This youth was known by the name of Yo-Yo. No one had ever heard his real name nor had anyone ever taken the interest to find out what it was. He was called Yo-Yo because a yo-yo was never out of his hands. He was an expert with this wooden toy which he spun endlessly at the end of its string to the fascination of his friends and the children of the neighbourhood.
Yo-Yo was thin, grubby and vicious looking. He earned a few piastres by working for Blackie Lee. When he wasn’t working for Blackie Lee, he augmented his precarious income by picking pockets and extorting protection money from some of the pousse-pousse boys.
As he spun his yo-yo, his glittering black eyes half closed against the glare of the midday sun, a dirty little urchin ran up to him and breathlessly told him Blackie wanted him.
Yo-Yo looked at the little boy. He reached out with two thin bony fingers and pinched the boy’s nose. His dirty finger nails made half crescents in the boy’s flesh and made him scream out with pain. As the boy ran away, wailing and holding his nose, Yo-Yo signalled to a pousse-pousse and told the boy to take him to the Paradise Club.
There, Blackie told him to go immediately to Nhan Lee Quon’s apartment and to wait outside. He was to follow the girl wherever she went, but was to make sure she did not see him. He was given forty piastres. As he handed over the money, Blackie told him he expected a report in the evening.
Yo-Yo took the money, nodded his curt nod and went down the stairs, humming under his breath.
A little after two o’clock, Nhan left her apartment, unaware that YoYo was behind her. Further up the street she entered a tobacconist shop where she bought a carton of Lucky Strike cigarettes.
Yo-Yo followed her to the bus station where she bought a newspaper and got on the Saigon-Thudaumot bus. He sat at the back of the bus and played with his yo-yo while the peasants sitting around him watched the spinning wooden reel with fascinated eyes.
The bus stopped at the lacquer factory and Nhan got off, brushing past Yo-Yo without noticing him. He followed her and pausing under the shade of a tree, saw her walk briskly down the dusty street and enter a small wooden villa, its walls covered with pink and violet bougainvillea. He watched her rap on the door and enter, closing the door behind her.
He lit a cigarette and squatted down with his back against the tree and began flicking the yo-yo to the length of its string, bringing it back with a little snap of his wrist into the palm of his dirty hand.
Nhan ran up the stairs and threw herself into Jaffe’s arms. He kissed her impatiently, then taking the newspaper from under her arm, he went back into his room and going over to the window, scanned the headlines. Finding nothing there, he turned the pages rapidly until he satisfied himself. He tossed the paper away, thinking he shouldn’t have expected any news yet. Well, at least, it meant the search for him hadn’t begun, and he let himself relax.
He looked over at Nhan who had taken off her conical-shaped hat and was arranging her hair in the mirror on the wall. Her doll-like beauty moved him, and he went over to her, picked her up and sat her on his knees. He felt her flinch and stiffen as he handled her and he looked at her, puzzled.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? What “s the matter?”
She shook her head.
Nothing. You didn’t hurt me.” She took his hand in both of hers. “I’m worried. The police have been to see Blackie.”
Jaffe felt his heart give a little jump.
“Well, go on. How do you know?” he asked, staring at her.
Sitting bolt upright on his knees, she told him of Blackie Lee’s visit and what he had said. Jaffe listened, his face hard, his eyes uneasy.
So the hunt for him was on after all, he thought sourly. He should have known they would have found Haum’s body by now.
“Will he give you away?” he asked.
She tried to control a shiver of fear.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve got to trust him. I don’t know anyone else who I can trust. Does he know your grandfather lives here?”
“I’ve never told him. I don’t think he does.”
“I’ve got to deal with him. I’ll have to meet him somewhere. Where can I meet him, Nhan? Not in Saigon. It’d be too risky, but not far from here. I’ll have to walk.”
“You could use my grandfather’s bicycle,” she said.
He hadn’t thought of a man so old as her grandfather having a bicycle. He brightened.
“That’s fine. Well now, where can we meet?”
She thought for a moment.
“There’s an old temple not far from here. It is not now used. You could meet there,” and she went on to describe where the temple was.
“Fine! Now look you tell him you have talked with me and I want to see him. Tell him to meet me at the temple at one o’clock tonight.”
Nhan nodded.
“How about your mother and your uncle?” he asked.
“It is all right.” She couldn’t bear the pain of sitting on his muscular knees any longer. Her back was still burning from her uncle’s beating. She slid off his knees and squatted down in front of him, her eyes dull with misery. “I have talked to them. They understand.”
Well that was something, Jaffe thought, but for all that, he was worried. If only he knew if he could trust the fat Chinese or not!
He looked down at Nhan and he suddenly realized how beautiful she was. The worry in her eyes, her small beautifully-shaped face gave his heart a jolt, and he felt an urgent need to make love to her. He got up and crossed to the door, pushing home the bolt.
“Come here,” he said and walking over to the bed, he sat on it.
She came to him reluctantly and stood between his knees while he undressed her: a thing he always liked to do.
