[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

Looking around, he was beginning to wonder if anyone other than members of the government had even heard of Karl Marx. Street vendors and shops and restaurants and clubs and salons and hotels and kids running up and down the streets, hocking souvenirs and knockoff copies of Graham Greene's The Quiet American – that was the Ho Chi Minn City that greeted Quinn and Nate.

'Postcard . . . You buy . . . Very pretty . . . Look.'

'Mister. Mister. You American?'

'Real lighter. Zippo. From war. Work good.'

'America number one. Spider-Man. Michael Jordan.'

'I hungry. You buy.'

Almost as persistent as the kids on the street

were the men on cyclos, bicycle rickshaws. The ones without passengers would slow down as they passed Quinn and Nate and try to get their attention.

'Hello. Tour city. I take you. Two dollars only. Cheap.'

'I know good bar. I get you there fast. Very cheap.'

'Too hot to walk, mister. You ride.'

'You look for girls? I know place. Come, come.'

Quinn had been to Asia many times – Bangkok, Singapore, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seoul – but things seemed a little more raw here. There was more energy, more of an edge. It felt like a place that was both ancient and just discovering itself at the same time. Temples that had been around for centuries next door to sidewalk restaurants that had been open for only a few days. The Saigon River that had carved out a path through the land long before the first man had ever arrived now played host to would-be entrepreneurs offering boat rides and tours. And children. Everywhere children. Happy, playful, hungry, excited, curious children. He could only imagine what Nate was thinking.

They stopped and bought sodas from a woman who had set up a small hibachi next to a beat-up metal ice chest on a street corner. She was cooking what looked to be either chicken or pork. Quinn declined the offer of a taste. He opened the soda and drank half the can. The afternoon heat and humidity had been draining him ever since he'd left the hotel. Water was what he really wanted, but the cola did fine in a pinch.

Another twenty minutes of exploring was enough.

'Are you hungry?' Quinn asked.

'Very,' Nate said.

There were plenty of sidewalk hibachis, but Quinn still wasn't desperate enough to give them a try. Besides, none provided more than a bit of shade to fight the heat.

They started looking for a 'real' restaurant. A little farther along, Nate spotted a place on a small side road, a block off Hai Ba Trung Street, away from the craziness of the main boulevard. The sign out front identified the restaurant as Mai 99. As they neared, the aroma wafting out the door was more than enough to entice them to enter.

Inside, there were several young women dressed in traditional Vietnamese outfits, flowing colored tunics over white pants. A woman, slightly older than the others, her hair in a bun at the base of her neck, was standing near the entrance. She bowed to them slightly.

'Welcome,' she said. 'Speak English?'

'Yes,' Quinn replied.

'You eat?'

'Yes, please.'

She smiled again, then turned away. 'Come,' she said over her shoulder.

They followed the woman to a table close to the bar. She pulled out a chair and gestured for Quinn to sit, then she moved around to the other side and did the same for Nate.

The restaurant had a tropical feel. Bamboo covered the beams in the ceiling, and rattan mats covered the walls. Pictures of beautiful beaches were mounted throughout.

One of the young waitresses, wearing a dark green tunic, approached them. She said something in Vietnamese, realized her mistake, then pantomimed holding a glass in her hand and taking a drink. Quinn got the message.

'Beer,' he said. He pointed at a neon sign behind the bar. 'Tiger beer.' She followed his gesture and nodded.

'Me, too,' Nate said, nodding toward the sign, then pointing at himself. The waitress smiled as she backed away from the table. 'Can I ask a question?' Nate said once they were alone.

'If you must,' Quinn said.

'Does this happen to you a lot?'

'What?'

'You know. Almost getting killed in your own living room? Having to fly thousands of miles just to hide out?' 'No more than a couple times a year,' Quinn said, face blank. 'Are you serious?'

Quinn smiled, then slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet. He had woken up on the plane to Bangkok with the distinct idea that Nate had been right. That the bracelet was part of this whole mess.

'Is that the one I found?' Nate asked.

Ignoring the question, Quinn examined the individual squares again until he found the one with the faint line at its edge. It definitely looked like there was some sort of extra layer. Quinn did a quick check of the nearby squares. None of the others appeared to have this same feature.