Thin Slice of Life

Chapter 31

A knock at the door roused O.B. from his bed at the Sea Gun Inn where he had been laying awake in the dark, thinking. Not expecting visitors, he slid his .357 quietly out of its holster and held it behind him as he went to the door. “Who is it?” “It’s me, Trinny.” O.B. had to wrestle with this notion for a few seconds. “From the restaurant,” she said insistently, “and the fish house, in Fulton.” He quickly opened the door. In the dim porch light Trinh An Phu stood before him in a knit blouse worn over loose silk trousers. Her long hair was braided down her back. Not nearly so dazzling in his undershirt, white cotton briefs and tube socks, O.B. stood across the threshold from her with his mouth agape. Trinny giggled. “You not expecting me here are you, Mr. Ranger?” O.B. struggled to think of any words to say that might be appropriate to the situation. “What…” he started. “How…” “Please let me in, Mr. Ranger.” She looked nervously over her shoulder at the crushed oyster shell parking area and the rows of cabins beyond. The wind had picked up and it thrashed the palms CHAPTER 31 210 31| near the building. O.B. looked at his watch—12:30. He realized he was standing in front of this woman in his skivvies, so he ducked inside and began dressing himself as fast as he could. He slipped the gun back in its holster and moved it out of sight. Trinny closed the door behind her, observing the Ranger with amusement. Once he dressed, she turned on the small bedside lamp and looked around. For having spent ten days in the motel, the Ranger’s room looked like he had just checked in. His clothes were neatly folded in an open box-style suitcase, with two pair of leather boots lined up under the window. A grey-white Stetson and a khaki baseball cap hung on wall pegs. Framed paint-by-number pictures of retrievers and ducks adorned the dark panel walls. Trinny noticed a cassette tape on the table next to some papers. “Nice room,” she said. “You are fastidious Texas Ranger.” Nobody had ever called O.B. Hadnott fastidious before. He wasn’t sure what it meant or if it was a good thing or a bad thing. “Trinny, what are you doing here?” he asked, finally finding his voice. The girl regarded him carefully before she spoke. “I think you need translator,” she answered, indicating the tape cassette. “Unless you learn Vietnamese since I last see you.” O.B. looked over at the tape cassette. “Nu Dang’s wife is friend and neighbor. She tell me about tape.” Sergeant Hadnott wondered about the danger to his potential witness if the tape had become such public knowledge. Trinny sensed his alarm and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Ranger. Nobody know of tape but me and Nu Dang’s wife, Lua Xuan. We know if the Colonel find out we have tape, he kill us all straight away.” O.B. nodded, and wondered how safe his hideaway was if Trinny could find him so easily in this out-of-the-way motel room located in a tiny town across the bay from Rockport and Fulton. “You maybe surprised I find you here, eh, Mr. Ranger?” At this last display of clairvoyance, O.B. almost resolved to stop forming thoughts altogether. When he didn’t answer, she offered her explanation anyway. “I talk to Vietnamese maids I know work in this town and I ask where tall Texas lawman is staying. They tell me this hotel and give me room number.” “I see,” O.B. answered. 211 |31 “Your room number lucky number. Number Seven, very auspicious . Have you listen to tape?” “Yeah. I’ve listened to it.” Couldn’t understand a goddamn word of it either, thought O.B., no thanks to headquarters, which still hasn’t found me a translator. “How you understand it?” she asked. “I, uh, don’t.” “Then I help you understand it,” she stated authoritatively. She dropped her purse on the table and searched the room. “Where is tape recorder?” Although still flustered by the presence of the beautiful Vietnamese girl in his room, O.B. had not been totally disarmed of his professional instincts. “Ms. Trinny,” he began. “This tape recording...