Vinh moved around the campervan and towards a beat-up Mitsubishi. He stopped. Over the far side of the lot he’d noticed movement. He threw himself behind the car, gave it a moment, then peered over the bonnet. He straightened the arm holding the pistol, his finger tight on the trigger. The figure moved into a beam of light bleeding through the gaps in the cars. He tensed.
“Ten de tien.”
Releasing the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, he got to his feet. It was Acid. She saw him and gave a blunt salute, gesturing she was going in deeper. Vinh responded in kind and sloped down the side of the Mitsubishi, leaning into the metal fence as he passed behind a Transit van. Once clear, he stopped, scanned the area. Still nothing. He was close to the rear of the car park and no sign of Spitfire. Had he given them the slip?
He kept low as he edged along. Up in front he could see Acid creeping alongside an old minibus, both Berettas out in front, aiming between each vehicle she passed. But nothing to shoot at, no target in sight. A few more strides and they'd joined each other at the rendezvous spot.
“I don’t understand,” Vinh whispered. “There’s nowhere to go. He can’t have disappeared.”
The fence around the car park was more than six foot high. It was possible he’d been able to scale it, but four bright spotlights were positioned around the lot to deter would-be car thieves – they’d have seen him.
Acid wrinkled her nose up. “I had him. I bloody well had him and—”
“Acid! No!”
A figure stepped out from behind the minibus. Vinh saw him at once. He grabbed the collar of Acid’s leather jacket. Pulled her towards him. In the same movement he twisted around her, putting himself between her and the figure. Acid yelled something as Vinh pushed her away, but it was a muffled noise. Nothing Vinh could pick out as words. Something was wrong. His ear canal felt like it had collapsed. His senses were in haywire. He could see Acid in front of him. Could see her mouth, distorted in a punishing scream. But still no sounds. She reached out as he stumbled forward. An immense pressure invaded his chest. Like someone had hit him with a baseball bat.
He tried to speak.
Couldn’t.
Tried to breathe.
Same.
Acid caught him as he fell. But he couldn’t feel her touch. His body was numb. His mind too. She laid him down with his back to the cold concrete and got to her feet. He watched her raise her arms. Watched her fire off a flurry of bullets that kicked her shoulders back and screwed up her face in venomous concentration. Saw the muzzle flash of both pistols lighting up the dark skies above.
He pushed against the ground with his elbows. He had to help her. But he couldn't get any further. He was too weak. And felt hot. Hot and wet. He looked down at his body. That’s when he saw the hole in his chest. To the right of his sternum. Saw the blood bubbling out of the hole. He’d been shot. The bullet had gone right through.
Despair descended like a shroud. Hope left him. Not even panic came through the numbness, but on his next breath the pain arrived. Searing hot, it ripped through his chest and left his entire torso itching with a burning ache.
Then cold.
Shivering cold.
Uncontrollable shaking.
And everything fading.
Thirty-Seven
“Bastard, bastard, bastard!” Acid screamed as she emptied both magazines, firing until she heard the impotent click-click-click of the firing action. It was a futile gesture. A way to assuage her own blind fury. Spitfire had already disappeared behind the length of cars on the opposite side of the parking lot.
She holstered the guns and knelt beside Vinh. Him on his back, staring at the sky, staring at nothing. She placed her fingers on his neck. He was still alive. His pulse racing and erratic. As she leaned over him, he whispered in her ear, “Help me.”
The bullet had gone straight through. The exit wound was on his right side and had missed his heart by less than an inch. Maybe Vinh would think he got lucky, but she knew better. A wound like this was intentional from Spitfire. If he’d killed Vinh outright – with a headshot, for instance – she would be on the assassin’s tail right now instead of here, caring for her friend as he bled out in front of her.
“Don’t try and move.” She took off her leather jacket and unfastened the shoulder holster. Then she pulled her vest top over her head and bundled it up, pressing it onto the bubbling wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding. Not much use. Within a minute the thin material was saturated and sticky.
