HAYGAP THAPTU 15.1306
(MEET THAPTU 15.1306)
Dung stared at the slip of paper tucked inside Đông Anh's Bible and reread the cryptic message he had just cracked. Just as he suspected, Mr. Liễu's precious youngest wasn't some clueless lamb. Especially not if the kid had the guts to let Dung find this note. Clearly, this was bait. But then again, how could a trap be any fun… if the rat never showed up?
Dung reached up and scratched at the fake mustache that had been itching his upper lip all afternoon. The thick makeup layered on his face was beginning to melt under the brutal midday heat, beads of sweat trickling down from his hairline.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, squirming in the getup of a man in his fifties. He checked his watch. 2:55 p.m. "Five minutes to go."
The chapel was empty. Usually, the parishioners wouldn't show up until well past three. Dung yawned, stretched out his legs, and settled in to wait.
The sharp tap of dress shoes on tile snapped Dung out of his drowsiness.
He didn't turn around, just sat still, unmoving, fingers absently tracing the fine leather cover of the Bible in his lap. The newcomer chose the third pew—perfectly within Dung's line of sight.
"Hello, Út," Dung thought with a smirk. He watched as the young man slowly knelt to pray, face serene, not a trace of tension in his expression.
Ten minutes later, two women in their forties entered the chapel. They sat across from him, not so much as glancing in his direction.
One by one, a few more people trickled in, all scattered across different rows, no one sitting near anyone else.
The only thing they did in unison was pray: heads bowed, rosaries in hand, lips murmuring the sacred words.
Nearly thirty minutes passed. Then, just as quietly as they had arrived, the others began to leave until only three remained: Đông Anh, and the two women who had come in together. All three still seated, still lost in prayer.
"Damn it," Dung cursed under his breath, frustration creeping in. "What kind of game are they playing now?"
Just as he was racking his brain for what might happen next, trouble arrived. And it was nothing like anything he'd expected.
Two men in military uniforms appeared out of nowhere, pistols drawn.
"Everyone stay quiet! Step outside for inspection!" one of them barked.
The two women let out startled cries, but the soldiers quickly silenced them with a threat. One by one, the four people in the chapel—two women, Dung in his fifty-year-old disguise, and Đông Anh—filed out as ordered. They were led to a clump of bushes, hidden from view.
Dung eyed the soldiers up and down, suspicion written all over his face.
"We've received orders to conduct a search. There's an informant hiding here," one of them announced.
"Whose orders? Who gave you the right to cause a scene in the house of God?" the curly-haired woman demanded, loud and fierce, earning herself the honor of being the first target.
"What's your name? You trying to resist?" the same soldier sneered, stepping forward to inspect the items in her hands.
The other soldier kept his gun trained on the remaining three.
"Hand over your purse."
When the woman hesitated, the soldier yanked it from her grip, flipping it open and rifling through it without shame. Inside was a decent amount of cash. He let out a nasty little laugh and tossed the purse to his partner. Then he snatched the Bible from her arms, flipping through a few pages.
"You hiding anything else? Take it all out. Now!"
"I've got nothing."
"You wanna make this difficult? Then don't blame me for getting physical."
The moment he threw the Bible down, her face turned crimson with fury.
"You—damn devil!" she cried, bending to retrieve it, only for the soldier to jerk her upright, his hands roughly groping her.
"Don't touch me, you bastard! Let go!"
The scene triggered the second woman, who began shouting and flailing as well. Together, the two charged at the soldier, scratching and kicking.
"Hold that crazy bitch down!" The soldier shouted to his partner.
While the two soldiers were distracted, Dung began to move but the person beside him beat him to it.Đông Anh snatched the Bible, flipped it open—right where the slip had been tucked—and shoved it straight into his mouth.
Dung's jaw dropped. "Út, what the..."
The boy's face twisted in discomfort as he struggled to swallow.
"Don't! Don't swallow that!" Dung lunged forward, gripping Đông Anh's jaw but it was too late.
Đông Anh's eyes widened. He started coughing, throat convulsing. Dung spun him around and slammed his palm against the boy's back.
"Spit it out! Now!"
Đông Anh bent forward, hacking and choking, but nothing came up.
"Damn it!"
Wrapping both arms around the boy's stomach, Dung hoisted him up in a Heimlich-like move.
"Come on, come on—get it out!"
Hhrgh... khff—!
Finally, the fit passed. Dung exhaled in relief, gently patting Đông Anh's back. Then he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the boy's mouth.
"There! He's the spy!" the woman shouted, jabbing a finger at the pile of vomit. Among the mess was the soggy outline of a folded slip of paper.
"You bastard! You're dead meat!" one of the soldiers lunged toward Đông Anh but Dung stepped in his way.
"Outta my way, old man!" the soldier snapped.
"You boys better scram," Dung growled. "Field Police usually sweep this area around this time. You boys wanna get cuffed and dragged back to base, deserters?"
The soldier raised his pistol, pressing the muzzle against Dung's chest.
"Shut your mouth, old man." Then he turned to Đông Anh, eyes seething with rage. "After I rip this little traitor to pieces, I'll deal with you next, old man."
But before he could make a move, Dung locked down the soldier's arm, keeping the barrel away from Đông Anh.
"Touch him and you're done. You clearly don't know who he is. That kid's life is worth more than you and your buddy put together."
Dung pulled back one side of his coat, revealing a pistol tucked inside. That was all he needed to say he wasn't just some bystander.
"You want money, don't you?" Dung added. "Take it. Outer pocket."
Dung stood perfectly still, arms slightly raised—showing no intention of reaching for anything. The soldier stepped closer, eyes locked on Dung's, and reached in cautiously. He grabbed Dung's wallet, flipped it open, and checked the contents. His eyes lit up, apparently satisfied with the amount.
