‘Come on,’ she said, flicking her head. ‘Green tea with a dose of jasmine — it’s the best cure for the heat.’
Mac followed her into a cafe. Casing the other customers and the rear exit as he sat, Mac assessed his chances of attacking the cop and using her as a shield so he could leave out the back. But he couldn’t see a gun on her — the slacks and the simple white blouse didn’t leave much room for a holster.
‘Name’s Richard,’ he said calmly.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Richard Davis, books executive, from Brisbane.’
‘Nice work,’ said Mac. ‘Have to beat that out of the night manager?’
‘No,’ she said seriously, before realising she’d missed the joke. ‘I’m Captain Loan,’ she said, pronouncing it low-arn.
‘Captain?’ said Mac, shaking the hand she’d offered. ‘That’s a pretty name.’
‘Ha!’ said Loan, her glacial demeanour cracking for a second. ‘It’s Chanthe — Chanthe Loan.’
‘That’s an Aussie accent,’ said Mac, as the tea service was placed on the table by a stooped old woman. In Vietnam the women never seemed to stop working, even the old ones.
‘Sure,’ said Loan. ‘Last two years of high school in Melbourne and then Monash for three years.’
‘What did you study?’
‘BA — philosophy major,’ said Loan, pushing her sunnies up into her hair. Mac put her at thirty-four, thirty-five. ‘Now some questions for you, Mr Richard.’
‘Sure,’ said Mac.
‘How well do you know James Quirk?’
Mac liked her craft — she built the assumption into the question, so to answer was to verify the assumption.
‘I don’t,’ said Mac, sipping the tea. ‘I know of him.’
‘How?’
‘Years ago, when I was starting in the books business, he hosted an Aussie exporters bash up in Manila. I was at the barbecue and the piss-up.’
‘You were in Manila?’
‘Sure,’ said Mac, warming to his back story. ‘And we’re in Indo- nesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam.’
‘I don’t care about we, Mr Richard,’ she said with a patient smile. ‘It’s you I’m interested in.’
‘Okay.’
‘This is your fourth visit to Vietnam?’
Mac shrugged. ‘That many?’
‘Sell many books?’
‘Not enough, I’m afraid,’ said Mac. ‘There’s only one buyer in Vietnam so there’s not many ways into the market. You come runner- up in the beauty parade, there’s no one else to dance with.’
The captain levelled a cold stare at him. Mac reckoned she was wondering whether his reply was an insult to communist governments or a fair depiction of doing business with them.
‘What about Mrs Geraldine?’ said Loan. ‘His wife.’
‘What?’ said Mac, genuinely surprised. ‘Quirk’s wife?’
‘Yes — Geraldine McHugh.’
‘Never met her,’ said Mac, trying to figure out what she was getting at. ‘I don’t know Jim Quirk either, except to say hi.’
‘So you do know him?’
‘Except to say Hi, remember me from that trade barbecue in Manila? I was the one who got pissed and knew all the moves to “Greased Lightning.”’
She smiled quickly and recovered. ‘Never met Mrs Geraldine?’
‘Look, Captain Loan — I met Jim once, years ago. I’ve never met Geraldine. Can you tell me what this is about?’ Mac tried to hold her gaze as she stared at him.
‘I thought you’d tell me what this is about,’ said Loan.
Standing, she downed the remaining tea and shook Mac’s hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Richard,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ said Mac, watching Loan move to the door. ‘Why tomorrow?’
‘That’s when you tell me why a man who doesn’t know Jim Quirk is waiting outside his house.’
As she walked away, Mac wondered if this woman was going to be a problem. His mind spinning, he became aware of the tea woman standing over him.
‘One dollar, mister,’ she said, jutting out her chin. ‘You pay now.’
Chapter 15
The streets got darker the further Mac’s cyclo ventured into the sector of Saigon that sat between the huge boulevards of Ham Nghi and Nguyen Hue. Rounding a corner, Mac found himself in a street which was home to a market in the day, a place where hotel managers warned the tourists against going.
Paying the rider, Mac slipped out of the cyclo seat and clocked the washing lines that spanned the street three storeys up, the kids squatting at buckets of water on the footpath, having their evening bath, and the tiny restaurants and cafes that advertised themselves with a paper lantern hanging over the doorway. The whole place reeked of old cabbage and dry sewer drains.
Walking into a dimly lit hole in the wall called the Green Duck, Mac spotted Tranh against the wall and sat beside him.
‘Eaten yet, Mr Richard?’ said Tranh, who was sitting cross-legged on the chair, eating with chopsticks from a bowl.
‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ said Mac. ‘And a beer.’
When Tranh yelled at the man in a singlet behind the counter, Mr Singlet had to stop yelling at his wife, who was also yelling. The duo stopped and stared at Mac, but within forty-five seconds Mac had a bowl of duck and noodles and an icy Tiger beer.
‘Got the alternative vehicle?’ said Mac, when Mr Singlet had gone back to the open kitchen and resumed the marital yelling contest.
Tranh finished his duck and wiped his chin. ‘Out the front.’
‘Good.’ Mac didn’t want to rely on a van the cops were interested in. ‘But before we head off, let’s get a few rules out of the way, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Actually, there’s only one rule I want to talk about. We’re a loop of two — we have a conversation, and it doesn’t get reported to anyone else, okay?’
‘Okay, Mr Richard,’ said Tranh.
‘So it’s a choice, and I’m giving you the choice right now,’ he said, pointing his chopsticks at Tranh. ‘If you want to drop out of this gig, you can walk away now, tonight. You’ll get paid, no hard feelings.’
Tranh gulped. ‘Yes, Mr Richard.’
‘So — you in or out?’
Tranh looked Mac in the eye. It was an intelligent and honest face. ‘I’m with you, Mr Richard.’
‘Okay, Tranh,’ said Mac slowly. ‘Then we are the loop, and that means no more talking to Captain Loan. Understand?’
Tranh’s face dropped. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Richard.’
‘I don’t care about sorry, mate,’ said Mac, feeling for the bloke. ‘When people leak it’s always the innocents who get hurt. So you need to feed Captain Loan, keep her happy, but tell me first and we’ll put some sugar in her coffee, okay?’
‘Sugar?’ said Tranh.
‘Keep her sweet,’ said Mac.
‘How did —’
‘She didn’t give you up, so don’t worry about that,’ said Mac, smiling. ‘I worked it out.’
‘How?’
‘She asked me about everyone in Saigon,’ said Mac, ‘except the bloke driving the Uc around in the van.’
The Mekong Saloon was lit up and buzzing as they made their first pass, Mac riding pillion on Tranh’s motorbike. It wasn’t how Mac enjoyed travelling but in Saigon it was fast and anonymous, and he liked that Tranh had a solid 400cc trail bike, not one of the flimsy step-throughs.
Circling back, they parked in a service alley and Mac pulled some money out of his pocket. ‘Buy a magazine, get some food from a vendor,’ said Mac, handing over some dong. ‘Just stay in sight of the entrance, okay?’
Walking across the road, he remembered something. ‘And stay off the phone — I don’t care if your mum or girlfriend calls, keep the line free, okay?’