Perfect Justice (16 page)

“I’ll take what I can get. Agreed.”

Mike climbed into the cockpit. Ben scurried to the relative safety afforded by the tents. Mike started the engine.

At least, that’s what Ben thought Mike was doing. He had to assume Mike wasn’t killing a cat, although that was more what it sounded like. There was a painfully high-pitched screeching, followed by the excruciating sound of metal grinding against metal. Not quite as bad as fingers on the chalkboard, but close. There were a few final clattering noises, followed by a loud thump from the engine casing.

Ben didn’t need a close-up view to tell him that Portia was not taking off. “I don’t think it’s working,” he shouted.

Mike turned off the power and fell dejectedly out of the cockpit. “Damn. I thought I had it that time.”

“Evidently not.”

“Did you hear that crash? I think the entire engine fell. It’s in worse shape now than it was before.”

Ben was forced to agree.

Mike shoved his hands into his pockets. “Looks like I’ll be sending your blood samples to Tulsa by Federal Express, Ben.” He thought for a moment. “I wonder if they can deliver helicopter parts?”

B
ELINDA WAS ALREADY AT
Coi Than Tien when Ben arrived just after sunset. They had decided earlier it might be best if she went in first and prepared the way. Several members of the community had previously met her or one of her Hatewatch associates and were aware of their good works. Some of the older members probably thought Hatewatch stirred up trouble, but they were more likely to befriend her than the man who was representing Donald Vick.

Ben parked his car outside the rickety assembly of warped wood and cardboard that constituted the boundary fence of Coi Than Tien. It was a moonless night, but Ben managed to find his way to the front gates.

The largest building inside Coi Than Tien was the barn, a long rectangular structure centrally located beside two other storage buildings. The barn appeared to hold equipment and supplies. Ben couldn’t see inside the two other similar but smaller buildings, but in previous years he’d had a bit of experience with chickens, and the clucking and squawking inside told him that was where the principal assets of any chicken farm were housed.

Scattered in a rough semicircle around the storage facilities were the residences of Coi Than Tien. Ben was shocked at the impoverished conditions; they were even poorer than he had imagined. Most of the homes were little better than shacks. The better ones had a few walls or perhaps a roof made of corrugated metal. Despite the obvious poverty, however, there was no squalor; on the contrary, Ben got the impression that the homes were well cared for. Some of them even had small makeshift gardens. The residents appeared to be doing the best they could with what little they had.

Ben found Belinda on the porch of one of the homes. She was sitting next to a much older Vietnamese man. The porch was dark as the night; only the glow from a thin, long-stemmed pipe provided illumination.

Belinda identified the man as Duong Dang.

“Pleased to meet you,” Ben said. He wondered if she had explained what Ben’s role was in the current drama. Well, he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

“Elder Dang is the leader of this community,” Belinda explained.

“Was,” Dang corrected. “I am no longer. My people will not listen.”

“There’s been a schism of sorts,” Belinda explained. “Elder Dang and his council have always followed the path of peace and reason. But there is another faction within the community led by a young man named Dan Pham. He favors a more … aggressive approach. Active resistance. First-strike assaults. He’s rounding up all the support he can find.”

“How successful has he been?” Ben asked.

“Much too successful,” Dang replied. “More than half our people now follow him.”

“What exactly does Pham want to do?” Ben asked.

“Fight fire with fire,” Belinda replied. “Meet the terrorist activities of ASP head-on.”

“Counterterrorism?” Ben said. “Against those maniacs? Surely he knows he hasn’t got a chance.”

“He cannot see the truth of our situation,” Dang said sadly. “He wants to be a crusader, a hero. He wants to save his people. He is blind to the realities.”

“If he takes on ASP, he’ll be made aware of the realities pretty damn fast,” Ben said. “Maybe this is all just bluster.”

Dang and Belinda exchanged a glance. “Someone tossed a firebomb into the ASP encampment,” Belinda said.

“I know,” Ben replied. “I saw the scorched building. You think Pham was behind that?”

“I cannot say with certainty,” Dang replied. “But who else would run such a risk?”

“We’ve heard it didn’t cause much damage,” Belinda said.