The psychogeography in her head had the nearest hospital three miles away at least. Vinh couldn’t walk there himself and she couldn’t drag him there. But if he didn’t get medical attention soon he would die. Acid pulled out her phone. It was a long shot. But it was the only move she had.
“What did I bloody well tell you?” Sonny scoffed, as he brought his van to a stop a few feet away from them. “A girl and a teacher against that mob! Although, you look like more like a prozzie in this evening’s get-up!”
Acid looked down at herself. In only her bra with her jacket open. She yanked the zip up to her throat.
“Less of that talk,” she gasped, breathless after dragging Vinh the length of the parking lot. “It’s been a tough few hours.”
Sonny shoved the van in neutral and kept the engine running as he climbed out. He grabbed Vinh under the arms and helped her manoeuvre him into the middle seat of the cab. “You’re lucky I like ya,” he wheezed. “Lucky The Dullahan and I go way back.”
“Lucky you were nearby too, huh?” she said, lifting Vinh’s arm off her shoulder and taking her own seat by the passenger window. “Thing is, I don’t feel so lucky presently. But thank you, I appreciate this. I’ll pay. Make it worth your while.”
“I’m not a bloody taxi,” he snapped, before breaking out into a wheezing laugh which ended in a phlegmy cough. “Nah, you keep your dong to yourself.”
“I think that’s a rule we could all live by,” she replied, casting Sonny a quick up and down.
“Fair,” he replied. “Righto, let’s get this one to the hospital before he makes any more mess on my bloody upholstery.”
He shoved the stick in gear and pulled the van away. Vinh groaned and leaned into her as they moved across three lanes of traffic towards the centre of the carriageway.
“Stay with me,” she told him. “We’re getting you help.” Vinh’s whole torso was covered in sticky crimson and his skin was clammy. Not good. Not good at all. “How much further?” she asked Sonny.
“There are a few hozzies nearby. I reckon St Paul’s is your best bet. Five minutes at this time of night.” He looked at her, then at Vinh. “So go on then, what happened?”
“My ex-colleague,” she said. “The one I’m here to kill.”
“I see. Not going too well for you then, this one-woman revenge mission?”
She turned to the window. “Just drive, please.”
Out the window, the business district flew past, the bright lights of the city reflecting off glass-fronted office blocks. A glance at Vinh. His eyes were closed. She nudged him softly on the arm, held his icy hand in hers.
“Vinh? We’re almost there,” she told him. “Now listen to me. I can’t stay with you. I’m sorry. I’ll take you as far as I can, but I can’t risk being detained. Do you understand?”
On the other side of her, Sonny snickered to himself. She ignored him, leaning closer to Vinh as he tried to speak. “Kill Spitfire,” he gasped. “But please… not Huy. He is a good man… he is just…”
Acid slapped at his face as his head lolled forward. “Come on, Vinh. We’re nearly at the hospital.” She looked over at Sonny who nodded out the window.
“We’re here,” he said. “I’ll drop you down the side. No cameras there. I’ll help you get him out but after that you’re on your own.”
She understood. “No worries. I appreciate the lift.”
“I know you do, love. Tell you what, think of me in the future. If you survive
this, I mean. I’m not always in Vietnam, you see. Am what you might call an international arms dealer. I prefer jetsetter. But either way, you need any more equipment, let me be your man.”
“Good to know,” she said.
He brought the van to a stop in a dark side street running alongside the hospital. Vinh was falling in and out of consciousness and was like a dead weight, but they managed to get him out the driver’s door and onto the pavement.
“You’ll have to drag him to the foyer,” Sonny said, climbing back into the front of the van. “You’ll be all right. S’only fifty metres or so.”
He slammed the door and gave her a cheap salute before checking his mirrors and speeding away into the night.
