The water rat of Wanchai al-1

by Ian Hamilton

  “Nothing yet,” she said.

  “I need to piss.”

  “Be my guest.”

  He went behind the car, his back turned to the Jeep.

  “What time does it get dark?” she asked when he climbed back in.

  “Six.”

  At five thirty Seto’s gate swung open. Ava drew a deep breath. The Mercedes backed out onto the road and then crept towards them. Ava saw that the driver was a young East Indian woman, heavily made up, with lots of jewellery on both wrists and at least three gold chains around her neck.

  “That’s a disappointment,” she said.

  The gate remained open. Somebody else is going to leave, she thought. After a couple of minutes a wiry Asian man in jeans and a black T-shirt ambled out onto the road. He took a quick look around and then motioned towards the house. He looks Vietnamese, she thought.

  “Get out of the car,” she said to Jeff. “Go around back and pretend you’re still peeing.”

  He went without question.

  The Land Rover emerged from the driveway. It stopped and the Vietnamese man climbed in. As it turned the corner both passengers took a hard look at Jeff. Ava was slumped down in her seat but was able to get a clear view of them. Jackson Seto was driving.

  Jeff waited until the Rover was well down the road before getting back in the Jeep.

  “Now what? Do you want to follow them?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Where do you think they’re going?”

  “A hundred to one they’re headed for the city.”

  “It’s just about dinner time. Is there a restaurant district?”

  “Nearly all the decent places are in a four-square-block area.”

  “Any of them Chinese?”

  “A couple.”

  “Let’s give it fifteen minutes and then we’ll head into town. We’ll cover that area and see if we can find their cars.”

  “And if we can’t?”

  “That’s my problem for tomorrow.”

  The sun was setting as they were driving back to Georgetown. Jeff hit a couple of potholes, and Ava was sure they were going to lose a tire.

  Georgetown had taken on a different look. It took Ava a minute to realize that it was because only part of the city was lit while the rest was blanketed in almost total darkness. “Is there a power outage?” she asked.

  “I guess you could call it that, except it happens every night. They only have enough power for half the city. So they alternate between east and west on a nightly basis. Tonight the east end gets electricity and the west end has to make do with candles. Most of the businesses have their own backup generators.”

  “What a place.”

  “Yep.”

  “The area we’re going to, will it have power tonight?”

  “Yeah, we’re lucky,” he said, and then turned towards her. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’ve been curious all afternoon. Just what is it we’re doing, following this guy?”

  “It’s just business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  Ava stared at the road. “I think it’s better if I don’t share that with you.”

  “Better for who?”

  “Me.”

  Jeff shrugged. “We’re getting close to the restaurant district. I’ll circle.”

  It took less than five minutes to find both cars, which were parked outside a restaurant called China World. “The Chinese are so predictable,” she said. “You could drop them in Paris on a street lined with three-star French restaurants and they’d still go looking for something Chinese, even if it was a hole in the wall.”

  “Are you going in?”

  “No, we’ll wait for them to come out.”

  They waited for an hour. The girl exited first. She was big, about five ten, and was wearing jeans that showed off muscular thighs and a high, firm ass. A tank top accentuated her large, round breasts, and Ava could see that she didn’t need a bra. She blew a kiss towards the restaurant door, got into her car, and drove off. “That’s a body,” Jeff said.

  The Vietnamese man came out next, with Seto a few steps behind. He’s Seto’s bodyguard, she thought, or some kind of bumboy who doubles as a bodyguard. He was small, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. His type could be tough, vicious, and fearless to the point of stupidity. He was a complication she didn’t need.

  Seto too was a thin, reedy shadow. He was maybe six feet tall, but he slouched when he walked, making him look shorter than he was. He was wearing a pair of high-waisted black slacks secured by a belt that was on its last notch. Ava thought he looked almost emaciated; she could see that his chest was concave beneath his white dress shirt. His face was alive, though, his dark brown eyes darting here and there like a rat’s, his mouth drawing hard on a cigarette.

  They climbed into the Land Rover and drove away. “Let’s follow them for a bit,” she said.

  They had barely gotten the Jeep in motion when she saw the Land Rover pull into a parking spot no more than two blocks away. The neon sign over the door read ECKIE ' S ONE AND ONLY CLUB. Seto got out by himself, walked past the bouncer, and disappeared through the door.

  “You know this place?” she asked Jeff.

  “Everyone knows Eckie’s. It’s the best club in Georgetown, one of the few places that doesn’t need cheap beer and sluts. They import some good DJs, and it’s where the high-priced girls — amateurs and pros — go. Tourists and locals with money are the target.”

  “Who owns it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Who is Eckie?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve been there a few times and I never met anyone called Eckie.”

  She sat quietly, weighing her options while watching the Vietnamese bodyguard smoke. The few approaches she could think of were flawed. Confronting him in the bar wasn’t much of an option. No one knew her, and if there a fuss they would likely support the local — and that was without his bodyguard jumping in. If she tried to talk to Seto outside, Vietnamese involvement was a certainty, and it was too soon for her to trigger that kind of response without knowing more about to whom and how Seto was connected. Antonelli had said that Seto had strong ties with the police in Georgetown; she needed to find out how far up the chain those ties went. Still, doing nothing wasn’t an option.

