Naked in Saigon (25 page)

The docks were a tumult of car horns and
siclo
bells. A police jeep, its horn blaring, barged through, red lights flashing. Tugs and sampans hooted on the river. The reek of sewage and rotting waterweed was overpowering.

Reyes wished he’d never seen the heroin, he should have left it lying there in the blackened bar. But then someone else would have taken it and perhaps the suspicion would have fallen on him anyway. This way the pay was still in his hands.

All that mattered now was that he got Magdalena back. The briefcase was his bargaining chip, he’d let him have the damned thing and then get the hell out.

He drove down the laneway that led to the orphanage. The
siclo
driver stopped and put one foot on the ground. He looked at Reyes and shrugged.

Reyes got out and felt the earth fall away under him.

It was gone.

He supposed it was a VC rocket, they came down on the city every night, he must have been in Laos when this one hit, no one had thought to tell him about it but why would they? He pushed some notes into the driver’s hand and walked away.

It must have been a direct hit; some of the outer walls were still standing but not much else. The rest was just blackened rubble.

He picked up a child’s shoe. It was still warm from the fire. There were dark stains on the concrete playground and clothes scattered everywhere, a bloodied habit, a broken crucifix.

The rubble of bricks was still smouldering. Perhaps the briefcase was still under there somewhere, more likely it was ashes. Whatever had happened, it was beyond him now.

He would never understand the way life worked; bastards everywhere in this world and the rocket drops on an orphanage and kills half the kids who had no luck to start with as well as the women who dedicated their lives to caring for them. Make any sense out of that.

And me, I’ve lived my life looking for the main chance and a bullet misses me by inches, goes right through my legs and I don’t even hear it.

“You have lived a dissolute life, yet you are a good man.”

He had liked the old nun. He hoped that whatever had happened to her, the end had been quick and God saved her a comfortable spot in heaven. She deserved all the lucky breaks he had been having lately, but it seemed life didn’t work that way.

He walked across the road and looked for someone who could tell him what had happened. He found a restaurant with a few broken chairs and greasy tiled kitchen. The little mama-san who ran the place was preparing a stirfry in a vast wok. She barked a question at him as he came in: “you want chicken or beef?”

In his halting Vietnamese and broken English he asked her what had happened to the orphanage. She gave a hollow laugh and asked him what did he think happened--the nuns all got drunk and burned the place down.

“Was it the VC?”

“Rocket,” she said. “Came down in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep. I heard the crash; I thought it had landed on the roof. I went outside and the whole place was on fire and there were children running everywhere, screaming. I’m sick of the war. Do you want some noodle soup?”

He asked her if there were any survivors. Some of the children got out, she said, but the nuns all got killed. That shows you should follow the Buddha. Buddha is a better bet.

“I am concerned for your soul, Mister Garcia. I can arrange for a priest to hear your confession. You have lived a dissolute life, yet you are a good man. What is to become of you?”

What is to become of me?
Reyes thought. The heroin was gone, the last bargaining chip he had to save Magdalena. Angel probably had her in a hotel room somewhere, feeding her minced crab and cognac and asking her to be his mistress. But with every hour that went by the danger increased. He wouldn’t hesitate to turn mean if he tried to stall. He would need to make his point, to Reyes and to the whole world.

And perhaps he had been itching to do it all along. He probably thought if he couldn’t have her then no one else would.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the convent playground. For the first time since he was a child he hung his head and felt the sadness of loss envelope him. He was not a man for crying, so hanging his head was as bad as it ever got.

They said the Devil looks after his own, and he guessed that was the answer. He’d been in enough war zones to know that you couldn’t pray yourself out of an ambush. He had to figure out a way out of this and he had to do it fast.

Chapter 41 

“Jesus,” Walt said when he walked in. “What happened to you?”

Reyes slumped into a chair. “Got any of that special coffee?”

“Sure,” he said. He came back a couple of minutes later with a polystyrene cup of black coffee and put it on the desk. He reached into his drawer and tipped in a generous shot of Jack Daniels.

“Okay, shoot.”

“I’m in big trouble.”

“This from a man who just snatched his girlfriend’s husband from communist guerrillas?”

“I lost the heroin.”

