The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  The teenagers glanced at each other, then back to the hood now looming over them from the edge of the platform. One of the street rats opened his mouth to speak, but before any words left his mouth the hood pulled a gun from under his robe and shot him in the face. At that close range the blast took out all his features and most of the back of his skull. As his flaccid body drooped to the ground, his friend let out a terrible scream, cut short a second later as the hood put a bullet through his temple and blew his brains out the other side.

  “Fuck,” Acid whispered.

  “Fuck!” Spitfire shouted. He stepped back, inspecting his shoes. “Careful there, friend.”

  “This is our honour,” the hood roared. “This is our code. So tell your boss, tell the world – we are ready and able to kill for our cause. To kill those who wrong us. We are the Cai Moi. We are The One.”

  Spitfire raised his finger as if about to speak, but thought better of it. Instead he shook his head and let out a soft chuckle.

  “Fair play, gents,” he purred. “I suppose I’ll be off, then.” He brushed down the arm of his suit jacket and straightened his tie. “Drastic, though, if you ask me. I mean, you made your point, but you’ve made a real mess of—”

  “Enough of your insolence,” the taller hood snarled, pointing the pistol at Spitfire. “You have your money. Now leave. We are done.”

  Spitfire looked at the gun in his face and ran his tongue along his teeth. The man standing in front of him was the tallest of the two hoods, but Spitfire still had a foot on him. He placed one huge hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Listen, friend,” he said. “Let’s be civil about this, shall we? No need to fall out—”

  “We are not friends,” the hood snarled. “We will never be friends.”

  Grabbing Spitfire’s hand, he flung it away and made to turn his back, but the action had stirred something in Spitfire. Acid tensed. She’d been expecting this. In fact she’d been willing it to happen. She knew his temper, knew laying a hand on him was a grave insult. In a sharp movement that sent the platform rocking, he sprang forward and shoved the hood into the table.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  The bats screamed. Acid’s hand tightened on the Beretta. She was already on her feet as Ho grabbed up his SIG MPX and raised it at Spitfire. Without a second thought she squeezed a heavy torrent of metal furies into Ho’s torso, opening up his chest in a blooming eruption of claret and bone and cartilage. He fell backwards, firing a hail of bullets into the ceiling as he hit the deck.

  Those on the platform dived for cover, uncertain where the bullets were coming from. Acid’s first thought was to do the same, duck back behind the crates, but she remained where she was. It was already too late, her cover was blown. Instead she doubled down, pulling out the second Beretta and taking a step forward.

  “Fucking hell!” Spitfire cried, spotting her across the room. He scrambled to his feet and, taking advantage of the situation, grabbed hold of the armed hood and twisted his arm up his back, yanking the gun from him.

  Then he shoved him away and aimed the pistol in her direction.

  "Oh, classy," she snarled, returning the gesture by pointing both Berettas at him.

  Spitfire shrugged. “Well, what can ya do?”

  The hoods got to their feet, though those titles were now inapt. In the commotion the cowls had fallen from their faces, revealing them to be young men in their early twenties. The taller of the two, the one who’d been doing most of the talking up to this point, glared at her. He had a thin pale face, but it was his eyes that got her. They were big, intense, with an intelligence to them. Kind too. She squinted at him. He looked familiar.

  “Who the hell are you?” he shouted, the deep voice now sharp with tension. “You will pay for this—”

  He stopped abruptly. His eyes bulged.

  Acid held her ground, aiming one of her guns at him. But he wasn’t looking at her. She glanced at Spitfire, then followed the man’s gaze to a few feet away where Vinh was standing, arms hanging loosely by his side.

  “Vinh,” she whispered. “What the hell are you doing?”

  But he didn’t answer. He was too busy staring, open-mouthed, at the man on the platform.

  “Huy,” he murmured. “You’re alive.”

  Thirty-Five

  A malignant sneer distorted the man’s exposed face, now recognisable as the boy from Vinh’s photo.

  “What is going on?” Vinh gasped. “We thought… Your mother thought… I was told… I don’t understand.”

