Evening settled over Saigon, neon lights flaring up, restless and glittering.
"Here's your iced black coffee. Been ages since I last saw you," A Kẻn said warmly, dropping into the seat beside Hiền.
"Thanks."
"So, what are you up to these days? Not in school anymore, right?"
"Still in school. Why'd you ask that?" Hiền shot back.
"Well… Dung pulled strings for you, huh? With the kind of trouble you stirred with the cops, most folks would've been expelled by now."
"Don't credit that bastard with magic powers. I'd rather choke on sand than owe him a damn thing."
"Whoa, so you two had a falling out?" A Kẻn chuckled. "You don't know how many kids would kill to be treated like Dung's little brother the way you are."
Hiền snorted.
A Kẻn sighed. "Ay da… some things you just gotta swallow. What matters is keeping brotherhood alive. Anyway, I gotta get back to work. Stick around—you never know, Dung might swing by."
"He's meeting you?"
"Nope. But with half the block being his turf, how could he not show?"
Following the tilt of A Kẻn's head, Hiền glanced down the alley. He hadn't set foot there in a long, long time. Not since…
Hiền hadn't planned on it, but his feet carried him slowly into the old alley. Time and bullets had carved it up, yet the shadowed corner across from the Red Pavilion remained unchanged. That was where he used to sit for hours, waiting.
And so the nineteen-year-old young man found himself back on that same dark curb, eyes fixed on the entrance of the Red Pavilion. Men strode in eager, women stumbled out drunk, their laughter loose and their bodies looser. They were wasted, ruined, debauched. But in his mind, he saw again the boy who once sat on that curb, waiting for only one: the most beautiful woman of the Red Pavilion—she who never appeared until well past midnight.
When she did, if she caught sight of the boy sitting in the shadows, she would fuss with her hair, adjust her dress, then gather him into her arms. "Who let you come here?" she'd scold, her tone tender. And she'd hold him tighter. But what she never knew was how, in her perfume-soaked embrace, the boy wrinkled his nose in disgust at the overpowering scent.
Time slipped by, and with it old memories rose sharp and clear before Hiền's eyes. The young man sat there staring at the Red Pavilion, waiting for the one person he least wanted to see.
"She must be too old by now—no way she's still working this place," Hiền muttered, deciding to leave.
Just then, a car rolled up, headlights blazing straight into his face.
"Út, get down here!"
The familiar voice jolted Hiền. He squinted, trying to see past the glare of the headlights.
"Dung and Đông Anh?" he muttered. "Damn it, that bastard's dragged Đông Anh here?."
He wished he could rush over, tear Đông Anh from the devil's grip—but what excuse could he give? By the time he hesitated, the one he wanted to save had already stepped inside Red Pavilion, while he stood frozen on the street, lost in thought.
Another car pulled up close behind. This time, a woman stepped out—dressed to the nines, her face strikingly beautiful, though her furtive glances made her look like she was tailing someone.
"Ms. Tư?" Hiền whispered.
.
When Dung led Đông Anh through the bamboo curtain at Red Pavilion, every gaze in the house snapped toward them. A few hostesses bustled over, only to pull up short when they saw Dung's fingers laced tight with Đông Anh's. Anyone who'd been around long enough knew this wasn't ordinary. Sure, Dung bringing men into this place was nothing new—but usually it was arms slung, playful smiles, not a grip that fierce. This was different. This was a declaration of ownership, and a warning for others to back off.
All the way to the VIP room, Dung never once let go. He only released Đông Anh when the door shut behind them.
"Why'd you bring me here?" Đông Anh asked.
Dung slipped off his coat, hung it up neatly, and answered, "No reason—just smoke and mirrors for the crowd. You know what this place is, don't you, sir?"
Đông Anh nodded.
"As long as they see me escorting you into a den like this, they'll quit poking at how close we are."
"So people have been talking about us?"
"Not yet. But hole up at Liberty long enough, tongues will wag. And that'd be no good for your reputation." Dung smoothed a hand through Đông Anh's hair.
"But what reputation's left for a man once he steps in here?"
