T. Parker - Little Saigon

“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.”