Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  “Ponk!” Miller shouted. “Blackmailing little bastards. Be a long time before they try that again.”

  Leaning back in the seat, Ordway edged his right hand under his thigh, still able to feel the tremor, despite the weight pressing on it. It had stopped by the time Miller spotted a parking place and braked. Ordway hopped out, waiting on the sidewalk until Miller was done. They walked Tu Do Street together, ignoring the whores and vendors. Miller pointed down a side street. “There’s where we lay out the bait.” In the rhythmic flare of a blinking yellow neon sign, three black soldiers lounged against the wall of a bar grandly titled The Golden Lotus. Two more blacks stood at the curb, arguing in heavy voices with a tiny Vietnamese woman who waited politely for them to finish before spitting a stream of obscenities at them. The men against the wall laughed at the entertainment. The woman tossed her head, playing to them, and one offered her a drag on a cigarette. She took it, pulling hard enough to make the coal glow, holding the smoke deep while the two men picked up the argument again.

  “That’s a black joint, Willy,” Ordway hissed. “You want to get my head busted?”

  “You’re with me. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Sure. Me and my accent in a slopchute full of juiced spades. Shit.”

  “Keep your mouth shut, then. Do everybody a favor.” They were abreast of the door and Miller nodded to the three against the wall. The middle one stepped in front of him, looking past to Ordway.

  “No whites,” he said. The other two stirred, but remained in place.

  “It’s OK, brother,” Miller said, laughing. “He’s with me. No problem, man.”

  “No whites. A-tall.” The man’s eyes rolled, having trouble focusing.

  “Forget it,” Ordway said. “You go in if you want to. I don’t need any more trouble, you know? I’ll wait in the jeep.”

  “Fuck that.” Miller glared at all three men. The skin tightened over hardened muscles in his jaw. “I got a right to go anywhere I want with anyone I want.”

  “Not here, you don’t.” The voice came from behind, and Ordway turned to see the two men who’d been at the curb had moved closer. The woman watched, a hand pulling anxiously at the hem of her blouse.

  The man in the doorway said, “It don’t make a shit if you Martin Luther King and this here’s your honky lawyer, no whites goes in here.”

  Ordway stepped back so he could see all of them, moving smoothly, hands loose. “I told you all, I don’t need any more trouble. I’m leaving.”

  Miller listened to the retreating footsteps without turning, the anger in them as clear to him as speech. He stared into the eyes in front of him until the other man’s gaze broke. Slowly, he inspected the others.

  “You holdin’ inspection?” one sneered, and the rest laughed.

  “I don’t want to forget none of you,” Miller said, putting a hand to the shoulder of the man blocking his way. The man allowed himself to be moved.

  “Be sure and bring some more o’ your honky friends,” he called, and Miller’s stomach wadded up. He was surprised at how his knees hurt when he sat down at one of the small tables in the dark room.

  A girl joined him immediately, her age smothered in makeup. He looked into her eyes, lifeless as the used-up yellow blouse exposing the top half of her breasts. One of them was bruised, the discoloration showing through powder she’d used to cover the mark. He bought her a Saigon tea without waiting to be asked, ignoring her instant sales pitch, letting her chatter while he examined the customers. He found what he wanted in a matter of seconds and leaned toward the girl, one hand covering hers.

  “Over in the corner,” he said, barely moving his head that way. “Will that man sell me some stuff?”

  Understanding flashed in the dull eyes even as she shook her head. “I not know. What you want buy?”

  “You know what I mean. Does he sell it?”

  “I not know. You want take me home?”

  “Never mind. I’ll find out for myself.” He walked to the corner table where a small man in a spangled shirt and wide-brimmed hat held court. The man watched him come. The two hangers-on failed to notice until he was only a table away. They glowered and looked especially menacing, like watchdogs caught napping. Miller paid no attention to them and the small man smiled a greeting that brightened his whole being.

  “Good evening, my man, good evening.” He moved a hand across the table top. “Find a chair and pull up.”

