Beauty Rising (18 page)

“Where is it going?”

“America.”

“Yes. I have no other choice.”

“Okay, it’s 9:45. The last bus to Haiphong leaves in fifteen minutes. You need to get moving now.”

“Okay,” I said appreciatively.

“Here’s what you need to do. At exactly 3AM, be at 12 Tran Hung Dao Street. You will meet a man called “August Revolution” and he’ll do the rest. You need to pay him up front.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

“My Phuong, what is going on?”

“You’ll know by tomorrow. But just remember one thing; things did not happen the way that the papers will report it tomorrow. Remember that, okay?”

“Okay,” said Hung looking perplexed.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a wad of 50s.

“Here, this is well more than $1000. For all your trouble.”

He looked shocked and took the money without question.

“I think it is better that I don’t know. You poor girl, look at you. And your hair.”

“It’s okay. Can I have your cap?”

He handed it to me.

“I think you paid enough for it,” he smiled.

I put the cap down over my head.

“And this bag, I can’t take it. I need to go lighter.”

“Well, from what it sounds like, I don’t think I should have your belongings in my possession.”

“Yes, of course,” I said realizing how foolish that was. “Goodbye Hung.”

“Goodbye My Phuong.”

“12 Tran Hung Dao Street, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

I started the bike and took off down the road. Just past the university stood several large dumpsters. I pulled over and reached into my duffel bag pulling out about four pieces of clothing. Then I threw the duffel into the trash bin and tore up the street with only my purse, my backpack of money and these few items of clothing. The bus station was only three minutes up the road. I stopped the bike on the street outside the gate, threw the keychain into my purse and then ran through the main gate to the ticket counter. I kept my cap down over my eyes as much as possible.

“One ticket to Haiphong.”

“It’s pulling out right now.”

“Okay.”

I handed her the money and she gave me the paper ticket. I ran to the bus and entered. Luckily, it was only half full. We pulled out of the gate, and I felt some relief. As we went through the first traffic circle, sirens could be heard behind us. Three police cars, roaring as loudly as possible, raced up from behind. My heart pounded as surely they came for me. But they raced past us, turned left, and headed downtown towards the clock tower, the market, the cinema, and the People’s Council Guest House. Our bus quietly went straight and within minutes had exited Thai Nguyen City. I was on my way.

I leaned my head against the window and cried.

“Dear God. Dear God,” I said under my breathe.

I hadn’t prayed in a long time. I was raised a Protestant, but I left all that in the south after my parents died.

“Dear God. I’m so afraid. I’m so afraid.”

There was nothing else to pray. I sobbed quietly as the bus darted through the night, beeping its horn, swerving left and right around motorbikes, cars, and the occasional animal. After some thirty minutes, my tears gave way to sleep.

About an hour into the trip, the bus screeched to a full stop which jerked my torn-up face into the seat in front of me. Three water buffalo stood directly in the middle of the road. The bus beeped its horn incessantly until they slowly plodded out into the darkness. My face throbbed, and I reached into my purse to find some Panadol, swallowing four of them whole. I then caught a glance of my cell phone and thought that perhaps they could trace my location if I used it. I pried open the back of it, removed the SIM card and threw it out the open window. Then I pulled out my compact which had a mirror and battery powered light, daring to look at my face – a face I barely recognized. I reached to pull my key chain out of my purse. I knew I wouldn’t need those anymore. As I glanced down, I saw Martin Kinney’s license had some strange shading over it. I shined the light on Martin’s face and there were blood splatters all around. I then realized that Martin’s license was the hard plastic card that I plunged into Mr. Duc’s eye.

I took it off the key ring, and placed it into my wallet.

“Thank you Martin. You really are a good luck charm. I hope you have some more magic in you. I need it.”

We arrived in Haiphong about 1:45. I had an hour to find Tran Hung Dao Street and to try and organize the large stash of cash in my backpack. I had never been in Haiphong before, so I didn’t know where to start. However, Tran Hung Dao was a very prominent general in Vietnamese history who thrice repelled Chinese invasions. It was such a common and popular street name in every city that it usually was in a very central location. I would walk down the main streets and hope to find it. I found an open public restroom off the back end of a large market complex beside the bus station. It reeked of urine and only a small incandescent light dimly lit the room. I went into a stall which had a normal squat pot. There was very little room, but I decided to use this place to reorganize my money. I must have had more than $100,000 with varying stacks of 100s, 50s, and 20s. I put one stack of 100s in my underwear and a stack of 50s in my bra. I put several stacks of cash in my purse and a couple more wrapped in the extra clothes I brought. The rest I left in the backpack. I understood what my odds were with the type of characters I would meet that night. I had to give myself the best chance to get away, and by dispersing the money into several locations, I hoped I would be able to keep something. I took a deep breathe, opened the stall door, and walked out of the bathroom.