Walt blinked. “That was careless, Reyes.”

“It was just plain bad luck.”

“We’ve all been there. So what can I do for you, my friend?”

“I need a favour.”

“Another one?”

“Just some information.”

“Seems to me this is becoming a one-way friendship, but do your worst.”

“There was an orphanage in Cholon, the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus.”

“Catchy name.”

“Two nights ago it was hit by a rocket strike from the VC. I want to know if there were any survivors.”

Walt whistled and shook his head. “Not the kind of information I have at my fingertips, buddy. I could look into it if it’s real important, but that could take days. Those places don’t take roll call like the 106th Airborne. What is the big deal about this place?”

“I’ve been taking aid parcels there for a while.”

“Man, you are full of surprises.”

“There’s more. I got friendly with the Mother Superior. Not in that way, Walt, you crazy bastard. She was sixty years old and a woman of God. Point is, I asked her to do a little favour for me.”

It took a moment for Walt to catch up. “Jesus Christ! You gave a nun seven keys of heroin?”

“She didn’t know what was in the briefcase. I just said it was important and could she keep it for a while. It seemed like the perfect place to hide it.”

“All along you told me you didn’t have it!”

“I lied.”

“I know you fucking lied! I didn’t know you gave the stuff to a nun! What the fuck were you going to do with it?”

“I wasn’t sure. I was keeping it as insurance, I guess. When I left Saigon I was going to throw it in the river.”

“You were going to what?”

“What else could I do?”

“You are going to hell, man! What about Paradise Island? What about me?”

“I wasn’t going to buy my future with drug money. As for you, Walt, you’re a great guy and a good friend, but I don’t trust you.”

Walt tapped a pencil on his desktop and tried to look offended. Then he shrugged and looked out of the window. “Yeah, far enough.”

“Sorry.”

“Giving it to me would have been better than throwing it in the river. At least it would have gone to a good home.”

“There is no good home for shit like that.”

“Don’t get moral on me, Reyes, we’ve known each other too long for that. It’s just another product, man. If people want to buy it, you sell it to them. It’s no different than gambling or guns. Sure it’s not good for their health but people have a need.”

“Maybe once I would have agreed with you. But I want out, Walt and you don’t get out by getting in deeper.”

Walt sighed and poured them both two more shots of Jack Daniels, straight. He swirled the rye around the polystyrene cup like it was brandy in a crystal glass. “So you lost the eight keys. If you were going to throw it in the river anyway, what’s the big deal?”

“The owner wants it back and if he doesn’t get it, he intends to foreclose on the one thing that still means anything to me.”

“So you were right, Macheda has your girlfriend.”

“That’s right.”

“Oh man, you are just one walking, talking bunch of trouble, aren’t you?”

“I have to get the powder to him by tomorrow night.”

“You could give him eight keys of talcum powder.”

“He’s not that stupid. He’ll know there’s something wrong before he’s even tested it. He’ll be looking for the brand stamp on the bags.”

Walt downed the whisky. “Here’s my advice. Listen carefully. You have no idea if your girlfriend’s still alive, and even if she is, a guy like that, once he’s got his gear, he’s not going to let either of you walk out of there alive. My guess is, he’d ice you both anyway as a parting gesture. But even if he was the one kind-hearted dope dealer left in the world, you don’t even have that slim chance to cling to because you don’t even have his product. So if I were you I’d get on a plane tonight and go some place he can’t find you.”

“What about Magdalena?”

“Man, it’s just a woman. Not just any woman, she’s someone else’s wife.”

“Widow.”

“Whatever. She’s one beautiful lady but it’s not like she’s the only beautiful woman in the world. You saved her life once, you even saved her husband’s life, it’s not going to help her you both being dead. Listen to me, this is above and beyond.”

“Nice advice. But let’s say we rule that out. I’m going to be there on time tomorrow night. What’s my second option?”

“There is no second option.”

Reyes finished his whisky and held out his cup for more. Walt looked ruefully at the two fingers left in the bottle and poured the rest into Reyes’ cup and the dregs into his.

“I have an idea,” Reyes said, and he told him what it was.

When he finished, Walt shook his head. “You are out of your mind.”

“It will work, but I need your help.”