She pulled herself up to the first rung and clambered up the fire escape two rungs at a time to get to the top in a few seconds. Vinh grabbed her arm and helped her over the lip of the building.

  “Good work,” he whispered. “I thought you were in trouble at one point.”

  "Makes two of us." She brushed herself down, zipped open her leather jacket and pulled out one of the Berettas, checking the clip and putting one in the chamber. “We all set?”

  Vinh gestured over the roof. “There’s a door over the other side leads down into the building.”

  “Cool. After you.”

  They crept across the flat rooftop, taking small steps, up on their toes. They reached the doorway in a matter of seconds and Vinh tried the handle. Unlocked. He glanced at her. His eyes asked if it was safe – a trap? She scrunched up her nose. Either way it was their only option. She had one foot through the door when she heard a car engine. She moved to the edge of the roof to peer over.

  Down below a silver car was pulling up. An Alfa Romeo by the looks of it. She watched as it came to a stop. The headlights went off, the interior lights went on. A few seconds after, the driver’s door swung open and a man stepped out. He was wearing a well-fitted three-piece suit, made from a metallic petrol-blue material. It glimmered in the dull light coming from the lamp above the warehouse door. The man looked about him, then removed something from the inside of his jacket. A neat case which he flipped open to remove a cigarette. Acid recognised the case immediately. Custom-made, sterling silver, initials elaborately etched into its surface as if to remind him who he was.

  "Here we go," she muttered, an awkward shiver running through her.

  "Is that..."

  "Sure is," she replied. "Spitfire Creosote."

  Thirty-Four

  Acid wiped the back of her hand across her forehead and gulped back a deep breath. Despite the breeze, the day’s heat had subsided little and the sweat clung close to her skin. The air here was oppressive at the best of times. Made ten times worse by the sight of the only man you’d ever loved. Who you also hated. And whose beautiful, conceited, vile face you were seconds away from decimating with a carefully placed hollow point.

  “Wait. Please,” Vinh said. He placed his hand on the end of the gun and lowered her aim. Then he stepped around so he was face to face with her. Making eye contact, appealing to her better judgement. “If you kill him now, it blows our cover. We’ll never get inside. I know I said I wouldn’t jeopardise your mission but I need to see these people with my own eyes. See those who murdered Huy.”

  Her jaw was rigid. She stared at Vinh. “I can take him out, right now. Finish this.”

  “Finished for you, maybe. But what about me? Help me get inside, that’s all I ask. You can follow Spitfire when he leaves, take him then.”

  His eyes were as wide as she had seen them. He didn't blink. Not even when she asked, "Then what will you do?"

  "I will take revenge."

  "Was that your plan all along, Vinh? Because that's not cool—”

  “No. I swear to you. But being here now, I know this is something I must do.”

  She tilted her head back. “This is a suicide mission, Vinh, you know that? What good can it do?”

  He removed his service pistol from his belt. “Please, Acid,” he said. “I’ve made my peace with this.”

  Acid seethed, but she couldn’t argue with what she saw in his face. She peered over the side of the building. Spitfire had finished his cigarette. He flicked the spent stub into the darkness, watching it explode in a burst of fiery shards. Then he straightened his tie and cufflinks – the way she had seen him do so many times before – and strode over to the entranceway beneath her.

  “Let’s go,” Vinh called softly. He was standing by the door.

  Acid glanced down once more at Spitfire as he entered the building, then followed on behind Vinh. She let the door slam behind her as she stepped into the murky gloom, grimacing as he spun around to glare at her.

  “Sorry. My head was elsewhere.”

  Vinh didn’t answer. He gestured with the muzzle of his pistol, pointing down the stairwell. They descended the first flight of steps in silence and got to a small landing with another stairwell leading off it on the opposite side. At the bottom of these steps they found themselves at an open door. Beyond this was a narrow metal walkway which ran around the perimeter of the next room. In the centre of the room a large industrial machine rose up to the ceiling. It looked like a museum piece, unused for many years. They passed by it, the metal walkway clanging and vibrating under their quick feet. At the far end was another stairwell, and beside it a sign hanging on the wall with a plan of the building. Acid got there first and waited for Vinh to catch up.

  “We can get down to ground level from here,” she said, gesturing to the sign. “But listen to me – once we’re there, let’s be clever about this, okay? Don’t go shooting the place up like a crazy person. If there’s a chance we can both get what we want and walk away from this, let’s go for that option. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” Vinh held up his old service pistol. “Thank you, Acid. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”

  “Yeah, well. Don’t thank me just yet,” she told him. “You ready?”