I walked through the center of the large park by the bus station and ended up at a small square which had a French-era theater on one end. This looked to be the city center. I noticed a main drag lined with various shops which headed slightly downhill opposite the theater. This looked to be the old section of town and an excellent place to find Tran Hung Dao Street, and down three blocks on the right I found the street sign. I was relieved. I walked down the street a short way and squatted in the shadows of a small alley. I didn’t want to be early. I felt exhausted, but I had to make sure I didn’t fall asleep. Thirty minutes passed as I squatted in a trance-like state. No one had come by or bothered me. I felt fortunate.

At 2:55, I walked down about one block and stood outside the gate at number twelve. The house was dark. I was afraid to ring the bell. I jiggled the handle on the gate, and suddenly two large German Shepherds charged the gate and barked ferociously. After a few seconds a voice yelled out through the window.

“Quiet. Quiet.”

The dogs quieted immediately and out walked a middle aged man wearing no shirt and only boxer shorts. He came right up to the gate and shined a flashlight on me. He looked at my wounds and scars and nodded.

“What do you want?”

“Hung sent me.”

“Who do you want?”

“August Revolution.”

He paused for a moment and looked back at me. I held the $10,000 in my right hand behind my back.

“Money.”

I handed it to him. He immediately went into the house. I took out a stack of 50s fully expecting having to pay more. I waited at the gate for several minutes, then a young man in his late twenties came out. He unlocked the gate and grabbed me by the neck.

“Listen. There is too much going on tonight. Just get out of here. We can’t help you.”

“I can pay more.”

“What do you got?”

I handed him the other stack of 50s. He looked at me in a peculiar manner. Perhaps it was usually not so easy to extract extra money.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Just my belongings.”

“Where did you get all this money?”

I didn’t answer. He gently rubbed his hands over the wounds on my face, and eventually shook his head.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I got on the back of his motorbike. I realized what I was doing was a longshot. I had just given a complete stranger – one involved in criminal activity – $15,000 to get me out of the country. For all I knew, he could have been taking me to the outskirts of town to kill me in the quiet of the night. I didn’t trust him at all, but I had no other available options.

After about ten minutes, we pulled up within sight of the shipyard. Large container vessels stood straight up out of the river, and I wondered if one of them would be my salvation. The driver pulled off the side of the road.

“Wait here.”

He walked about fifty feet away from me, made a quick phone call, and finally came back to me.

“Down that way about thirty meters, there is a light post. When you get to the light post, walk to the fence. There is a portion of the fence which is loose. Pull it up and crawl under it. There will be a trash dumpster to your left. Wait behind it.”

I nodded.

“Go now,” he said forcefully.

I grabbed my backpack and walked down until I got to the light post. I walked to the fence and found that part of it was curled up at the bottom. I pulled it up slightly and noticed that it was big enough to get through. I laid down flat on my stomach, pulled up the fence with my right hand and slowly wedged myself under it. When I was halfway through, my right hand couldn’t hold it anymore and the metal wire came down directly on the wounds of my back. Pain shot through my whole body, but I kept shimmying until I was finally clear of the fence. The dumpster stood off to the left just as he said, and I quickly ran and huddled down behind it. I marveled at all that happened in my life to bring me to this point. If my mother were still alive, she would be ashamed of me. I knew that for a fact. A karaoke hostess, a thief, and a murderer. Is any mother ever prepared to hear those words to describe her daughter?
It wasn’t my fault
, I thought.
What choice did I have? This was the lot that God gave me.
My body ached; my head hurt; my heart was empty. I was ready for the end for many hours now, but I kept moving forward; I kept hoping; I kept going on without really understanding why.

“Dear God. Dear God,” I kept praying.

There was nothing else to say.

After about twenty minutes, two dark figures came around the corner of the dumpster. They stood looking at me for a moment.

“What do you have for us,” one of them finally said.

I had another stack of cash in my hand. I had just randomly grabbed it out of the backpack.

“Here,” I offered it to him.

“Let me see your bag,” said the other one and grabbed the backpack from my grip. He opened it up to see ten or so stacks of bills in various denominations.

“Look here,” he said to his buddy.

They both gawked over the large amount of cash in their possession.

“This will do. Come quickly.”

We walked down through several rows of containers. The engine of a large container ship roared right in front of us. We walked onto the ship through some sort of gang-plank and were quickly met by a merchant marine who started complaining about me. The men opened the bag and showed him the stash, and then he directed me down a small alleyway and out a door which led to a massive stack of containers in front of us. We walked down between the stacks until we came to a certain blue container with the words “Essex Four” on the outside. He unlatched the back and opened the door. There were a large stack of wooden crates that towered almost to the ceiling.