The Water Rat of Wanchai

by Ian Hamilton

  “YOU PIG, YOU FUCKING PIG!”

  Ava walked into the kitchen to find one of the Captain’s men throwing paper towels at Seto’s feet, where an impressive pool of urine had gathered.

  “Couldn’t you just take him to the bathroom?” she said.

  “He didn’t ask.”

  Patrick wandered in from the den, wiping sleep from his eyes. “We can’t leave him like this. He’ll stink up the place.”

  “I’ll get the woman,” Ava said. “Give me the keys for her handcuffs.”

  When she entered the bedroom, Anna was asleep. There was dried blood on the side of her head from the blow Patrick had administered. Beneath it Ava could see the beginning of a hell of a bruise. She touched Anna’s arm, not wanting to alarm her. The woman woke with a start anyway, fear leaping into her eyes.

  “Anna, I’m not going to hurt you. I need your help downstairs with Jackson. Just wait here a minute.”

  Ava went into the bathroom and wet a facecloth. The woman was struggling to sit upright but was having some difficulty because of the tape that bound her legs together. Ava peeled it off Anna’s ankles and told her to turn around. “Now please, don’t do anything stupid,” she said as she unlocked the cuffs. She handed her the cloth. “Here, wash your face. There’s some dried blood on your right cheek and ear.”

  Anna winced as she dabbed her face.

  “Do you need to pee?” Ava asked.

  “Badly.”

  “Go and use the bathroom. Just leave the door open.”

  Anna staggered slightly when she stood up. Ava could see that she was completely deflated and wasn’t going to cause trouble. “Wash your face a bit more as well, if you want,” she said to her.

  It took about five minutes for Anna to sort herself out in the bathroom, and by then Ava had made a mental list of everything she wanted her to do. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said. “Your boyfriend peed himself. I want you to bring him up here and wash and change him. One of the boys downstairs can supervise.”

  Patrick and the cops were sitting at the kitchen table with disgusted looks on their faces. “Take the tape off his ankles,” Ava told the woman. She could have taken the handcuffs off too, but she didn’t want to lessen his feeling of helplessness. She didn’t want him to think for even a second that there was any chance of a reprieve.

  “Patrick, the woman is going to take him upstairs to wash and change. Go with them, will you?”

  He looked as if he wanted to argue with her. She turned her back on him and spoke to Anna again. “Do you have a passport?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Upstairs in my dresser.”

  “Where is Ng’s passport?”

  “He keeps it in his room. I don’t know where.”

  “Now listen to me. When you finish with your boyfriend, I want you to pack a small suitcase for him. His toilet kit, change of underwear, shirt, and whatever he sleeps in.”

  “You don’t have to go into the bathroom,” she said to Patrick as they started up the stairs.

  “Thank you, boss,” he said.

  She found Anna’s passport in the top drawer of the dresser. It took her a bit longer to find Ng’s, which was hidden under his mattress. She tore all the pages from both of them, ripped them to shreds, and threw the scraps into a garbage can in Seto’s office. Those two wouldn’t be leaving Guyana for a while.

  She checked her emails. Derek had sent his itinerary. She then signed on as Seto on the off chance that Bates had responded. Nothing. Seto did have about thirty unread emails. She saw the one she had sent from the Phoenix. There were also two from George Antonelli. She opened them; they contained details about a tilapia deal they had been offered.

  Seto was standing in the middle of the bedroom. Patrick had removed one of the cuffs and Seto was holding his hands up so Anna could slip a clean shirt on him. He was incredibly skinny, bones protruding through skin. When he was dressed again, Patrick re-cuffed him.

  “Do I have to tie you up again?” she asked Anna.

  “No . . . please don’t.”

  “We’ll leave him here with you. You can take the tape off his eyes when we’re gone. There will be someone outside the door and someone else downstairs, so don’t get creative. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do to help him. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “They should be okay till morning,” she said to Patrick. “Can you drive me back to the hotel?”

  While Patrick told his men what was going on, she gathered up her notebook and kitbag. A quick check showed that Seto’s passports, driver’s licence, and Hong Kong ID card were still in the bag.

  “I assume from the conversation in the house that you’ll be leaving us tomorrow?” he said as they began the drive back to the Phoenix.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “And you’re taking him with you?”

  “I am.”

  “Do you need any help when you’re there?”

  “The Captain asked me already, and the answer is no.”

  “Too bad. Not much travelling in my job.”

  “Travelling is overrated. After a while the planes, hotels, and restaurants all become interchangeable.”

  “This must have been different,” he said.

  She smiled. “Different is a good way to describe it.”

  Patrick’s phone rang. He looked at the incoming number. “It’s a call from the house,” he said.

  “I hope nothing’s happened,” she said, slamming herself for having let the woman stay with Seto.

  She could hear the cop’s voice but not what he was saying. Thoughts of disaster began to creep into her head.

  “No, leave them alone. What’s done is done,” Patrick said finally, and ended the call.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “My guy heard noises from the bedroom, so he opened the door. The woman was giving Seto a blowjob. I guess the handcuffs were a turn-on.”

