“Did you ever lose a buddy?”
“Two of them.”
She didn’t reply for a long time, then asked, “Did you ever save a buddy’s life?”
“A few times.”
“Anyone ever save your life?”
“A few times.”
She said, “So, we’ll look out for each other, and we’ll do the best we can.”
I didn’t reply.
She said, “But if you’re going into the interior after you leave Hue, a male Caucasian traveling alone attracts attention.”
“I understand that. And I will be traveling alone.”
She continued, “As I said in the Q-Bar, you should try to pass yourself off as a naturalist, or an amateur biologist. If you were being watched here in Nha Trang, you’ve already shown some interest in biology at the Oceanographic Institute.”
I looked at her, but didn’t say anything.
“And you’ll really need an interpreter. It’s very difficult without an interpreter once you get away from the coast.”
I said, “I didn’t have an interpreter the last two times I was here. I’m good at making myself understood.”
“I’m sure you were when you had a rifle.”
“Point made. I’ll get an interpreter. They may have someone for me in Hue.”
She didn’t reply for a while, then said, “They haven’t given you much backup so far.”
“That’s because they have complete trust and confidence in me. I’m very resourceful.”
“I see that. But you can’t be sleeping with bilingual women all the way up country.”
I smiled and said, “You’re not coming with me past Hue.”
At 5:30, I left the hotel terrace and walked to Slicky Boy Tours on Van Hoa Street, a few blocks away. Susan stayed to settle the bill and was to follow within ten minutes.
Slicky Boy was still wearing his wraparound shades, and a phony smile. His front teeth were rimmed in gold, and he had a diamond stud in his ear. The only thing missing was a T-shirt that said Con Artist.
Susan had informed me that his real name was Mr. Thuc, and I greeted him by this name. He spoke a little English and asked me, “Where you lady?”
I replied, “Not my lady. Maybe she come. Maybe not.”
He said, “Same price.”
“Where’s my car?”
“Come. I show you.”
We went outside. Parked in his little mini-bus lot was a dark blue Nissan rice burner with four-wheel drive and four doors. I didn’t recognize the model, but Mr. Thuc assured me, “Good car.”
I examined good car and saw that it had no seat belts, but the tires looked okay, and there was a spare.
It was almost six hundred kilometers to Hue, according to Susan. This should take less than six hours on a decent road, but if the estimated drive time was seven or eight hours on Highway One, then Highway One was in much worse shape then I remembered it in 1968, when the Army Corps of Engineers was in charge of the roadwork.
There were no keys in the ignition, so I asked Slicky for the keys, and he gave them to me reluctantly. I sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine, which sounded all right, but there was only a quarter tank of fuel. That may not mean anything, but might mean that Slicky Boy had a shorter trip planned for us.
I popped the hood, got out, and checked the engine, which was a small four-cylinder, but seemed okay. I asked Slicky, “Where’s the driver?”
“He come.”
I shut off the engine and kept the keys. I looked at my watch and saw that fifteen minutes had already passed since I left Susan. Just as I was starting to worry about her, she showed up in a cyclo. She was wearing her backpack and carrying her new tote.
She exchanged greetings with Slicky Boy, and shook my hand as if we were recent acquaintances who had arranged to share a ride. This had been my idea, and even I was impressed by my tradecraft. James Bond would be proud of me.
Susan asked, “Is that our car?”
“That’s it.” I took her aside and said, “Quarter tank of gas. And check the radio antenna.”
She glanced at the antenna, where an orange plastic strip had been tied. “Sort of makes it stand out from all the other dark blue Nissan four-wheels.”
She looked into the rear compartment and said to me, “No gas cans, which are standard for a long drive, and no ice chest, which is a common courtesy in ’Nam.”
Slicky Boy was looking our way, but with the wraparound shades, I couldn’t tell if he was getting as suspicious of us as we were of him. This was not Hertz.
The driver showed up, on foot, a guy of about forty. He wore black cotton pants and a white short-sleeve shirt, like half the men in this country. He also wore sandals and needed a pedicure. He was a little hefty for a Viet, and seemed to me a bit nervous.
Mr. Thuc introduced us to Mr. Cam, and we all shook hands. Mr. Thuc said to us, “Mr. Cam speak no English, and I tell him lady speak good Vietnamese.” Mr. Thuc checked his watch and said, “Okay? You pay now.”
I counted out a hundred and fifty dollars and said to Slicky Boy, “Half now, half to Mr. Cam when we arrive in Hue.” I put the money in his shirt pocket.
“No, no. All now.”
“Am I in Hue? Is this Hue?” I opened the rear hatch of the Nissan and threw my bags inside. Susan put her backpack in, and I closed the hatch.
Slicky Boy was pissed, but he calmed himself down. He said, conversationally, “So, where Mr. Cam take you in Hue?”
I replied, “I think we told you. Hue”Phu Bai Airport.”
“Yes? Where you go?”
“Hanoi.”
“Ah.” He looked around, the way people do in a police state, and informed me, “Too many Communists in Hanoi.”
“Too many capitalists here.”
“Yes?” He said to Susan and me, “Need you passport and visa. I make copies.”
Well, we really didn’t want Slicky Boy to know our names, so I said to him, “No.”
Slicky started complaining about us not showing identification, and not paying in full, and not trusting him.
I said to him, “You want to make three hundred bucks, or do you want to be an asshole?”
“Please?”
Susan translated, and I wondered what the word was for asshole. She said to me, “Calm down.”
I said to Susan, “Let’s go. We’ll find another car and driver.” I plucked the cash out of Slicky’s pocket and opened the rear hatch.
He looked shocked, and his mouth dropped open. He said, “Okay. Okay. No passport. No visa.”
I put the money back in his pocket.
He said something to the driver, and they went inside the office.
Susan and I made eye contact. She said, “Mr. Cam is not dressed for a night drive up north.”
“The car has a heater.”
“They rarely use the heater because they think it wastes gas. Same with headlights, if you can believe that. Also, if the car breaks down, they’d freeze to death.”
“How cold is it up north?”
“Probably in the fifties at night. That’s very cold for someone from Nha Trang.”
I nodded and said, “We must look stupid.”
“Speak for yourself. Also, Mr. Cam may speak some English. So watch what you say.”
“I know that.”
She looked at me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to take the mini-bus tomorrow?”
I replied, “I can handle Mr. Cam.”
“Can you handle getting robbed on the road?”
“I’m driving.”
“Paul, you aren’t allowed to drive.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She informed me, “Sometimes they’re in cahoots with the police. They’ll pull over the chauffeured car and fine the Westerners in the car big bucks. If you’re driving, you’ll get arrested.”