Anh Nhi are you Ok?

Saito Tower | District 1, Saigon | I Don't Know | September 5th | Anh Tranh Trung

“It was just a bad Coffee date”

It’s known that The Japanese were famous for their attention to detail. I’ve seen the care they put into their teas and the espressos the managers drink. I would sometimes go with the other Office Ladies to the Japanese coffeehouse in The Tower mall after work, where I could slowly savor a coffee – I wonder if its still there. Perhaps not, that’s why they gave me this. Though that’s probably putting more thought into it than Inato did. The care they put into things like coffee and tea is legendary, but they could be just as quick and cheap as anyone else. I took a sip of the almost room temperature light brown beverage. It was a bit salty, probably tears -oops. My cup contained coffee crystals dissolved in formerly hot water with powdered creamer. The Koreans and Japanese call it “stick coffee,” I call it Đống phân. I think the techies like it - I’m pretty sure that bolsters my point. I held it tighter, hoping some warmth could flow out to counter the overly air conditioned room. Cant even do that properly. I coughed. It echoed.

I scratched the itch on my burned hand. Or at least massage the tightly wound Cyan bandages. Saito Corp had access to the best. Not just medical equipment. Not even American made medical equipment. These were the kind New Jersey made for Military Special Forces and MedEvac Choppers. I know, I’m the one who procured them. Fought with the beancounters for weeks on it. “Emergency Medical Supplies aren’t something you cut corners on. Either buy the best or cut all the corners and buy bodybags.” Was this a victory? “Good thinking on your part anh! Really pulled through for yourself!” I need to get out of this mindset, The Cyan salve only need to be on for another 30 mins, they almost worked like magic. My hand would be good as new. Side effects are lethargy, nostalgia, reminiscence, depressive thoughts, and some itching. Probably why I’m stuck reliving this afternoon.

But its not like I could forget.

First, The Magistrate’s men put me in their car. They tried to get me to talk. I had nothing to say to them - admittedly I wasn’t really in a good mood. Once I had calmed down a bit, the Saito Liason made sure I didn’t say anything to them, only to then grill me himself once the Magistrates’ men left the room. It was exhausting.

“No Huỳnh-chu. I don’t know what happened. I just heard screaming.”

“Yes, Ito-San, All the Mitsuki haikus started speaking strangely.”

“No, Nguyen-chu, I have no idea what firearm you’re speaking of.”

“Hai, buchō. Yes, I just let it guide my hands, like in the training.”

I’ve given my testimony to two polygraphs and 3 transcribers, and now I’m just here. In “Tetsuo’s Office.” The “discipline room.” I’ve probably never actually visited this room - granted the Saito Tower is huge, I don’t think anyone has been to the entire building. But we all know of this one, I passed by it often but had never actually visited. It was one floor below the helipad, far above the glitzy shopping-mall lobbies and office spaces, laboratories, and warehouses.

“My office is fifteen floors below. Maybe if I ask, they will let me feed my fish. No wait, that’s a terrible idea, I can’t have Yumiko and Aya see me like this! What was I thinking? Well what if I ask someone to go into my office to feed my fish for me… Oh no, I can't, I have documents in my office. I locked it for a reason. Breach in protocol, right now? I'm being stupid. Ok hold on little fishies. Hopefully I will be out soon.”

I just need to be let out, I’ll feed my fish, make my coffee, and I can go back to only passing by this room on the way to the Hellipad. Like when I observe weapon’s tests, or go inspect oil platforms.

I looked around the room for proof of other human activity. It was absent. The room was inhumanely clean. Bare metal walls save for “employee rights and responsibility” posters. And
Saito Corp HR policy memos. There was a water cooler, and more stick coffee, no thanks. I went and tossed the coffee they gave me, got some hot water. Let it warm my non bandaged hand. Looked around. No sign of human life but my own.

I remembered seeing Tetsuo here. -Well, who doesn’t.

Tetsuo—former buchō of Consumer Products for Saito Southeast Asia—was known for being a little free with his hands. Anytime he got into trouble with the local government, this was where they brought him. The other office ladies - they joked that this was “his office.”

He had a flippant attitude toward Saigon officials and treated the city like his personal playground, but he was always careful to be more than respectful with Saito employees.

He had never laid a finger on me though, I was “a Protected Employee.” Didn’t stop him from visiting every “coffeehouse” in district 3 and coming back in cuffs.

I don’t particularly like the guy, but I would have appreciated some sign of him being here. No one else was in the room. Just, a metal chair, a metal table, and a large mirror, and the pathetic looking creature staring at it.

