The Cleaner

by Brett Battles

  'That's okay,' Quinn replied. 'I got it.'

  But the boy either was ignoring him or didn't understand. He reached for the bag. Quinn moved it out of the boy's range. 'I said no.'

  Undaunted, the boy quickly changed tactics, turning his attention to Quinn's traveling companion. Before Nate even realized what was going on, the boy had a hand firmly latched to the handle of his bag.

  'Hey,' Nate said, trying to pull the bag away.

  'I help. I help,' the boy said.

  'I don't need your help.'

  'Mister. No problem. I help.'

  Nate pulled on his bag again. 'Come on. Let go.'

  But the boy held on tight. Quinn watch the tugof-war for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill.

  'Kid,' Quinn said.

  Both Nate and the boy looked over. Quinn held out the dollar. The boy's eyes brightened. He reached out to grab it with his free hand. Before he could, Quinn pulled it back.

  'No help,' Quinn said, nodding at the bag, 'and I give to you. Okay?' The boy let go of the bag immediately. 'Okay. No help.'

  This time when he reached out, Quinn gave it to him. Having received his fee, the boy headed off in search of his next mark.

  'Thanks,' Nate said.

  'You owe me a dollar,' Quinn told him.

  A dozen taxis were parked nearby. Several of the drivers were calling out to them, trying to get their attention. Quinn chose the nearest one, and soon the two of them were settled in the back seat, their bags on the seat between them.

  'Hello, hello, hello,' the driver said as he got behind the wheel. He was an older guy, short and skinny. 'American?'

  'Canadian,' Quinn said.

  The driver grinned. 'Welcome,Vietnam.Where go?'

  'Rex Hotel,' Quinn said.

  Chapter 9

  Quinn checked them into adjacent rooms at the Rex Hotel. As they headed upstairs in the elevator, Nate said, 'I think I could sleep for a whole day.'

  'But you're not going to,' Quinn told him.

  'What?'

  Quinn took in a long breath, reminding himself that Nate was still raw, and still had much to learn. 'It's barely noon,' he said. 'You go to sleep now, you'll never adjust to the new time. Meet me downstairs in thirty. We'll go for a walk, get a look at the area.'

  The elevator door opened, and they stepped out onto their floor.

  'You're joking, right?' Nate said.

  Quinn turned to Nate and looked him straight in the eye. 'Do you understand what's going on here?' Nate was about to respond, but Quinn's glare stopped him.

  'This is it,' Quinn said. 'This is what you signed up for. You wanted to get into the game, so here you are. Everything up to the point where Gibson

  tried to break your jaw was just theory. Not anymore. Understand?' Nate stared at Quinn, then gave him the slightest of nods.

  'This is the real thing,' Quinn went on. 'This is dealing with jet lag. This is blending in with the locals. This is watching your back every goddamn second of the day because if you don't, you're dead. Do you get it now?'

  'I get it,' Nate said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Quinn looked at him a moment longer, then started back down the hall. 'The lobby,' he said without turning. 'Thirty minutes.'

  Nate was waiting for him downstairs when Quinn exited the elevator a half hour later. They were both wearing a fresh pair of clothes. In Nate's hand was a small silver digital camera. Quinn glanced at it, then raised his eyebrows in question.

  'We're obviously not locals,' Nate said. 'People will expect us to carry a camera.' The corner of Quinn's mouth raised slightly. 'Good,' he said.

  Without another word, they headed outside.

  According to all the textbooks, Vietnam was a communist country. Though what was communist about Ho Chi Minh City, Quinn couldn't fathom.

  Looking around, he was beginning to wonder if anyone other than members of the government had even heard of Karl Marx. Street vendors and shops and restaurants and clubs and salons and hotels and kids running up and down the streets, hocking souvenirs and knockoff copies of Graham Greene's The Quiet American – that was the Ho Chi Minn City that greeted Quinn and Nate.

  'Postcard . . . You buy . . . Very pretty . . . Look.'

  'Mister. Mister. You American?'

  'Real lighter. Zippo. From war. Work good.'

  'America number one. Spider-Man. Michael Jordan.'

