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While Blackie Lee was being conveyed back to his club in the pousse-pousse, a curious scene was being enacted at the Headquarters of Security Police.
At the back of the Headquarters building where the police cars were garaged, there was a narrow lane screened on one side by the high brick wall that surrounded the Headquarters' building and on the other side by a high, thick hedge.
This narrow lane was seldom used except by a few peasants, taking a short cut to the General Market.
At a few minutes past noon, two uniformed policemen opened the double gates of the garage yard and walked briskly down to the far ends of the lane. There they stood with their backs to each other, separated by fifty yards of dusty gravel roadway. They had been given strict orders to stop anyone using the lane for the next twenty minutes.
While they were taking up their positions, another uniformed policeman, thin and boyish-looking, got into a police jeep and started up the engine. Anyone looking at him closely would have seen that he was sweating profusely and his brown face revealed a tension that seemed unnatural for the simple job he appeared to be doing.
At exactly fifteen minutes past twelve, just as Blackie Lee was paying off the Pousse-pousse boy, My-Lang-To who had been sitting in a hot dark cell for the past three hours, heard a key grate in the lock and the lock snap back.
She got to her feet as the steel door swung open. An uniformed policeman beckoned to her.
"You are no longer required," the policeman said. "You can go home."
My-Lang-To came timidly out of the dark heat into the sunlit corridor.
"Is there no news of my fiancé?" she asked. "Has he been found?"
The policeman took her thin arm in a hard grip and pushed her down the corridor and into a courtyard where a number of police jeeps were parked.
"When we have news of your fiancé, you will be told," he said and pointed to the open gateway. "That is your way out. Be satisfied that you have your freedom."
There was something in the man's voice that frightened the girl. She suddenly felt an urge to get away from this place: a frantic urge that stifled her and made her quicken her steps into a near run.
She made a neat and charming figure in her white tunic sheath, her white silk trousers and her conical straw hat as she hurried across the sun-filled courtyard.
The policeman sitting in the jeep, its engine running, shifted the gear stick into first gear. Sweat from his face fell onto the white sleeves of his immaculate jacket.
My-Lang-To passed through the open gateway and into the lane. She turned to the right and began the long walk to the main street. Ahead of her, she saw the back of a policeman who was standing at the top of the lane.
She walked rapidly for some twenty yards before she heard the sound of a fast moving car coming up behind her. She looked over her shoulder at the police jeep that had swung out through the open gateway and was coming straight at her.
She stepped to one side and leaned against the wall to give the jeep room to pass. It was only in the last brief seconds of her life that she realized the driver of the jeep had no intention of passing her. He suddenly swung the wheel and before My-Lang-To could move, the steel bumper of the jeep slammed into her, crushing her against the wall.
Neither of the policemen at the far ends of the lane looked around when he heard My-Lang-To's scream. They had been told not to look around. They heard the jeep reverse and drive back to the courtyard, and then there was a long silence in the lane.
Following instructions, they moved off into the main streets and went about their daily routine, but neither of them could blot from his mind the shrill scream of terror they had heard.
My-Lang-To's body was found ten minutes later by a passing peasant who was hurrying to the market with a load of vegetables skillfully balanced on a bamboo pole which he carried on his shoulder.
He stared for some horrified minutes at the crumpled figure and the white nylon sheath dyed red with blood before he dropped the bamboo pole and ran frantically to the gates of Security Police and hammered on them as he wailed out his discovery.
While My-Lang-To was walking to her death, in another quarter of Security Police, Dong-Ham was also about to die.
He was sitting in his small cell, nervously picking at the lump of hard skin on his hand when the cell door opened.
Two men, wearing only khaki shorts came in. One carried a large bucket of water which he set down in the middle of the cell. His companion beckoned to the old man to stand up.