I tried not to stare too long, actually maybe I should. I know there are presences on the other side—right. If I stare at them, maybe they will stop arguing about what to do about me and just do it. That was how these things worked, right?”

“Trời ơi! That’s me?”

I tried to adjust my hair in the mirror, fumbling awkwardly, like the orangutan I once saw at the zoo. I used my useless hand, wrapped in bandages, to move some makeup clumped hair strands around. All of my lightener makeup was caked around in streaks of white exposing channels of dark yellow skin. While my office attire was torn, and ripped. Brown and yellow in a thin, scuffed Japanese wrapper.

“I'm a coffee stick.”

What have I—oh God, what did I do?

That’s when the hum of the fluorescents and the ac was finally shouted down by the mummerings of two figures arguing behind the door.

“We have completed our investigation, and believe we have found your evidence, Watanabe Buchō.”

That was my supervisor, Mushima-San, Regional Director of Saito South East Asia.

“Miss-tehr Mushima, Im not Buchō of anything, please address me by the title on the business card you feigned to read.”

“Very well Miss-tera Veya Peya of ‘Com-puh-rian-seh! And who, if I may ask, is your “President” of Compliance.’

“I’ll drag you back to Aichi to meet him if you don’t open this damn door.”

The mysterious man behind the door spoke Japanese like a dub of an action movie. Fluent, unaccented, but the mannerisms and cadence was off. Chopped, blunt.

The metal door swung on its hinges into the wall behind, just short of being kicked.

The man was an inch shorter than Mushima, yet somehow the man seemed to cower before him. Were it not for his clothes and hair being soaked to the bone and clinging to his body, he looked like he belonged on the cover of an English Language magazine with the Name “Wall St” in front of it. He slung his blazer back over his shoulder, but not long enough to hide the gun holstered under his left arm. He pointed to me like I was an exhibit in a court case, turning his body back towards Mushima-san.

“Did she just get here too?”

“No Mr Watanabe, I made sure The Magistrate followed our agreement, they could only hold her for 30 minutes.”

“You mean you’ve kept her here this whole time? The incident was almost 4 hours ago!”

What! It's almost 5? The whole work day, gone. I have so much left to do! This was supposed to be a quick lunch date! I haven’t eaten anything today except Two of Corey’s French fries. Is he ok? This city is my home! What’s happened! Why can’t I just get a nice coffee.

“Cheer up, Anh-san! We’re getting you out of here.”

The MH unit on the man’s belt turned its screen on to reveal a smiling chibi face with blue hair as she gave a thumbs up.

Ti Bo…

I must have looked like quite a pathetic sight, because The “VP of Compliance’s” Face softened into a concerned frown, while Mushima-san started gargling out an explanation.

“Missy, set a reminder to pull employment records and employee complaints and suggestions in addition to my usual audit.”

“Yes sir, Mr Watanabe.”

“Mr Watanabe, my boss began to explain. This is Anh, one of our local hires. She was at the center of the Riots and was found unlawfully carrying a weapon on the premises. And seems to have acted rashly. I have given you our report documenting her malfeasance and.”

Am I being set up?

“I needed your reports, not your conclusions. Bu Chuo.”

“Our investigation has already concluded Mr.”

“Mr I was sent here to investigate, and I am not done. Anh can you please come with me.”

I fought the lethargy fighting me and crumpled the Styrofoam cup in my hands. I tried to pretend the hot water didn’t hurt.

“Mr Watanabe. I had spent the entire day getting passed around, for questions and I had had enough of it. I am not going to answer any more questions so if you want to fire me, just do it so I can go home.”

“Such insolence!"

“Ms Tran, I already have your report, I want your help in the forensics, can you please show me to the IT room, so that I can conduct my own investigation.”

I don’t know why that relieved me, but it did, maybe it was the reassurance in his eyes, maybe it was the grumbling in my stomach, maybe it was the lethargy from the bandages…or the day.

“Very well, Mr Watanabe, but I have two conditions.” I tried my best to seem professional, I straightened my back, put my good now red hand over my bandaged one, and straightened my shoulders. “What’s your security clearance level with Saito?”

“I am HQ Black 3. There is very little you can’t show me.”

I grabbed the lanyard around my neck and threw it at him.

“Then…can you go into my office, feed my fish, do that and I will escort you to the engineering tower.”

“Done. Buchō, get your employee something to eat. Anh, I’ll meet you at the 52nd floor cafeteria.”