Acid watched the van as it got to the end of the street and disappeared. Then she turned back to Vinh. Avoiding the bullet wound as best she could, she slid her arms under his armpits and linked her fingers together across his upper chest. Using all the strength she had left, she dragged him to the main entrance and laid him down in the stark light spilling out from the foyer.
“Vinh? Can you hear me?”
The man’s eyelids flickered and what looked like a half-smile turned the corners of his mouth. “Yes,” he wheezed.
“Okay. I have to go. I’m so sorry. But you’ll be in excellent hands now. Tell them you were mugged and fought back. Tell them they shot you and you dragged yourself here. You understand what I’m saying?” Another half-smile. An attempt at a nod. “Good man,” she said.
She got to her feet. And as a hospital porter appeared at the other side of the glass doors, she ran off into the night.
Thirty-Eight
Tam Quan stirred under her thin cotton sheet. This again. She rolled over and reached for her watch on the nightstand. One a.m. She sat up and plumped her pillow before slumping down once more on the bed, already accepting it would be one of those nights. Tam hadn’t slept well in over six months, ever since Huy had disappeared. Or maybe before that, back when she’d first started noticing the signs, her suspicions growing. She’d tried various types of pills, drinking a strong night cap before turning in, Vinh had even bought her a music player with some meditation tapes already loaded onto it. But nothing had helped. Now, with the start of the hot season, it was only going to get worse. She closed her eyes and felt the soft pillow beneath her cheek. She’d give it one more try then switch the light on, read some of her book, watch TV. Anything to keep her focus away from the nagging thoughts in her head.
Tam was close to her only child. She had brought him up alone, a single parent, and they'd only had each other. But she had noticed a change in him over the last few years. She never commented, never made a fuss. But it was a worry. Even more so leading up to his disappearance. His choice of reading material, the online documentaries he watched, the internet search history he didn’t think she knew how to view, they all pointed in a certain direction. For a long time Tam had brushed it off as youthful exuberance. It was important, she told herself, for a young man finding himself to rail against the system. She herself had defied her parents and teachers’ expectations by moving to Australia when she was eighteen to train as a nurse. In 1979 Vietnam, so soon after the American War, it was unheard of for a young woman to do such a thing. So she got it. The rebelliousness. The desire for something new.
She sat up in bed. It was no use. She leaned over and was about to click on the bedside light when she heard something. A dull banging noise. She froze. Listening into the darkness. The noise went again. Louder now, more rhythmic. It sounded like someone banging on the door of the bistro.
Tam swung her legs onto the cool lino and tiptoed over to her window. Rather than open the net curtains, she leaned her face into the material, pressing it against the cool glass to peer unseen through the gap in the bottom. But if anyone was down there she couldn’t see them.
The banging went again. Whoever it was, they weren’t giving up. Tam scurried back over to the bed and pulled her dressing gown off the bed post, wrapped it around her. Then she slipped her feet into a battered pair of honeycomb sandals and headed for the stairs. She didn’t turn the light on as she reached the main restaurant, but slid around the counter and leaned around the side of the kitchen door. Her hand found the wooden handle of her favourite knife and she pulled it to her, holding the handle against her chest with the blade pointed out at a right angle.
Through the front window she could see a silhouette. About her height. A woman from the looks of it. The hair was long and had a slight wave to it. Thick, too. Western hair. She risked a few more steps towards the entrance. Then she heard the voice.
“Tam, please. Can you open up? It’s me, Sid. From the other day. We’ve found your son. We’ve found Huy. He’s alive. But Vinh’s hurt. I need your help.”
“You’ve seen Huy?” Tam was at the door in a second. She slid the bolts out, top and bottom, and twisted open the latch.
The woman slipped inside. “Shut it and lock it. Quick,” she told her.
