Frye could picture Ronald Billingham hovering over his desk, tossing the copy back to him and saying, “You can’t accuse a man of murder when nobody saw him do it and he was halfway around the world when it happened.
This is America, Chuck, You’re a little too close to this one, buddy. I’ve got an art museum fundraiser tonight—cover it with a photog and don’t drink all the champagne.”
Besides, a story like that would expose Bennett.
Frye tossed the sheets to the lacerated couch.
Bennett called at quarter of four. “Wiggins just told me about Xuan, Chuck. I was out tonight or I’d have—”
“I know. You were at the Paradise.”
“Who told you that?”
“I watched. And so did Paul DeCord. With a camera.”
“It’s real important, Chuck, that you don’t say anything to anyone at this point. I can’t stress how—”
“I figured that.”
The silence seemed to go on forever before Frye spoke again. “Do you know about Colonel Thach?”
“You can’t spend much time in Little Saigon and not hear about Colonel Thach.”
“Did Wiggins tell you what they did to Xuan?”
“They shot him.”
“Wiggins made me swear I wouldn’t say anything, but Xuan wasn’t shot. He was beheaded.”
“Jesus, Chuck.”
“Thach could have engineered this, couldn’t he?”
“I’ve been praying since Sunday night that he didn’t.”
“You’ve suspected since then?”
“You saw what left the Paradiso tonight, Chuck. Colonel Thach and I have been making war on each other for ten years now. I never thought he’d bring it to me.”
Frye just stood there, part of him surprised at what his brother had been doing, part of him not even surprised a little. “What if he has?”
“Then we’ll never see Li again—alive. And more people in Little Saigon are going to die.”
“Who could stop him?”
Bennett waited. “Nobody has been able to yet.”
“What about the Feds?”
“They won’t even talk, not to me.”
“Dien?”
“He’s looking after his money and his reputation. I don’t think he could touch Thach’s people if he wanted to.”
“What about you?”
“I’m working on it. I have been for ten years. That’s all I can say.”
“I figured as much.”
“Chuck? Do one thing for me. Be careful, very careful, about where you go and what you do. I’ve asked you to stay out of this, now I’m ordering you.”
“I don’t work for you, Bennett.”
Bennett was silent. “No, I guess you don’t.”
Frye hung up. Who might know if Thach’s men had come here? Who knows all the comings and goings in Little Saigon? Who talks to the people, has his finger on things?
Who?
He is the most powerful man in Little Saigon.
Now I’ve got another reason to see the General.
More exhausted than he’d ever felt in his life, Frye fell into bed.
CHAPTER 14
GENERAL DIEN’S HOUSE WAS A BIG TWO-story brick affair, half a mile from Saigon Plaza. It was American Colonial-suburban, with a black iron fence around it, a video camera at each end of the semicircular driveway, and two men in suits and sunglasses standing outside the gate.
Frye stepped from his car and walked toward the guards. They spread their feet and crossed their arms. Frye came up close enough to see his face reflected in the dark lenses. “I’d like to see the general. It’s important.”
One guard looked at the other, then shook his head. “General not home.”
“Where is he?”
“With his people.”
Frye introduced himself and offered his hand, but got no takers. “Do you know where I can find him?”
“What is your business?”
“I’m Li Frye’s brother-in-law. I want to talk to the general about… the case. And thank him for what he did that night at the Asian Wind.”
Again, the two conferred. The shorter one produced a telephone from under his coat and punched some buttons. A moment later, Frye heard the crackling report of a connection. The guard talked in Vietnamese, waited, said something else, then pushed down the antenna and replaced the unit on his belt. “The general is an extremely busy man, but he will see you now. He is in the Paris Cafe, in the back room, through the curtain.”
The Paris Cafe was lunchtime-crowded. Frye angled through the tables, led by a slender maître d’ in a tuxedo. Everybody stared at him. His guide held open the bead curtain for him. Two men in suits stood just inside. It was a small room, with four tables, a long lacquer painting on one wall and a stack of unused chairs by a service door.
General Dien sat at the corner table with three Vietnamese men. The general put down his bowl and looked at Frye. His face was leathery and dark, his mouth tight, his eyes brown and moist. The polo shirt was too big for him. It was buttoned at the top, but scarcely touched his thin, weathered neck. “One moment, please,” he said with absolutely no change of expression. His flat eyes beheld Frye a beat longer, then he looked to his men by the curtain. He motioned irritably with his chopsticks. One stepped forward and offered Frye a chair.
Here, thought Frye, is a man who wears power as comfortably as a pair of mucklucks.
The general’s guests excused themselves in humble voices, and disappeared through the rattling beads. When they were gone, except for the bodyguards, Dien offered a strong thin hand.
“Mr. Frye, finally.”
“My pleasure, sir. I know you’re busy.”
Dien nodded, pulled out a silver cigarette case, and offered Frye a smoke. The waiter approached quietly, lit the cigarettes, and disappeared again. “Your brother is a brave man, and his wife a courageous woman,” said Dien. “You have much to be proud of.”
