Sex and Crime stories

This is a story for the 2025 Winter Holidays competition. Vietnamese New Year. Tết, like Chinese New Year, is celebrated on the second new moon after the northern hemisphere winter equinox, usually in January or February. This story is set in Australia, where this time also marks the end of the long, lazy days of summer.

Jade also features in some other stories, but this story can be read as a stand-alone. Jade is a Vietnamese-Australian safecracker living in Sydney, where she has recently started working with a slightly nutty painter-criminal couple, Matthew and Catherine. Jade has an altruistic streak and a love of English Regency fiction.

My grateful thanks once again toNynahand toPennyThompsonfor their beta-reading comments and suggestions.

"This was abad idea," I hissed to Matthew as we trudged up the hill from where we'd parked, past some of the richest mansions and nicest gardens of Sydney. The leafy, winding street was crammed with cars from partygoers who had already arrived, and getting closer wasn't going to be an option. I was wobbling a little in my red high heels, and grumpy about it. I hardly ever wore high heels as they were extremely unsuitable for my regular work, and they were just one more irritant for the evening.

"Sorry Jade, but sometimes you just have to be glamorous," he said with easy good humour. He looked fabulous in his tuxedo, of course. His tall (but not too tall) frame, wavy dark hair and laid back, relaxed smile made him perfectly irresistible.

Matthew was an artist and also (because he was frequently visiting expensive homes for his work) an intelligence source for his partner. Catherine dabbled lightly in various underworld enterprises while climbing the social tiers of Sydney. I'd been working with them for about six months as a safecracker, burglar, and occasional lover. It was a fun gig.

Catherine was also heavily pregnant and had elected to stay home tonight. She'd called me the week before,stronglysuggesting that I take her spot at Matthew's side.

"Think of the opportunities you might uncover," she'd said. "A good thief has to do her research, you know. A Vietnamese New Year's Party is the perfect excuse."

"I can tell you now, Catherine, that you shouldn't be touching Dung Hà with a bargepole. He's a totalbăng đảng, cut your throat Ma'amkind of guy, from what I've heard."

"Well, he sent us a nice invitation to the party, and we don't want to snub him. Anyway, Matthew's been employed to paint the guy's portrait: we don't have to work out a way to rob him to make a profit, so there's no pressure on you. This is just about light exploration of opportunities. And who better to go with Matthew than our beautiful Vietnamese associate?"

I'd snorted. "I barely even speak Vietnamese. I may look 'Asian' if you're as white bread as you two, Catherine, but there's a big difference between having a Vietnamese mother andbeingVietnamese. And it's not like I can be mistaken as being Matthew's partner." Catherine was a rather lovely blonde.

"That bit is fine," she said. "It's perfectly acceptable to bring a friend as a date to a party if your partner is unavailable. You don't have to prove that you've shared a bed with us, although they'd all love to know."

I couldn't help laughing. Ihadshared a bed with them, on the memorable first night that I'd met them, and several times since. Unbeknownst to me, they had been recruiting me as a business partner at the time and had set up a ridiculous series of hoops for me to jump through. "Good in bed" was apparently part of their selection criteria.

"Ok,fine," I'd said, retaining a token bit of snark. "But I don't have a thing to wear."

"Why don't you embrace your heritage? I think you would look sensational in a nice áo dài. Get yourself one: it will be my treat. Slinky silk, beautiful decorations, and that high split up the sides: I'd like to see you in one, with or without the pants."

"Stereotype much? I've never worn one. Have you?"

"No!" she laughed. "You've got a much better figure for it anyway."She was actually tempting me. An áo dài, a rightly celebrated contribution to world culture, is a tightly fitted but demure outfit, consisting of a fine tunic with long front and back part, worn over pants. I'd never had the confidence to strut out in one, partly because of my persistent feelings of 'otherness' from being only half-Vietnamese. My time with Matthew and Catherine had really helped lessen my fear at functioning in society, although I still had my moments. Maybe it was time for another step. Could I attend a party hosted by a major Vietnamese figure and survive the experience?