  His eyes shone in the dim light coming from the skylight at the top of the stairwell. There was an intensity in them she'd not seen before. “I’m ready,” he said.

  Walking sideways, Acid made her way down, tracing the steel handrail on the external wall with the small of her back. They got to the next level and paused. Across the landing, facing the stairwell, was a single door with a small windowpane at the top. Vinh got there first, but one look and he shook his head. Nothing. She had a look for herself. It was an old office space, now empty. A wall of windows looking down on the main warehouse space were clouded with dust and grime.

  They continued, passing through the third floor and down onto the second. They stopped at each l
evel, but like those above they were deserted. As they reached the first floor Acid turned to face Vinh.

  “Listen,” she whispered.

  Voices, drifting up from the ground floor. Then music. Bass-heavy. It pulsed through the concrete chamber of the stairwell as they hurried down the last flight and arrived at ground level.

  A set of double doors faced the bottom of the stairs and beyond these the main space of the warehouse. Where the doors met wasn’t entirely flush and left a half-centimetre gap, wide enough for Acid to peer through. Though at what, she wasn’t sure. The room was pitch black. Then, as the pulsing electronic music grew louder and the sub-rumble of the bass became heavier, a strobe light flickered on. At the same time, huge plumes of dry ice were being pumped into the room from all four corners.

  As the strobe flickered its insane illumination, Acid could make out a white table standing on a raised platform in the centre of the room. In front of the table rested a large white cushion, and opposite were two white leather chairs. All empty. To her right, a few feet from the stairwell, were a pile of crates, similar to the ones in the factory. They were stacked two-high, three in places. High enough to conceal both her and Vinh. She closed one eye through the gap and assessed the distance. It was a few strides away at the most.

  She leaned into Vinh. “Quick. Follow me,” she yelled over the music. “We can hide. Something’s about to happen.”

  Head down, she slipped through the doors and bolted across the room until she reached the crates.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Vinh rasped as he shuffled to kneel beside her. "Looks like some sort of music concert.”

  “Sonny did say they were somewhat unconventional.”

  The music swelled, filling every millimetre of space in the room and scratching at their ear drums. It was unsettling. Acid positioned herself so she could peer, unseen, around the side of the crates. With her breath held in her throat, she watched as a lone male figure entered through a door a few feet away along the next wall. Walking slowly but with broad strides, he approached the centre of the room and stepped up onto the platform. From this angle Acid couldn’t make out his face, but she didn’t need to. She’d know that cocksure swagger anywhere.

  Spitfire placed a shiny black briefcase down by his feet and stood tall, drawing his shoulders back and folding his hands over his crotch. Dry ice swirled around his head. Then as quickly as it had begun, the strobe lighting flickered off and the room was plunged into total darkness once more. Now the noise grew louder. And noise it was. Acid was done calling whatever this was music. It was so torturously loud, it messed with her thoughts. She grimaced, trying to hold on to her sanity. Though if it were ever there to begin with was another matter. Through the aural discomfort she forced herself to watch as two immense halogen spotlights flicked on to reveal hooded figures sitting on the opposite side of the table to Spitfire.

  Finally, thankfully, the noise stopped. Or at least, the sound system ceased. She still had a shrill ringing in her ears.

  “Welcome, friend.” The hood’s voice echoed around the vast space. He was speaking English with a strong Vietnamese accent, but the deep timbre was clearly an affectation. A put-on to further add to the mystery. “We implore you, please take a seat.”

  Spitfire didn’t move. “I’d rather stand,” he told them. “If it’s all the same with you.”

  The hoods stiffened, but yielded. “Do you have the cargo?” one of them asked.

  Spitfire picked up the briefcase. With considered poise he placed it on the table. Then he flicked open the clasps and raised the lid. Acid craned her neck to see what was inside, but the assassin’s wide frame obscured her line of vision.

  He spun the case around and slid it across the table. “Here we are, gentlemen. Seven hard drives. Enough information to take down the entire Vietnamese government. If that’s what you want to do with it.” He stepped away and placed his hands behind his back. “I mean, personally I’d use it for leverage. Blackmail enough corrupt politicians and the country is yours anyway.”

  “The country will be ours!” the hoods boomed in unison, and one of them added, “But we shall do this our way. The honourable way. This information will allow us to remove the cancer at the heart of the current administration. We will clean up our country from the inside out.”

  Acid glanced at Vinh. “Data? That’s what this is about?”

  Vinh shook his head but said nothing. She switched her focus back to Spitfire. He hadn’t moved position but she noticed a slight quiver to his shoulders. Virtually undetectable, but it was there. When the bats were out, her senses were so heightened she could see what others couldn’t. The fact that it was Spitfire meant something as well. And that quiver was dangerous.