  “Who the hell is this bastard peasant?” Spitfire yelled.

  “Everyone put your guns down,” the second hood ordered, drawing his own gun and pointing it at Spitfire.

  No one moved, faces white with panic and rage and confusion. Acid held her nerve and the Berettas at arm’s length. One aimed at Spitfire, the other dancing between Huy and his friend.

  “What’s your play here, Acid?” Spitfire spat. “You got one? Or letting your crazy whims guide you as usual? The bats.”

  Her finger flexed on the trigger. “Put the guns down,” she snarled. “All of you.”

  He sneered at her. “I’m not sure you’re in any position to be telling anyone what to do.”

  She sniffed. The gun aimed at Spitfire trembled as the bat chorus permeated her psyche. From this distance it was an easy shot to take. Over in a blink of an eye. But the same was true for him. She took a deep breath and settled into her peripheral vision, snapping her awareness from one person to the next. The second hood was shitting it. That was clear from his stance and the rigidness of his gun arm. Not a threat. That left her and Spitfire.

  “Why, Huy?” Vinh gasped. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t understand because you’re old,” Huy snarled. “You’re part of the old order.” He walked around the table and reached underneath, coming back up with another pistol in his hand, a Bersa .38 he pointed at Vinh. “You know, I heard you were looking for me. That you thought I had been killed or taken by The One. Well now you know. I am The One. We are all The One. All of us who demand a better future.”

  Vinh stepped forward with his hands up. “But your mother, she is so worried about you. She has not been well.”

  “My mother is no concern of yours,” he replied, waving his hand the way of the fallen street rats. “Did you not see the fate of these insolent pigs who tried to take from her, who beat her? I will look after my mother, and I will reveal my truth to her when the time is right.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Huy considered the question, and an enormous grin cracked his face. “With the information Mr Spitfire here has provided us we can now begin our next phase. Building an army and taking down the Vietnamese government. After this we move our own ruling system into power. First in Hanoi. Then the entire country.”

  “You want to overthrow the government?” Vinh yelled. “And who will lead, then? You?”

  “Why not? But not in terms you would understand,” he replied. “The One believe such terms are outdated and pitiful. We believe in complete control by the people we serve. We are all The One.”

  Acid sighed. “Yes, you said that already.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the second hood snarled.

  “She’s nobody,” Spitfire replied. “She’s here for me. But she’s fucked everything up for herself. Haven’t you, darling?”

  The words hit less than Acid thought they might. But that didn’t mean much. Her body was tingling with so much manic energy it was hard to know what she felt about anything. She remained still. Out of the corner of one eye she saw the second hood point his gun at her. Meant her growing desire to risk a shot at Spitfire was off the table. She might have got him before he fired, but with the two other guns on her she couldn't risk it. She flexed her grip on the Berettas as a bead of sweat tricked down the side of her face. Three guns aimed at her. It had got a lot hotter in here the last few minutes, and her options a lot slimmer.

/>   “Vinh?” she asked, keeping her voice as stable as possible. “Get your pistol out, will you? Point it at James Bland for me.”

  Vinh did as instructed.

  Spitfire sneered spitefully at her. “The Dullahan already made that hilarious joke, you pathetic cow. And I used to think you had a wicked sense of humour. Then again, I used to think a lot of things.”

  Acid kept the Berettas high. She wasn’t taking him on. He was trying to mess with her. Throw her focus.

  “So what next, chaps?” she asked the room. “I enjoy a game of musical statues as much as the next girl but we can’t stay like this forever.”

  “Quiet,” Huy shouted. “We are not here to play games. We are not here to waste time with pettiness. You have issues with each other that do not concern us. Leave. All of you.”

  “Tell him to lower his weapon,” Acid called over.

  The request elicited another cruel laugh from Spitfire. “Sure I will. Once I’ve put you in the ground.” He tilted his head to one side. “It’s over, Acid. Awful that it has to be this way. But you should have left things alone. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You’ve got money, you could have disappeared forever.”

