Club Saigon

by Marty Grossman

  “Yes, Bangkok, Thailand.”

  “Sounds exciting. Who’s going to work the case while you’re gone?”

  “I figure you can assign Fleming. He’s not doing much now and he’s familiar with the case. If my guess is right, not much will happen during the month I’m gone, anyway.”

  “Month? You want me to give you a month off? Give me a break, Jerry! How can I justify to the brass a month’s vacation for my top investigator on the Little Saigon slasher case?”

  “Easy, Cap. Like I said, after I arrive, I’ll check in with the local authorities and hand them a letter of introduction from you. It will be a working vacation. I also expect to have some discussions with the Asian office of Interpol while I’m there. It should be easy to sell to the top brass, especially if I can come up with anything new on our suspect.”

  “Okay, Jerry, I’m sold. When do you want to start your vacation? “

  “Immediately. As soon as you write me the letters of introduction to the local authorities, I’ll be ready to go. My passport is in order. I can use my Christmas club account to fund my trip. All I need to do is go down to an Army-Navy surplus store and pick up the appropriate threads.”

  “Sounds like you’re really organized. Take the rest of the day to get your shit together and I’ll have the approval and the letters on your desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks, captain. You won’t regret this decision.”

  “I’d better not, or you won’t get an invite to my retirement party.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Enrique had the Huey fueled and ready for flight by six thirty a.m. He was still worried about the thirty-second ground time that Gunner alluded to on the telephone. Why worry? he told himself. Whatever McConnell has planned has nothing to do with me. All I have to do is do what I’ve always done. Follow instructions, fly the aircraft, and keep my mouth shut.

  At precisely ten minutes to seven, Gunner’s jeep crested the rise in the dusty road that ended at the dirt airstrip and pulled up alongside the camouflage-painted chopper. In the back of the jeep were several metal ammunition boxes and a long wooden crate. Enrique had not planned on hauling freight, but even with it, he still was well within his weight parameters for the mission. “Good morning, Mr. McConnell,” he said with a feigned smile on his face.

  “Why so formal, Enrique? Gunner will do. Always has and always will. We go back too far to be on something other than a first-name basis.”

  “Right you are, Gunner. What’s in the boxes?”

  “Something I know you’ll appreciate, being as you used to fly these things during that unpopular political war of the sixties.”

  They both laughed, knowing full well that he meant the Vietnam War.

  “Well, let me see. It looks like the three cans contain linked thirty-caliber, armor-piercing, phosphorous-tipped M-60 tracer ammo. My guess is the crate contains a machine gun of the same caliber.”

  “Damn, you’re smart, Enrique. That’s why you got to be a pilot and I was nothing but a grunt during the war.”

  “Yeah, but now you’re a . . . ” Enrique hesitated, in order to choose his words carefully. “ . . . businessman. And I’m still a pilot.”

  “And don’t you forget it, Enrique. Don’t you forget it. Some of your brains must have rubbed off on this dogface somewhere along the way.”

  “Yeah, your mom would be proud if she could see you now,” Enrique said, tongue in cheek.

  “Help me lift this crate into the chopper and let’s get off this lonely strip. The great blue yonder beckons, my mercenary friend.”

  They lifted the crate containing the machine gun into the chopper, where Enrique secured it. He turned to Gunner. “Is this a present for one of your, uh, business partners?”

  “You might say that it is, Enrique. Yeah, you might say it’s a present.” Gunner returned to the jeep for the ammo boxes while Enrique did a preflight check on the Huey.

  As Gunner slipped into the right-hand seat, he put on a headset that hung from a hook on the roof of the cockpit. He nudged Sandoval with his elbow. “You remember the flight plan we talked about yesterday?”

  “Sure do, Gunner, what of it?”

  “No changes. Fly the mission just as we discussed and there won’t be any problems. The airport at Khon Kaen. Stop to refuel. Then straight to Kosum Phisai. Fly this bird on the deck as much as possible. We stop there for about thirty seconds. Then back to Bangkok for some beer and pussy. You straight, amigo?”