  The warmth of the reception startled Miller and he sat carefully, watching the other two at the table. The small man noticed and laughed, a sharp sound.

  “Don’t worry about them. They OK. How you keepin’, man? Ain’t seen you around lately.”

  Miller said, “You got the right man? My name’s Miller, Willy Miller. I never met you.”

  The small man laughed again, enjoying himself. “I know it. But I know you. Make it my business to know who hangs out, like. Seen you out on Plant Road a lot. You a Sergeant, work in some research deal in that ARVN compound. What you all do in there?”

  Miller made himself look amused and said, “Push paper, like everybody else in the Nam. What about you? And what do I call you?”

  One of the watchdogs laughed. “He wants to know where you work.” He looked to the small man and sound died in his throat. Miller looked at the small man’s face and felt sorry for the watchdog. Then the small man was friends again.

  “That’s all right, Otis, forget it. Just don’t let your alligator mouth overload your hummin’bird brain once too often, you dig?” To Miller, he said, “Otis a good man, but sometime he talk too much. But I ain’t introduce myself. Bobby Mantell.” He extended a hand and they gave each other power.

  “I come in with an idea,” Miller said, shooting a significant glance at each of the other two. Mantell raised his eyebrows in mocking surprise. After a hesitation, he said, “You all go get us something to drink. I’ll let you know when we want it.”

  Waiting until they’d reached the bar, Miller then turned back to Mantell. He leaned forward, hands flat on the table. “You don’t know much about me, and I don’t know nothin’ about you, but I got to start somewhere, and you look like the kind of man I need.”

  “You want a stereo? Want to sell an air-conditioner? Find a woman? You name it, Willy, I can handle it.”

  Miller’s attitude challenged. “I can handle that much by myself.” He turned his hands over on the table, resting them palms up. “Look. No marks. You want to check anything else, let me know.”

  Mantell’s smile was replaced by the hard look he’d shown Otis. Miller ignored the swift rush of fear, knowing this was only the first of many blind leaps and there was no jump back. He remained unmoving until Mantell broke eye contact to scan the room. He pushed at Miller’s hands. “All right, goddamit, no tracks! So what! People lookin’, man!”

  “I want you to know you ain’t talkin’ to no user. I want you to know I take care of business.”

  “You?” Mantell snorted. “You ain’t got no business. You just another brother with a soft job.”

  Miller continued as if uninterrupted. “You might know somebody can deal. I mean deal, man. No dime bag shit. ‘Cause I can move it. You know anyone wants to talk about the States, I know how to get the stuff in. No risk, you dig?” He pushed the chair away and stood up, hands still on the table. “I can move it.”

  Mantell laughed. “You been readin’ them comic books, Willy. I know you ain’t no narc, but you must be workin’ for one, so you and him go find a corner and suck each other. You runnin’ with whites, I hear. Man do that, somethin’ wrong with him. You sure you ain’t a little—?” He finished the sentence by holding out a hand and letting it slowly droop at the wrist. A large diamond glittered in a gold ring, dew on ebony. Laughter from the bar distracted Miller and he realized all eyes were on him. He straightened and deliberately looked around the entire room. The sound level dropped appreciably. He looked back to Mantell.

  “That’s country,
man.” The angry vibration in his voice made it difficult for him to speak softly. “I’m giving you a chance to make more money than your small-time ass can understand, giving you a chance to be somebody, not just a fuckin’ do-rag nigger scuffling for clothes money. You don’t want it, fuck you. I’ll find me a man who does. Somebody with more sense than to get smart with a good deal. You think about it. I’ll be back. You sure as shit ain’t movin’ up in the world. I know where to find you.”

  He walked for the door, picking his way through the jumbled tables, feeling the eyes and the unnatural silence pushing against his skin like plastic sliding across the muscles. He itched all over by the time he stepped into the humid night and walked toward the jeep. After a block with no one following, his step loosened and he felt good, free. “Sure took you long enough,” Ordway grumbled as his partner swung into the driver’s seat. “I figured they’d cut you up and fed you to the fishes by now. What happened?”