Dong-Ham knew he was going to die. He stood up quietly and bravely. He allowed himself to be up-ended by the two men who handled him with the skill of experienced executioners. He didn't even attempt to struggle as they inserted his head into the bucket of water and held it there. He drowned after a few minutes with scarcely a movement. He was a man who accepted the inevitable with the belief that death was a release into a better world and that at his age, this release should be welcomed.
The man who had caused the death of these two simple people was lying full length on three narrow planks of wood, staring bleakly up at the wooden ceiling and smoking a cigarette.
Jaffe kept looking at his watch. It would be another three hours before Nhan came with some news. He could hear her grandfather moving about in the downstairs room. He hoped the old man wouldn't come up and start talking again. He had had more than enough of him.
Anyway, Jaffe told himself, he was lucky to be here. The house stood alone. The nearest building was fifty yards down the road: a big lacquer factory. He had looked out of the window during the morning while the old man had been talking to him. Very few cars had passed: the majority of them full of tourists going to see over the factory. He thought he would be reasonably safe here so long as he didn't show himself.
He now turned his mind to the problem of getting out of the country. He had already decided reluctantly that he would have to ask Blackie Lee to help him. He wished he knew how far he could trust the fat Chinese. There was a chance once Blackie knew the reason why he was in hiding that he would attempt to blackmail him.
He rolled on his side, grimacing at the hardness of the planks and took from his pocket the tin box containing the diamonds. He opened the box and examined the diamonds, feeling a surge of excitement run through him again at the sight of their brilliance. He counted them. There were fifty large stones and a hundred and twenty smaller ones. There was no doubt they were the highest quality. Carefully he picked one out of the tin and held it up to the light. He had no idea of its value, but it couldn't be less than six hundred dollars. It could be considerably more.
While he lay day-dreaming of how he would spend the money once he had sold the diamonds, Blackie Lee was busy using the telephone. He rang several numbers before he finally tracked down Tung Whu, a newspaper reporter who wrote for the local Chinese newspaper.
Tung Whu didn't sound very pleased to speak to Blackie Lee, but that was of no importance to Blackie. Tung Whu owed him twenty thousand piastres which he had borrowed to meet an urgent gambling debt. He was therefore under an obligation to Blackie who up to now had told Tung Whu there was no hurry for the money.
Over the telephone, Tung Whu said he was very busy. Blackie said a busy man should be a grateful man. It was the man who had no work and no money (stressing the word) that he was sorry for.
There was a pause, then Tung Whu, now that the word 'money' had been mentioned, asked in a much milder tone if there was anything he could do for Blackie.
"Yes," Blackie said. "You can come here and lunch with me. I shall expect you," and he hung up as Tung Whu began to protest.
Thirty minutes later, Yu-lan ushered Tung Whu into Blackie's office.
Tung Whu was an elderly Chinese, wearing a shabby European suit and clutching a worn leather briefcase that contained a battered camera and a number of notebooks.
Blackie bowed to him and shook hands. He waved him to a chair and nodded to Yu-lan who stood waiting at the door.
Tung Whu said he really couldn't stay long. He was extremely busy. Something unexpected had occurred and he had as yet to write his article for tomorrow's edition.
Blackie asked innocently what had happened. Tung Whu said an American had been kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits.
While he was speaking one of the club waiters came in with a tray containing bowls of Chinese soup, shrimps in sweet sour sauce and fried rice.
While the two men ate, Blackie drew all the known facts about the kidnapping from the reporter.
"It is puzzling the American authorities why this man Jaffe should have driven on the Bien Hoa road with his houseboy when he told his friend he was going to the airport with a woman," Tung Whu said as he gobbled up his soup. "It is thought the American was passing the police post when the first grenade was thrown. Both Security Police and the American police think the American might have been killed by the shrapnel from the grenade and the bandits have taken his body and hidden it somewhere. A search is going on for the body."
"So there is no truth that the American went to the airport with a woman?" Blackie asked casually.
Tung Whu nipped a large shrimp between his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. He shook his head.
