"When you play a game of thrones
you win or you die." -- Cersei Lannister,
Game of Thrones
 

Darkness protects us from seeing the things we would rather not see. At least, that's what they tried to tell me when I first got into this shitty mess. In reality, it can cause you a lot of pain, grief — and yeah, even death — in this business.

I been playin' "the game" for as long as men have had cocks. Okay, so that might be an exaggeration, but you get what I'm drivin' at. It's been a long damn time. The locals call it mèo và chuôt, or Cat & Mouse. There's good reason for that too, but we'll get to that in a minute.

After 'Nam fell to the commies, I stayed behind and watched while  our choppers disppeared outta sight, then tried to blend in with the zipper heads as best I could. No way was I goin' back home. The Nam was my home now. Like it or lump it, take it or leave it. Que sera, sera...

I took odd jobs helpin' fishermen, workin' the rice paddy fields — whatever I thought I could do to make a little money. But honest work don't pay much here, so I started lookin' for faster ways to pad my pockets. It turns out, most of 'em weren't what you'd call on the 'up-and-up'.

I worked as an opium “runner” from all over Southeast Asia to various countries all over the world for a while. Did you know that an average household of poppy farmers can cultivate and harvest about one acre of opium poppy per year? One acre. The better fields can support opium poppy cultivation for ten years or more without fertilization, irrigation, or insecticides, before the soil is depleted and new fields must be cleared. Yeah, folks, it's big business and a seriously deadly one, too.

After making several trips from the Chu Lai International Airport, and Cam Ranh International, respectively, plus being nearly busted a couple a' times, I realized I needed to find another line of work. While the money was good, it simply wasn't worth the risk of gettin' my mangy ass thrown into the grey bar hotel. It was on one such run I met my current employer while waiting for my flight out of Tam Ký.

Phuc Tran — that's the guy's name. His face was pockmarked from what appeared to be several run-ins with bad bouts of adolescent acne. A scar snaked its way down his forhead, over his left eye, to just above his lower lip. He sported a closely cropped crew-cut and a patch covered his eye on the same side. An image of the Jolly Roger was embroidered in its center. Those should'a been good clues for me to hightail my ass quickly in the opposite direction — but not me. I had to hang around and listen to his spiel.

“American?” It was more of a statement, like he'd uncovered some covert secret, than a question.

“Yeah, so? What's it to you? You an Ameican too? Maybe we went to the same high school together.”

“I look American? No, Vietnamese.”

“Well...no shit, Sherlock. Damn, I never would'a been able to figure that one out on my own. The slant...eye is a dead givaway....”

And so it went — back and forth — until Phuc Tran finally got down to brass tacks.

“We need new recruit. You hieu biet...u-h-h-m-m-m,” — Tran scratched his chin while struggling to find the right word — “you savvy? Pay two-thousand American dollar.”

“Well, Fuck-Tramp..."

The small man stuck out his chest immediately, swelling up like an aggitated puffer fish.

"Dat Mr. Phuc Tran to you, Yankee!"

"Okay, okay... whatever. Don't get your thai sticks all in a bundle. It depends on what it is I gotta' do. I'll save you the time and trouble and tell you if it has to do with illegal drugs, consider me not interested.”

That's how I came to be in the current predicament I now find myself in. Bleeding profusely, my only weapon lost here in the total darkness someplace within this maze of razor blades and barbed wire. Oh sure, I've been good at it, don't get me wrong. Despite many scars and near deaths on the part of my own, I've killed countless adversaries, both men and women. However, this guy... this killer I'm currently up against, well...he's different.

The way the maze is set up for Cat & Mouse are an inquisitor's wet dream. New razor blades line the narrow corridors, and some passageways are far narrower than others. There's razor wire strung strategically along certain portions of the maze, but omitted in others. Each player is placed at opposite ends of the maze, given one six-inch knife, and instructed not to move a muscle until told to do so. All lights are extinguished. That's when the countdown timer begins, and the command, "di!"– or "go!" is given over the com. Oh yeah, it's a timed event; you bet your ass it is. There are also many invited “guests” that get an opportunity to bet on who's gonna' come out on top, and how fast they'll accomplish it.



The objective of the game is to reach the “safe circle”— by any means necessary. While it ain't a requirement that you slaughter your opponents, it is encouraged. After all, it means you'll never have to go up against them again in the arena, right? Sure, common sense, and the majority of players utilized it — lived by it, quite literally. Medical attention is immediately administered to the winner, if necessary. Should the injuries be severe enough to bring about death to the one reaching the safe zone first, the winnings are sent to whatever person or charity listed on their contact form. No one but the promoters of the game ever get to see those forms, of course. The game's about as illegal as killing your grandmother, if you're lucky enough to have one.

Frenchie...this Panthère fellow, my current adversary? He's had seventy-two appearances under his belt without so much as a nick. He'd been one of the first to participate, and was highly feared and respected among this circle of influence. Of course, I'd won quite a few myself, so I was pretty damn confident I could beat 'im. That's what I get for thinkin'.

Right outta' the gate, he cut me deep — real deep. I never heard him comin' like I normally do. One quick slash about five minutes or so into the game, right across my throat. The game was definitely on now. I could feel my flesh open up like a fish under the fillet knife. I couldn't believe how quickly he'd found me in the darkness. Memorizing the maze isn't a possibility. The configuration changes with each new game, every time. I can't see nothin', but my shirt is soaked, and I taste bitter copper on my tongue. I know all too well what it means. I'm bleedin' out, and I gotta' move fast, or I'm done for — right here where I stand.

After what seemed like a hell of Sundays bumpin' into razor blades while tryin' to apply  pressure on the gash he inflicted, not to mention keeping my guard up for Frenchie, I see it. Just there — up ahead, bathed in faint yellow light — is the safe zone. But, where the hell's he at? Then, it dawns on me. He's baitin' me into a trap. Crafty bastard, no wonder no one's been able to lay a finger on him. Deal a quick, potentially deadly first strike, make your opponent scramble to get to safety — or bleed to death, whichever comes first — then off 'em before they make it to the finish line. Clever, but I ain't fallin' for it. I'm gonna' wait right here a minute and watg-n-n-n-u-h-h!

<♦♦>

“You real good, Frenchie. We make boku dollah tonight. Dey all say I stupid investing money in you, that you never pay off 'cause you damaged goods. We both know you being blind since birth give you big advantage.”

I face the short man now addressing me, — my 'manager', for lack of a better word — and feel the heft from the stack of bills he's placed in my gore-soaked hands. After taking my opponents tongue, along with a few of his teeth for souvenirs, I made by way to the safe zone and depressed the timer stop.  There wasn't any hurry, really. At least, not for me. 

The American I slaughtered was just another pawn in their ongoing game of greed and death simply for pleasure's sake. I'm sick to death of it all. If you were able to ask me, right this second, I would tell you I just did him a huge favor. He won't have to live with the memories of what he's allowed himself to become.

Being blind has had its advantages in this game of Cat & Mouse, and I've managed to make the two million I set out to make — and then some. I get just 20% of the total take, and that doesn't include any bets taken or paid on. But not today. Phuc Tran and his cronies aren't aware I'm going to be celebrating my retirement today. Just as soon as I kill the lights, I'm also killing Phuc Tran, and the rest of these men. If you'll pardon the pun, I'm taking their cut of my winnings then I'm gone for good. There are five of them, all armed, so it's going to get rather messy. However, as Tran likes to point out each time I emerge from the maze covered in my opponents gore and guts — “Darkness protects us from seeing the things we would rather not see.”

They'll never see it coming...