After some back and forth, I finally agreed to give it a go, and had wandered over to the Cabramatta area of Sydney, otherwise known as "Little Vietnam", to try some out. I'd ended up with a modern style in an auspicious red silk for the Lunar New Year, with gold floral highlights. I'd quite liked it, until the shopkeeper told me about the footwear.

"This one, high heels," she'd said, smiling at her strange customer who looked Vietnamese but spoke Australian with a slight British accent (a side-effect of the number of English period dramas I'd watched growing up). "Sexier."

Harrumph. Perhaps I should have gotten a second opinion. I should have called Catherine at least to get her take on the shoes. Anyway, here I was, tottering along, and if Matthew had been any less charming and handsome, I probably would have pulled out.

"This is going to be a fuckingdisaster," I muttered to Matthew. "I won't be able to walk for a week."

"Steady on, Jade. We're nearly there. Keep smiling," he whispered back.

"Easy for you to say. I'm a safecracker undergoing foot torture, not a two-faced diplomat."

"Shh!" he hissed back, still smiling. He tried humour to settle me down. "I'll give you extra time reporting back to Catherine about what a bastard I am."

Hmm. It was all very well Matthew telling me that I could have extra time with his gorgeous and funny partner after this party, but that wouldn't doanythingto address the current crisis.

We reached the front gate, to be greeted by a smiling bit of Asian beefcake in a perfect suit and not too many tattoos. Everybody would be on their best behaviour tonight. He greeted us warmly and didn't look perturbed when Matthew introduced me as his partner for the evening.

"You're Vietnamese?" he asked in that language, nodding approval at my áo dài. "The colour is a good match for tonight." He smiled to be privately amused at something.

"Half Vietnamese," I replied in English. "My mother. I didn't know my father. I'm sure you understand." I was taking a risk, looking for common ground but not wanting to presume my Vietnameseness. Or Vietnativity. Whatever.

He nodded briefly, switching back to English himself. "It used to becon lai. Mixed-child. Now it's justlai. Mixed. Many people think thatlaiis attractive now." He nodded again at me, as if to say that I was an example ofattractive. The guy knew his job, I'll give him that. I was feeling much better about this evening.

"The boss is inside, dealing with some business" he continued. "But the party is outside, in the garden. He'll be out again soon to say hello. In the meantime, enjoy. The fireworks are at midnight."

With that, we were through, with freedom to mingle.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My good mood lasted precisely one minute. Long enough to quickly take in the sweeping lawns and gardens, with what looked like a magnificent view of Sydney Harbour to one side. The house itself was an imposing three story mansion in the blue-chip north shore of Sydney, paid for by good-old-fashioned organized crime. We were at the party of an apex predator.

The happily chatting crowd seemed from all walks of life. Respectably dressed, and maybe even some of themwererespectable. Apex prey, juicy and ready for the taking, or just good facilitators of the profitable status quo. You didn't get to run in organized crime unless you had lots of outstanding citizens looking the other way when you did something naughty.

There was a little orchestra playing off to the side, with what looked like traditional instruments: the Vietnamese versions of zithers, lutes, flutes, horns, percussion and drums. There was a huge bass drum hung on a frame, and a big bamboo xylophone of some kind. I didn't know much about Vietnamese music and the tuning was foreign to my ears, but it sounded nice and culturally appropriate.

There were young women circulating through the crowd with trays of party food. Grilled clams, meat pastries, dumplings, little woven lemon grass baskets containing green mango salad, spring rolls in rice paper. My mouth started watering.

I took an egg roll off a tray that was offered to me. The server was beautiful, long-haired, and had strongly defined, shapely eyes, although I thought I saw some sadness in them. She was also wearing an áo dài, like her other colleagues working the crowd. Red, of course, with gold highlights. The only obvious difference to my outfit was that, where my sharp heels were starting to sink into the lawn and fix me helplessly in place, she was wearing more traditional and practical flats.