“Thank you. And thank you for doing what you could to help that night. We’re grateful.”
Dien nodded slightly. “Old soldiers are never too old to shoot straight. Li is more than a woman to her people. She is symbol of everything we were, and hope to be again.”
Frye studied the flat dark face. “It was carefully planned, wasn’t it? The gunman on stage had a chance to shoot Benny and didn’t take it. They were in and out in less than two minutes.”
“In the confusion,” Dien said, “it seemed like hours.”
“Sir, I came to you for help. First, for something … general. Second, for something specific.”
“What can I do?”
“First, do you think that Colonel Thach could have planned it?”
Dien leaned back and looked toward the curtain. The waiter came through a moment later with tea for both of them. Dien drew on his cigarette, old cheeks hollowing. “That is a very sensitive question, Mr. Frye. You see, there is no act that happens alone in Little Saigon. We are a close community, so one thing inevitably touches others. You will find no people on earth as strongly anti-Communist as the Vietnamese refugee. They have seen the horror. So, everything is seen as political here. Every whisper and every breath. Last year, a newspaper publisher was burned to death for running an advertisement believed to be pro-Communist. Before that, a community leader was shot for what he said in an interview about recognizing Hanoi. His words were misinterpreted, but that didn’t prevent the bullets from entering his stomach. Not long ago, an editor in San Francisco and his wife were both killed because of the socialist leanings of their magazine. Things in Little Saigon, Mr. Frye, can be extremely volatile, when you mention the name Colonel Thach.”
“I understand that.”
“I explain it to show you why I am moving very cautiously so far as Li and Xuan are concerned. We are confronted now with a terrible dilemma. If one believes that overseas agents are creating terror here, and says so, those words can be explosive as bombs. If one believes that Li’s kidnappi
ng was done by elements wanting to … divert attention to the Communists, then words of skepticism can get one killed. So, you will find a difference here between what people believe and what they say.”
“What do you believe?”
“Am I being quoted for your paper?”
“No.”
Dien sipped his tea and tapped out his cigarette. “I believe that Hanoi has done this. I believe that they have organized their terror to break our spirit. I believe that Colonel Thach is behind what happened.”
Frye considered. “But that’s not what you’ve said on TV, or in the papers.”
Dien nodded. “I would never say that. For one thing, it is too incendiary. It creates more fear. Second, it is not something I can prove. Third, if the true kidnappers are using Thach’s … methods, to make it appear as if he is behind it, then I would be falling directly into their plan.”
“But what if you don’t say anything, and Thach is behind it?”
Dien lit another cigarette. “To my people here, I must remain moderate. I try to … mollify, to comfort, to prevent passion from boiling over. At the same time, Mr. Frye, I have my resources. I have twelve men very loyal to me—trained men, intelligent men. With the exception of the two at my home, and the two standing by that curtain, they are on the streets all day, every day, looking for Li. They are asking questions, interviewing. They report everything to me.”
“What have you gotten?”
The general looked at Frye in irritation. He pointed at Frye with his cigarette. “I cannot tell if you are offensive, or simply tactless.”
“Just tactless. And impatient. Have you gotten anything solid on Li, or Thach?”
Dien sat back and nodded. “Solid, but … distant. My people in Hanoi tell me that Colonel Thach has been especially busy and secretive lately. Trips at odd hours. Many days in his apartment, with only a few assistants around him. These are the marks of a man running an operation.”
“Have you gone to the FBI?”
“And received their insults for thanks. The FBI has no jurisdiction in Asia, and no expertise. And one cannot help a fool like Albert Wiggins—he only resents it. But the fact that the FBI will not consider Thach is actually beneficial, for the moment. In their own way, they are doing what is best. It would be an act of folly to inflame Little Saigon. I only wish that they would bring in more men here, work harder in California. With enough people looking, it is only a matter of time until we find Li. Wiggins and four others, plus a couple of field officers talking with the local police? It is simply not enough. Not against Thach’s men.”
Frye looked at the two guards, still as statues, beside the curtain. Dien poured more tea. “And your brother? Has he made progress?”
“Some. He doesn’t have much more than you do.”
Dien looked toward the curtain, then back to Frye. “I deeply regret your brother’s disrespect for me.”
“He has his blind spots.”
Dien sighed. “For years I financed the resistance in Vietnam. From my own pocket, mostly. Three years ago, my tiny band of freedom fighters over there was slaughtered by Colonel Thach. One of the boys was my son-in-law. Thach put their heads on stakes. He sent photographs back here to Little Saigon. It was then I decided my war was really over, Mr. Frye.”
The general sighed. He seemed to diminish still further into his shirt. “I left Vietnam in great bitterness and with little hope. Here, in this country, my people gathered around me. They said to me, ‘Give Vietnam back to us.’ They asked me to fight. They asked me to be their savior. For a moment, put yourself in my position, Mr. Frye, and imagine what your answer would be. I can truly say I tried. I can truly say that I love Vietnam with all my heart. But you cannot fight forever. At some point, if you live, you simply accept exile and, once you have done that, you must begin again. For the last three years I have tried to strengthen my people from within. To Bennett and Li Frye, I am perhaps a coward. But in my heart, I have fought well and long and now I fade into peace. America is our future. I am trying to sink new roots here. I am not defeated, merely tired. Your brother’s arrogance toward me is a thing of pain.”