"Hey! Field Police!" the second soldier shouted, panic in his voice.
Without another word, the two of them bolted, disappearing in an instant.
.
The chaos had passed. Dung and Đông Anh were now sheltering beside a stone bench in the church courtyard.
"You okay now, sir?" Dung asked.
Đông Anh nodded. Then, without warning, he reached up and peeled off Dung's fake mustache.
"Ow!" Dung winced, rubbing his upper lip.
Đông Anh stared at the piece of fake hair, then looked back at Dung's face. Still curious, he reached out and gently wiped at the pencil lines drawn across Dung's forehead.
"This... is some kind of disguise technique, right?" Đông Anh asked.
Dung burst out laughing. "Disguise technique? Don't flatter me, sir. You still saw through it, didn't you?"
"If you hadn't been holding that Bible, I wouldn't have known it was you. I really thought you were some random fifty man."
Dung glanced down at the Bible in his hand. The expensive leather cover, embossed with its custom design—of course someone would recognize it. He clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself for being so careless.
"Why did those guys run off so fast?" Đông Anh asked.
"They're soldiers. Probably deserters, desperate enough to try and shake people down. If the Field Police had caught them, they'd be screwed."
Đông Anh nodded thoughtfully. Dung continued:
"So... you actually believed they had real orders to search the place? That's why you pulled that ridiculous stunt with the paper?"
"I was just afraid…"
"Afraid of what? You knew what that slip of paper was?"
Đông Anh gave a reluctant nod.
"But I'm the one holding the paper," Dung said, frowning. "If anyone gets caught, it's gonna be me. You... why do you keep doing things that make me..."
He stopped short, squinting at Đông Anh.
"First, you planted that damn paper and let me walk straight into the damn trap. Then you jump in at the last second like some hero. So tell me, sir, what is it you really want?"
"I'm sorry," Đông Anh said softly, eyes lowered. "You saved me twice already… and I still lied to you."
Dung was caught off guard by the apology. It had come sooner than he expected.
"Before you came to pick me up in Đà Lạt, my father sent me that slip of paper. He told me to keep it safe at all times. When I got back here, I asked him what it was for. He said it was a test—something to see what kind of person someone is. If anyone ever tried to take it, I was supposed to just let them."
"When did you figure out the 'someone' he meant... was me?"
"The moment you said he wanted you to be my babysitter."
"So that's why you gave me the Bible?" Dung held the leather-bound book out toward Đông Anh, his tone sharp. "Take it back!"
"No. That Bible really means a lot to me. I wasn't lying about that."
"So you still want me to keep it?"
"Yes."
"Which means…" Dung narrowed his eyes, "you still want me to be your babysitter?"
Đông Anh nodded.
Dung pressed on. "Are you saying all this just because of that girl at the nightclub?"
Đông Anh thought for a moment.
"That's part of it… But also because… I really do want you to watch over me."
A crooked smile crept across Dung's lips. He leaned in, real close, and inhaled deeply, right by Đông Anh's ear. The scent he had first noticed in Đà Lạt—the fresh, mountain-clean trace that once lingered around this boy—still hadn't returned. And that meant Dung's doubts hadn't gone away, either.
"If you hadn't lied to me, sir," Dung murmured, "I would've happily been your babysitter."
Dung gave a light knock on Mr. Hai Liễu's office door before stepping inside.
"Mr. Dung Tây, at last," the older man said.
Dung didn't smile. He simply placed a fruit basket on the desk.
"My mom sends this as a gift to your family."
"Ah, I suppose this is her way of thanking my mother for that recent donation, isn't it?"
Mr. Liễu looked at Dung, but when he got no reply, he just smiled and continued:
"Have a seat. Seems like you've got something on your mind."
"Sir, have you heard what happened to Mr. Út yesterday?"
"I have."
"Was it all your doing, sir?"
"No. That mess was an accident. But thanks to that accident, I'm now even more convinced you're the right person to be by my son's side."
"If those soldiers hadn't shown up, what exactly was your plan?"
"Nothing much. I probably would've just made an appearance and had a word with you. Honestly, all I wanted was to test how fast you can sniff out trouble. And you, Dung Tây—just like the rumors say."
"Rumors?"
"Beyond your work as a pimp, Dung Tây is actually a spy. An informant. A man who trades in secrets." Mr. Liễu smiled, watching Dung's face closely.
"Rumors are what they are—stories, not facts," Dung replied.
"They do. Which is why I only trust what I see. And what I see in front of me now… is a money-hungry thug."
"Well, who isn't hungry for money, sir?"
"That's exactly why—if you turn down this job, you'll regret it for the rest of your life." Mr. Liễu tapped the fruit basket with his fingers. "From the looks of it, your mother already approves of this business arrangement."
Dung thought for a moment, then asked,
"What I don't understand is—why are you willing to pay such a high price just to send Mr. Út back to the seminary? Will it bring you any return? Honestly, if you told me he was secretly involved in something world-shaking, that'd be easier to believe."
"So you're investigating my family's ambitions now?" Mr. Liễu chuckled. "We don't do politics. We just like money. But to make serious money, you need serious backing. And the Church... is one of the few powers that rarely shifts."
"A second Ngô family?" Dung raised an eyebrow.
"No, no. I told you, we don't do politics.
If you work with me, you won't have to worry about pissing off any factions."
Dung seemed to soften.
"How long will Mr. Út be studying?"
"The length doesn't matter. What matters is—the sooner you convince him to go back, the sooner you start getting your cut."
"And once he's back in the seminary... someone else will take over Liberty, right?"
"If you prove yourself capable, that job will still be yours."