[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

new for me?' She paused. 'Not yet.' 'Then let's meet later tonight.' 'I won't have anything for you until the morning.' 'Okay. We'll meet for breakfast,' he said. 'Your

place? Seven-thirty?' 'Can we make it nine?' she asked. 'Nate and I are going to have to fly out some

time tomorrow. So earlier is better.'

'Okay. Fine,' she said, obviously not happy about it. Quinn was about to say goodbye when Orlando added, 'I'll also check around. See who's available.'

'You don't have to do that,' he said. 'Yeah. I know.'

When Nate finally checked in, Quinn tasked him with picking up some supplies they would need for the next leg of their journey. Quinn then set himself in front of his computer with two goals in mind.

First, he hoped to find someone to help him in Berlin, and second, he wanted to see if he could discover something that might help him figure out who wanted him dead. Unfortunately, he had no luck on either account.

When he finally gave up, night had fallen over Saigon. His legs ached and his eyes were strained from staring at the computer screen. Not surprisingly, he felt the need to get out of his room and clear his head.

He called Nate to see if he wanted to get a drink, but there was no answer. Probably off with his temporary girlfriend, Quinn thought.

If Orlando hadn't stopped him, Quinn probably would have clamped down a little harder on Nate. No matter what, they were going to have to have another chat about relationships when this was all over.

But for the time being, it looked like he was on his own, so he headed out. In front of the hotel, he flagged down a taxi, then had to stop two more before finding a driver who spoke English. 'Where to, mister?' the cabby asked as Quinn climbed in.

'A bar,' Quinn said.

'You look for girls? I know place.'

'No. Just somewhere to relax.'

'Okay, okay. No problem.'

The cab took off.

The first place the cabby took him looked like such a dump from the outside, Quinn didn't even get out of the car. The next place wasn't much better. Still, Quinn didn't want to waste the whole night in the back of a cab.

The driver must have registered Quinn's hesitation. 'No, no. Not here,' the driver said. 'I know better. Close to hotel. You like.'

They drove for fifteen minutes, then pulled up in front of another building. This one was on a darkened street a couple of blocks from the Saigon River. There were a dozen people standing outside, clustered around the front door. A mix of Vietnamese and foreigners. All were well dressed.

'Apocalypse Now,' the driver said. 'Very popular.'

As Quinn got out, he noticed two more cabs pull up. Out of the first climbed a young Vietnamese couple. Out of the other came three boisterous Caucasian men. By their accents, Quinn identified them as Australians. At least the cabby appeared to be right about one thing: Apocalypse Now was a popular place.

There was a bouncer at the door, but he let Quinn in without a word. Being a foreigner meant money.

Inside, the place was packed, seventy percent Vietnamese, the rest a mix of other nationalities, but mostly Caucasian men. Music blared from somewhere, a song by the Gorillaz from a few years back, 'Clint Eastwood.' There were tables and an open area for dancing. Quinn began working his way through the crowd toward the bar.

He was halfway there when someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Quinn turned.

'You speak English?' It was a young guy, white. Judging by his accent, either German or Dutch. The guy's eyelids were heavy. Quinn guessed he'd been drinking for a while.

'Yeah?' Quinn answered.

'American, huh?'

Quinn said nothing.

'You need anything, man?'

Quinn shook his head. 'I'm fine.'

'Hash? Opium? I think I got some X left, too.' The guy began digging into a pocket.

'I'm fine,' Quinn repeated. He headed toward the bar.

'All right,' the drug dealer called out. 'You need something, you know where I am.'

Quinn ordered a rum and Coke. Drink in hand, he turned back to study the room, unsatisfied. This wasn't the scene he needed. What he wanted, he realized, was to be doing exactly what Nate was probably doing – sitting at the Mai 99 restaurant, drinking a Tiger beer and talking to the waitresses. That was Quinn's comfort zone. A less intense atmosphere. Casual flirtation with women he didn't know well. Relationships that would go nowhere. Nights spent alone back in his room. With a book. With the TV. With his computer. But with no warmth beside him. It was easier that way.

To his left, another foreigner, maybe six foot two and solidly built, was talking to a tiny Vietnamese woman. Girl, really. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. Quinn couldn't hear what they were saying over the loud music, but he got the idea that a business deal was being discussed.

A moment later the woman kissed the man on the cheek, then walked off. The man straightened, a smirk on his face, then noticed Quinn looking his way.