"It is thought this was an excuse the American made to persuade his friend to lend him his car. It is puzzling why he wanted the car because his own Dauphine has been found and examined. There is nothing wrong with it but he told his friend the car had broken down. There are a number of puzzling features to the affair."
At this moment the telephone bell rang and when Blackie answered it, a voice asked excitedly if Tung Whu was there.
Blackie handed over the receiver and watched Tung Whu while he listened to the explosive chatter at the other end of the line. Tung Whu said, "I will come at once."
He replaced the receiver and got to his feet.
"There is a new development," he told Blackie. "The house-boy's girl went to Headquarters for questioning. As she was leaving, she was hit by a car and killed."
Blackie's eyes went suddenly dull.
"And the driver of the car?"
"He didn't stop. The police are looking for him now. I must get back to the office."
When he had gone, Blackie lit a cigarette and stared thoughtfully into space. He was still sitting motionless when the waiter came in to clear away the remains of the meal and he waved the waiter impatiently away.
His thoughts were far too important to be disturbed.
A young Vietnamese lolled against a tree, watching the traffic move up the stately avenue that led to the Doc Lap Palace. He wore a black and white striped coat which he had had specially made from a picture he had seen in an American newspaper. It was a bad imitation of a 'Zoot' coat: exaggerated, heavily-padded shoulders, narrow cuffs, and cut so that it reached to his knees. He wore black drain-pipe trousers, a dirty white shirt with a string tie, and on his head, a Mexican hard straw hat.
This youth was known by the name of Yo-Yo. No one had ever heard his real name nor had anyone ever taken the interest to find out what it was. He was called Yo-Yo because a yo-yo was never out of his hands. He was an expert with this wooden toy which he spun endlessly at the end of its string to the fascination of his friends and the children of the neighbourhood.
Yo-Yo was thin, grubby and vicious looking. He earned a few piastres by working for Blackie Lee. When he wasn't working for Blackie Lee, he augmented his precarious income by picking pockets and extorting protection money from some of the pousse-pousse boys.
As he spun his yo-yo, his glittering black eyes half closed against the glare of the midday sun, a dirty little urchin ran up to him and breathlessly told him Blackie wanted him.
Yo-Yo looked at the little boy. He reached out with two thin bony fingers and pinched the boy's nose. His dirty finger nails made half crescents in the boy's flesh and made him scream out with pain. As the boy ran away, wailing and holding his nose, Yo-Yo signalled to a pousse-pousse and told the boy to take him to the Paradise Club.
There, Blackie told him to go immediately to Nhan Lee Quon's apartment and to wait outside. He was to follow the girl wherever she went, but was to make sure she did not see him. He was given forty piastres. As he handed over the money, Blackie told him he expected a report in the evening.
Yo-Yo took the money, nodded his curt nod and went down the stairs, humming under his breath.
A little after two o'clock, Nhan left her apartment, unaware that Yo-Yo was behind her. Further up the street she entered a tobacconist shop where she bought a carton of Lucky Strike cigarettes.
Yo-Yo followed her to the bus station where she bought a newspaper and got on the Saigon-Thudaumot bus. He sat at the back of the bus and played with his yo-yo while the peasants sitting around him watched the spinning wooden reel with fascinated eyes.
The bus stopped at the lacquer factory and Nhan got off, brushing past Yo-Yo without noticing him. He followed her and pausing under the shade of a tree, saw her walk briskly down the dusty street and enter a small wooden villa, its walls covered with pink and violet bougainvillea. He watched her rap on the door and enter, closing the door behind her.
He lit a cigarette and squatted down with his back against the tree and began flicking the yo-yo to the length of its string, bringing it back with a little snap of his wrist into the palm of his dirty hand.
Nhan ran up the stairs and threw herself into Jaffe's arms. He kissed her impatiently, and then taking the newspaper from under her arm, he went back into his room and going over to the window, scanned the headlines. Finding nothing there, he turned the pages rapidly until he satisfied himself. He tossed the paper away, thinking he shouldn't have expected any news yet. Well, at least, it meant the search for him hadn't begun, and he let himself relax.
