The Cleaner

CHAPTER 14

Tucker said something in Vietnamese to the cab driver, then settled back and gave Quinn another smile. “Cheer up, mate. We’ll get our business done, then you can be on your way.”

“And what business would that be?” Quinn asked.

Tucker said nothing.

Quinn shrugged as if to say he didn’t really care what the answer was. In many ways, that was true. Survival was his main objective now. He couldn’t afford to believe Tucker would just let him go after their “business” was done. But until the opportunity to escape presented itself, he knew he’d have to play along.

They rode in silence. Without looking at his watch, Quinn guessed it was a little before 10 p.m. As the cab moved through the city, he marked the path in his mind. A hotel here, a bamboo scaffolding there, a three-tiered pagoda, a blue lantern hung in a window. Though he was in a part of the city he had never been before, he knew, given the opportunity, he would be able to make it back to familiar ground.

After about ten minutes, they entered an area that looked primarily residential, not just apartment buildings, but a few homes, too. Tucker leaned forward and said something to the driver, who nodded, then turned at the next street. The houses here were different — larger, better kept. Two blocks later, the cab stopped beside a large white wall. At the left end of the wall was a gate. In front of it stood two Vietnamese men. They eyed the cab suspiciously as it came to a halt. From the way they stood, Quinn knew they were armed.

Tucker handed the cabby some cash. “We’re here,” he said to Quinn.

Quinn opened the door and got out. One of the men at the gate took a step toward him, his face taut and expressionless. But as soon as Tucker emerged, the man relaxed.

“What now?” Quinn asked.

“We go in for a chat.” Tucker nodded toward the gate. “You first.”

Before they passed through, one of the two men searched Quinn, patting him down. The guard came up with a roll of Vietnamese dong and Quinn’s folded-up map of the city. He handed the items to Tucker. Quinn was grateful he’d given himself the night off and left the tools of his trade in his room. But the map was a problem. On one side was written the address of Orlando’s office. He needed to get it back.

Once the search was complete, the other man pulled the gate open just enough to allow Quinn and Tucker to walk through. Behind the wall was a large, white, two-story house surrounded by a well-tended garden. Lights were on in several of the windows. From one drifted the sounds of music — Ennio Morricone’s soundtrack to The Mission, if Quinn wasn’t mistaken.

As they neared the house the front door opened. A large, muscular man stood in the threshold. Like Tucker, he was Caucasian, although not quite as pasty as the Australian. Maybe a little Latin blood, Quinn decided. Or maybe just more time in the sun.

“This is Perry,” Tucker said to Quinn. “Perry’s in charge of making sure nothing gets broken around here.”

“Does that include me?” Quinn asked.

Tucker laughed.

Perry, unsmiling, moved out of the way so they could enter. Once inside, Quinn felt like he had stepped out of Vietnam and directly into an English country manor. Beyond the entryway was a large living room filled with dark antique furniture. On closer inspection it actually seemed more French than English. It was the paintings on the walls that gave it the English feel — paintings of hunting dogs, game birds, and horses, but none of people.

“Your place?” Quinn asked Tucker. “It’s a little nineteenth century, isn’t it?”

“That way.” Tucker pointed to a hallway at the far end of the living room.

Quinn shrugged. As he walked in the direction Tucker had indicated, he carefully noted everything he could use to aid him if needed. There were several objects in the living room that would make for good blunt instruments: a vase, a fist-sized brass sculpture of a sleeping dog, a glass ashtray. But none were in his direct path.

Once in the hallway, Tucker directed Quinn to open the first door on the left. Inside was a bookcase-lined den. A large desk faced the door, dominating the space. Behind the desk sat a man, another Caucasian. He wore a dark blue dress shirt and looked to be in his early sixties — mainly due to his silver, close-cropped hair. He stood as Quinn and Tucker came in.

“Please,” the man said, gesturing to two chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

Quinn took the chair to the right, and Tucker took the one to the left. The man behind the desk waited until they were settled before he sat back down.

“Can I get you something?” the man asked Quinn. His accent had a Mid-Atlantic cast to it. “Water, perhaps? Or a soft drink? I’m afraid we’ve no alcohol here.”

“I’m fine,” Quinn said.

There was a pitcher of water and four glasses on one side of the desk. The man reached over and filled three of the glasses. He set one in front of Quinn and one in front of Tucker, taking the third for himself. “Just in case you get thirsty.”

“Thanks,” Quinn said, leaving the glass untouched.

“Well then. I guess we should get started.” The man paused for a moment. “Leo,” he said to Tucker. “Where’s Art? Wasn’t he with you?”

“Seeking medical attention, I’d guess.” Tucker looked over at Quinn. “Our boy here did a number on him outside Apocalypse Now.”

The older man frowned. “Dreadful place. Too loud, too many undesirables. I suppose I should find out if he’ll be all right.”

“He’ll be fine,” Tucker said. “Looked like a broken arm.”

“Wrist,” Quinn corrected.

“That’ll take a while to heal,” the older man said.

“Who are you?” Quinn asked.

The man laughed. “I should have introduced myself sooner. I apologize. My name’s Piper.”

“As in Pied?” Quinn asked.