“True,” Ben replied. “But it could’ve. The bomb hit the ASP ammunition stockpile. If the fire had burned much longer, there would’ve been a major explosion. Fortunately that didn’t happen. No one was hurt.”

“No,” Dang said. “But their retaliation has nonetheless been swift and brutal. One of our two automobiles was stolen this morning. And a fifteen-year-old boy, Nhung Vu, was attacked and severely beaten. Two of his teeth were knocked out. And—” Dang hesitated. His eyes closed. “They branded him. With the sign of the cross. After he was unconscious, they pounded his face, like it was a piece of meat. There may be permanent damage to his right eye.”

“Have you reported this to the sheriff?”

“Of course. But what can he do? There were no witnesses. Nhung did not know his attackers. Most of them were hooded. ASP is very careful.”

“You need to corner this Pham kid and tell him to cool it,” Ben said. “More violence will only make matters worse for Coi Than Tien.”

“It may be too late,” Dang said gravely. “There are rumors that the ASP men are not finished, that they plan retaliation in even greater measure in the near future.”

That was certainly bad news. Ben didn’t think Coi Than Tien could withstand a full-out frontal assault by ASP. But then, who could?

“Has Belinda asked you about Tommy Vuong?” Ben asked.

“I have known Tommy for many years,” Dang replied. “He came from a good and honorable family. A bit wild, but that was not unusual given his youth and vigor.”

“I heard he was in some legal trouble about a year ago. Do you know anything about that?”

“He was investigated by the sheriff. Apparently a woman accused him of … forcing his affections upon her.”

“You didn’t believe the charges?”

“It is a common occurrence,” Dang said gravely. “Two young people of different races fall in love. All is well until the families discover their relationship. Then stories must be created, lies must be told. Loving relationships may be turned into criminal acts.”

“Then you don’t believe it was rape?” Belinda asked.

Dang looked at him thoughtfully. “I know the district attorney decided not to prosecute. Given the ill will of much of Silver Springs toward Coi Than Tien, I believe that if there was any proof of her accusations he would have arrested Tommy.”

Probably right, Ben mused. Unless, of course, the DA was busy baby-sitting that night.

“Did you know of Vuong’s connection to Donald Vick?”

“No,” Dang said, frowning. “I very much doubt that there was any connection before the fatal incident at the bar.”

“Some Vietnamese man visited Vick shortly before the murder occurred. Do you know who that might have been?”

“I find it difficult to believe that any resident of Coi Than Tien would visit such a man for even the most desperate of reasons.”

“And you don’t know what Vick and Vuong fought about?”

“The men of ASP need no excuse to fight. Their hate drives them far further than any logical motive could do.”

Ben tried to contain his frustration. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. “Do you know why Vuong was in that bar that afternoon?”

Dang’s head fell. “Alas, to my eternal regret, I do. I sent him there.”

Belinda was as surprised as Ben. “You did? Why?”

“Coi Than Tien orders a small quantity of various alcoholic beverages from the Bluebell Bar on a regular basis. We use it for ceremonial purposes and, on occasion, to soothe worried brows. The owner of the bar, a man named Mac, is kind enough to order it at wholesale rates and to supply it to us at cost. In that manner, we can obtain what we need in a less expensive … and safer manner.”

“So you sent Vuong to pick up the shipment.”

“Exactly. I sent him with three other young men from the settlement. I thought he would be safe.” He looked down at his long, thin hands. “And now Tommy Vuong is dead.”

B
EN REALIZED IT WAS
pointless to tell Dang not to blame himself. “I have one favor to ask. Do you think it would be possible for me to talk to this Pham fellow?”

“I can introduce you,” Dang said. “Whether he will talk to you is quite another matter.”

Dang led them down the dark path that lined the shacks and Quonset huts. A few minutes later they reached the Pham residence. Dang led them through the front garden and knocked on the door.

Ben noticed an older man sitting on the porch of the house next door. He appeared to be using a flashlight to read a book, but at the moment his eyes were fixed on Ben and Belinda. He was watching them carefully.

The door opened. A young Vietnamese man stood in the doorway. He glared at Elder Dang. “I told you I have no wish to continue our previous conversation!”