  “You killed my mother.”

  “Oh, do shut up. We did you a favour.”

  Her finger quivered on the trigger. That one hurt.

  “Stop it!” Vinh yelled. “No one has to shoot anyone. Let us talk. Huy, help me understand. Please. You gave no indication you were interested in politics.”

  “You have no idea who I am,” Huy replied. “You never did. You’re too full of lies and bullshit to hear anything else.” His voice broke as he ranted. Flecks of spittle illuminated in the halogen glare like tiny fireflies. “The One understand the importance of self-control, of taking full responsibility for one’s actions. Only then can we grow as a nation. Only then can we become untouchable. You are a weak man and you mean nothing to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead. You are not my father. And you never were.”

  “Father? What the…” Acid glanced at Vinh.

  Confusion swirled her attention.

  Only for a split second.

  But it was all Spitfire needed.

  She felt a rush of air then came a sonic crack as a bullet flew past her ear at 500mph. A centimetre to the left and she’d never have heard it. She flung herself behind the crates, firing off a couple of wild rounds in retaliation as she went. The bullets went wide but drove Spitfire back. As she steadied herself around the side of the crate, he turned and ran for the exit.

  “Stop, you bastard.”

  She was back on her feet and running for him, firing off more rounds as she went. But she was shooting blind and Spitfire could easily zig-zag around them before disappearing through the door. She kept on his tail. Once he was out in the open she’d have a clearer shot of him. But she was a few feet from the exit when four men dressed in black burst through it and blocked her path. A second later another four ran in from another door on the far side. She screeched to a halt. Her eyes fixed on the eight submachine guns pointed at her.

  “Ah, shitting hell.” She held her hands in the air and turned to address Huy. “Come on, Huy. This isn’t your beef. You said yourself you’re done with him. Let me go.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the exit, at the armed guards. “Look, I have zero interest in what you’re doing here. We don’t have to even bother with each other. I get that you and Vinh have a lot to talk about but let me go after Spitfire.” She was speaking fast. Babbling. She glanced back at the door. Another minute and she’d have no chance of catching him. “I need that man dead. I heard him threaten you. He could be a real nuisance. Or worse. Let me go so I can kill him. Do us all a favour.”

  Huy thought a moment, before waving his hand dismissively. “Let her go,” he told his men. Then gesturing to Vinh, standing motionless with a bleak expression wilting his features. “But you take this old fool with you. And don’t let me see either of you anywhere near me again. You understand? We are not the same. We never will be. Nothing will stop The One. We are—”

  “Understood. Thank you,” she butted in. She ran over to Vinh and grabbed his shirt sleeve. “Come on. We need to get out of here. Before he changes his mind.”

  “But, I—”

  “Now, Vinh!” Dragging him along behind her, Acid pushed through the line of men blocking the door and through into a long corridor. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I need to put that flash bastard in the ground, once and for all.”

  Thirty-Six

  Vinh’s head was still spinning with what he now knew as he followed Acid down the corridor. All the time spent searching. All those sleepless nights. Huy hadn’t been murdered by the Cai Moi. He was the Cai Moi. The concept just about broke Vinh’s mind. His heart too. Huy had been such a good student, so conscientious. He could have done anything he wanted with his life. So why this? Why put them through this? His mother especially. Nothing made sense to Vinh as they barged through the double doors leading outside. Once there however his pondering stopped abruptly as two car headlights on high-beam blinded his vision and the muzzle flash of a high-calibre handgun brought him crashing back into the present.

  “Xuong,” he yelled, forgetting himself. “Get down.”

  Acid was firing blindly into the lights. An open target. Vinh found his footing and flung himself towards her. He grabbed her and scrambled them clear behind a large metal dumpster, bullets blasting the crumbling brickwork of the old warehouse behind them.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, shrugging him off.

  “Saving your life,” he snapped back. “You can’t avenge anyone if you’re dead.”

