T. Parker - Little Saigon

Burke leaned forward, arching an eyebrow. “Chuck, I got to admit, I’ve never seen anybody nosy, stubborn, dumb, and clever as you. If you hadn’t written that crap about my fighter, I’d have left you alone. But I’m kinda sensitive about people snoopin’ around Elite. So I hired Cristobel for a little kiss and tell. Just in case you got motivated and started poking around Little Saigon when we bagged Li — like you poked around my business. Crissy kept me posted on what you were doing, and everything was fine. But then you trail Bennett to the airstrip, take the money, and come home with it. Jesus, boy, don’t you ever just give up and quit? I tried to cover every angle, Chuck. I’ve been working on this for three years, so no expense was too great. Now you can see why that two million ransom is only what I’ve earned.”

“And you’ve been playing up to my father and brother for three years, getting your foot in the Paradiso.”

“Once Lucia tumbled with Edison, we couldn’t lose. Your old man rolled her in the hay a couple of times and thought she was the perfect girl next door. Horny old goat. Anyway, it was three years of hard work, so you can see what that two million means to me. You know something, it’s the old-money people like you Fryes that sucked the life out of this country. Now it’s a new ballgame. People like me who came from dirt-poor nothing are going to raise this country back up to where she was. Me and Lucia never had any oil money. We had to scrape together the rent. That ain’t right, salt of the earth folks like us struggling through life while the government helps all these ‘disadvantaged’ types. Mess with me, and you’ll get disadvantaged real quick. Fuckin’ Vietnamese, anyway. This isn’t their country. This is my country. All men were created equal, but a lot’s changed since then.”

Frye regarded Burke’s dark eyes, his curly brown hair, white even teeth. “I’m trying to figure out how a man like you can do what he does.”

Burke’s face went matter-of-fact. “I just do what I gotta do, Chuck, same as anyone else. I work on a bigger scale, is all.”

Frye smiled, wondering if Burke could see the hatred behind it. His heart was racing now. “Count the bodies, Burke. There’s the kidnapper from the Wind, two Dark Men, Xuan, Eddied Hy, Thach, Bennett. There’s a hundred-plus freedom fighters in Vietnam and the network. You killed all those people just for a resort and a bunch of money. How do you shave that face in the morning?”

Parsons was frowning, shaking his head like Edison used to do: Dumb kid, won’t you ever understand? “I told you once, Chuck, back there at my target range. I plain old don’t care about some things that other folks make such a big deal about. I have no opinions at all about killing people. Far as my face goes and shaving it, well, hell, I like my face.”

Parsons picked up the gun with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other. He screwed on a silencer and stood. “Let’s get the money now, Chuck. Time for me to be rollin’ down the road.”

Frye worked himself up from the couch. He expected his legs to be heavy and useless, but they felt strong and ready. He could imagine where the shotgun was, precisely where he had positioned it, and he could see, as clearly as he’d ever seen anything, what he would do with it. He could hear every movement, smell every smell. His eyes seemed to gather in details he’d never noticed. He looked at Burke, thinking: Your ass is mine. “Money’s in the cave.”

Parsons smiled, looked quickly around again, then moved to Frye. “You’re a big strong boy, aren’t you, Chuck? You ought to relax a little.”

Frye never saw the pistol move, he just felt the bony crunch as it hit the side of his head. He knew he was on his knees. He saw the floor moving, rectangles of hardwood floating, mixing, reforming.

Parsons hit him again. The next thing he knew, Burke had yanked him up by the shirt collar. Frye felt himself swaying, trying to keep his legs under him.

“I don’t like all this quiet.” Frye watched him push one of Li’s tapes into the little portable player and turn the volume up. He waved the pistol toward the bedroom. “You first, Chuck. Move quick, I’ll shoot you right between the shoulder blades.”

Frye stumbled into the bedroom. He braced himself against the doorjamb, stopped, looked back at Burke. There were three or four of him, all moving in perfect unison. They waved guns at him.

Frye’s heart started roaring now, sending tidal waves into his ears. He moved into the cave. The light from the bedroom was weak. “Back there,” he heard himself say, “in that box.”

Parsons looked hard at him. “You get it out, Chuck. You got so many tricks here tonight, I plum don’t trust you no more.”

For some reason, Frye thought this was perfect. Then he remembered the.12-gauge he’d hidden there. Yes, he thought, this is going according to plan. When he took his next step, Parsons caught him by his shirt.

“You moved too fast, Chuck. That changed my mind. I think I’ll just fetch it myself.”

“It’s booby-trapped.”

“Don’t expect me to believe that now, do you?”

“It’s not here. It’s somewhere else.”

“Getting desperate, Chuck? Don’t do that. It’s unbecoming. Well, this is it. Head or heart? Nobody’s gonna ever find your body, ‘cept the sharks, so I’d vote head.”

Frye turned to face him. “The money’s at the Mega-Shop.”

“The money’s either on Frye Island or right here. If it’s on the island, I’ll deal with that. But either way, you’re gonna be dead in less than two seconds.”

Burke sighed.

Frye pivoted and lunged toward the box.

The pistol went off, louder and from a slightly different direction than Frye expected. He waited for the rip of pain, but it didn’t come. Then Parsons tripped clumsily, like a drunk man. The gun spilled from his hand as he caught himself on all fours. “Shit,” he muttered.

Cristobel stepped into the cave from the bedroom, her small automatic held out. Frye kicked Burke’s weapon away, then pulled the shotgun from the box.

Parsons worked himself up from the floor unsteadily, hands pressed against his stomach, blood running over his fingers. His hair was tousled, his eyes dim, his skin gray. He looked like a man who just woke up. He considered Cristobel, first with irritation, then disappointment. He stared at Frye and offered a wouldn’t-you-know-it shake of the head. “What a dumb-ass way to lose this one,” he said quietly. “That stupid bitch.”

He wobbled, reached into his jacket, and had a derringer halfway out when Frye shot him as close to dead-center as he could get, which from that distance was close indeed. Parsons went everywhere, but most of him slammed into the cave wall and crumpled into a heap. The air drizzled warmly.

Frye jacked another round into the chamber and walked to Cristobel.

She backed out, eyes wide, face pale. She dropped the pistol. Frye looked at her, and she looked back with an expression of fear and disgust almost as deep as his own. Her voice was quiet, sickened. “Everything I told you was a lie.”

Frye turned off the music. Cristobel went into the bathroom. When she came out, she leaned against the living room wall and stared at him. She looked white as the paint. “Burke used me to watch you. I didn’t know why, not at first. When things got clear, it was too late. The rape story was just to put you off, because I had no intention of making love to you.”

“Why? Money?”

She shook her head. “My brother didn’t die over in Vietnam, Chuck. Not officially. He was just missing. Burke found out he was alive. He played me a tape of Mike talking to Lucia. Said he could get Lucia to spring Mike first, when Hanoi started letting them come home. When I started getting scared, he also said she could get Hanoi to leave him in prison until he died. I did what he wanted.”