Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty: Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty

“Where are we going?” she demanded, following him out the door.

“To see a friend. I think.”

“Meaning he might not see us?”

“Meaning I can’t be sure he’s a friend.”

She groaned as they stepped into the elevator. “Terrific.”

Down in the lobby, they found Ainh by the desk, waiting to ambush her. “Miss Maitland!” he called. “Please, you must hurry. We have a very busy schedule today.”

Willy glanced at Guy, who simply shrugged and looked off in another direction. Drat the man, he was leaving it up to her. “Mr. Ainh,” she said, “about this little tour of the lacquer factory—”

“It will be quite fascinating! But they do not take dollars, so if you wish to exchange for dong, I can—”

“I’m afraid I don’t feel up to it,” she said flatly.

Ainh blinked in surprise. “You are ill?”

“Yes, I…” She suddenly noticed that Guy was shaking his head. “Uh, no, I’m not. I mean—”

“What she means,” said Guy, “is that I offered to show her around. You know—” he winked at Ainh “—a little personal tour.”

“P-personal?” Flushing, Ainh glanced at Willy. “But what about my tour? It is all arranged! The car, the sightseeing, a special lunch—”

“I tell you what, pal,” said Guy, bending toward him conspiratorially. “Why don’t you take the tour?”

“I have been on the tour,” Ainh said glumly.

“Ah, but that was work, right? This time, why don’t you take the day off, both you and the driver. Go see the sights of Saigon. And enjoy Ms. Maitland’s lunch. After all, it’s been paid for.”

Ainh suddenly looked interested. “A free lunch?”

“And a beer.” Guy slipped a few dollars into the man’s breast pocket and patted the flap. “On me.” He took Willy’s arm and directed her across the lobby.

“But, Miss Maitland!” Ainh called out bleakly.

“Boy, what a blast you two guys’re gonna have!” Guy sounded almost envious. “Air-conditioned car. Free lunch. No schedule to tie you down.”

Ainh followed them outside, into a wall of morning heat so thick, it made Willy draw a breath of surprise. “Miss Maitland!” he said in desperation. “This is not the way it is supposed to be done!”

Guy turned and gave the man a solemn pat on the shoulder. “That, Mr. Ainh, is the whole idea.”

They left the poor man standing alone on the steps, staring after them.

“What do you think he’ll do?” whispered Willy.

“I think,” said Guy, moving her along the crowded sidewalk, “he’s going to enjoy a free lunch.”

She glanced back and saw that Mr. Ainh had, indeed, disappeared into the hotel. She also noticed they were being followed. A street urchin, no more than twelve years old, caught up and danced around on the hot pavement.

“Lien-xo?” he chirped, dark eyes shining in a dirty face. They tried to ignore him, but the boy skipped along beside them, chattering all the way. His shirt hung in tatters; his feet were stained an apparently permanent brown. He pointed at Guy. “Lien-xo?”

“No, not Russian,” said Guy. “Americanski.”

The boy grinned. “Americanski? Yes?” He stuck out a smudgy hand and whooped. “Hello, Daddy!”

Resigned, Guy shook the boy’s hand. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.”

“Daddy rich?”

“Sorry. Daddy poor.”

The boy laughed, obviously thinking that a grand joke. As Guy and Willy continued down the street, the boy hopped along at their side, shooing all the other urchins who had joined the procession. It was a tattered little parade marching through a sea of confusion. Bicycles whisked by, a multitude of wheels. And on the sidewalks, merchants squatted beside their meager collections of wares.

The boy tugged on Guy’s arm. “Hey, Daddy. You got cigarette?”

“No,” said Guy.

“Come on, Daddy. I do you favor, keep the beggars away.”

“Oh, all right.” Guy fished a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his shirt pocket and handed the boy a cigarette.

“Guy, how could you?” Willy protested. “He’s just a kid!”

“Oh, he’s not going to smoke it,” said Guy. “He’ll trade it for something else. Like food. See?” He nodded at the boy, who was busy wrapping his treasure in a grimy piece of cloth. “That’s why I always pack a few cartons when I come. They’re handy when you need a favor.” He turned and frowned up at one of the street signs. “Which, come to think of it, we do.” He beckoned to the boy. “Hey, kid, what’s your name?”

The boy shrugged.

“They must call you something.”

“Other Americanski, he say I look like Oliver.”

Guy laughed. “Probably meant Oliver Twist. Okay, Oliver. I got a deal for you. You do us a favor.”

“Sure thing, Daddy.”

“I’m looking for a street called Rue des Voiles. That’s the old name, and it’s not on the map. You know where it is?”

“Rue des Voiles? Rue des Voiles…” The boy scrunched up his face. “I think that one they call Binh Tan now. Why you want to go there? No stores, nothing to see.”

Guy took out a thousand-dong note. “Just get us there.”

The boy snapped up the money. “Okay, Daddy. You wait. Promise, you wait!” The boy trotted off down the street. At the corner, he glanced back and yelled again for good measure, “You wait!”

A minute later, he reappeared, trailed by a pair of bicycle-driven cyclos. “I find you the best. Very fast,” said Oliver.

Guy and Willy stared in dismay at the two drivers. One smiled back toothlessly; the other was wheezing like a freight train.