Well, fuck me, I've come dressed as the hired help. But with hooker footwear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Matthew found me a few minutes later, standing in the shadows near the edge of the lawn, hyperventilating, trying to hold it together. My first instinct had been to flee the party, but I didn't want to make a scene. Plus, the shoes would only support a hobble away, of course. I was so embarrassed: I prided myself on my composure in every situation. Hadn't I recently faced down a guy with a gun (imitation, as it turned out) springing me breaking into his father's safe? Hadn't I shown off my precision skydiving skills when passing Matthew and Catherine's ridiculous tests? And yet, here I was losing the plot because of a simple, non life-threatening fashion faux pas that wasn't even entirely my fault.

Good man that he was, Matthew didn't speak for a minute. He just offered a friendly, non-constrictive hug, and let me snuggle into his shoulder for a bit in the gloom. I imagined that this was something that Catherine deeply appreciated him for, since she was more highly strung than he. She'd told me a bit about how they had gotten together, and how he had managed to quietly stand up to her domineering ex-husband and help her reframe her situation to the point where she was able to decisively resolve it. Matthew was a Jedi Master of subtle but powerful influence, not a guy who went in with blasters firing. Although hewasas droolworthy as Harrison Ford, so he was the complete package.

"Jade, I haven't seen you like this before," he said. "It's about more than the dress, isn't it? For the record, yours is more of a ruby colour, and theirs is scarlet. Not at all the same."

I laughed into his shoulder, then stood back and looked up at him. "Trust the artist to spot tiny differences in colour in evening light," I said. "I'm not sure that anybody else here will notice, but I appreciate the thought."

"And...?" he left it hanging. I hadn't addressed his question.

"And you're right. I'm not comfortable with my heritage, not really. Too busy trying to survive here. Plus these are very powerful people in every way, and I'm a pretender at every level. You know about my love of Regency fiction, but it's not like I can everbewhite and English. I'm not the type of girl to bleach my skin and pretend to be Miss Jane or Elizabeth Bennet, or to audition for Bridgerton as though I've got every right to strut Hyde Park with slanty eyes. And tonight is a reminder that I'm not really Vietnamese either. I'm just a fish out of water wherever I go. It would be nice to have the level of access and privilege that these people do."

"You haven't been asked to open any safes for them?"

"Their style is more direct. 'Open the safe or I'll shoot your wife.' They've got extortion specialists. They have people for fraud and auto theft, high-tech stuff, prostitution, drug trafficking and invasion. They don't seem to need my services though, and hopefully none of them knows much about me anyway. It's not like I put my face on business cards."

He was thoughtful. "I won't make you socialise if you really can't stand it tonight. We've been treating you as our private wunderkind, and that's not fair. I really just wanted your opinion on Dung Hà and the people around him to help me with the portrait that I'm doing. We've only had one sitting, but I have to say I struggled to read him. He said I should come to this party to see what he's really all about. I guess we're circling around each other a little, probing for info."

I made an effort to get myself together and shook myself from head to foot. Matthew couldn't help himself: he made a point of raising his eyebrows appreciatively as my modest boobs wobbled before him.

"I'll tell Catherine on you," I teased.

"Too late. She already thinks you've a sensational piece of arse, as do I," he replied. "And by 'arse', I mean your bosom as well of course. She has fine discernment."

"When you paint, Matthew, do you paint a girl'sbosom, or do you paint their tits?" The banter was helping me settle myself down, and that was the point of course.

"I paint the person, Jade, not the body parts. I try to reveal their soul. Unless I'm doing body painting, of course. Then it's all about the tits." He stepped away from my laughing slap.

I had a thought. "Fine discernment. That's it. For the guests, I just look like a member of the serving staff. Asian in a red dress. Possibly to the staff as well, if they don't all know each other. Maybe I should do some careful scouting around."

"To what end?" he asked. "I mean, good idea, possibly a candidate for the criminal associate encouragement award, but what do you expect to find?"

"I have no idea. Although it is interesting that we're all outside and not being given the chance to poke around inside the house. I'll come back to the party long enough to ask directions to the bathroom, and then my upset stomach will delay my return. Maybe I'll get enough insight for you to paint a painting worthy of the Archibald Prize."

