The Water Rat of Wanchai (16 page)

Ava heard a knock at the door. She opened it to see Jeff standing there. He had changed his clothes and was now wearing jeans and a tank top. On his right shoulder was a tattoo of a lightning bolt.

“I called but no one answered,” he said.

“I guess I was in the shower.”

“You want to go somewhere?”

“Yes. I mentioned Malvern Gardens earlier and you said you know where it is.”

“I do.”

“That’s where I want to go.”

“It’s a housing estate.”

“I know.”

“Do you have an address?”

“No, we need to find that out. The guy who lives there is named Jackson Seto.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, and squeezed past her into the room. He opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and pulled out a phone book. “He lives at number eight.”

As they rode the elevator to the ground floor Ava said, “Before we go, there are a few things we need to make clear. For starters, I’m probably going to be sitting in the car with you for a while, and I have no idea how long. I’m looking for this guy Seto, and all I know is that he lives at 8 Malvern Gardens. When he does appear, we’re going to follow him and see what happens. Are you okay with that?”

“What if you don’t see him?”

“Then we’ll go back tomorrow and do it all over again.”

“Is this legal? I mean, are you a cop or something?”

“It’s perfectly legal and I’m not a cop.”

“Can I ask why?”

“No.”

He gazed down at her. “Well, I can’t say you look like much of a threat to anyone.”

The Jeep had been left idling at the hotel entrance. Jeff started up High Street and then cut left. The road was littered with potholes, and one was so big it could have swallowed the front end of the vehicle. “Don’t they ever fix those things?” Ava asked.

“No.”

“Do they try?”

“Not so you’d notice.”

When they reached the end of the street, they were confronted by a structure about six or seven storeys high made entirely of corrugated iron. Ava could see rows of razor wire along the top. The building had no windows, just a door barricaded by a semicircle of concrete pillars. Standing to the left of the door with their backs pressed against the wall was a line of women.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Camp Street Prison,” he said.

“It must be an oven in there.”

“No one much cares.”

“And the women?”

“Waiting for visiting hours.”

As they moved away from the city centre, the mix of retail stores gave way to rows of stucco, stone, and even brick houses, most protected by tall concrete walls with rolls of razor wire glinting fiendishly across the top. “I’ve never seen so much razor wire,” she said.

“It’s the choice of the budget-conscious middle class, who can’t afford a personal guard or a security service. Ever come in contact with it?”

“No, of course not.”

“It’ll rip you to shreds.”

They had left the city proper and were driving through countryside when a housing development, as isolated as an oasis in the desert, appeared on the right. From a distance all Ava could see was a brick wall and red tile roofs; she thought,
Gated community
. But as they drew closer she saw that the road leading into Malvern Gardens wasn’t barred. Jeff stopped the Jeep between two stone pillars at the entrance to a cul-de-sac. There were five houses down each side and two at the end. The two-storey brick-and-stone homes were enormous, reminding Ava of high-end suburban developments in Toronto. Each sat on a one-acre lot surrounded by a stone wall about 2.5 metres high that was crowned with large shards of glass and razor wire. The only way into each compound was through heavy metal gates with sharp points at the top and more razor wire strung through them.

“This is Millionaires’ Row,” said Jeff.

The house numbers went up by fours. Seto’s house was the second on the left. It had a latticed gate, and as they drove past Ava saw an old Mercedes and a Land Rover parked in the driveway. Someone was home.

She pointed back towards where they had turned off the main road. “If we park behind one of those pillars we can see everyone coming and going from the house,” she said. “And if they turn left to go to the city, we’ll have a clear view.”

Jeff turned the Jeep around and parked behind the pillar. From that angle they could see Seto’s gate and the end of his driveway.

“Now what?” he asked.

“We wait.”

“Do you mind if I sleep?”

“Go ahead.”

Jeff got out and climbed into the back seat to lie down. “I sleep lightly, so don’t worry about having to wake me if we need to move.”

She had kept her watch in the zippered pocket of her pants. She pulled it out and put it on. It was 3:30 p.m.

Jeff slept until just past five, when he woke with a start.

“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.”