Elder Niece Kee nodded.

"Marriage contract with your son?"

"Not my son," she cackled. "Widow! Big Boss widow!"

"Kee Djung Pau's widow? s.h.i.t, lady! You couldn't get anybody in Saigon to do that, even a yellow-eyed hophead. They won't just kill him, they'll cut off his d.i.c.k and make him eat it!"

"We no say it rape. We say she love him!"

"No way, lady, it's suicide."

"So what! You always need money. You love white-faced trash come bar, f.u.c.k your daughters!"

Elder Niece Kee hit a raw nerve. He had never had gotten enough money together to buy any decent girls to work his bar and the rooms upstairs. His family had to pitch in, and he had to put his own nineteen- and twenty-year-old daughters to work. "This calls for some thought."

"You got plenty of customer!"

"They're all old-time Saigon residents." He lapsed into thought and then started taking the money out of her bag.

"What you mean," she screeched, grabbing his hand. "You earn this money first."

"Twenty-five thousand now! Twenty-five thousand on delivery!"

"Fifty thousand dollar! You crazy!"

"Yes or no?"

Elder Niece Kee nodded, but the sour expression remained on her face.

"I know a place! Not here, Thailand! A lot of stupid young foreigners."

"You sure?" she said, looking straight into his eyes.

"Absolutely sure. I'll need the money for the trip, and I wouldn't do a deal with a Kee without the payment up front."

Elder Niece Kee relaxed her hold on his wrist and snarled, "You know, screw me and I tell family you stole money. They find you anyplace in world and cut your stomach out."

"I know, Mrs. Kee! And since I pay regular tribute to the Ho Choi family, they would be very unhappy if you didn't make the second payment."

"Fifty thousand dollar," moaned Elder Niece Kee. "This not such a big problem. This not real Kee girl. This piece of s.h.i.t mongrel!"

"I'm a mongrel!" replied Black Sam with hate in eyes.

"This stuck-up piece of s.h.i.t French girl!"

"What French girl?" asked Black Sam, now curious because French girls were bad business.

"Eugenia Florette. You probably know father!"

"Know her father," laughed Black Sam. "He's my best friend. What did he do, sell her?"

When she nodded, he replied, "I didn't think he had the guts to do something like that. f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He beat it out of town owing me a fortune. She was a pretty one! Worth a small fortune." He started off for the staircase at the rear of the bar. "I'll change and get the next flight to Bangkok. You can give me a ride to the airport."

"No want to be seen with you. I come back in three day!"

"Twenty-four hours is enough! Tomorrow evening!"

"That soon?"

"That soon! Either I get you a f.u.c.king a.s.shole foreigner, or you get the money back, less the fare!"

"Okay. Deal!" said Elder Niece Kee. "Fifty thousand dollar. You're a crook!"

The New Orchid Hotel in Chang Mai, Thailand, sat in a quiet residential area. It had eighteen rooms and was listed in some European youth hostel guides, although it was known in the international community as a nice, out-of-the-way spot for both dealers and addicts. Black Sam walked into the deserted combination lobby, office, reading, and television room, went behind the desk, and entered a suite of apartments to the rear. He found Rick Spence, the heavy, hairy owner of the establishment, at the dinner table with two of his many children. His Thai wife was washing an infant in the sink.

"Lord," said Spence. "I wondered where the stink came from. Have a seat."

Black Sam took his coat off and hung it carefully on a doork.n.o.b before making himself comfortable. "Want some noodles?" asked Spence.

"I ate on the plane," replied Back Sam.

"Did you bring money?"

"I don't owe you any!"

"Well, you're not here to stare at my pretty face. There's a guy in town with lots of yellow."

"What would I do with it? There's plenty in Saigon!"

"Make a connection in the States and you'll be rich overnight. Better than selling p.u.s.s.y. There's no big money in p.u.s.s.y! Not in Asia!"

Black Sam jerked his head in the direction of Spence's wife and said, "Is it okay to talk?"

"f.u.c.king aye okay! She's a good woman!"

Black Sam reached into his pocket, took out an envelope containing five thousand dollars, and handed it to Spence without speaking. The heavyset man lifted the flap and peeked inside. "Five thousand U.S. You can count it if you want to," said Black Sam.

"Down-payment on a brick?"

Black Sam shook his head.

"What the f.u.c.k for, then?" said Spence. "It's too much to have anyone killed."

"I need a woman f.u.c.ked!"

"Need a woman f.u.c.ked ... Come on! I'll do it myself and I don't care how old or ugly she is. And I'll throw in a face job for free."

"It's a pretty young woman!"

Spence tossed the envelope back toward Black Sam. "No f.u.c.king way! c.h.i.n.k girl from a good family. Jealous boyfriend or greedy relative! My wife likes my hot d.i.c.k; she doesn't want to see it cut off."

"I hope you didn't think I was suggesting you do it. We don't have too many casual foreigners in Saigon these days."