  “As straight as a string, Gunner.” Sandoval reached across his seat and gave Gunner the high five as the chopper began to whine to maximum lift-off RPM. Within a minute, Enrique gave Gunner the thumbs-up signal as the chopper smoothly rose from the ground in a swirl of choking dust.

  General Nam Phat had completed his end of the deal, and was now looking forward to increasing his wealth and power base twofold. He would give some of the extra money to his troops and their families, but not much. The extra money would keep them loyal to him for at least another growing season. The rest he had dealt for was for additional armaments he would need for an operation he had planned into Cambodia. If his plans went as expected, by this time next year, he would control not only the raw product for making the drugs, but also the lab. His riches would increase tenfold on that day. That was what the old fox coveted.

  He moved through the jungle with the stealth of a python. With him were twenty of his most trusted troops. His inner guard had always served him well, protecting him from dangers both within and without his small Army. Nobody dared call them a death squad, but that’s what they were. They were led by a young lion by the name of Xuan Ti.

  Xuan Ti had been born in Nam Phat’s camp and raised as a child of a soldier father and a farming mother. When he was thirteen, he joined the Army of Nam Phat, rising quickly through the ranks because of his intelligence and ruthlessness. At the age of twenty, he usurped the leadership of the inner guard, after convincing the General that the captain of his guard lusted for the leadership of the Army. He was allowed to face the captain in single hand-to-hand combat in front of the entire assembled Army.

  The match was over very quickly. Xuan was a master of taekwondo, having learned it from his father before he died. The vanquished leader lay face-down in the dirt after a flying crescent kick crushed the side of his head and sent him reeling. He tried unsteadily to get up, but as he did, Xuan broke his neck with a kneeling elbow, expertly delivered to his spinal column above the shoulders. As the stunned gathering grew silent at the suddenness of their former leader’s demise, Xuan drew a machete from the scabbard of a nearby soldier. He walked back to the center of the ring and pulled up the long black hair of his fallen opponent. Then with one swift move, he cut the head cleanly from the body, holding it aloft for all to see. Dead silence followed at first. Then the assembled army, led by Nam Phat, cheered loudly for their new captain.

  They had been on the march for three hours when at last they came to the clearing where the general had agreed to meet McConnell for the payoff. The march through the jungle had been uneventful, and they arrived earlier than expected. Xuan sent out ten of his most trusted men to establish a security perimeter around the landing zone. The rest of the men were deployed in a circle in the center of the LZ. He and Nam Phat found a comfortable tree to sit under, where they could await the chopper that was due to arrive in less than two hours.

  Frank Liu, an agent with Interpol in their Thailand office, met Jerry at the airport and quickly got him through the normally tedious customs inspection. Captain Davis had given Jerry Liu’s name and told him to meet him before he left L.A. He was much younger than Jerry expected, which immediately made Jerry jealous, knowing that his own next birthday would put him closer to fifty than forty. He walked right up to Jerry as he disembarked the aircraft.

  “Detective Jerry Andrews, LAPD?” Frank shook Jerry’s hand as he introduced himself.

  Jerry reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter of intr
oduction that Captain Davis had written for the chief to sign. Frank read it quickly. “This should be fun. I’ve been after McConnell for a long time. I’m looking forward to busting his chops one of these days.”

  Jerry noticed that his English was perfect, with none of the vocal inflections that usually gave Orientals away. “Where did you learn to speak English so well, Frank?”

  “I’m a Harvard law school graduate. Took my undergraduate courses at UCLA. After six years of schooling in the states, my English better be good. I also speak fluent Chinese, as you would guess from my surname, plus Thai, Vietnamese, and several others.”

  Actually, Jerry hadn’t guessed anything from his surname. “No shit,” Jerry said. The only other language he was fluent in was Senegalese.

