It was early spring in Saigon, 1975. Working homicide for a military base halfway around the world wasn't something I ever expected to do, but the money was right. Saigon saw plenty of murders, but it was only the American kind that I was told to worry about. In 4 months, six service members had shown up dead with the same MO: knife wound to the abdomen, hands and feet tied. Sure, nothing too grand, but the army wanted answers. "This isn't how Charlie works." they told me.
Though not overtly grotesque, there was something sinister in what I saw. It was the consistency. It wasn't just where the victim was stabbed, or how deep, which came within surgical accuracy, it was the position of the bodies when they were found, the knots tied in the rope, even the rope's threading. The scene itself was a signature left by the killer with similarities that came within pin point accuracy.
A tip from a local fisherman led me to a run down building just outside of town. It appeared to be a business of some kind, but while the market of street vendors bustled outside, not a single person made their way in. Rumors had it a man named Phuong had been bragging about the murders. It was my job to bring him in.
As soon as I entered, Phuong fled, leaving behind only a barrage of gunfire. Within seconds he was out of bullets. Not a bright fellow, clearly. Looking around, it's like he was playing pretend business owner. I saw pots & pans, some trinkets, a few dolls. Probably all garbage once. This guy wasn't exactly who I imagined, all those coffee filled nights staring at crime scene photos.
I chased Phuong into a back room where he screamed and charged with a knife. What was he thinking? He stood no chance. A few bullets discharged from my gun and Phuong was long gone. I guess I could have aimed lower, tried to question him. I guess getting shot at as soon as you open a door pisses you off a little. I guess I shot to kill.
I looked over his body a moment, found a wallet with identification. "Phuong Dong." I had to say it out loud. Poor bastard. A name like that, it's no wonder he ended up a serial killer. Overweight, shoes left untied, smelling like shit, clearly hasn't bathed in quite some time. I'd sooner guess this man had a mental retardation rather than the keen methodical ingeniousness I had been studying for weeks.
That's when I heard a woman's voice. Did Mr. Dong not act alone!? I had to be careful, the person responsible for those murders knew how to ambush trained servicemen, after all. She called out again, but I don't speak Vietnamese. She was calling out from a back room, but the door was locked. She sounded tired, like someone on the verge of sleep. It didn't take much to break the door open, and that's when I found Jade. She was tied up, beaten, on the verge of death. She appeared to be a student from a local school. Phuong must have noticed her walking home before taking her, she still had part of her uniform on.
Back at the base, news of Phuong's death and Jade's rescue were quickly overshadowed by news that the US was pulling out of Vietnam. It didn't take long to match Phuong's knife to the murders which meant the case was solved, a girl was rescued, and I was on my way back to beer and baseball.
Forty years later and I was on the verge of retiring from this horror show. One more week working homicide in the city that never sleeps, and never stops killing. I've seen plenty of crap in my day, especially after bringing home a Vietnamese girl and taking her as my wife. Bigotry doesn't compare to the mess I would have left Jade in if I hadn't brought her home. She's stood by me all these years. She's been a good wife to come home to with some of the shit I've seen on the job.
You work 40 years any place and try and retire, and you're getting a cake and a party. Bunch of young bloods just happy to see another geezer free one of the desks. They didn't really care. DNA has made them lazy, arrogant, and presumptuous. Still though, the cake was chocolate, so I indulged a little. As we were all standing around stuffing our fat faces, reminiscing about my career while they secretly judged how sloppy it all once was, a new case came in. I couldn't care less, let one of the young bloods have it. The crime scene photo though. It was a stabbing victim, hands and legs tied, stab wound to the abdomen.
Coincidence? Sure, it's not exactly the most well thought approach to off'ing someone. Still though, I checked. I looked closer at the photos. My heart sank as I remembered how the other bodies in Saigon were laid out. The victim was in his 60's, and had a military record placing him in Saigon from 74 through 75. Still a coincidence?
Back at home, Jade prepared me a stiff drink and I got to work. After comparing the crime scene photos from Saigon to the most recent case, the realization hit me like a ton of cold hard bricks. Everything the same, down to the threading on the rope. The precision accuracy might as well have been the killer's signature, John Hancock written for all the world to see in giant letters, but I was the only one who could see it. I realized right away, Phuong Dong wasn't the killer.
"He was idiot" Jade said laughingly, while making her way into my parlor office.
"Honey, who?" I said knowing damn well who.
"Phong Dong. He was mental retard. I paid him some money, let him see my tits. He do what I tell him to." Jade said, while holding a knife. This was not like her. She was always so shy and bashful. Why is she talking like this? "He tell idiot fisherman he kill US troops. He brag. He thought it was game! He like little boy in brain."
My mind raced for explanations, the room began to spin. I'm dreaming, that's it. That's all this was. Everything's dreamy after all. Unless of course...
"I put toxin in your drink" the words echoed in my mind until darkness ensued.
The sound of a leaking roof bounced off the brick walls and cement floor of the abandoned factory building. I could hear traffic in the distance and knew we were still close to the city. My hands and feet were tied, the end was near, so I called out. "Why did you do it Jade?"
"My name not Jade. My name Jasmine. Jade gone."
I had heard that name before. Long ago, on a rainy night like this one, shortly after getting back to the states. She slept in my guest room. I heard her screaming in her sleep so I rushed to her. Her ramblings were in Vietnamese. I shook her from her sleep. She immediately grabbed me and we fell into each others arms as lovers for the first time. Her sleep spoken words echoed in my mind, however. A man in Chinatown translated them for me simply as "Jasmine, stop."
I screamed for my wife. She was so beautiful, I remember thinking that personal feelings aside, it'll be nice dying with her in my sight, arms raised, beautiful figure gleaming through her satin nighty.
Her arms began to come down, knife in hand, this was it. The blade was to be plunged left of center just below my left rib cage, just as the others. The blade pierced, but did not plunge. Her actions halted.
"You will not harm him!" Jade screamed.
"He like the others! He only want one thing! He think with dick!" Jasmine screamed back.
"No, he is a GOOD man. He protects me." Jade said forcefully.
"No good man! All men pig!" Jasmine said as she had taken back control.
Her arms raised once again. The white in her eyes and teeth shimmered from a lightning strike outside. She actually looked pretty damn sexy, which triggered my lets fuck smile. It's a reflex more than anything I suppose.
Jasmine screamed. She stepped back and analyzed everything. Every thread was in place, I bled from the exact position where the knife must enter. The scene was perfect, her work was almost complete. She straddled me in the chair, knife in the air ready to sink deep into my body, releasing blood everywhere and draining me of my life. Her anger and rage turned to astonishment at the erection she had just sat down upon. What the hell was wrong with me!? I was turned on like never before.
"Dirty man! Dirty bad man!" Jasmine screamed. She raised the knife once more, but found herself uncontrollably grinding on my lap like she was playing with an invisible hula hoop.
"Dirty, big man!" Jasmine moaned.
Confused, aroused, concerned, all I knew was I needed to get my hands untied while Jasmine was going through whatever mental dilemma she was tackling. With my arms free I grabbed Jasmine's wrists and threw her off of me. The knife bounced across the room, and I untied my legs. Jasmine, Jade, whoever the woman was in front of me began to cry. I walked over slowly, knelt down, and held her in my arms.
"You take care Jasmine too?" Jasmine whispered in my ear between tears.
"Sure thing, doll." I whispered back.