Dung pushed past the bamboo curtain and stepped into the Red Pavilion like he owned the place.
Two bulky men lounging by the tea table near the entrance shot him sharp looks. But once they recognized the newcomer, both gave him a nod before turning back to their game of Tứ Sắc, a Vietnamese gambling card game played with colored tiles. Without a word, Dung headed straight for the staircase.
The second floor was a narrow hallway lined with rooms on both sides. From behind each door came the crackle of radio static, snippets of conversation, bursts of laughter or swearing. And everywhere he passed, the air was thick with the overpowering scent of cheap perfume. A woman in a half-done outfit suddenly swung a door open and nearly crashed into him. Dung stepped aside just in time.
"Shit! Scared the hell outta me!" she yelped, cursing under her breath.
Doors creaked open just a crack—faces poking out one by one, makeup smeared, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep but wide with gossip.
"What happened?"
"Someone fighting?"
"We got a john?"
But the moment they realized it was Dung, they each slipped back into their own rooms—no fuss, no questions.
Dung kept walking, unfazed, heading to the very end of the hall like he knew the place by heart. Spotting a middle-aged woman hanging laundry at the far end, he stopped.
"Lệ. Are they up yet?"
"Yeah, I been hearin' giggles comin' from that room nonstop."
Dung gave a nod, then walked toward a staircase that led… straight up into the ceiling. He climbed a few steps, reached up, and knocked on the square hatch tucked into the ceiling.
"Have the lovebirds woken up yet? I'm coming in."
Without waiting for a reply, Dung pushed open the attic hatch and climbed up. Despite the flimsy trapdoor, the room inside was surprisingly well-furnished, the most eye-catching being the large bed set near the window. And on that bed lay a young couple.
"You're here early, Dung," the girl said with a smile, her long, curled hair spilling over the shoulder of the shirtless boy beside her.
"Time for you to leave, missy," Dung said.
"So soon?" she pouted, glancing up at the bare-chested boy. He gently stroked her hair, coaxing:
"Be good. We'll see each other again soon."
Dung chimed in, "Move it. You dawdle any longer and someone's bound to catch you sneaking out."
"Alright, alright!" the girl huffed, then planted a loud kiss on the boy's cheek. "Don't forget me, okay? Think about me every single day until we meet again!"
"With pleasure, my lady," the boy replied with mock solemnity.
"I'm all dressed. Let's go!" she said brightly, holding up the loud floral skirt she had on.
Dung blinked. "Wait, you're planning to walk out in that?"
"What else would I wear?"
"You want the whole world to know the deputy inspector's little sister had a sleepover at a whorehouse? Change. Now."
"But I don't have anything else! And even if I change, people'll still recognize me."
Dung flicked his eyes toward the clothes rack. "Wear that one."
"You mean Mr. Nguyên's stuff?" she asked.
"Exactly! Dress like a guy, it's easier to move around. Anyone coming in or out of this place oughta be male, if they don't wanna get noticed."
She grabbed the men's clothes hanging nearby and giggled. "Wearing Mr. Nguyên's clothes to sneak out? Even better!" Her laughter echoed from behind the changing curtain.
"What about me?" the boy called out. "Am I supposed to put on her dress now?"
"No need. I'll have someone bring you fresh clothes."
The boy nodded. "Thanks, man."
"Don't mention it. Here at Red Pavilion, we aim to please."
"I'm ready! Do I look dashing?" the girl asked, stepping out from behind the curtain.
"Put your hair up and throw on a hat. Then get down there fast," Dung ordered, already heading down the stairs without waiting.
.
Once Dung and the girl were settled inside the car parked out front of the Red Pavilion, he rolled up all the windows.
"I'll drive for a bit and then find a spot where you can change back into your dress."
"No need. I can change right here."
"Not worried I might sneak a peek?"
"You can look, but you know better than to touch."
Dung chuckled. "You really are besties with my dear Ms. Tư."
"You saying I'm just as naughty as she is?"
Dung smiled but didn't answer. She went on:
"But it's such a waste to dress like a man and not get to do anything manly. Why don't you take me for a little spin first?"
"Please, I'm already gambling my life just helping you sneak off on this secret date. Now you want me to parade you around town dressed like a man? How many damn lives do you think I've got?"
"Relax! My brother's probably busy right now arresting those troublemakers at Văn Khoa University. No way he's keeping tabs on me at the moment."
"What troublemakers?" Dung snapped.
"The ones who've been protesting at school lately. I think he's had it with them. Might just throw them all in jail this time."
Dung's brow tightened. His fingers started drumming rapidly on the steering wheel.
"Hold on tight, miss."
Before she could even ask why, Dung slammed on the gas and the car shot forward into the busy street.
"Hey! I'm still changing back here. What the hell?!"
But he ignored her high-pitched protest, eyes locked on the road ahead. If he didn't move fast now, he might not make it in time to save someone.
***
Every step of the chaos had been carefully mapped out by Dung. All that was left now was to time it just right.
Dung stood among the protestors gathered in the courtyard of Văn Khoa University. The fake mustache glued above his lip was starting to itch like hell. Dung winced at the memory—back at the Red Pavilion, he'd barged into a working girl's room to talk business. Her john was still out cold on the bed, so Dung, without much thought, helped himself to the guy's clothes. Only later did he realize: He'd stolen the outfit of a full-blown rocker.
Now here he was, stuck in a pair of wildly flared jeans and a sleeveless denim vest—missing only a shaggy, shoulder-length perm to complete the look of a wandering musician.
Dung adjusted his dark sunglasses and cursed himself inwardly.
What the hell was he thinking, picking the loudest damn outfit in the whole house He hadn't even done anything yet and already, hundreds of eyes were giving him the once-over. Thankfully, a shouting match broke out in the street, pulling the crowd's attention away.
Right on cue.
The plan was in motion. Dung's girls had begun their performance. Four or five working girls were now staging a fake love triangle gone wrong, clawing at each other over some poor soldier in the guard line. The other soldiers conveniently looked the other way. None of the other soldiers dared interfere, scared the girls might call them out by name and accuse them of sleeping around.
"Tough as nails, these damn women," Dung thought with pride.
As expected, the scene drew more and more curious onlookers. Just a few more minutes and the police would step in, break it up, and hopefully spark just enough disorder.
Right on schedule, a few officers began to intervene. And just as Dung hoped, the girls kicked it up a notch. One of them even snatched a bag of flour from a vendor nearby and flung it at the cops, sending up a white cloud that choked the air.
But then, another police unit arrived. Dung frowned. That group didn't look like they were here to break up a fight. They looked like they were here with orders—to make arrests. This wasn't part of the plan. The commotion wasn't big enough yet. His staged catfight was barely scratching the surface. Worse, his girls were now at risk of getting dragged off in cuffs. It was clear: If he wanted things to go according to plan... he'd have to act now.