He looked over at Nhan who had taken off her conical-shaped hat and was arranging her hair in the mirror on the wall. Her doll-like beauty moved him, and he went over to her, picked her up and sat her on his knees. He felt her flinch and stiffen as he handled her and he looked at her, puzzled.
"I didn't hurt you, did I? What’s the matter?"
She shook her head.
Nothing. You didn't hurt me." She took his hand in both of hers. "I'm worried. The police have been to see Blackie."
Jaffe felt his heart give a little jump.
"Well, go on. How do you know?" he asked, staring at her.
Sitting bolt upright on his knees, she told him of Blackie Lee's visit and what he had said. Jaffe listened, his face hard, his eyes uneasy.
So the hunt for him was on after all, he thought sourly. He should have known they would have found Haum's body by now.
"Will he give you away?" he asked.
She tried to control a shiver of fear.
"I don't know."
"I've got to trust him. I don't know anyone else who I can trust. Does he know your grandfather lives here?"
"I've never told him. I don't think he does."
"I've got to deal with him. I'll have to meet him somewhere. Where can I meet him, Nhan? Not in Saigon. It'd be too risky, but not far from here. I'll have to walk."
"You could use my grandfather's bicycle," she said.
He hadn't thought of a man so old as her grandfather having a bicycle. He brightened.
"That's fine. Well now, where can we meet?"
She thought for a moment.
"There's an old temple not far from here. It is not now used. You could meet there," and she went on to describe where the temple was.
"Fine! Now look you tell him you have talked with me and I want to see him. Tell him to meet me at the temple at one o'clock tonight."
Nhan nodded.
"How about your mother and your uncle?" he asked.
"It is all right." She couldn't bear the pain of sitting on his muscular knees any longer. Her back was still burning from her uncle's beating. She slid off his knees and squatted down in front of him, her eyes dull with misery. "I have talked to them. They understand."
Well that was something, Jaffe thought, but for all that, he was worried. If only he knew if he could trust the fat Chinese or not!
He looked down at Nhan and he suddenly realized how beautiful she was. The worry in her eyes, her small beautifully-shaped face gave his heart a jolt, and he felt an urgent need to make love to her. He got up and crossed to the door, pushing home the bolt.
"Come here," he said and walking over to the bed, he sat on it.
She came to him reluctantly and stood between his knees while he undressed her: a thing he always liked to do.
When she was naked, he picked her up. His hand felt a hard ridge on her thigh. Startled, he laid her on the bed and rolled her over on her face. The sight of the livid weals on her golden flesh sent a rush of blood to his head.
His desire for her went away. He was aware of an extraordinary sensation which he had never experienced before. A feeling of rage that made him tremble violently took hold of him. In this blind furious moment, he suddenly realized that he loved this girl: something he hadn't ever realized before. He felt a murderous desire to get his hands on the person who had inflicted such pain on her and smash that person to pieces.
"Who did it?" he asked, his voice harsh and violent.
Nhan began to cry, hiding her face in the pillow as if ashamed.
He couldn't bear to look at the bruised and broken skin. Gently he put over her blue tunic sheath, then he went to the window and with a shaking hand he lit a cigarette.
"Who did it?" he asked, softening his voice with an effort.
"It's nothing," Nhan sobbed. "Come to me, Steve. Please. It is nothing."
I must have been mad to have involved her in this, he thought. I am a stinking, selfish son of a bitch.
He threw the cigarette out of the open window, unaware that he was showing himself to Yo-Yo who had moved to a position opposite the villa and who stared up at him as he squatted, in the shade, spinning his yo-yo.
Jaffe turned and went over to Nhan and took her in his arms He held her close to him, running his fingers through her hair. After a while she stopped crying and clung to him. She told him it was her uncle who had beaten her.
"It was his duty," she said. "He will now feel he can lie to the police. It is better this way."