  After clearing customs, Frank and Jerry got into Frank’s jeep and headed for the heart of Krung Thep, more commonly known as Bangkok. On the way, Frank briefed Jerry on the various activities of the suspect that he was following up on. While Interpol was interested in criminal activities like espionage, international drug trafficking, and gun running, they didn’t seem to have any records when it came to plain and simple murder. But, Frank said, he could still be of help to Jerry. He could show him the haunts of one Gunner McConnell, and give him dossiers on his friends and business associates. He could give him details of his travel, both in and outside his adopted home in Thailand. Yes, Frank Liu could really help him, and Jerry was lucky to find someone with the enthusiasm that he exhibited.

  As they got closer to the outskirts of Bangkok, the tropical foliage disappeared and the roads became wider and more modern. This was nothing like the Bangkok that Jerry had visited on R&R back in the late sixties. Twilight turned into night, and the city lit up like a jewel in a black box as they swept out of the highlands and down into the city. Frank looked across the open space that separated them, hesitatingly speaking as he continued to drive.

  “I thought it would be best if you stayed in a place that is not too far from the Mu Tai—that’s where your suspect is residing. I got you a room at a place called Cam Po Nam. It’s a few blocks from the Mu Tai in a rough district of town. It should afford you a good cover while you are looking into Mr. McConnell’s activities. I didn’t use your real name. Your room is booked in the name of Jack Dorn. Mr. Dorn was a real person. He is dead, but that is of little consequence.” Frank opened the glove box and withdrew a manila envelope, which he handed to Jerry. “In here you will find a passport and other documents that will identify you as Jack Dorn. I have included a biography, which you should memorize to make your cover more believable.”

  “It seems that you’ve thought of everything, my friend. How can I contact you if I need to get in touch?”

  “There is a number where I can be reached in the packet I gave you. Make sure you are at a secure telephone when you call. If I am not there, an answering machine will take your message. Don’t be afraid to use the number. I am not well known in this part of town and can move about pretty freely. Well, we’re almost at the Cam Po Nam. If you don’t mind, I’ll let you off here and you can walk. It’s about a block up on this side of the street.”

  “Is there anything else I need to know?” Jerry asked as the jeep slowed and pulled to a stop at the curb.

  “Just this. Don’t underestimate your quarry. He is a shrewd manipulator. If you get too close to him and he thinks for a minute you’re with the police, he will strike you down like a cobra in a basket. Give it a few days. Let your beard grow out and establish your cover. The papers I gave you give you details for arms shipments that he may be interested in buying. If so, that is your in. Good luck. Call me if you need me for anything.”

  Jerry opened the door to the jeep and swung his feet onto the still warm asphalt. The smells of the night assailed his nostrils as he took in a breath of the wet, humid air. He pulled his grip from the back seat, unzipped it and stuffed the envelope Frank had given him inside. Thus began the vacation odyssey of Jack Dorn, international arms dealer.

  As the jeep drove away into the night, Jerry thought, What am I doing here? He had never felt so all alone in his life. He should have remained on the outside. Just an investigator, investigating a series of murders. Instead, McConnell had sucked him into his world, into his ballpark, to play his game. It had been over twenty years since the two of them played the same games, the difference being that McConnell had continued to play . . . and, from Jerry’s present perspective, that made McConnell better at them than Jerry was.

  The red neon sign from the Cam Po Nam blinked off and on, luring him like a moth to a flame in the darkening night. Frank sure knew how to pick them. This reminded Jerry of a run-down version of the Delta Hotel. He looked inside through the dirty front pane of window glass and saw a long bar with a few patrons sitting around. On each end of the bar were chubby but somewhat attractive young girls. Both had skirts short enough to expose their ample thighs but just long enough so Jerry couldn’t see their pubic hairs. The bartender was a thin, wiry man with arms the width of toothpicks, and an angular, high-cheekboned jaw line. He noticed him looking through the window and said something to the girls, who both giggled simultaneously as Jerry approached the door. A shabby sign on the door, meticulously printed in perfect English, said, ROOMS FOR RENT: HOUR, DAY, WEEK, MONTH.

