In his opinion, Nguyen Xuan liked doi moi.

Fifteen years ago, Saigon was a mess of government-issue drabness. The façade of the French-built Opera House was cracked and faded, the streets were cramped and tiny, clogged with "Made in Vietnam" bicycles. Those who were on the bottom—literally everyone—wore either the green military uniforms or gray pajama-like clothing that the government gave out through ration tickets. Even his father, a retired colonel and a famous war hero, was on the top of a society based on government merit, and drove a car that was built in the 1950's. In the Soviet Union.

Needless to say, Xuan's lifestyle would be frowned upon back then. With his Oxford education, his downtown three story villa overlooking the nicer side of Cong Vai Park, his Mitsubishi hybrid, his G2 Macintosh, and the billions of dong in his bank account, he would have probably labeled been labeled something along the line of "aristocratic capitalist pig". Pig? He hoped not. Aristocratic, however, was absolutely correct.

This was a country where people could literally live off 30 cents a day, and not care less. Even in Nguyen Xuan's household, he had a 6-year-old niece of his as a maid. His cousin, a mango farmer in a small village outside of Da Nang, had begged him to give his daughter an education. In return, she stayed in his house and did his cleaning with the rest of the maids. Even his driver's pay was only about $50 dollars a month. All that had changed for the elite Vietnamese thanks to Doi Moi—all his money allowed them to buy power, as well as luxury items few could have in the country.

Yes, Doi moi, or the transition from the government-controlled to the free market economy, was very helpful. His wealth and position allowed him to be adored by the rest of Saigon: Instead of being viewed by the plebeians as the "greedy landlord," he was now seen as inherently good.

Which made his covert dealings with the Asian underworld less of an issue with the city.

At this point an explanation may be necessary. The Honorable Nguyen Xuan was the father of two grown twin children, as well as Hanoi's attaché to the Ministry of Justice's branch in Ho Chi Minh City. This rather affluent position had allowed Xuan to have an extreme level of influence over the Ministry, while secretly foraying into the world of crime that he was supposed to eradicate. Over the years, although he never supported the many pick-pocketing groups that ran amok Saigon, he had built up his fortune with drug money and prostitution groups, making him known as the person to go to for the triads. For a hefty fee, he would encourage his officials to conveniently look the other way when searching a cargo ship, his policemen to ignore the brothels in the ghettoes.

Ten years of such behavior had pretty much secured his stature for life. Nguyen Xuan, however, wished that the American dollar didn't put his country's currency to shame. In a land where a dollar equaled 16,000 dong, you couldn't be a heavy player elsewhere. So, ignoring the teachings of Ho Chi Minh, his desire to be internationally known fueled his desire to get as rich as humanly possible.

All in all, Nguyen Xuan was rather unethical man.

But no one cares about Nguyen Xuan's ethics. All that mattered in Vietnam (and in this story) was that he was a wealthy man that no one dreamed of double-crossing.

So naturally all hell broke loose when he found out Yavanní's wrath.

qp qp qp qp qp

Earlier in his life...

Occasionally, Xuan would deal with some Chinese drug and weapons dealers or Thai extortionists, but he had never dealt with white foreigners before. Not out of experience, but out of the knowledge that the people of Consultate Row would hound him to his death otherwise.

But when one of his contacts in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs mentioned an odd request from the Fowl family of Ireland, Xuan found this opportunity too irresistible to pass up.

"Oi, doi oi!" Xuan had exclaimed. His cigarillo fell out of his mouth and the ashes smattered all over his desk at his home office. "369 million dong?"

"Ya coa," his coworker back in Hanoi affirmed over the phone. "It's from the Fowl family, too."

"What family?"

"I talked with some people from the Embassy of Ireland," his contact had said. "He said that there's nothing illegal that the Fowl Family hasn't done—they've been around for decades. Forgery, private sector corruption, what have you. They're a very big deal where they're from. The police have been trying to get at them, but they've never been able to. I hear, though, that they're billionaires."

Cigarillo now abandoned, Xuan hurriedly grabbed a pen and some Post-It notes. "Ask…Cuong…about…Fowls…" he jotted. Cuong was his 25-year-old son, who was working on his M.B.A. at Cambridge in England. "So what do the Fowls want to do with Vietnam?" he asked. "Drugs? Textiles?"

"Actually…" His contact paused. "It's the strangest thing…Let me forward it to you."

Xuan heard a click at the other end of the phone. Forward…?

Frowning, he ran his hand through his thinning hair as he picked up his mug of Ban Me Thuot coffee, and typed his password into his email.

What he saw shocked him.

I know what this Fowl wants!

qp qp qp qp

Work at school has lessened up considerably, so this story will get more work on it—like short-short chapters. I swear. And for the record, I AM Vietnamese; so I do know what I'm talking about.

Questions? Comments? Leave a review!