"Hey, I read you. Some a.s.shole American kid. The town's loaded with them these days and most of them broke, too. But five won't do it. It's five for him and five for me."

"What five for him? He gets paid after the job, and as far as we're concerned there is no after the job."

Spence reached across the table and retrieved the envelope which he handed to his wife. Black Sam said, "It's a Kee woman."

"Give him back the money, dear," said Spence in Thai to his wife.

"No risk!"

"No risk? The guy will talk and I'll get a hot lead enema."

"This is a Kee family job. The guy won't talk; if he does, you won't be the first one to get it up the rear. But he'll be dead before he comes."

"Wait for me in the lobby! I've got to put my pants on." When Spence appeared, he motioned for Black Sam to follow him out onto the street where he whispered, "Keep it quiet! My wife likes this guy!"

"Broke?"

"Flat out! Smoking yellow opium and Malaysian Red. I got two money orders from home for him sitting in my desk I haven't told him about. I was going to give them to him tonight. I was waiting to see if he would kick off so I could cash them myself. Come on!"

"Where are we going?"

"My Cafe Expresso!"

"Cafe Expresso?"

"Opened it last month. A lot of beatniks or hippies or whatever you call them in town. It's making money."

Spence led Black Sam down the block to a two-story building, and then into the bas.e.m.e.nt which reeked of marijuana. The dimly lit s.p.a.ce was packed with tables and chairs and decorated with a dozen or so tacky travel posters.

"Real expresso?" asked Black Sam.

"You bet your a.s.s! Three thousand dollar machine from Italy. I can't stand the s.h.i.t. Want a cup?"

Black Sam nodded and the two men seated themselves in a corner. Spence waved to a waiter and said, "Give him a double expresso!"

Black Sam peered through the haze of smoke and asked, "Which one is he?"

"The a.s.shole strumming the guitar at the center table."

"He's got a beard!" said Black Sam in shock.

"Who the f.u.c.k cares! He's got a c.o.c.k and that's what matters."

"Are you sure?"

"All he does is brag about it."

When the bearded young American looked in their direction, Spence motioned to him with his head. He rose, said something to the group at his table, and then joined the two men. "Bobby," said Spence, "This is my friend Mr. Edwards from Saigon."

"Yeah, okay," said Bobby, extending his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Bobby. From the States?"

"His father owns an auto parts business in Los Angeles," said Spence. "Daddy wants him to come home. Stopped sending money."

"What's up?" said the bearded kid. "I got something going for me. That German girl sitting at my table is creaming in her pants already. I promised to f.u.c.k her."

"Bobby is a big man with the women in this town," said Spence with a hearty laugh. "The ma.s.sage parlor girls won't even take a tip from him--unless, of course, it's the tip of his c.o.c.k."

"Right! They love my d.i.c.k!"

"Mr. Edwards is a businessman. He may have a deal for you. You said I should ask around."

"s.h.i.t, yes! I'm looking for someone to finance four bricks for me. I'll run them stateside and bring back the profits."

"And Bobby would do that, too," said Spence with a nod. "I've known him for a long time. He's honest. But let's not talk here."

"s.h.i.t, man, no! I told you the German girl is creaming in her pants."

"She'll be here when you get back," said Spence. "We'll all go over to the 69 Club for a steam and ream."

Bobby eye's opened wide, "The place you told me about?"

"The place I told you about and the place you can't afford. It's on Mr. Edwards."

Spence booked a communal room at the 69 Club and three men lay on adjoining ma.s.sage tables as six Thai girls lathered their own b.r.e.a.s.t.s with soap and then used them to scrub their clients from head to toe; afterward, they hose-washed the men with handheld showerheads. Black Sam had other things on his mind, but his Joy Stick still snapped to attention. His two attendants artfully arranged him on a nest of pillows in such a way that they could service both his erection and his rear gate at the same time with their hot and moist young tongues. When all three men had come, the girls led them by their Joy Sticks into a dry steam room, and then a wet one. Before Spence told them to make themselves scarce for a few minutes, he instructed one to return with an ounce of Malaysian Red for the young American.

Black Sam was too sucked out to talk. Spence filled Bobby in on the details of the a.s.signment they had in mind for him. "It's not heroin. Much easier. A quick ten thousand U.S. for you. Right, Mr. Edwards?"

Black Sam nodded. "f.u.c.k, I'm not going to kill anyone," said Bobby.

"No; f.u.c.k is right. You have to f.u.c.k someone."

"Bulls.h.i.t," said the bearded kid. "Some old lady with hemorrhoids hanging out of her a.s.s."

Black Sam croaked, "No! A beautiful young girl."

"A virgin!" said Spence.

"What the f.u.c.k? Are you jacking me off?"

Spence said, "It's for the mother of a son locked into a wedding contract. She can wrangle him out of it only if the girl is deflowered. It has to be a foreigner. Otherwise, you see, somebody might suspect that it's a setup."