Blood & Tacos #2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mama Tu every time the baby girl looked at her.
    Wrapping the child in her blankets, Mama Tu picked her up. As she walked the
baby around the room, she sang softly:

    But in Saigon, peace never lasted for long. Just as the lines in the baby’s
tiny forehead softened into slumber, a big man wearing a burlap sack for a mask
kicked in the front door and aimed an AK-47 at Mama Tu. Two others followed,
hurriedly closing the door behind them. They were also armed and masked—one
an even bigger man, and the other a skinny young woman.
    Yen did not rouse from her sleep.

    Xuan Loc was forty miles north of MACV, but it took Corporal Mathes nearly
an hour to get there. He’d learned to drive on the freeways of Los Angeles,
but that was nothing compared to Saigon during rainy season. The greasy rain
slid down in lazy sheets. Motor scooters and Renaults slalomed through the traffic,
horns bleating and braying. It was a little easier going once outside city limits,
and Mathes finally arrived at III Corps and met with Major Le.
    "Bonjour, Corporal," said the little major as he returned Mathes’
salute. "And how may I be of service to the United States Army today?"
    Mathes frowned. "I’m sorry, sir, didn’t Major Taylor call
your office?"
    Major Le cleared his throat. "And how may I be of service to the United
States Army today?"
    Mathes’ frowned deepened, and then it hit him. He retrieved the transfer
papers Major Taylor had given him: yesterday’s copy of Le Courrier du
Vietnam wrapped around five American twenty-dollar bills.
    Major Le took the papers and smiled. "Please follow me, Corporal."
    Mathes had been in-country for a year, and he still couldn’t get used
to these ARVN officers, their accents more French than Vietnamese. But he saluted
properly and followed Le to a group of Quonset huts. Two ARVN privates came
to attention on their arrival. They held their M-16s to the side, order arms
position. Le barked at them in Vietnamese, and one of the privates opened the
padlock on the door.
    "Sergeant Tinh!" Le shouted in English. "Front and center!"
    In the shadows of the hut, through the drizzly rain in his face, Mathes could
see several figures stirring from various positions of confinement. And then
through the door came the meanest-looking gook Mathes had ever seen.
    Like a lot of Vietnamese, he was a little guy, but he stood as though he were
Atlas, as though he held up the world without breaking a sweat. His face looked
carved from stone—hooded almond eyes and a scar across his brow gave him
a permanent scowl. His wide shoulders strained at the dingy tigerstripe cammies.
His biceps bulged at the sleeves. His hands were as cracked and dirty as his
combat boots. He blinked at the gray light of day, and his eyes landed on Mathes.
    "Got a cigarette, Joe?" he said.
    "Sergeant Tinh," Major Le said, "I am temporarily releasing
you into the custody of Corporal Mathes. Our American allies have a situation
they feel you are well suited to handle. Upon completion of this mission, you
are to return at once to serve the remainder of your sentence. Is that clear?"
    Tinh grunted. "Mm. Yes, sir."
    Le smiled at Mathes. "He is, as you say, all yours, Corporal. Please
extend my regards to Major Taylor."
    Mathes saluted again, doing his best not to show his dislike for this little
ratfuck officer. Tinh caught his eye and winked.

    In the jeep, Mathes handed Tinh a pack of Luckies and matches, both wrapped
in cellophane. Tinh carefully unwrapped them, poked a nail into the corner of
his mouth, and lit it, striking the match with his thumbnail, his hand protecting
the flame from the wet.
    "Mm," he said, "makes a fine tobacco. Thanks, Joe."
    "Mathes."
    "Thanks, Mathes."
    "Had you in the stockade, huh?"
    Tinh raised his eyebrows. "Yep."
    "What for?"
    Tinh shrugged. "Don’t know. Could be anything. I was drunk."
    Mathes grinned as he fought to keep the Jeep in the flooded