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. Hes just a kid!
Oh, hes not going to smoke it, said Guy. Hell 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. Thats why I always pack
a few cartons when I come. Theyre 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, whats 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.
Im looking for a street called Rue des Voiles. Thats the old name, and its 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.
Guy shook his head. Where on earth did he dig up these fossils? he muttered.
Oliver pointed proudly to the two old men and grinned. My uncles!
A VOICE BEHIND THE DOOR said, Go away.
Mr. Gerard? Guy called. There was no answer, but the man was surely lurking near the door; Willy could almost feel him crouched silently on the other side. Guy reached for the knocker fashioned after some grotesque faceeither a horned lion or a goat with teeththat hung on the door like a brass wart. He banged it a few times. Mr. Gerard!
Still no answer.
Its important! We have to talk to you!
I said, go away!
Willy muttered, Do you suppose its just possible he doesnt want to talk to us?
Oh, hell talk to us. Guy banged on the door again. The names Guy Barnard! he yelled. Im a friend of Toby Wolff.
The latch slid open. One pale eye peeped out through a crack in the door. The eye flicked back and forth, squinting first at Guy, then at Willy. The voice attached to the eye hissed, Toby Wolff is an idiot.
Toby Wolff is also calling in his chips.
The eye blinked. The door opened a fraction of an inch wider, the slit revealing a bald, crablike little man. Well? he snapped. Are you just going to stand there?
Inside, the house was dark as a cave, all the curtains drawn tightly over the windows. Guy and Willy followed the crustacean of a Frenchman down a narrow hallway. In the shadows, Gerards outline was barely visible, but Willy could hear him just ahead of her, scuttling across the wood floor.
They emerged into what appeared to be a large sitting room. Slivers of light shimmered through worn curtains. In the suffocating darkness hulked vaguely discernible furniture.
Sit, sit, ordered Gerard. Guy and Willy moved toward a couch, but Gerard snapped, Not there! Cant you see thats a genuine Queen Anne? He pointed at a pair of massive rosewood chairs. Sit there. He settled into a brocade armchair by the window. With his arms crossed and his knobby knees jutting out at them, he looked like a disagreeable pile of bones. So what does Toby want from me now? he demanded.
He said you could pass us some information.
Gerard snorted. I am not in the business.
You used to be.
No longer. The stakes are too high.
Willy glanced thoughtfully around the room, noting in the shadows the soft gleam of ivory, the luster of fine old china. She suddenly realized they were surrounded by a treasure trove of antiques. Even the house was an antique, one of Saigons lovely old French colonials, laced with climbing vines. By law it belonged to the state. She wondered what the Frenchman had done to keep such a home.
It has been years since I had any business with the Company, said Gerard. I know nothing that could possibly help you now.
Maybe you do, said Guy. Were here about an old matter. From the war.
Gerard laughed. These people are perpetually at war! Which enemy? The Chinese? The French? The Khmer Rouge?
You know which war, Guy said.
Gerard sat back. That war is over.
Not for some of us, said Willy.
The Frenchman turned to her. She felt him studying her, measuring her significance. She resented being appraised this way. Deliberately she returned his stare.
Whats the girl got to do with it? Gerard demanded.
Shes here about her father. Missing in action since 1970.
Gerard shrugged. My business is
imports. I know nothing about missing soldiers.
My father wasnt a soldier, said Willy. He was a pilot for Air America.