  'I hungry. You buy.'

  Almost as persistent as the kids on the street

  were the men on cyclos, bicycle rickshaws. The ones without passengers would slow down as they passed Quinn and Nate and try to get their attention.

  'Hello. Tour city. I take you. Two dollars only. Cheap.'

  'I know good bar. I get you there fast. Very cheap.'

  'Too hot to walk, mister. You ride.'

  'You look for girls? I know place. Come, come.'

  Quinn had been to Asia many times – Bangkok, Singapore, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seoul – but things seemed a little more raw here. There was more energy, more of an edge. It felt like a place that was both ancient and just discovering itself at the same time. Temples that had been around for centuries next door to sidewalk restaurants that had been open for only a few days. The Saigon River that had carved out a path through the land long before the first man had ever arrived now played host to would-be entrepreneurs offering boat rides and tours. And children. Everywhere children. Happy, playful, hungry, excited, curious children. He could only imagine what Nate was thinking.

  They stopped and bought sodas from a woman who had set up a small hibachi next to a beat-up metal ice chest on a street corner. She was cooking what looked to be either chicken or pork. Quinn declined the offer of a taste. He opened the soda and drank half the can. The afternoon heat and humidity had been draining him ever since he'd left the hotel. Water was what he really wanted, but the cola did fine in a pinch.

  Another twenty minutes of exploring was enough.

  'Are you hungry?' Quinn asked.

  'Very,' Nate said.

  There were plenty of sidewalk hibachis, but Quinn still wasn't desperate enough to give them a try. Besides, none provided more than a bit of shade to fight the heat.

  They started looking for a 'real' restaurant. A little farther along, Nate spotted a place on a small side road, a block off Hai Ba Trung Street, away from the craziness of the main boulevard. The sign out front identified the restaurant as Mai 99. As they neared, the aroma wafting out the door was more than enough to entice them to enter.

  Inside, there were several young women dressed in traditional Vietnamese outfits, flowing colored tunics over white pants. A woman, slightly older than the others, her hair in a bun at the base of her neck, was standing near the entrance. She bowed to them slightly.

  'Welcome,' she said. 'Speak English?'

  'Yes,' Quinn replied.

  'You eat?'

  'Yes, please.'

  She smiled again, then turned away. 'Come,' she said over her shoulder.

  They followed the woman to a table close to the bar. She pulled out a chair and gestured for Quinn to sit, then she moved around to the other side and did the same for Nate.

  The restaurant had a tropical feel. Bamboo covered the beams in the ceiling, and rattan mats covered the walls. Pictures of beautiful beaches were mounted throughout.

  One of the young waitresses, wearing a dark green tunic, approached them. She said something in Vietnamese, realized her mistake, then pantomimed holding a glass in her hand and taking a drink. Quinn got the message.

  'Beer,' he said. He pointed at a neon sign behind the bar. 'Tiger beer.' She followed his gesture and nodded.

  'Me, too,' Nate said, nodding toward the sign, then pointing at himself. The waitress smiled as she backed away from the table. 'Can I ask a question?' Nate said once they were alone.

  'If you must,' Quinn said.

  'Does this happen to you a lot?'

  'What?'

&n
bsp; 'You know. Almost getting killed in your own living room? Having to fly thousands of miles just to hide out?' 'No more than a couple times a year,' Quinn said, face blank. 'Are you serious?'

  Quinn smiled, then slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. He had woken up on the plane to Bangkok with the distinct idea that Nate had been right. That the bracelet was part of this whole mess.

  'Is that the one I found?' Nate asked.

  Ignoring the question, Quinn examined the individual squares again until he found the one with the faint line at its edge. It definitely looked like there was some sort of extra layer. Quinn did a quick check of the nearby squares. None of the others appeared to have this same feature.

  He looked around to see if there was anything he could use to slip into the crack and widen it. What he really needed was a penknife, or even a metal nail file. What he found was a pair of chopsticks and a Western-style fork. The tines on the fork were thick and would never work, but the chopsticks held promise. They were made of hard plastic and tapered to a point like a newly sharpened pencil.