Dung laughed loud at that. "You think too much. A man fooling around? Folks here take it as second nature. They just don't let women play the same game." He pinched Đông Anh's cheek. "First time I've seen a man sit in judgment on a place like this!"
Unmoved, Đông Anh turned his gaze toward the window. "So it's true then—what they say about your… job?"
"That I'm a pimp?" Dung shrugged. "Út, you've known that a long while."
Đông Anh's silence prickled at him. He pulled the boy into his lap, face to face, one hand stroking his back. "What's gnawing at you? You ashamed of me?"
"Why'd you choose a life like this?"
Dung smiled gently. "Didn't choose it. Heaven dealt me this hand."
"But it's immoral. You're not afraid of karma later?"
"Supply meets demand. I just connect the two. I cheat neither heaven nor earth—yet they still cry 'immoral.' Truly unfair!" He pouted theatrically.
"But nobody respects your trade."
Dung had had enough of the subject. He flopped back on the bed, dragging Đông Anh down with him.
"After all I've gone through, you ought to treat me with more love, not more grief." His voice dipped mock-scolding as he held the boy tight against his chest. Then his hand slid to the nape of Đông Anh's neck, massaging softly, before sly fingers trailed up to brush his lips.
"Út."
"Huh?"
"You know why they call this place the Red Pavilion?"
Dung slipped his finger between Đông Anh's lips, teasing. The boy tried to speak, his voice muffled with a soft moan: "Mmm… why?"
"They call it the Red Pavilion… because once you step inside, everything's bathed in red—wine, lights, lust, even your own heartbeat. In here, there's no right or wrong, no good or bad. Only bodies, only craving."
Đông Anh's tongue closed around his finger, making Dung burn hotter.
"Út, you wanna lose yourself in the red with me?" he whispered, flipping Đông Anh onto the bed.
"I do…"
Madness. Blind lust. The two of them clung to each other in the Red Pavilion.
. . .
Yet even the Red Pavilion—that so-called refuge—couldn't escape the crack of gunfire.
Shots tore through the night. Đông Anh jolted, pushed up, eyes flicking toward the window.
"Don't," Dung hissed, yanking the boy's bare hips back down.
"Dung, you hear that? Gunfire—something's happening out there!" Đông Anh writhed, trying to push Dung down from his back.
"Forget it. Inside the Red Pavilion, nothing can touch us. Don't look outside." Dung's palm smothered his lover's sight. His tongue teased at the boy's ear, whispering: "Don't listen. Just drown in the red. In me." Then he slid his tongue inside, taunting.
"Aaah…" Đông Anh cried out as Dung plunged deeper. But his eyes flew wide, straining to glimpse through the fingers covering him. Beyond the window flared a blaze of red firelight. But it lasted only a breath—Dung's violent thrusts dragged him back into the fever.
The rhythm turned savage, cries spilling from his lips—wild, delirious, intoxicated.
So this was the Red Pavilion: red with fire, red with lust, red with sin. A heaven painted in nothing but blood and flesh.
A long, urgent pounding on the door forced Dung to stop mid-pleasure and drag himself up to answer. He cracked the door open, listened to the hurried report outside, then shut it again.
Turning back, he saw the naked figure sprawled across the bed. He whispered:
"Út, I've got something to handle. I'll be right back. Just stay here. Don't go out."
He brushed a kiss over the boy's hair, pulled on his clothes, and slipped away.
The room, still thick with the scent of lust, grew tense, anxious. Đông Anh paced back and forth, eyes locked on the window. Flames from a burning house still raged red against the night. It seemed there was a raid underway in the area.
By then, the alley below was already swept empty.
Đông Anh flung the window wide to see more clearly. From the second floor, he spotted a man staggering, clutching a child in his arms. The man seemed wounded—every step faltered as though he might collapse. His figure flared in the streetlight, then vanished into shadow. Straining his eyes, Đông Anh caught a second silhouette. Recognition jolted him: "Hiền? Could he be the one they're after?"
He rose on his toes, leaning out to peer down into the alley. His mind raced, gauging the drop from the second floor to the ground. Then he spun back into the room, rifling through it until he flung open the wardrobe. Luck was on his side. Inside lay a few items that might just serve his plan.