  “Pussycats, my man, pussycats.” Miller dropped the jeep into gear and shot it out into the street. Ordway rocked in the seat, grabbing for a handhold and swearing his surprise.

  “When they deal with ol’ Willy, baby, they all pussycats.” He warped the vehicle around a corner and began to sing. Ordway improved his handhold and cursed in a steady monotone.

  Chapter 19

  Allen had watched Ordway and Miller leave with a rueful malediction for both of them. Now, an hour later, he looked at his watch for the eighth time in fifteen minutes and made his move. He moved quickly through the passageway into the courtyard and hurried toward the gate.

  “Captain Allen!” The call stopped him so abruptly his foot dug in and gravel bounced away. He turned to Lieutenant Colonel Earl and composed his best smile.

  “ ‘Evening, Colonel. How are you?”

  Earl, casual in slacks and Hawaiian shirt, came closer. “Same as ever, Captain, same as ever. What you doing around here?” His eyes were wider than normal, rearranging the fine features to a look of surprise, as though the slight weaving of his body was constantly catching him unprepared.

  “Just having a few drinks with the Colonel and some friends,” Allen said, watching Earl and wondering if anyone in Saigon was not drinking on this particular night. He pointed at the gate. “I’m on my way home, as a matter of fact.”

  Earl moved to drape an arm across Allen’s shoulder. “Leaving early? Got something special lined up, huh? One of the embassy chicks? Has she got a friend? Must be something to drag you away from your buddies.”

  “It’s not that. Some of the Unit—”

  “Oh, the Unit!" Earl stepped back. “That sounds like a party! Celebrating? Celebrating what? Everybody still enjoying the way that jar-head Major threw that poor little bastard off the roof? I’ll bet Winter’s pissed he wasn’t there to see that!”

  “No one threw him, Colonel. There was an arrest in progress, he struggled to escape, and he went over. You’ve seen the report.”

  “Report!” Earl flung out an arm and staggered. “What fucking whitewash! You were there! You know that sonofabitch killed him in cold blood. Why isn’t anyone allowed to interview the other two, the two that fucking brush ape wasn’t allowed to get his hands on?”

  “They’re prisoners of the South Vietnamese. You know what they’re like about sovereignty.”

  Rocking, Earl glared while Allen silently urged him to go away. The Colonel failed to leave, but at least the anger drained from his face and he looked at Allen in sadness.

  “What are we doing to you young people?” he said, looking away into the night sky. The question was so soft it could have been entirely selfdirected. “How did all this happen? Are we really going to destroy everything in order to protect it? Is that what we’ve come to?”

  “Colonel, I’m running a little late.” Allen indicated the gate again. “If you don’t mind, sir—?”

  Instantly the knowing grin flashed back on. “I know where you’re going. Got something hot lined up, right? Hey, you remember the party we went to a couple months ago, that ARVN Colonel’s wife? Beautiful thing—’way too young for the old bastard. Him in Da Nang, her all alone down here. Remember?”

  “Not too well, sir.” Allen looked at his watch.

  “I remember. Name was Dao. You ever see her? I think she liked me.” He winked.

  “I see her from time to time. I’ll mention your name. But I have to go, Colonel.”

  “Well, go, then.” He spun to leave, dignity marred by another unfortunate stagger. He tried to salvage it with minor bluster. “Don’t forget, you see that Dao, you tell her I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Right.” Allen threw the word behind him, trotting out the gate. Outside, he got lucky, walking less than a block before he spotted the Bluebird and flagged it. He gave the address and closed his eyes, not stirring until he felt the vehicle stop and heard the driver’s mumble.

  He paid without haggling, nodded briefly at the apartment-house guard, and stepped into the lobby. After a moment’s indecision, he chose the stairs, assuming the self-service elevator was out of order again. It was only one flight and the exercise was less bother than the aggravation of waiting for a machine that worked on whimsy. At the top of the stairs he turned right, stopping at the apartment fronting the building. He fitted his key to the lock and let himself in.