He rolled his eyes. The Archibald Prize is the most prestigious portrait painting prize in Australia Whoever wins it getsseriousattention. Matthew was never a 'look at me' kind of guy, although I knew he was proud of his work.

"Be careful, Jade," he warned seriously. "You said they were dangerous."

"I will." I hesitated. "Did you see that show called 'Robyn Hood', with a 'y'? I don't have a full-time Robyn Hood complex. But I kind of want to understand more of what makes these people tick, and that should help you? But I'll be careful."

He shrugged. "Fill your boots. But if you lose your life in the process, I'm going to kill you. And then Catherine will killme. We've become rather attached to you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I did socialize a little at the party, and to my relief nobody handed me their empty glass or asked whether there were blow-jobs on offer later in the evening. Mostly, they were the kind of people that disgusted me and that I thoroughly enjoyed plundering during my work, but there were some that were nice enough. There were also enough breast enhancements and pouty lips on display to have powered a medium-sized Pacific economy had the money been spent on useful things. But I suppose I was in no position to judge how people spent their cash, since my day-job was to rob them of it before they had the chance to spend it on anything. In a way, I was doing their conscience a service. Those that had consciences, at least.

I had been talking to a lovely old grandma for a little while until I realised that she was also the gang matriarch and had probably ordered lots of horrific deeds. But it was also interesting. She was Dung Hà's mother, but she seemed quite ambivalent about him and instead was emphasizing the fine business that her husband had passed on to their son. It was most unusual. What had Dung Hà become that upset her so?

After a little while, with a nod at Matthew, I did play the 'bathroom card'. I actually did need to go, so I took care of that first, and then found a little empty display shelf in the corridor to leave my heels on while I crept around in stockinged feet. Perhaps somebody would mistake them as a priceless Smithsonian-style display of Dorothy's Ruby Heels, all grown up now.

I could hear lots of hustle and bustle on the ground floor around me, so I darted up some nearby stairs where things would likely be quieter and the discoveries more interesting. This floor seemed to be mostly bedrooms and bathrooms, so I decided to take the risk and go up one more flight, to what was likely their inner sanctum.

I found myself in a long corridor with windows overlooking the lawns and party below – I was going to have to be careful not to be seen, but luckily the lights were quite dim. At one end of the corridor was a huge bedroom, ensuite and walk-in robe complex, but at a quick glance it didn't seem to be all that interesting unless you were an avid collector of beautifully folded underwear: somebody had been watching theirFifty Shades.Two closed doors towards the other end of the corridor looked more promising. One was probably a private study, and the other was perhaps a second bedroom.

I went to the closer one that I thought would be the study and was just about to try the handle, when there were suddenly sounds on the other side, as though somebody was preparing to leave. The room was occupied: damn! With a flash of alarm, I remembered that the greeter at the gate had mentioned that the boss was inside the house.

Stupid Jade,I chided myself as I darted for the other door at the end of the corridor.You're losing your touch.

I went to turn the handle of the closed door: it was locked, and I didn't have my tools with me tonight.

StupidfuckingJade. The door to the study was already opening, and there was nowhere for me to hide. I was starting to panic, but I forced myself to try and think things through. There was no point trying violence. A fit, powerful man in a suit had come out of the study and was staring at me. Dung Hà himself, of course; just my luck. This could either be a powerful networking opportunity, or a quick Putin-style defenestration to liven up the party.

I can talk my way out of anything right?I considered starting with the lame "I was looking for the bathroom" excuse, but that was clearly ludicrous. What then? Perhaps something about looking at the beautiful view over the grounds of the estate, in the manner of Jane Austen's heroine Elizabeth Bennet visiting Pemberley and encountering its owner Mr Darcy by surprise? Yes, that was the better option. Dung Hà was an evil criminal mastermind, but surely he had hadsomebasic education, and Jane Austen quotes had always worked for me in the past.

He didn't give me the chance, the cretin. Just as I opened my mouth, he lunged forwards, barking something in Vietnamese: it was too quick for me to catch. He spun me around, clamped his hand over my mouth and crushed me into the wall to immobilize me with his body while he was fumbling around with his other hand. His breath reeked of whisky.