  ( 30 )

  AVA FINISHED THE BOTTLE OF WINE WHEN SHE GOT BACK to her room. Then she waded into Tai-Pan, hoping the turgid writing would quickly put her to sleep. No such luck. She didn’t nod off until past 4 a.m., and she was awakened at seven thirty by the clatter of machinery outside. From her window she could see a crew of men fixing potholes in front of the hotel. If they want to take on the rest of Georgetown too, it could be a lifelong occupation, she thought.

  Tom Benson was in the coffee shop, and this time she didn’t avoid him. An entire day stretched in front of her, and it was going to drag. She could use every diversion she could find.

  “I’m leaving tonight,” she said as she sat down.

  “Lucky you. Successful trip, was it?”

  “So far.”

  “I may be leaving soon myself. They told me yesterday that my parts may actually be in transit. Assuming the boat don’t sink and the silly buggers at Customs let them into the country, I may have my hands on them in about two weeks. Then it’s a matter of a week for installation, and presto, this fucking hellhole has seventy percent of the energy it needs instead of fifty.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Isn’t it, in this day and age.”

  “Now if you could only do something about the water.”

  “I know. Even after all this bloody time I still can’t get used to it.”

  “The only place I can think of that is almost as bad is a town in the Philippines, on Negros Island. I was staying in a hotel where the water had so much sulphur that the entire place smelled perpetually like rotten eggs.”

  “It wasn’t as dangerous as this place, was it?”

  “They closed the front desk at ten o’clock at night and turned off most of the lights. They had a soft-drink dispenser in the lobby, and I remember going down one night to get a Coke and being confronted by a guy with a shotgun. His backup was another guy patrolling the entrance with an Uzi. They were the hotel’s
security system. Now, remembering that this hotel was a dump, what does that tell you about how safe the town was?”

  “Did you knock around any of the locals there?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There’s a story all over the hotel about how you beat up two hoodlums who came at you. You’re quite the heroine. I’m kind of glad I didn’t come on too strong to you.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Safe journeys.”

  “Same to you, Tom.”

  “You’re one I’m going to remember. Can’t say that about many I didn’t shag.”

  “I’ll remember you too.”

  Ava sat by herself for the next half-hour reading the local newspapers. The East Indian politicians were calling the black politicians crooks and the blacks were calling the East Indians thieves. And somewhere, she thought, Captain Robbins is pulling everyone’s strings. There had been four muggings, seven break-and-enters, and two attempted homicides the night before. When she left, they could add one kidnapping to the crime statistics.

  Jeff was in the lobby chatting up the front desk clerk when Ava left the coffee shop. She waved at him. “Going to be here for a while?” she asked.

  “I have a pickup at noon.”

  “I’ll catch up with you before you leave,” she said.

  Ava changed into her running gear for one more jog along the seawall. That was something about Georgetown she might actually remember fondly. The air was heavy for sure, but it was clear, and the smell of sea salt was almost cleansing. There is something to be said, she thought, for a non-industrial society.

  Her normal run was about five kilometres. She decided to go farther and bought some bottled water in the lobby to take with her.

  The doorman nodded to her as she left. “I’ll put the word out that you’re going for a run — give the baddies a chance to get out of your way,” he said.

  Ava ran sixteen kilometres, which turned her into a sweaty mess. The air conditioning in her room, for once, was on when she got back. So was the message light on her phone. She threw a towel around her neck and checked the calls. Uncle, Captain, and Marc Lafontaine: a trifecta.

  The Captain was at his office and she was put directly through. The money’s arrived already, she thought. “The payment is in our account,” he confirmed. “I admire your efficiency. Patrick will come by the hotel at six. You’ll pick up your baggage on the way to Cheddi Jagan. I’ve scheduled your departure for eight. Good luck to you.”

  “I’ll say hello to your brother,” she said, but the line was already dead.

  It was late in Hong Kong. Uncle would have already had his massage and dinner and would be settling in to watch replays of the horse races from Happy Valley Racetrack. The phone rang four times and she was ready to give up when he answered with his familiar, comforting “Wei.”

  “It’s Ava. The money has reached them already, thank you. I leave tonight and I’ll be at the bank tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m glad. Let’s end this project one way or another as soon as we can. My friend has called me twice tonight, but I’ve avoided his calls. Tommy Ordonez has called as well. I told him it will be a few days before we can do anything. It is easier when we are dealing with strangers.”

  “You know Ordonez from before?” she asked.

  He realized he had misspoken. “He is a friend of a good friend. They come from the same village. I met him in Jakarta at a conference about ten years ago. Nothing more than that.”

  I bet, she thought. “I want to end it tomorrow,” she said.

  “If you can’t, talk to me before getting into this any deeper.”

  “Uncle, how much deeper can I get?”

  “No more money.”

  “I understand.”

  “And don’t put yourself at risk.”

  She could think of two or three replies, all of them disrespectful. “I won’t,” she said.