When she was naked, he picked her up. His hand felt a hard ridge on her thigh. Startled, he laid her on the bed and rolled her over on her face. The sight of the livid weals on her golden flesh sent a rush of blood to his head.
His desire for her went away. He was aware of an extraordinary sensation which he had never experienced before. A feeling of rage that made him tremble violently took hold of him. In this blind furious moment, he suddenly realized that he loved this girl: something he hadn’t ever realized before. He felt a murderous desire to get his hands on the person who had inflicted such pain on her and smash that person to pieces.
“Who did it?” he asked, his voice harsh and violent.
Nhan began to cry, hiding her face in the pillow as if ashamed.
He couldn’t bear to look at the bruised and broken skin. Gently he put over her her blue tunic sheath, then he went to the window and with a shaking hand he lit a cigarette.
“Who did it?” he asked, softening his voice with an effort.
“It’s nothing,” Nhan sobbed. “Come to me, Steve. Please. It is nothing.”
I must have been mad to have involved her in this, he thought. I am a stinking, selfish sonofabitch.
He threw the cigarette out of the open window, unaware that he was showing himself to Yo-Yo who had moved to a position opposite the villa and who stared up at him as he squatted, in the shade, spinning his yo-yo.
Jaffe turned and went over to Nhan and took her in his arms He held her close to him, running his fingers through her hair. After a while she stopped crying and clung to him. She told him it was her uncle who had beaten her.
“It was his duty,” she said. “He will now feel he can lie to the police. It is better this way.”
Jaffe felt bad. He realized he had never treated her as anything but a pretty doll. He had used her when he had felt like it, and had dropped her when she had bored him. It was only now that he realized she was a human being with feelings, and he felt acutely ashamed of himself.
He decided then and there that he would marry her as soon as he possibly could and he would take her to Hong Kong with him. It pleased him to imagine her with him, to watch her delight when he bought her things, to see her astonishment when she saw America for the fi
rst time.
He stretched out beside her, holding her close to him and he talked. He told her what they would do together as soon as they were married and this time he was being sincere and he meant what he was saying.
While he spun his dreams, Nhan relaxed in his arms, her aching body forgotten, her slim fingers stroking the back of his neck, happier than she had ever been before in her life.
It wasn’t until just before seven o’clock that Yo-Yo saw her leave the villa and walk towards the bus stop.
He rose to his feet and slouched after her. He had had a satisfactory afternoon. He had rested in the shade and had been paid for doing nothing. This kind of job just suited Yo-Yo.
However, he was curious. During the long wait outside the villa, he had asked himself why Blackie Lee should have wanted one of his club girls watched. Who was the American he had seen at the window?
These questions, he told himself as the bus rattled towards Saigon, needed answering.
At the Central Market Nhan left the bus and took a pousse-pousse to the club. This surprised Yo-Yo who followed in another pousse-pousse. He watched her go up the stairs of the club, then shrugging, he crossed the street to where a food vendor squatted and sitting down beside him, bought a bowl of Chinese soup which he ate hungrily.
Blackie Lee was talking to the leader of the dance band when Nhan came into the deserted dance hall. He saw her immediately and leaving the leader of the dance band, he went to meet her.
“I told you not to come here,” he said. “Go away.”
“I have to talk to you,” Nhan said and he was surprised at her firmness. “It is about Mr. Jaffe.”
Blackie became immediately interested.
“Come into my office.”
When he had closed the office door, he sat down at his desk.
“Well, what is it?”
Nhan sat down gingerly. She was still feeling very happy because now she was sure that Jaffe loved her and they would be married and they would go to Hong Kong together. She had never been entirely convinced by anything Jaffe had said to her in the past, but this time she had seen by the expression in his eyes, he was being sincere and she told herself, the eyes of a man can’t lie. Shc was glad and grateful that her uncle had beaten her. The marks on her body had finally sparked off in Steve this new love. She felt confident now, and Blackie was aware of this new confidence.
She said Jaffe wanted to talk to Blackie. Would Blackie meet him at the old temple on the Bien Hoa road? Blackie hesitated for a moment or so.
“Where is he hiding?” he asked.
“That is the message he gave me,” Nhan said firmly. “I have nothing else to tell you.”
Blackie shrugged.
“I will meet him. Now go away and keep away.”
A few minutes after she had left, the door pushed open and Yo-Yo came into the office. He told Blackie of the events of the afternoon and how he had seen an American in the upstairs room of the little villa.
“This place belongs to the girl’s grandfather,” he said. “She left on the seven o’clock bus and then she came here.”
Blackie nodded. He took from his wallet five ten-piastre notes which he tossed over the desk to Yo-Yo.
“When I want you again,” he said, waving to the door, “I will send for you.”
“Do I continue to watch the girl?” Yo-Yo asked.
“No. I am satisfied with what you have told me. The matter is now closed.”
Yo-Yo nodded and went down into the darkening street.
The matter was certainly not closed so far as he was concerned. Why had the girl seen Blackie? What had they talked about to make Blackie Lee lose interest in having her watched?
Yo-Yo bought another bowl of Chinese soup. While he was eating it, he decided he would watch Blackie Lee.