  “Could you get me a local SIM card?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow morning okay?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “You’re not going into Eckie’s?”

  “No, there’s nothing for me to do tonight.”

  “So now what?”

  “I’m going back to the hotel.”

  When they got to the Phoenix, Ava climbed out of the Jeep and turned to Jeff. “Call me when you have the SIM card. I assume you’re free tomorrow if I need you.”

  “The day is clear so far.”

  She passed seventy dollars through the window.

  “Thanks.”

  “Jeff, I don’t want you to discuss any of this with anyone. Not a word. The name Jackson Seto doesn’t exist for you.”

  “You didn’t have to say that.”

  “It’s always better to make things clear,” she said, and threw another twenty-dollar bill onto the passenger seat.

  (19)

  Ava woke up early and was downstairs by six. The coffee shop wasn’t open, so she drifted over to the business centre. It wasn’t open either. She went to the front desk. “Can you open the business centre for me?” she said.

  “It don’t open till seven.” A young man in a sports jacket two sizes too large was manning the desk.

  “Do you have a key?”

  “Yeah.”

  She put ten dollars on the counter. “Open it for me now, please.”

  There were forty emails in her main account. She worked her way through them in ascending order. Tam had sent her his bank information and overly enthusiastic good wishes. Her mother wanted her to know that she had had a big night at mah-jong. Uncle hoped she was safe. Her
best friend, Mimi, was going to break up with the guy she’d been seeing for the past few weeks.

  She logged onto Yahoo and, using her mother’s home address, opened an email account under the name Eatfish12. She then sent an email to Jackson Seto. It said that she worked for a trading company in Toronto that was interested in importing cheap fish, and that she had been told Guyana was a good source. She was currently in Trinidad doing some sourcing but could get over to Georgetown on short notice if he thought there was an opportunity. She added that she had been referred to him by a friend of a friend who knew George Antonelli. She didn’t think there was much chance he would answer. Still, it was worth a shot.

  She wandered back into the deserted lobby. The coffee shop was still shuttered. The desk clerk held up ten fingers, so Ava flopped into one of chairs and turned on her cellphone. Uncle had called. She hit the redial button.

  “I’m just making sure you are okay,” he said. She knew he was with other people; he never used her name when he was.

  “I’ve found him. I mean, I’ve seen him. Now I just have to figure out how to get to him.”

  “Difficult?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t know enough about him or his habits. He has a Vietnamese bodyguard, which is not good. His house is like a mini fortress. And if he is as connected here as Antonelli claims, I can’t count on the authorities — whoever they are — staying out of our business if it gets aggressive.”

  “Do you want me to send help?”

  “No, let me find out more.”

  “Call me every day, then. I’ll worry otherwise.”

  When Ava hung up, she noticed that an overweight middle-aged man had joined her. His large gut was accentuated by the tight T-shirt tucked into his jeans. The shirt read, guyana sucks. He had tattoos on both arms: RED DEVILS down one and MANCHESTER U down the other. He walked over to the coffee shop and rattled the closed grate. A young East Indian woman stuck her head out, saw him, and swung it open. Ava followed him in.

  The coffee shop was small, but she tried to find a table as far away from him as possible. It didn’t do much good.

  “So what in hell are you doing here?” he called over to her.

  She wasn’t adept at identifying English accents, but even without the tattoos she could have figured out that he was from northern England and definitely working class. “I’m here on business,” she said, wishing she had a book or a newspaper to hide behind.

  To her surprise he got up, walked over to her table, and sat down. “I’m Tom Benson,” he said.

  “Ava Lee.”

  “So what are you doing in this hellhole?”

  “Some business — financial. In and out.”

  “I should be so fucking lucky,” he said, pronouncing it more like fooking.

  “Really.”

  “Been here six fucking months and probably good for another six.”

  “And how is that?”

  “The power. I’m here to fix it, if it can be fixed.”

  “You don’t seem to be having much success, if last night is any indication.”

  The waitress came to the table. “Coffee and toast,” he said, “and make sure you use bottled water for the coffee.” He looked at Ava. “Don’t order the eggs or any of the meat. It’s given me at least two bouts of food poisoning. And you have to insist on bottled water or they use that shite from the river. They tried to sneak it by me once, but I went to the fucking kitchen and caught them. Now I pop in and out of the kitchen every so often to keep them honest.”

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” Ava said to the waitress.

  “I work for Rolls-Royce. They used to be in the diesel generator business, like about a hundred fucking years ago. This city has the last of those generators that are still working. They should have been replaced years ago but no one gives a shite, and even if they did they probably don’t have the money. So the Guyana government went to the U.K. government and said, ‘We have this problem. Could you arrange to send someone over to fix it?’ The U.K. guys went to Rolls-Royce and said, ‘Send someone over. We’ll pay for him.’ So here I am.”

  “Six months?”