  He was about to see if he could use one to create a larger gap on the metal square when he noticed a waitress approaching the table. He put the bracelet in his lap and rested his left hand casually over the top of it.

  The waitress, a different one from the girl who had taken their drink order, was dressed in a beautiful blue and gold tunic and was carrying two tall glasses of amber beer on a tray in one hand. She had a warm, friendly face and long black hair. As she neared she reached up with her free hand and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She set their beers on the table, then smiled.

  'Are you ready to order?' she asked.

  'You speak English?' Nate said.

  'Yes,' she said. 'I am sorry. My friend would like to help you, but she speaks only Vietnamese. I hope you understand.' The new waitress's English was clipped but clear. 'Of course,' Quinn said.

  'Would you like to order now?' she asked.

  'We would, but we haven't seen a menu yet,' Nate told her. The woman's eyes widened. 'Oh. I am so sorry. Wait, one moment, please.'

  She walked quickly away from the table and soon returned with two menus. She handed one to each of them. Quinn opened his and was surprised to find the descriptions were in English. It didn't always get the language right, but it was close enough. The names of the dishes, though, were in Vietnamese.

  'Your clothes are beautiful,' Nate said. Quinn groaned inwardly, but tried to keep his annoyance from showing. She glanced down at her tunic. 'This is an ao dai,' she said, pronouncing it 'ow zeye.' 'It is traditional.'

  'Well, it's very beautiful.'

  'Thank you.'

  Reluctantly, Nate looked down at the menu. Quinn ordered something called bun thit nuong, hoping he'd like it. Nate went with the com chien thap cam.

  'If you need anything else,' she said, 'my name is Anh. Just ask any of the waitresses, and they will get me.'

  'Thanks,' Nate said, his eyes lingering on her as she walked away.

  'Rein it in,' Quinn said.

  'What are you talking about?'

  'On a different day, in a different life, maybe.'

  'What?'

  'Right now you need to concentrate on staying alive.' Quinn glanced toward the bar area where Anh was talking to another waitress. 'Your new little friend there? She's a distraction.'

  '"And distractions get you killed,"' Nate recited from memory. 'The way you think, just breathing will get you killed.'

  'Sometimes,' Quinn said.

  Nate frowned. 'I was just being polite.'

  'That's how it starts.' Quinn returned his attention to the bracelet. 'Let me know when she comes back.'

  It took a little bit of work, but the metal was surprisingly soft and soon he was able to widen the gap. He'd been right, it was some sort of plating, or maybe even a cover. He continued working the chopstick into the opening, parting the top layer of metal from the square below. He found he was able to work his way around all four edges of the square, creating flaps, until all he had to do was loosen the few spots where the two metals were still bonded together.

  'What the hell?' Nate asked, peering over at him. 'Eyes on the room. Not on what I'm doing,' Quinn snapped. Quinn set the bracelet on the table, making sure the square he was working on was lying flat. He

  took in a breath, then let it out halfway. Hands steady, he used one to hold the bracelet in place and the other to guide the chopstick as he used it to separate the lid from the square. With only a little pressure, it peeled off and flipped onto the table.

  As he suspected, the square wasn't solid. It was a container. Inside was what appeared to be a piece of glass embedded in some sort of clear rubbery substance. Quinn's first guess was that the substance was there to protect the glass, only it didn't seem to have done its job. The glass was still intact, but fractured. Oddly, though, the protective rubber looked undamaged. The heat from the fire, Quinn thought. That's what must have caused the break.

  He leaned down to get a better look and quickly realized it wasn't just one piece of glass, but two thin pieces, each of which couldn't have been more than a sixteenth of an inch thick. They looked like a glass sandwich.

  Or a microscope slide, he thought.

  Reluctantly, he eyed the glass more closely, looking for signs of a smear or a stain caught between the two panes. But the fractured top layer made it impossible to tell.

  A stillness settled over Quinn as he placed the metal top back over the capsule. It wasn't going to stay there on its own once he tried to move it, but covering the contents allowed him to start breathing again. He had no idea what was on the slide, but his instincts told him the rubber barrier was more than just a stabilizer for the slide. It was also there to prevent exposure.