“We haven’t discussed it.”
Dien waved his hand. “I am too old to let the opinions of young men arouse me. I help my people as I can. I am at peace with myself. War is for the young. And truly, Mr. Frye, there can be no victory in Vietnam. The resistance is too small. There is no support. Hanoi is far too strong. We have lost. Now, we have the life that goes on around us. Do we participate, or live for days that will never come? I choose to help here, where I am needed.”
Frye saw that the old man was trembling.
“I talk too much. Another affliction of the old. Now, you have my theories on this embattled city. You mentioned something more specific I could help you with? You need only ask.”
Frye looked at the weathered face in front of him, the sad, wet eyes. The feeling he had now was of being poised at the top of that wave at Rockpile, looking down from a gut-softening height. You’re committed. You’re scared. You wish you could close your eyes. But you go for it. “There was a man, an American, hanging around Little Saigon on Monday, the day after the kidnapping. Dark, curly hair. Mustache. Good-looking. Did you notice him?”
Dien smiled wanly. “I don’t know everything that happens here, Mr. Frye, despite what you may imagine. Please, go on. What did this man do?”
“He went to Pho Dinh in the afternoon and found Han Loc and the Dark Men. He asked to talk. He told Loc that his brother, Duc, was in some trouble. He told Loc that he could make sure Duc stayed … healthy … so long as Loc did him a small favor. Loc was frightened. He agreed. The favor was to steal a box out of my house. Loc stole it and delivered it, but Duc never got out of the trouble he was in. In fact, I wonder if he’s still alive. Does any of this make sense, General?”
“I can hardly judge that, Mr. Frye. I know only what you tell me. But go on, it is interesting.”
“It gets even more interesting. Now Loc has the box from my house, and he takes it to Westminster Park to hold up his end of the deal. He’s supposed to leave it in the bathroom for the man to pick up. Oh, General, I remember his name now—it’s Lawrence. Lawrence. Does that sound familiar to you?”
Dien’s face showed no expression. Frye locked eyes with him.
“I know many men named Lawrence. What is his last—”
“I don’t know yet. He never told Loc. Can you guess what happened next?”
Break point, thought Frye.
Dien shook his head. His thin lips pursed; smoke poured from his nostrils. He glanced toward his men at the curtain.
“Do you want me to go on?”
“Please, Mr. Frye. Tell me everything you know.”
Inside, Frye laughed without mirth or joy. Tell me what you know, little boy, so I can figure out if I should have you for lunch or save you for dinner. “Let me explain a little something about myself, General. I used to be a reporter. I’m nosy. You see, I watched Loc rip off my house. I came home right in the middle of it, hunkered at my neighbor’s place, and watched through a window while they totaled my home. I called the cops, but do you think they could get through the tourist traffic in time? So I followed Loc and his boys myself. An old station wagon. Loc drove. Straight to Westminster Park, where I watched him drop off a box I happened to recognize as belonging to me. He put it in the men’s room.”
Frye studied Dien, but there wasn’t much to study. The leathery face had locked. The eyes looked amused.
“And did you go in and collect your precious box?”
“I didn’t have a chance to.”
The general smiled. Frye could sense the relief coming off the old man. Dien lifted his tea. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frye. I truly regret the criminal inclinations of some Vietnamese youth. I do not know this man, Lawrence. Your tale is interesting, but it goes nowhere.”
Frye leaned forward, speaking quietly. He didn’t have to act sincere, because he meant his
next words as deeply as he’d ever meant anything in his life. “I was thinking you might help. It’s extremely important, sir, that I get that box back. No questions. Nothing. Just the box. It isn’t for me. It’s for Li.”
“What was in it?”
“That only matters to me.”
Dien smiled. “But, Mr. Frye, I told you. I know no Lawrence.”
Frye waited and watched. If Dien won’t budge, he thought, I’ll give him the final push. “The story has a twist ending, though. See, it wasn’t Lawrence who made the pickup.”
For all the general gave away, Frye thought, he might have been listening to a radio ad.
“I must tend to business now, Mr. Frye.” Dien folded his hands and gave Frye a look of regretful closure.
“I guess you do.”
“Thank you for confiding in me. I will keep my eyes and ears alert for this Lawrence. Perhaps something will come of it after all.”
The general stood.
Frye stood too. “General, I just have one more thing to tell you. Li got kidnapped Sunday night, and I’ll do whatever I have to to help get her back. Anything, I happened to like Tuy Xuan quite a lot. When I saw what happened to him, it scared me first, then it did something else to me. It made me mad. You’re a big important man, and I’m squat. But I’ll tell you this: I won’t quit. Ever, I know you’re a tough old bastard, but, General, you don’t know what tough is until you’ve tangled with Charles Edison Frye.”
“You are arrogant and a fool. You are worse than your brother.”
Little Saigon Page 17