The Sympathizer

Perhaps this was, indeed, Sonny, but I would never know for sure, as I would have no more opportunities to interrogate him.

Here we are, said Claude. Our destination was an alley over which hung a rainbow of artificial neon light, the sidewalks thronged with pale-faced primates of all ages and sizes, some with military crew cuts and some with the long hair of the hippie tribe, all inebriated or about to be inebriated, many howling and hooting in considerable agitation. Bars and clubs lined the entire alley, and in the doorways stood girls with bare limbs and exquisitely painted features. The van stopped at an establishment above whose door rose a gigantic vertical sign in bright yellow that spelled GOLDEN COCK. The door was held open by two girls who appeared to be twenty or so, which meant that they were mostly likely anywhere from fifteen to eighteen. They stood on six-inch heels and wore what euphemistically could be called clothing—halter tops and bikini bottoms not even as substantial as their kind smiles, as loving and gentle as those of kindergarten teachers. Oh boy, said the grizzled captain, grinning so widely I could see his decaying molars. Even the affectless lieutenant said, Nice, though he did not smile. Glad you like it, said Claude. It’s all for you. The affectless lieutenant and the grizzled captain had already entered when Bon said, No. I walk. What? A walk? Claude said. You want private company? You’ll get it, trust me. These girls are veterans. They know how to take care of shy guys. Bon shook his head, the look in his eyes almost one of fear. It’s okay, I said. I’ll take a walk with you. Hell no! Claude said, grabbing Bon by the elbow. I get it. Not every guy is up for this kind of thing. But take a walk and you deny your good buddy here the night of his life. So just come on in and sit down and have some drinks. You don’t have to touch. You don’t even have to look if you don’t want. Just sit with your eyes closed. But you’re doing it for your pal, not yourself. How about it? I put my hand on Claude’s arm and said, It’s okay. Leave him alone. Not you, too, said Claude.

Yes, me too. Bon had apparently infected me with his morality, a disease likely to be fatal. I offered him a cigarette after Claude gave up attempting to persuade us and went inside, and together we stood there smoking, ignoring the touts tugging at our shirts but unable to ignore the passing troops of tourists who bumped and shoved us. Gawd, someone behind me said, didja see what she did with that Ping-Pong ball, mate? Ping-Pong ching-chong, someone else said. Long schlong duk dong. Bloody hell, I think the bitch pinched my wallet. Bon threw his cigarette away and said, Let’s get out of here before I kill somebody. I shrugged. Where to? He pointed over my shoulder, and when I turned I saw the movie poster that had caught his eye.