  Across the width of the room a figure stirred in an overstuffed chair in front of drapes that shielded the window from the street below. A flowing pink nightgown identified the person as female. The only illumination in the room came from the narrow beam of a reading lamp aimed at a book in her hand. She dropped the book beside the chair and the light, deprived of anything to reflect from, drew in on itself. The thump of the book combined with the dimming effect to provide a sense of threat.

  Allen laid apology over explanation. “I said I’d be late.”

  “Not late.” Anger slurred the vowels, emphasizing the lilting Vietnamese accent. “Very late. I fix good dinner. Not special, good, same-same. You come home too late. All gone cold. I gone cold, too. You piss me off, for sure.”

  Waves of weariness assaulted Allen and he massaged his temples. “How many times do I have to tell you ‘pissed off’ is bad? And don’t say ‘same-same,’ either. It sounds like one of the street girls.”

  “What!”

  His hands ceased their work to fly to a defensive position. “I mean that’s the way they talk, that’s all. You don’t want to sound like that, do you?”

  “I never sound like street creep!” She rose quickly, stepping between him and the light. The nightgown was suddenly luminescent and she was a dark silhouette against a rose-pink glow. Allen felt his whole body respond.

  “God, Dao, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

  She was scornful. “You come home late, drunk, think all you have do is say sweet? You do think I street creep!”

  “No.” He dropped his hands. “I don’t blame you for being angry. I’m sorry I’m late. But I’ll never stop telling you you’re beautiful.”

  “You just want go bed!”

  His face lit up. “You better believe! You think I’m too drunk? Never!” He reached for her and she scooted under his grasp and past him. When he straightened and turned, she was giggling at him from behind another chair. “You big liar,” she said, interrupting herself with more giggling. “You come here from other woman, try fool me!”

  Stalking, feinting from side to side, he said, “There’s no other woman. I need all my strength for you. And you’re going to need all of yours, tonight.” He lunged and missed again, laughing at how clumsy she made him look. Like a cat, he thought. Everything about her is catlike.

  She danced away, giving little yelps of delighted fright until she had the other chair between them again. “Big talk,” she huffed from safety. “Anyhow, I not interested. I told you, I already got cold, same-same dinner.”

  Another futile grab and he said, “Dammit, stop saying ‘same-same!’ ” He held up a hand. “Look,
let’s get this settled. Peace. Now, the phrase is ‘just like your dinner.’ You say it.”

  She grimaced. “ ‘Just like you dinner.’ ”

  “No, no. ‘Just like your dinner.’ ” He stepped to the light and turned it on her face. Even frowning at the sudden light, she excited him. “Now say it again,” he commanded.

  Tiring of the game, Dao glared. “Just like your—”

  He grabbed her before she could react, vaulting across the chair to scoop her up in his arms. She squealed and pretended to bite his neck before arching to stare up at his face.

  “You make me too much afraid when you late. I worry all time.”

  “I told you we all had to go to BOQ 1. I didn’t think I’d be this late. I came as soon as I could.” He walked toward the bedroom door. She lowered her face against his chest.

  “I fix good dinner. You not come. I worry.”

  “I’m here now.” Feeling very sober and very tender, he lowered her to the bed, sat next to her and started undressing.

  “You stay tonight?” The question was hopeful.

  “I can’t, honey. I’ve got to see Winter first thing in the morning.”

  “How you get back villa? You bring jeep?”

  “I’ll have to walk.”

  “No!” She put her arms around him and pressed against his bare back. The nightgown wasn’t between them and his heart pounded.

  “I want you stay. Walk at night dangerous.”

  Pulling free, he stepped out of his shorts and lay down next to her. “We’ll argue later,” he said.

  * * *

  “Wake up!”

  He rolled toward the sound, delighting in her laughter as she fended off his hands.

  “Too much, you want,” she pretended to scold. “I got breakfast for you. Come on, you be late, be mad me.”

  He got out of bed and stood up with a muzzy smile for her as she looked up at him, already dressed in jeans and one of his shirts.

  “What time is it?”

  “One-half past five.”