  The shower wasn’t only brown, it was cold, and after waiting five minutes for it to warm up she gave up and towelled herself off. It was too early to get dressed for the trip so she put on her Adidas track pants and a Giordano T-shirt. She’d save her business suit for the journey.

  She sat on the bed and dialled Marc Lafontaine’s number.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m getting ready to leave. I’m flying out tonight.”

  “Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Some of it. I’ll know better tomorrow.”

  “The odds?”

  “Fifty-fifty. But the Chinese always say fifty-fifty.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When my mother buys a lottery ticket, I ask her what she thinks her chances are. She always says the same thing: fifty-fifty — I either win or I lose.”

  “True enough.”

  “Only if you have no faith in mathematics.”

  “So what are your true odds?”

  “Ninety to ten, in my favour.”

  “Good. I’m glad I was able to help.”

  “Without you I wouldn’t have gotten close. Thank you.”

  “How did you find the Captain?”

  She became cautious. “This is off the record?”

  “It isn’t going anywhere.”

  “He’s a very complicated man, but at the root he is probably completely corrupt and amoral. His only concern is for himself, and that, I think, is the beginning and end of his story.”

  “Could you be less subtle?”

  “If he ever invites you for coffee and doughnuts at Donald’s, don’t go. And if you do go, keep your mouth shut. They record every meeting there.”

  “I’ve been to Donald’s. So has the High Commissioner. He thought it was quaint.”

  “They record every meeting,” she repeated.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  “And there you are,” she said. “The last thing he is, is quaint. He’s a dangerous man.”

  “So how did you manage —”

  “I paid him a lot of money for something he didn’t care about in the first place.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He does have some weaknesses. You could exploit them if you decide you ever need to.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He banks with Royal York and has an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Lean on the bank and they’ll lean on him. If you need an account number, I have it.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I appreciate the assistance I received from the head of security at the Canadian High Commission in Georgetown. In fact, when I get home, I’m going to write to Foreign Affairs in Ottawa to tell them just how good he was.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You didn’t have to help me the way you did.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “I haven’t met many Canadian diplomats who think that way. Most of them treat you as a nuisance, someone who’s trying to disrupt their day.”

  It was nearly lunchtime and she thought about inviting him to join her. Then she thought better of it; using him just to kill time wasn’t polite, and Ava had been raised to be polite. “I have to go now, Marc. I have some work to do in the business centre. Great meeting you.”

  Ava hung up, grabbed her notebook, and went downstairs. As usual, the business centre was empty. And also as usual, it took her four attempts to get online.

  She accessed Seto’s email account. Jeremy Bates had replied to the message she had sent the night before. He said he would be quite happy to meet with Mr. Seto and Ms. Lee in the bank’s offices. Bless you, she thought, and replied that they would be there tomorrow morning around ten.

  Next Ava checked her own email account. She had twenty-five new messages, most of which were unimportant. Mimi was wondering when she would be back in the city. There was one from Marian complaining about their mother; she read half before deleting it. She started writing an email to Mimi, Marian, and her mother saying she would see them in a few days, and then she stopped and hit the delete
button. She wasn’t going to jinx herself again by anticipating. One thing at a time.

  She checked Seto’s inbox again. Bates had responded to her message, confirming the 10 a.m. meeting. He doesn’t get many people dropping in, she thought.

  Ava knew little about the British Virgin Islands, only that the territory was a haven for offshore accounts. She did a quick Web search. A group of small islands close to Puerto Rico, the largest of which was Tortola, and it was only twenty kilometres long and five kilometres wide. The capital, Road Town, had a total population of twenty thousand, and it seemed that at any given time there were as many tourists as residents there. It didn’t sound to her like a place where someone could stay inconspicuous for very long. She could meld into most backgrounds, almost disappearing into herself, but Derek was another matter. He walked, talked, and looked like someone who just had to be someone.

  It was almost noon and she realized she hadn’t heard from Patrick. She called his cellphone.

  “Hey, I’m at the house,” he said.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. We changed shifts this morning and I wanted to make sure the new guys knew the rules.”

  “Seto?”

  “Quiet.”

  “The woman?”

  “She’s standing next to me, making us lunch.”

  “Let me talk to her.”

  “Hello.”

  “Are you all right, Anna?”

  “Better, anyway.”

  “Things will be back to normal soon. Now, did you pack Seto’s suitcase?”

  “I did.”

  “Good. Let me talk to Patrick again.”

  “Hi,” said Patrick.

  “When are you leaving there?” she asked.

  “After lunch. I have things to do at the office.”

  “You’re getting me at six?”

  “Those are the orders.”

  “I’ll be at the front entrance.”

  “See you then.”

  She had one last thing to do online. She went to the American Airlines website. Derek’s flight had left Toronto on schedule. So far, so good.

  ( 31 )

  AT A QUARTER TO SIX AVA WAS IN THE LOBBY WITH her bags. Patrick had arrived early; he was sitting in the lounge with a bottle of Carib and a bowl of peanuts.