“As in Mister,” Piper responded.

The name tickled something in the back of Quinn’s mind. He was sure Piper wasn’t someone he’d worked with before — Quinn would have remembered him instantly if that were the case. But the name was familiar.

“Now why don’t you tell us who you are,” Piper said.

Quinn shrugged. “Sure. The name’s Tony Johnson.”

Piper laughed again. “You don’t look like a Johnson to me. Do you think he looks like a Johnson, Leo?”

“Not to me, he doesn’t.”

“Leo was the one who spotted you,” Piper said, returning his attention to Quinn. “He’s pretty good at faces. He was at the airport checking the new arrivals yesterday. Something he does for me most mornings. And there you were.”

“There he was,” Tucker agreed.

“The famous Jonathan Quinn,” Piper said.

Quinn didn’t flinch. “And you just decided to have me over for…a glass of water?”

“Just a chat,” Piper said. “Consider the water a gift.”

“What do you want?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Piper smiled. “Did you know there’s a price on your head?”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Quinn said calmly. “How much am I going for these days?”

“Not enough to make me shoot you on the spot, but enough to make me curious. Leo, what was the amount?”

“Twenty-five thousand U.S.,” Leo said.

Piper looked back at Quinn. “You see. Curiosity money, really. Not worth my trouble.”

Quinn leaned back in his chair, then said, “So who wants me dead?”

“Good question,” Piper said. “There was no name attached to the…request. I was hoping you might know.”

Quinn shrugged. “I guess we’re all in the dark.”

“Curious how only you are mentioned,” Piper said. “I guess your friend isn’t as important.”

“Friend?” Quinn asked, suddenly tense.

“You weren’t alone when you arrived,” Piper said. “A young man? Tucker tells me he had some trouble with one of the local kids.”

If they had noted Quinn’s arrival, of course they would have made Nate, too.

“A colleague, perhaps?” Piper asked.

“Could be I just met him on the plane,” Quinn said.

Tucker snorted. “Right,” he said, laughing.

Piper pulled something out of a drawer in the desk and set it on the blotter in front of him. It was a photo of Quinn and Nate standing outside the Rex Hotel. Piper turned it so that Quinn was looking at it right-side-up, then tapped the picture several times.

“I haven’t been able to ID him yet, but my instinct tells me he works for you.”

Quinn smiled.

“What are the two of you doing here?” Piper asked.

Quinn glanced down at his left hand as he ran his thumb over the pads of his fingers. “What’s the play here?” he said, looking up. “Are we waiting for someone? When he shows up, maybe he takes me on a ride into the countryside? He comes back. I don’t.”

Tucker laughed again. “Pal, you really must be having a bad week.”

Piper leaned back, his eyes studying Quinn. “As you can probably guess, my business here is very sensitive. What I don’t want is for the two months I’ve had to spend in this hellhole to be blown by someone like you. So you see why I’m curious about your intentions. That is the only play I care about.”

“Then we don’t have a problem,” Quinn said. “Until Romeo here picked me up at the bar, I didn’t even know you were in town.”

“And why should I believe you?” Piper asked.

“I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“You should,” Tucker said.

“No,” Quinn said. “I shouldn’t. You think I’m here to foul up your gig and want to take care of me now or someone out there wants the money and shoots me in the back of the head tomorrow, what’s the difference? Believe me or don’t. Just choose one and let’s move on.”

When no one said anything, Quinn pushed himself off his chair. “Thanks for the talk, but I’ve got things to do.”

Tucker jumped up a moment after Quinn, but Piper remained seated.

“Which one of you is going to call me a cab?” Quinn asked.

Finally, Piper stood up, a smile growing on his face. “It would be best if you left Vietnam.”

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Quinn asked.

“It’ll do.” Piper laughed quietly. “A piece of advice.”

Quinn said nothing.

“Get yourself a new partner. He’s very sloppy. Leo followed him most of the day without ever being spotted. Clothing shops, a couple of cosmetic stalls, some T-shirt stands.”

Leo shrugged. “When I left him, he was eating dinner at a restaurant off Hai Ba Trung.”

“If you’re really leaving tomorrow, I think we can live with that,” Piper said. “But don’t push it. Twenty-five thousand dollars isn’t enough for me to get involved. But I can’t speak for Leo here. Or even Art. He may feel the money should be his in exchange for the pain you’ve caused him. If you’re still here the day after tomorrow, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“No hard feelings, I hope?” Tucker asked. He held out his hand.

Reluctanly, Quinn shook it. “Can I get my money back now?” he asked.

“What? Oh, right.” Tucker pulled the cash and map out of his pocket and handed everything to Quinn, who then slipped it all into his pocket. “I’ll walk you out,” Tucker said. “Make sure you get that cab.”

They turned for the door.

“Mr. Quinn,” Piper said. Quinn looked back. “I don’t know for a fact who’s put up the reward, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear rumors.”

“What’s the rumor?” Quinn asked.

A pause. Then Piper said, “Borko.”

“Borko?”

Piper nodded. “He’s no friend of mine, and by your reaction, he’s not one of yours either. I’d be careful if I were you.”

Quinn stood motionless for a moment, absorbing this new information, then nodded and left.