Chapter 2

Early morning. The Binh Tan rental block was still damp from last night’s rain. Old Tu sat in the cramped management room and slammed the rent ledger down on the table. His two missing fingers pinched an old ballpoint pen. His eyes went over the list until his head hurt.

“Twelve rooms ... three million each ... four rooms owing, so eight left, twenty-four million, goddamn it. Minus electricity, water, tax, repairs, envelope money for the neighborhood cop. Ain’t much more than that.”

He was sitting there grumbling when Hoang walked in. The final-year student wore a slightly wrinkled white shirt, old jeans, a backpack over his shoulder, and carried two iced coffees.

He set one cup in front of Old Tu and grinned.

“Drink up, Uncle. It’ll wake you up. Collecting rent today is gonna be tiring as fuck.”

Old Tu glanced at him, his Nghe An voice thick and heavy.

“You are...?”

“I’m Mrs. Tam’s grandson, from the drink stall.”

“Collecting rent ain’t going to war. What’s there to be tired about? I’m seventy-two and I ain’t complaining.”

Hoang gave a crooked smile, calm as anything.

“In war, at least you know where the enemy is. Collecting rent is different. They smile sweet at you, but in their heads they’re thinking all kinds of shit. Sometimes they tease you, and you think it’s real, then you let it slide...”

Old Tu froze. The old cock in his pants twitched.

“How do you know?”

What Hoang said was right.

Hoang took out the ledger. He did not start writing on his own, but asked first.

“Can I draw up the table again for you, Uncle? Separate it clearly: which room paid, which room still owes, which room is begging to delay, which room secretly cuts electricity or water. One look and you’ll know which one to handle first.”

Old Tu nodded. The kid lined the ledger beautifully, his handwriting neat and clean. Old Tu looked at it and felt a little respect.

Hoang drew lines as he spoke, his voice even.

“You only need to remember one thing, Uncle: don’t rush when collecting money. Whoever gets heated first loses. Just speak slowly. Stay calm. They owe you money. You don’t need to be afraid of them. The other way around ... they’re the ones who should be afraid. Also, you have thirty-five rooms, but only twelve are rented out. That’s too low. Do you know why?”

Old Tu sat silent.

Hoang said, “Because your rental block is too mixed up. Prostitutes, bar girls, gang types ... Families don’t dare live here.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Hire me, Uncle,” Hoang said, scratching his head. “I’m at home all day and my mom keeps yelling at me.”

Hoang stood up and patted Old Tu’s shoulder once.

“Let’s start with the easy rooms first, Uncle. Collect from a few rooms, get fresh money in hand, then you’ll feel more confident dealing with those whores who keep begging to owe.”

Old Tu looked at the kid and thought to himself:

“Fuck ... this kid’s only in his twenties, but he’s quick and knows life as fuck. I’m seventy-two and still gotta learn from him.”

He stood up, ledger in hand, eyes turned toward the staircase leading up to the floors with a look different from yesterday.

He was not a lonely old man anymore.

He was the boss. Had a little underling behind him.

The door opened, and a disgusting smell hit them straight in the nose: sour sweat, damp socks, clothes hung up before they had dried. One man stood there shirtless, eyes bloodshot, hair sticking up from sleep. Another lay sprawled on the floor, mouth open, sleeping like dead, while a standing fan blasted air into his face.

Hoang spoke first, his voice gentle.

“Brother Thanh, rent is due today. Uncle Tu is the new owner. Come pay him.”

The worker rubbed his eyes, cursed something filthy in his throat, then pulled a crumpled wad of cash from the pocket of his shorts, the bills dusty white with cement. He tossed it onto the table.

“Full two million, Uncle. Count it and be done.”

Old Tu picked up the wad. The money was warm, damp, stinking of sweat. He counted slowly. It was enough.

Hoang wrote in the ledger at once:

“Room 2: paid in full.”

The worker yawned long, scratched wildly at his crotch, and laughed.

“You just came to Saigon, huh, Uncle? Look country as fuck. Watch yourself or the whores here’ll trick you clean.”

Old Tu frowned.

“Who’s tricking who?”

The other man laughed louder and pointed at the cock lightly hard under his shorts.

“Plenty of women here. They smile sweet to your face, then curse you behind your back. Say you’re a stupid old man, missing two fingers and still wanting to play landlord. Binh Tan is full of horny trash.”

Hoang cut in, still soft-voiced.

“Brother Thanh is only warning you, Uncle. We just keep things clear. Paid in full, write paid in full. Short, write short.”

The worker nodded and glanced at Hoang.

“This little brother talks nice as hell.”

After leaving the room, Old Tu asked in a low voice:

“You know him?”

“No. But construction workers have it hard. They talk rough, but most of them aren’t bad. Don’t take it to heart, Uncle.”

Old Tu looked at Hoang and thought: this kid really knows how to deal with people.

The next door opened to the smell of disinfectant mixed with women’s sweat. A woman in her thirties stood there, hair tied in a hurry, dark circles under her eyes like a panda. Her son, about five, lay inside the room coughing hard, face flushed, breathing with a wheeze.

As soon as Sister Van saw Old Tu holding the ledger, she smiled miserably.

“Uncle ... let me delay a few days this month. The little boy got a fever. I spent all my money on medicine...”

Old Tu looked at the child. His heart softened at once. He remembered when his wife died and his three children were small. Every time they got a fever, he had to run all over the village borrowing money coin by coin to buy medicine.

Old Tu was about to open his mouth and let her delay when Hoang gently held out a sheet of paper and a pen.

“You can delay, Sister. But let’s write it down for Uncle. Uncle just took over the building, so the books need to be clear. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. It’s so no one forgets at the end of the month.”

Van paused.

“The old manager didn’t make us write anything...”

Hoang still smiled, sweet but firm.

“That was before. Now Uncle Tu has just taken over, and he wants to keep things tight. Write the date you promise to pay. If it’s too hard, tell him ahead of time, then it’s easier for Uncle to understand.”

Van bit her lip and reluctantly signed a five-day delay note. Her hand shook.

After leaving the room, Old Tu glanced at Hoang, his voice low.

“What are you studying?”

Hoang smiled.

“Business administration. But really ... I learned more from life than from school.”

Old Tu gave a dry laugh and muttered:

“Goddamn this life ... That sentence sounds good as fuck.”

Near noon, the sun poured fire down into the rental yard. Old Tu wiped sweat and looked at the list. A few stubborn rooms remained.

Hoang said quietly:

“Quynh’s room is left. For that one, Uncle, you should let me stand beside you.”

Old Tu frowned.

“That little brat who was high on ecstasy the other day?”

“Yes. She talks shocking, rude as fuck, but she doesn’t usually fail to pay. Don’t let her make you embarrassed.”

Old Tu grunted, his voice hoarse.

“What does this old man have to be embarrassed about?”

He said that, but when the two of them stood in front of Quynh’s door, Old Tu still felt awkward in his belly. His old cock stiffened slightly as he remembered the last time: that little brat in tiny shorts, a loose spaghetti-strap top, breasts peeking out, that rude, contemptuous attitude.

He took a deep breath and muttered under his breath:

“Fuck ... This time, if that little brat mouths off again, I don’t know what I’ll do to her...”

Near noon, the heat burned like fire. Old Tu and Hoang stood in front of Quynh’s door, room 23. They knocked several times, but there was no sound.

“Ain’t home?” Old Tu muttered.

He was about to turn away when Quynh came back from the end of the hallway. She had a long coat wrapped tight around her, covered from neck to thigh, looking as if she were hiding something.