For some time now, he had had an idea that a number of Blackie’s activities could bear investigation. If he could get something on him, he knew Blackie Lee would make a much more profitable subject for extortion than the few miserable pousse-pousse boys on whom Yo-Yo had to rely for his extra income.
A more profitable but also a much more dangerous subject, he warned himself. He would have to be very careful.
Chapter Eight
1
Just after midnight, Jaffe left his room and groped his way down the stairs to the front door. Behind a closed door nearby, he could hear Nhan’s grandfather snoring. He stood for a moment listening, making sure he hadn’t disturbed the old man, then he groped for the bolt, and slid it back.
The door made a faint creaking sound as he opened it. He peered out into the darkness. The moon was behind a haze of cloud. He could only see the dim outline of trees, and in the distance, the roof of the lacquer factory against the night sky.
He moved cautiously along the path that led to the shed where the old man kept his bicycle. Nhan had given him careful instructions. He had no difficulty in finding the bicycle which he wheeled onto the road, and mounting it, set off for his rendezvous with Blackie Lee.
When Nhan had left him, Jaffe had remembered to clean his gun. The gun gave him a strong feeling of security to know he had it and that it worked.
He had taken two of the smaller diamonds from the tin box and had screwed them up in a scrap of newspaper, putting the screw of paper in his shirt pocket. He hesitated whether to leave the other diamonds in the room, but decided it was too risky, so he put the box back into his hip pocket.
As he pedalled along the main road to Bien Hoa, he rehearsed the story he planned to tell Blackie. He was sure that there would be no mention in the papers of the diamonds. He wished he knew just what the story would be, and how much the police had already found out or had guessed. He would have to be careful with Blackie. He mustn’t let him think he didn’t trust him, but at the same time, he couldn’t tell him the truth.
For the first quarter of a mile, he had the road to himself. He kept a look out for any approaching car and any movement in the forest either side of him.
He had one bad scare when a buffalo, lying in the swamp mud, snorted and struggled to its feet at his approach. And later, he had seen the headlights of a car and had quickly jumped off his machine and had got off the road, lying down in the damp grass until the car had rattled past him.
Apart from the buffalo and the car, the ride to the temple was uneventful, and he arrived there at twenty minutes to one o’clock.
The temple stood in a courtyard, surrounded by high ruined walls. It was some two hundred yards from the main road. The narrow road that led to the temple was full of potholes and partly concealed by weeds and grass. It was a convenient meeting place, for Blackie Lee could drive his car into the courtyard and it would be concealed from the main road.
Jaffe walked his bicycle up the narrow road and when he was close to the temple gates, he laid the machine in the long grass where it was safely concealed. He walked to the temple and peered into the courtyard. It was too dark in there to see anything. He decided he would wait outside for Blackie. He had no wish to go into that hot darkness and possibly tread on a snake.
He found a clump of shrubs behind which he could hide and yet have an uninterrupted view of the main road and the road to the temple.
Punctually at one o’clock, he saw the headlights of a car coming. Blackie Lee’s big American car jolted and bounced slowly up the narrow road.
Jaffe could see he was alone and he relaxed, suddenly aware that as the car had been approaching, his hand had been gripping the butt of his gun.
He watched the car drive through the gateway into the courtyard, then he got to his feet and walked across the grass and joined Blackie as he was getting out of the car.
“We’ll talk in the car,” Jaffe said and walking around to the far side, he got into the passenger’s seat while Blackie, after a moment’s hesitation, got back under the driving wheel.
Blackie had decided to listen and not talk too much. He wouldn’t let the American know he already had some knowle
dge of this affair. It would be more interesting and possibly more profitable to hear what the American had to say and to find out if he was going to lie or not.
He said, “Mr. Jaffe I don’t understand what is happening. Nhan came to me this evening and said you wanted to talk to me here. Why could we not have met at the club or at your villa? This is all very mysterious and puzzling. I would be glad if you would explain.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Jaffe returned. “I’m in trouble. I’m the guy who wants a false passport. I have to get out of the country, and fast.”
“I hope I am not a stupid man,” Blackie said smoothly. “I guessed the passport was for you. I think I can help you. It will cost money, but providing you haven’t committed a capital or a political crime, the matter won’t be difficult to range.”
Jaffe took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He offered a cigarette to Blackie who shook his head. He lit one for him-elf and Blackie who was watching him saw his hand was steady as he held the match flame to his cigarette.
“I have accidentally killed my houseboy,” Jaffe said.
This came as a shock to Blackie. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.
He remembered what Tung Whu had told him. Both the Vietnam and the American police believed the houseboy had been murdered by bandits. Now here was the American saying he had killed the boy.
He managed to say calmly, “I don’t understand, Mr. Jaffe. What you are telling me is very serious. How does anyone accidentally kill a man?”
“I caught him stealing from my wallet. He tried to get away. He was in panic. I guess I don’t know my own strength. While he was struggling, I somehow broke his damn neck.”
Blackie looked directly at Jaffe, his eyes running over his muscular frame.
A Lotus for Miss Quon Page 10