  Jerry stepped through the portals to Cam Po Nam and the ambiance immediately took him back in time to a place that he had learned to both loathe and love. The bargirls were on him like flies on shit. One on each arm, they took him to a small table and called to the bartender for drinks. “Charley, you get us drinks all around. Okay, GI. You like me and my sister. Me Tai Chi. She Moon Son. You like us both, we stay with you. Or you no like, only one stay with you. We show you a good time. We do anything you want.”

  Charley brought the drinks over without asking Jerry if it was all right. The girls were drinking one of those fruit punch drinks that had little paper umbrellas and likely no booze. Charley intuitively brought him a scotch rocks. “I hope scotch okay, mister. You look like a scotch drinker. If you no like, I bring you something else and drink it myself.”

  “No. Scotch is fine for me, Charley.”

  “That be six bucks, American, mister.”

  Six dollars for a short shot scotch and a couple of fruit punches. That meant the paper umbrellas were worth about two and a half bucks each, but after all, who was counting? Jerry reached in and took his wallet out, peeling off a five and a one and handing them to Charley. Charley looked disappointed that Jerry hadn’t offered him a tip.

  Once Jerry’s wallet was out, the two bargirls, whom Jerry renamed Yin and Yang, started rubbing up against him like a bull moose during rutting season. Yin saw the wallet come out first and quickly moved her hand up his leg and into his crotch, where she began to rhythmically stroke his ever-growing tool with increasing fervor. If he hadn’t been middle-aged and his testosterone level close to zero, he would have shot a stream all over the underside of the table. Yang, who must have been the younger sister, had begun stroking his arm with her long red fingernails. She had worked her way inside his shirt when he called this action to a halt.

  “Charley,” Jerry shouted like The Duke calling in the cavalry. “My name’s Jack Dorn. I believe there is a room reserved for me.”

  Charley came running over all excited, like this was something that rarely happened in the Cam Po Nam. “Oh. You Mr. Dorn. So sorry, I didn’t know. For people that stay with us, the first drink is usually free. Your next round is free. So sorry, Mr. Dorn.”

  “Is my room ready yet, Charley, or do I have to stay here and let the coitus twins continue to jerk my chain? I won’t be able to take much more of this, and it’s been a long day.” Yin and Yang continued to stroke him while Jerry feebly attempted to extricate himself from their clutches.

  “They mean no harm, Mr. Dorn. They just baby sans.”

  Right, Jerry thought, here I’m getting jacked off by teenagers beyond their years and this guy was tryin
g to convince me that they were barely out of the cradle. Things hadn’t changed much in the Far East in the last twenty years.

  “Tai Chi, she twelve-year-old, and Moon Son she thirteen. You like young girls? They good girls, you see?”

  Jerry knew these girls were older than twelve and thirteen, but also knew enough not to insult anyone his first night in town. And maybe, just maybe, this unlikely trio would come in handy later on. “Yes, I like young girls, Charley, but I’m awful tired and need to get rid of some jet lag.”

  “Okay, Mr. Dorn, here the key to your room. Number two-o-one at the top of the stairs.” Charley brought him a key, but didn’t offer to carry his bag. Meanwhile, the girls began giggling, holding their hands over their faces to hide their excitement. Yin took her hand out from under the table and rubbed it against her sister’s arm. They both giggled again. That’s when Jerry felt the spreading wet spot moving down the front of his pants. Charley was right about one thing. They were good, all right.

  The flight time to Kon Kaen was just over two hours. Gunner’s blood was pumping and his heart accelerating from the exhilaration of the flight. The beating of the rotor blades reverberated in his ears as they passed low over the solid jungle canopy that lay between Bangkok and their destination. About an hour into the flight, they picked up the Chi River and followed it deeper into the interior.

  Gunner closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the helicopter. He sniffed hard, his nostrils sensing the exhaust fumes of the aviation gas fuel used to run the chopper. The smell was reminiscent of something Robert Duvall said in Apocalypse Now: “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” If he listened real hard, he could hear the machine guns from the door gunners that used to strafe the jungle during combat operations in Vietnam. He smiled to himself as he thought about that. What was it he said to Enrique before they took off? “You might say it’s a present.”