The Godson Read Free Page A

like tops as the bullets hit them. Patrols. Brutality. Turning WIAs into KIAs. Brave men. Cowards. But where a lot of Vietnam veterans might have been unnerved, Eddie was rapt. Eddie Salita was a killer long before the army sent him to Vietnam.
    Like a kid in a toy shop he strolled along the exhibits taking in the sights. Dummies in tiger stripes, complete with face camouflage, Ml6s and body armour. American uniforms. Viet Cong in their black pyjamas and Ho Chi Minh sandals standing next to pushbikes and carrying AK-47s. An old concrete road sign caught his attention: Saigon 104 kms. Yeah, chuckled Eddie. Been there, done that. Jesus, how good’s this?
    After an hour or so he found himself in front of a glass case with an exhibit of Montagnard clothing. There was even one of their deadly little cross-bows. This made Eddie’s grin even bigger. He’d been good friends with the ‘Monts’. He was taking in the details of the red and black tunic when a shapely backside belonging to a tall, auburnish blonde looking at some paintings on the far wall caught his eye. She turned slightly side-on and Eddie had to blink and shake his head. He shook his head again, but there was no mistaking that angular, haughty face, hazel eyes and tidy nose sitting above a pair of lovely soft lips. It was her, all right. Denise Rich-tenburgh. ‘Dutchy’.
    Dutchy had been the back-up singer in a group entertaining the troops the second time Eddie was in Vietnam. She was engaged to some musician back in Sydney, but Eddie had taken her out a few times in Saigon and had made three enormous attempts to get into her long, sexy pants. Once in a jeep, once in hospital and the third time he had her back in an American Colonel’s bivouac, well topped-up with Jack Daniel’s and ready to go. He was just about to do some furious inserting when the stinking, rotten Vietcong started mortaring the base. This was one of the turning points that transformed Eddie into such a killer because as soon as he got his fatigues back on, he grabbed a grenade launcher and took out the four mortar positions by himself. But when he got back, the colonel’s tent was gone and so was Dutchy. She was all right, but the Vietcong had certainly stuffed up what should have been a good night’s tooling for Eddie. The VC paid for it, though. Eddie never took another prisoner after that. They both remained good friends, but with the war as it was, Dutchy went one way and Eddie went another. But what was the long, sexy thing doing in Canberra? There was only one way to find out.
    Almost like he was back in the jungle, Eddie moved from behind the glass case, snuck up on the unsuspecting Dutchy and grabbed her by the elbow.
    â€˜Righto, gotcha,’ he said sharply into her ear. ‘And don’t try to get away.’
    If Eddie was trying to surprise Dutchy, his approach certainly had the right effect. She nearly went through the roof. Her eyes widened like saucers, her jaw dropped and a look of horror drained the colour from her face. Under his firm, but gentle grip, Eddie could feel her entire body stiffen like a post.
    She blinked at him for a moment as if she was trying to focus and get her breath back at the same time. ‘Eddie,’ she finally spluttered. ‘What the fuckin’ hell are you doing here?’
    Eddie shrugged, slightly mystified. ‘Checking out the War Memorial. What else?’
    Dutchy fell back against the wall, almost dislodging a painting. She put a hand to her face and glanced furtively around the room. ‘Who are you with?’
    Eddie shrugged again. ‘No one.’
    â€˜Meet me out the front.’ She snatched her arm away and moved quickly, if a little unsteadily towards the exit.
    â€˜What…’
    â€˜Meet me out the front.’ She tossed the last words over her shoulder and left Eddie standing there.
    Eddie watched her shapely backside in the designer jeans disappear into the