Jaffe felt bad. He realized he had never treated her as anything but a pretty doll. He had used her when he had felt like it, and had dropped her when she had bored him. It was only now that he realized she was a human being with feelings, and he felt acutely ashamed of himself.
He decided then and there that he would marry her as soon as he possibly could and he would take her to Hong Kong with him. It pleased him to imagine her with him, to watch her delight when he bought her things, to see her astonishment when she saw America for the first time.
He stretched out beside her, holding her close to him and he talked. He told her what they would do together as soon as they were married and this time he was being sincere and he meant what he was saying.
While he spun his dreams, Nhan relaxed in his arms, her aching body forgotten, her slim fingers stroking the back of his neck, happier than she had ever been before in her life.
It wasn't until just before seven o'clock that Yo-Yo saw her leave the villa and walk towards the bus stop.
He rose to his feet and slouched after her. He had had a satisfactory afternoon. He had rested in the shade and had been paid for doing nothing. This kind of job just suited Yo-Yo.
However, he was curious. During the long wait outside the villa, he had asked himself why Blackie Lee should have wanted one of his club girls watched. Who was the American he had seen at the window?
These questions, he told himself as the bus rattled towards Saigon, needed answering.
At the Central Market Nhan left the bus and took a pousse-pousse to the club. This surprised Yo-Yo who followed in another pousse-pousse. He watched her go up the stairs of the club, then shrugging, he crossed the street to where a food vendor squatted and sitting down beside him, bought a bowl of Chinese soup which he ate hungrily.
Blackie Lee was talking to the leader of the dance band when Nhan came into the deserted dance hall. He saw her immediately and leaving the leader of the dance band, he went to meet her.
"I told you not to come here," he said. "Go away."
"I have to talk to you," Nhan said and he was surprised at her firmness. "It is about Mr. Jaffe."
Blackie became immediately interested.
"Come into my office."
When he had closed the office door, he sat down at his desk. "Well, what is it?"
Nhan sat down gingerly. She was still feeling very happy because now she was sure that Jaffe loved her and they would be married and they would go to Hong Kong together. She had never been entirely convinced by anything Jaffe had said to her in the past, but this time she had seen by the expression in his eyes, he was being sincere and she told herself, the eyes of a man can't lie. She was glad and grateful that her uncle had beaten her. The marks on her body had finally sparked off in Steve this new love. She felt confident now, and Blackie was aware of this new confidence.
She said Jaffe wanted to talk to Blackie. Would Blackie meet him at the old temple on the Bien Hoa road? Blackie hesitated for a moment or so.
"Where is he hiding?" he asked.
"That is the message he gave me," Nhan said firmly. "I have nothing else to tell you."
Blackie shrugged.
"I will meet him. Now go away and keep away."
A few minutes after she had left, the door pushed open and Yo-Yo came into the office. He told Blackie of the events of the afternoon and how he had seen an American in the upstairs room of the little villa.
"This place belongs to the girl's grandfather," he said. "She left on the seven o'clock bus and then she came here."
Blackie nodded. He took from his wallet five ten-piastre notes which he tossed over the desk to Yo-Yo.
"When I want you again," he said, waving to the door, "I will send for you."
"Do I continue to watch the girl?" Yo-Yo asked.
"No. I am satisfied with what you have told me. The matter is now closed."
Yo-Yo nodded and went down into the darkening street.
The matter was certainly not closed so far as he was concerned. Why had the girl seen Blackie? What had they talked about to make Blackie Lee lose interest in having her watched?
Yo-Yo bought another bowl of Chinese soup. While he was eating it, he decided he would watch Blackie Lee.
For some time now, he had had an idea that a number of Blackie's activities could bear investigation. If he could get something on him, he knew Blackie Lee would make a much more profitable subject for extortion than the few miserable pousse-pousse boys on whom Yo-Yo had to rely for his extra income.
A more profitable but also a much more dangerous subject, he warned himself. He would have to be very careful.
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