  'What is it?' Nate asked. 'I'm not sure,' Quinn said. What the hell have we stumbled into? he thought. Quinn's immediate instinct was to go so far

  underground that no matter how hard anyone looked, no one would ever be able to find them. They could just keep out of sight until the whole thing blew over.

  He glanced down at the bracelet again.

  If the whole thing blows over.

  The bill for lunch was surprisingly small: 150,000 dong, about five dollars each for the food and beers. Quinn left double the total on the table, then got up to leave. Nate did the same.

  Anh rushed across the room to open the door

  for them. 'Are you here long?' she asked. 'I'm not sure,' Nate said. He glanced at Quinn. 'Not too long, I imagine,' Quinn said. Another smile. 'We hope you come back before

  you leave.' 'Not to worry,' Nate said. 'We'll be back.'

  Chapter 10

  Upon returning to the Rex Hotel, Quinn picked up a map of the city, then told Nate he was on his own for a while.

  'But don't sleep,' Quinn said.

  'I won't.'

  'I mean it.'

  'I said I won't.'

  The map wasn't as detailed as Quinn would have liked, but it did show him the street he was looking for. He had initially thought about putting this trip off until the next morning. Get some sleep, be more alert. He had even contemplated putting it off altogether. His instincts told him it was a mistake, but he had come to Vietnam not only because they needed someplace to lie low, but also because they needed help. And after discovering the secret compartment in the bracelet, he knew they needed that help as soon as they could get it.

  On the sidewalk outside the Rex, he started for the line of taxis at the curb, but he changed his mind at the last moment and decided to take a cyclo. Just because he had to make the trip didn't mean he had to get there in a hurry.

  The driver, a man in his late twenties, didn't speak English, so Quinn pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote the address of where he wanted to go on the back of the map. The driver looked at it, then smiled and nodded.

  Saigon – Quinn couldn't bring himself to keep calling it Ho Chi Minh City – was a madhouse. An honest
-to-God, overcrowded, disorganized madhouse. And he loved it. The city radiated with a vibrancy and excitement he'd found in few other places.

  The streets were crowded with motorcycles, bicycles – both standard and cyclos – scooters, even the occasional car or truck. While he'd seen similar vehicular menageries elsewhere in Asia, this was the first place he'd seen a family of five riding on a single 50cc motorcycle.

  That wasn't the only sight that caught his attention. There were also the large three-wheeled bikes that had been converted into what amounted to small trucks. A large flat surface was built onto the front halves of the bikes. This allowed drivers to carry anything from cages of chickens, to stacks of old tires, to boxes and tins of God knew what. The merchandise was piled high and wide, seemingly obscuring the driver's view.

  Another thing he noticed, something more typical of many third-world countries, was that traffic signs were more like suggestions than actual law. There were cops around, but as long as the traffic kept moving, they seemed content to let things be.

  The cyclo driver took him through a particularly crowded section of town. Vendors lined the streets, selling everything from live animals to firecrackers to pots and pans. It was an assault on Quinn's senses. The odor, in particular, was overwhelming. Fish and sweat and trash mixed with the sweetness of flowers and fruit and baking bread.

  The cyclo driver leaned forward and said, 'Cholon.' Quinn recognized the name from one of the brochures in his hotel room. It was essentially the Chinatown of Saigon.

  After they had been traveling for twenty minutes, the driver turned the cyclo onto a less trafficked side street and pulled up in the middle of the block next to a long, two-story building.

  'Is this it?' Quinn asked, forgetting momentarily that the driver wouldn't understand him. Realizing his mistake, he pointed at the address on the map.

  The driver smiled widely and nodded at the building. 'Ici ,' he said.

  'Parlez-vous francais?' Quinn asked.

  'Un peu, monsieur.'

  Quinn reached into his pocket. 'Combien?' he asked.

  'Two dollar,' the driver said in English.

  The moment Quinn climbed off the cyclo, it began to rain. He ran down the cracked sidewalk and found cover in the recess of the building's doorway just as the initial sprinkles turned into a downpour. He opened the door and went inside.