Tam did as instructed. Turning around she found Sid pacing up and down. She had on the same black jeans as she’d worn when she was first in here, but they were a mess now. Filthy, in fact. Like she’d been rolling around in the dirt. Her hair was lank and stuck to her face in places, and her skin was moist with sweat and grime and what looked like blood. It was on her neck. Down her shirt. Lots of it. Tam shook her head, trying to make sense of everything.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Not me. I’m sorry for waking you, I couldn’t go back to my hotel, I didn’t know what else to do.” She was speaking fast. Too fast for Tam to keep up. Her eyes were wild and unblinking. “My name isn’t Sid, by the way, it’s Acid, Acid Vanilla. Yes, I know it’s a weird name and I’ll explain later but right now I need to gather my thoughts together, figure out what I’m going to do and… Bastard. Bloody bastard shit.”
Tam stared. The girl, Acid now apparently (was that her real name?), hadn’t stopped pacing the whole time. She was like a wild animal, prowling around in search of prey.
“Please. Sit down,” she tried. “I’m not sure I understand. Vinh is hurt?”
The woman yanked a chair out from underneath one of the central tables and slung herself down on it. Still unblinking, she gestured for Tam to sit with her.
“It’s my fault,” she spat. “Like always. People get hurt. They die. Sorry, let me start over. Vinh and me, we’ve been helping each other. He’s been looking for your son as you know, who is alive by the way – just so you know – though don’t get too excited yet. Anyway Vinh was helping me find someone and we found him. Same place as your boy. We chased him into the city but he ambushed us. He shot Vinh in the chest.” She stopped and gulped back a mouthful of air.
“Is he going to be okay?” Tam asked. “Where is he?”
“Hospital. St-something-or-other. He’s in a bad way. But I had to leave him. Couldn’t risk being questioned.”
“All right,” Tam said. “I’m going to make us a pot of tea. Why don’t you try to calm yourself, and then you can give me the full story?”
Acid swallowed but nodded her agreement. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll do that. But believe me, it’ll be a lot to deal with. Maybe grab a bottle of something stronger if you’ve got it.”
The pain in her eyes. The desperation. Tam saw it all. She touched her on the arm and smiled. “Just tea, I think,” she said softly. “I won’t be long.”
Thirty-Nine
It took Acid less than five minutes to relay to Tam all that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Once done she sat back and sipped at the mug of green tea.
Yep. Still tasted like cat piss.
She put the cup down and pondered Tam as she sat opposite her. Acid had been expecting more, to be honest. A few minutes ago she’d found out her only son was the criminal mastermind behind an organisation planning on overthrowing the government. Perhaps she’d not heard her correctly. Acid knew she herself had a wonderful speaking voi
ce. It was clipped, clear, precise, years of practice had made it so. But when the bats took over – when her manic sensibilities shoved reason and decorum out of the driving seat – she did tend to blurt. She sniffed, ready to explain further, when Tam let out a deep sigh, as though releasing something heavy she’d held in for too long.
“This man who shot Vinh, he works for Huy?”
“Sort of.”
“And you know him?”
“Sort of. I knew him once. In my past. Not anymore. But I was the one chasing him, I put Vinh in harm’s way.” She bowed her head. “It’s my fault he got shot.”
“He will not die,” Tam said, with conviction. “He is strong.”
“I hope you’re right.” Acid looked up at her. “But you don’t seem surprised. About Huy.”
“I knew he wasn’t dead. I don’t know how. I just felt it. Everyone told me to expect the worst. But I knew.”
“And the fact he’s building an army to overthrow the government?”
She sighed, becoming visibly more relaxed as she did so. “He was always a deep thinker, my son. Clever. Passionate. I remember when he was only nine years old he told me he was going to make the world a better place for us. Somewhere we could be truly happy.”
“You think that’s what he’s doing with the Cai Moi – making the world a better place?”
“I believe he thinks so.” Another beatific smile. “To me he’s still the same boy he always was. Passionate. Intelligent. Even if his methods are – perhaps – severe. I know he cares strongly about people. About his country.”
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 44