  “Right. The second week I was here, I figured out one of the major problems and told the Power Authority — what a joke they are — they needed to order some parts. They have to be custom made, see. They told me they ordered them from an outfit in the U.S., some high-end tool-and-die operation. I’m still waiting for those fucking parts.”

  “So what do you do? I mean, how do you fill your days?”

  “At eight thirty they’ll send a car and driver for me. I’ll go to the office, make my long-distance calls back home, fuck around on the Internet, and then around eleven drag my arse into the boss’s office and ask him if the parts have arrived. He’ll say no and I’ll have the driver bring me back to the hotel. I usually sit by the pool drinking beer all afternoon, and then I head into town for dinner. I didn’t have this belly when I got here. I also had a girlfriend back home, and she’s packed me in.”

  “So why do you stay?”

  “The money mainly. I’m living here for virtually fucking free. All I have to pay for is my beer. Then, of course, there are the girls,” he said, looking to gauge her reaction. When she registered none, he went on. “I mean, for a bloke like me this is heaven when it comes to the girls. At home you practically have to beg before you can get laid. Here I flash a few dollars and, voila, I have my pick of the lot — every night if I want.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Not always. Sometimes it can get dicey.”

  “Meaning?”

  “This is a rough place, even for someone like me. Have to be careful. I was robbed twice before I figured out it was smart to leave my watch, wallet, room key, and everything but the money I needed for the night here in the hotel. If you’re going out anywhere, you should do the same thing. They’ll fucking come at you for a plastic Timex, never mind a Cartier,” he said, pointing at hers.

  “Thanks.”

  “No bother.”

  Breakfast arrived. He didn’t let the waitress leave until he had sniffed and tasted the coffee.

  Ava took a sip of hers. It was instant coffee, Nescafe, she thought. She wondered whether, if she brought her VIA instant in, they’d make that for her.

  “Tom, do you know a club called Eckie’s?”

  “Sure, it’s my favourite. Better class of girls. Imported beer.”

  “Who owns it?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Have you ever seen a Chinese man hanging around the club?”

  “A few.”

  “This one is tall and skinny, really skinny. His hair is streaked with grey and he’s got a moustache that’s a bit off balance and a pointy, thin face like a rat.”

  “Oh fuck, he’s a madman, that one. Drinks like a fucking fish and treats the girls like shite. He tosses money around like crazy too, which gets the girls all excited, but I’ve never seen him actually leave with one or nip into one of Eckie’s back rooms.”

  “I thought you said it’s dangerous to have too much money on you.”

  “For me, for you, for any other fucking tourist. He’s a local, that lad. I’ve seen the cops come into the club and give us all the fucking evil eye except for him. He has connections, he does.”

  “The police are, what, corrupt?”

  Benson started laughing, slivers of wet toast spilling from his mouth. “Jesus, what do you think?”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  “Look, the army, the police, the security people — it’s all one big happy gang here. You can’t tell one from the other.”

  “So the Chinese guy is paying them off?”

  “One way or another, but that’s true for anyone in this country who has money. You don’t get money and you sure as fuck don’t keep money unless you’re looking after the powers that be.”

  “And who are they, the powers that be?”

  “I don’t fucking know a
nd I don’t fucking care. As long as I’m left alone, the cops and the army and the rest of them can fiddle away.”

  “That seems sensible,” she said.

  They walked to the elevator together. She sensed that he was going to come on to her and wasn’t surprised when he said, “Would you like to go out tonight? You know, hit some clubs?”

  “Tom, I’m not really your type,” Ava said gently. “Believe me, I’m not.”

  (20)

  At ten o’clock Ava slipped her notebook and her Canadian passport into the Chanel bag and went downstairs. Dressed in a black knee-length skirt, black pumps, and a white Brooks Brothers shirt, she looked every inch a conservative, serious businesswoman.

  She went straight out of the hotel up to Young Street, turned right, and walked two and a half blocks to a white wooden house the size of a small apartment building that flew the Canadian flag. She assumed that the embassy offices were on the ground floor and the residences above. She had expected to meet security at the double doors, but there was none. In the small air-conditioned vestibule, a young black woman sat at a reception desk behind a plastic shield that was perforated at mouth level.

  Ava walked towards her, the woman eyeing her as if she were a thief. “Hello, my name is Ava Lee. I’m Canadian and I’m here on business. I’ve run into a bit of trouble and I need to speak to the ambassador,” she said, flashing her passport.

  “There is no ambassador. We have a high commissioner, and he sees no one without an appointment.”

  “This is an emergency. If he isn’t available, is there anyone else who can help me?”

  “I’m not sure — ” she began, and then was interrupted by the appearance of a man who didn’t look to Ava much like a diplomat.

  He stared at her from behind the shield, his hand resting on the woman’s shoulder. Ava smiled and held up her passport. “I’m having some problems and I hope you can help.”

  There was a slit at the bottom of the shield. He pointed to it. “Slide your passport through there, please.” She did. He took it and examined her picture and all her visas and entry stamps; then he spread it apart to check the binding.

  “What’s the problem?” he said.