  “I take it our fee will now be released from your accounts?” he asked.

  The hoods didn’t answer. The one on the left leaned under the table and brought back a small laptop. He placed it in front of him and eased it open before selecting a hard drive from the case and plugging it in. He leaned into the screen, his hood falling over his face as he typed. All eyes were on the enigmatic figure as he perused the screen. Then he nodded, tapped a few keys, and closed the laptop.

  He turned to his partner. "The cargo is genuine." Then to Spitfire, "I have released the fee."

  “Wonderful.” Spitfire clapped his hands together. “Then I’m eager to begin our partnership. As is Caesar.”

  The hoods looked at each other, their faces still shrouded in shadow. “There will be no partnership,” one of them replied. “Please thank your boss for us, but your offer is unnecessary.”

  Spitfire shifted his weight onto his right leg, jutting his hip out a way. Like before, it was almost unnoticeable. But Acid clocked it. A chink in his confidence. The hoods had fazed the old boy.

  He scoffed. “Unnecessary? What we’re offering you is priceless. Complete eradication of anyone who steps in your way. No links to your organisation. No fall out. No—”

  “Enough!” the hoods bellowed together. “The One has spoken. We do not require further involvement with you or your organisation.”

  Spitfire’s jaw jutted out the way of his hip. “I see. Well this is a novel occurrence. We considered the deal done.”

  “Well you were wrong to do that.”

  Spitfire was struggling to keep it together. Without making a sound, Acid raised the Beretta, ready for action. The atmosphere in the room was like a tinder box.

  “Don’t do this,” Spitfire told the Cai Moi. He stepped forward and put both hands on the table. “I know you guys are passionate, but you’re also new to this world. Organisations like ours, we work to a certain code. You break that code you risk pissing off a lot of dangerous people.”

  The final syllable hadn’t left Spitfire’s lips before both hoods were on their feet. The one on the right pointed a long finger at him.

  “You dare enter our domain and threaten us?” The voice was less booming, less scary-movie-voice, but now with actual rage behind it. “After all we have paid you. How dare you come here and talk of codes and dishonour?”

  “Apologies.” Spitfire held up his hands. “But think about it, chaps. Can you actually progress without us? Sure, you’ve got your hired thugs and this army you’re attempting to raise, but what about when you need to get your hands really dirty? Who’s going to do that? You two? You’re savvy people, you know what you want. But you aren’t killers, are you?”

  He finished speaking and waited. From her vantage point, Acid could now see Spitfire’s profile. Could see the hint of a smirk throwing up the corner of his mouth. The room fell silent. The hoods bowed their heads as if deep in thought. Then the one on the left, the taller of the two, removed a handheld transceiver from under his robes. He barked into it, speaking in Vietnamese, and moments later a door opened and a man entered. He was short, but as wide as he was tall. He was wearing the now-familiar black jeans and black hooded sweatshirt combo with a SIG MPX submachine gun on a str
ap around his neck. Looking almost as deadly was his countenance, fixed in a perpetual snarl. He strutted towards the stage as the hood addressed him.

  “Ho, collect the prisoners and bring them here. We have something we want to show our guest.”

  The man, Ho, bowed his head and left the room. Spitfire watched him leave, then turned back to the hoods. No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound was the faint hum coming from the halogen spotlights. Acid gripped the handle of her weapon.

  Half a minute later the door opened and Ho stepped back into the room. He wore the same sour expression as before but was now dragging two more individuals in his wake. They were also wearing the Cai Moi uniform but with the added accessory of black sacks draped over their heads and tied with rope around their necks. They squirmed and whined and dragged their heels, but they were no match for Ho's strength. He brought them to the centre of the room and positioned them by the side of the platform.

  The taller hood moved over to where Spitfire was standing. “So, you think we are weak, huh?” he intoned. “You think we are boys, who cannot do what is required for our cause?”

  “I never said that,” Spitfire replied. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on but—”

  “Silence!” the hood yelled. He gestured at Ho, who untied the rope around the prisoners’ necks. Next he removed the sacks covering their heads. Acid swallowed a gasp. The prisoners were young, teenagers even. But that wasn’t what startled her. As the two men blinked into the light, she turned to Vinh.

  “Aren’t they…”

  “Yes,” he whispered back. “The street rats from Tam’s place.”

  “You talk of codes and honour, Mr Spitfire,” the hood began. “These men have broken the code of the Cai Moi.” He turned to the street rats. “Your thuggish actions have brought shame on our cause. You are not The One. You are not part of the Cai Moi. Now, do you have anything to say for yourselves?”