“I have not come to attempt to persuade you,” Dang said. “I fear you have already gone so far you cannot hear the voice of reason.”

Pham made no reply, but his irritation was evident.

“These kind people wish to speak to you.” With that introduction of sorts completed, Dang left the porch.

“I’m Belinda Hamilton,” she said. “I’m with Hatewatch.”

Pham nodded politely.

“This is Ben Kincaid. He’s with me.” She left it at that. Ben just hoped Pham didn’t read
The Silver Springs Herald.

Apparently he didn’t. “I am honored to meet you,” he said. “How can I serve you?”

“We’re investigating the Donald Vick case,” Belinda explained.

“He must be brought to justice!” Pham said emphatically. “He must be punished for his crime.”

“I’m sure we all agree,” Belinda said hurriedly. “If he’s guilty.”

“If these men are not stopped, they will continue until we have all been killed. Did you hear what they did to young Nhung Vu?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“They must be taught that they cannot treat us with such contempt. In the only way they understand.”

“Are you responsible for the firebombing at the ASP encampment?” Ben asked.

Pham eyed Ben carefully. “I do not know that there was any firebombing. The camp still stands.”

“The fact that the attack was unsuccessful doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Ben said. “Besides, you haven’t answered my question.”

“We are not sheep!” Pham’s voice soared. “We will not stand idly by while our families are slaughtered!”

“Well, let’s not exaggerate. No families have actually been slaughtered.”

“My grandmother is in the hospital! A seventy-six-year-old woman—shot by a vicious sniper. They strike our old. They strike our young. We must take action!”

Belinda dealt herself back into the conversation. “What we really wanted to know was whether you had any information about what passed between Tommy Vuong and Donald Vick.”

“Tommy was a brave man,” Pham answered. “He was willing to fight for his people.”

“Did you ever see him with Vick? Or hear him mention Vick?”

“Of course not,” Pham said. “He would not descend to the company of such swine.”

“Apparently he did,” Ben replied. “I think they may have met before the incident in the bar.”

“I cannot believe it. Even setting aside the shame and dishonor of such a meeting, it would be suicide.”

“We understand Vuong was making a supply run to the bar the afternoon of the fight. Were you one of the men who accompanied him?”

“I was not. If I had been, the result might have been different.”

“I didn’t get the impression Vuong needed any more muscle. Apparently they thoroughly trounced Vick.”

“But they let him live.” A cold glint reflected from Pham’s eyes.

“Are you saying they should have
executed
him?”

“If they had, Tommy Vuong would still be alive. And my grandmother would not be in the hospital. And Nhung Vu would still have his face.”

Ben felt a shudder creep up the back of his neck. Pham was obviously on the verge of some major violence. And according to Dang, he represented many others who felt the same way and were willing to do whatever Pham wanted done. “Were you the last to see Tommy alive?”

“No.” Pham stepped through the door and looked to the porch of the neighboring home. “That honor fell to Colonel Nguyen.”

The man on the next porch set down his book and flashlight. He paused for a moment, then came to meet them.

Despite the man’s relative shortness he had a dignity and bearing that immediately impressed Ben. His hair was cut short; flecks of gray highlighted the temples.

“Colonel Nguyen is a great war hero,” Pham said. “He commanded thousands of South Vietnamese in the Great War. He led our people to many of their greatest victories.”

“Not great enough,” Nguyen said gruffly.

“The outcome of that war was not your fault,” Pham said. “You served your country bravely and well. I only wish you would do the same in the current war.”

“There is no war,” Nguyen said firmly.

“There is.” Disappointment clouded Pham’s eyes. “I only wish you had not lost your taste for battle.”

“I have lost nothing,” Nguyen said. “I have only gained an understanding of the importance of caution.”

Ben tried to derail what was obviously an ongoing argument and to return to the matter at hand. “I understand you were the last to see Tommy Vuong before he was killed.”

“That is so. We walked together from Silver Springs back to Coi Than Tien. We only have two automobiles—one now—which we all share, so it is frequently necessary that we walk.”

“Did Vuong seem unusually nervous? Scared? Edgy?”