  She glared at him as more shots thumped into the dumpster. Vinh held his trusty service piece to his chest. His heart beat fast and heavy. He was in this up to his eyeballs, he knew that. He had to see it through. Even if he couldn’t get the thought out of his head, paraphrasing himself:

  You can’t make things right with Huy if you’re dead.

  Acid got to her feet but crouched, shoving past him and moving to the edge of the dumpster to fire off a few shots before ducking back for cover. They waited. No return fire. She went for it again, a few more shots. Still nothing. She moved into the light. A clear target once more.

  Insane woman. What was she thinking?

  Vinh braced himself. Time stopped. Then before he could blink she was running from the building at speed. He scrambled to his feet and chased after her.

  “Acid! Wait!”

  He caught up with her fifty metres down the side of the next warehouse but she didn’t slow down.

  “Keep up,” she panted. “See, up ahead. He’s heading for the city.”

  In front Vinh could make out the silhouette of Spitfire Creosote as he sprinted away with long leaping strides.

  “You know… I thought you were saying it to be cool…” Vinh got the words out between gasps of air. “But you actually do have a death wish. Don’t you?”

  Acid kept her eyes ahead, on Spitfire. “It’s a long story,” she replied. “I’ll tell you about it once this is all over.”

  “If,” Vinh said. “If this is all over.”

  “It’ll definitely be over,” she wheezed. “One way or another.”

  She hit him with such a perfect smile he couldn’t help but smile back. This despite the fact his head and heart were twisted up in fierce turmoil. He had so many questions. So much he needed to know. And how was he going to tell Tam? He’d found her son – their son – only for him to be the head of the most notorious criminal organisation in the country.

  He gasped for more air. One thing was certain, he wasn’t cut out for this. He hadn’t run in five years. Until yesterday he hadn’t killed anyone in nearly ten. He glanced over at Acid Vanilla. She would likely get them both killed. But he wanted to be near her. To help her. If only to experience what she might do next. Because quite frankly, after what he’d already seen, he
couldn’t guess. She was a perplexing enigma wrapped up in a whole lot of trouble. But those eyes. That smile.

  “Over to the left,” she yelled, breaking the spell. “Down the side of the hotel.”

  They’d reached the north of the city and could see the banks of the Red River over to the west. Spitfire was still two hundred metres in front of them, but they were sticking with him. Vinh gritted his teeth and kept pace as best he could, ignoring the fact his heart felt like it might burst any second. They got to the corner of the hotel and turned down a narrow street leading to an overground car park with a tall metal fence running around it.

  “He definitely came this way,” Acid whispered, as they ducked under the barrier. She put her hand on his shoulder. “We can flush him out. You go left, I’ll go right. Move around the perimeter and we’ll meet at the far end. Keep your weapon up, and if you see anything move – anything at all – shoot it. You hear me? I know I wanted to be the one to do it, but we’ve gone beyond that. He needs taking down.”

  He nodded, still catching his breath.

  Another smile softened her hard expression. “You can do this, Soldier Man. And once Spitfire’s dead you can tell me all about why the hell Huy is calling you father.”

  “I am his father.”

  The smile drifted from warm to something more sarcastic. “Yeah, I got that,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The muscles in the back of his jaw tightened. “I’m not sure. Shame, perhaps. I didn’t want it to muddy the waters.”

  It was hard to tell if she was convinced. “We’ll talk more later,” she spat. “For now, I need you to focus. Are you ready?”

  “Ready as all hell.”

  From warm to sarcastic, and now bemused? “Okay then. See you at the other side.”

  Feeling both embarrassed and foolish (but no less determined to show Acid Vanilla who he was, what he could do), he broke away and edged down the side of the car park. Despite the hour, most of the spaces were taken up. Cars mainly. A few trucks. Plus a campervan, which Vinh made a beeline for. Once alongside it, he pressed his body against the cream fiberglass exterior and moved under the back window. Raising his head he peered into the campervan and out through a side window on the other side. More parked cars. And beyond those, the empty space of the rest of the car park, not a soul in sight.