The Water Rat of Wanchai (22 page)

For what I’m paying, I should hope so
, she thought.

The roti shack had three tables, all of them empty. They sat by the window, keeping the China World entrance in their line of sight. He ordered chicken curry and roti. She asked for plain fried rice and a ginger beer.

“Tell me,” Ava said, “how does a man like Captain Robbins get into a position of such power in a country like this?”

“Do you mean how does a white man get into a position of such power in a country where ninety-five percent of the population is either black or Indian?”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I mean.”

Patrick bit his lower lip. It was question he could answer if he chose; he just had to decide whether he wanted to or not.

“The Captain was a policeman in Barbados. He came here as part of a Caribbean exchange program. That’s one thing people don’t understand about Guyana. Geographically it’s in South America and we’ve got Vene-zuela and Brazil as neighbours, but culturally, socially, linguistically, we’re part of the Caribbean. I mean, there are always Guyanese on the West Indies cricket team.

“At that time the Brits had already left, the blacks and East Indians were jockeying for power, transferring their hatred for the Brits to one another, and the Americans were sticking their noses — and putting their money — into the politics here. It was quite a mess. The Americans were looking for someone neutral, someone they could trust to be a pipeline for straight information, someone who could act as an honest broker between the blacks and Indians. There weren’t many candidates. According to the Captain, he was about it. That’s how it started.”

“But to make it last as long as he has . . .”

“He did that himself. He didn’t need the Americans to support him. You have to understand, he’s about the only person in Guyana whom all the groups can support — because he’s neutral, because colour doesn’t matter to him. They trust him.”

“And fear him?”

He ignored her question. “Those politicians — black and brown — they like to hear themselves talk. The Captain is always the quietest person in the room. He tells me, ‘Patrick, listen, just listen. You’ll be surprised how much you can learn.’ Then there are the generals in our so-called army and the inspector general of the police, all of them with titles and uniforms and medals. You saw how the Captain dresses: blue jeans and plain shirts. That’s his way. He doesn’t need to play dress-up, he doesn’t need to impress anyone. He’s been in charge for more than twenty years; he doesn’t need a fancy title. But you know, when he walks into a room with all those generals wearing all their medals, they’re the ones who stand at attention. And they stay that way until he sits. I’m biased, I know that. He’s like family to me. But I’m man enough to recognize a bigger man.”

“I was told that he knows everyone’s secrets, that he knows where all the bodies are buried, that the politicians are completely beholden to him,” said Ava.

“Would you expect anything less?” Patrick said. “The politicians are window dressing, no more than that. The Captain keeps them on a leash. I don’t ask how he does it; no one in Guyana does. We’re just happy that he’s here, keeping them under control. If it means he has to put a bit of fear into them, we’re the better off for it.”

“I wasn’t being critical, just curious,” she said.

Their food arrived. She picked at the rice. Patrick ate his chicken, dabbing the roti into the curry. When it was gone, he ordered another. “One more thing about the Captain,” he said between bites, “is that he is really smart. I don’t mean book-smart — though he is that too — I mean people-smart. He can figure out anyone in ten minutes.”

“What did he say about me?” she prodded.

“That you aren’t what you appear to be, but by the time most people figure that out it’s too late for them.”

She shifted her attention from the plate to look at Patrick. His eyes were locked on the front entrance of China World. She didn’t ask any more questions.

( 26 )

IT HAD BEEN DARK WHEN THEY’D ARRIVED, THEIR SIDE
of the town being designated powerless for the evening. However, most of the stores and restaurants on the block were lit up. She could only imagine what it would be like walking the side streets on a moonless night. No wonder the crime rate was through the roof.

The name
CHINA
WORLD flickered in the window of the restaurant. The Chinese characters below the English lettering translated as “heavenly food.” She couldn’t remember ever seeing a Chinese restaurant whose English and Chinese names meant the same thing. Before she could file that thought away, Seto stood framed in the window. He was talking to a short Chinese man in an apron.

“I think he’s about to leave,” she said.

Patrick called a number from his cellphone. “Wake up, boys,” he said.

“See the small guy in the apron?” he said to Ava. “He’s one of our leading drug dealers; does most of the imports. He’s also a friend of a friend. Until now it didn’t occur to me that he might be involved with Seto and Ng. After all this is over I’ll have to ask.”

The trio exited the restaurant and climbed back into the Land Rover. Ava held her breath.

They followed the car as it lumbered two blocks and parked at Eckie’s. Seto and the woman climbed down. Ava saw him say something to Ng, who was still in the Land Rover. The black Nissan was four spots farther along.

Patrick used his cellphone again. “Give them about ten minutes inside and then get Ng,” he said. He reached over and opened the glove compartment. Ava saw a semi-automatic in an shoulder holster and several pairs of handcuffs. “We’ll need two sets, I imagine,” he said as he put on the holster.

“I want to tape their eyes and his mouth before we get them in the truck,” she said.

“Just his?”

“Someone has to tell us the entry codes for the gate, and I’m sure the house is protected as well.”

He nodded. “There’s an alleyway behind the club with an exit leading to it. I’ll park the truck there. There’s no point in drawing more attention to ourselves than necessary.”

They sat with their eyes fixed on the Nissan. At exactly the ten-minute mark the doors opened and two very large men, one the man with grey hair, emerged. They wore black jeans and black T-shirts. Ava glanced sideways at Patrick — he was dressed the same way. Two nights before, both he and Robert had been in black.
They’re cops
, she thought.

She watched as the one with grey hair tapped on the driver’s-side window of the Land Rover. It rolled down. The cop flashed some ID and motioned for Ng to step out.

Ng didn’t move. She saw the cop’s neck muscles stiffen as he stepped back. He screamed, “Fuck you, you Asian piece of shit,” as he raised a boot and kicked the car door.

Ng stuck his head out the window and said something. The cop pulled his gun and aimed at him. The door swung open and Ng jumped to the ground. Again she could see him talking, and she could imagine what he was saying. She was sure the word
friend
was being dropped.

The Captain’s men outweighed Ng by at least a hundred pounds each, and when one of them grabbed him by the collar and ran him towards the club’s wall, he hit it with a thud. In the light cast by the flashing Eckie’s sign, she could see blood on Ng’s forehead and under his nose. She tried to muster some sympathy for him but came up short.

The cop yanked Ng’s arms behind his back, handcuffed him, then jerked him backwards, making him fall onto the sidewalk. Then he grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Ng’s head was turned towards the Toyota. All Ava could see in his face was confusion and fear.

“Are you ready to go?” Patrick said.

“Drive.”

He cut down a side street and into the alley. On what looked like a fire door someone had crudely painted ECKIE
'
S. “Our exit,” Patrick said.

They got out of the truck and walked back to the front door. Ava felt a rush of adrenalin.

The club was badly lit, but she could make out a circular dance floor surrounded by booths. There was also a bar, two sets of curtains, and an exit. What little light there was, was trained on the dance floor. At best the booths were in semi-darkness.

“I can’t see a thing,” Ava said.

“There they are,” Patrick said, heading towards the booth closest to the bar. She trailed behind him, almost unconsciously trying to stay invisible.

Seto didn’t notice them. He was kissing Anna Choudray, his hand stuck down her blouse, fondling her right breast; the nipple was half exposed. Patrick paused and Ava wondered if he was enjoying the sex.

“Seto,” Patrick shouted, holding a badge in midair. “I need you and the woman to come with me.”

“What the fuck?”

Ava noted that this was voiced as a demand, not a question, and she knew that her hundred-thousand-dollar investment had been well spent.

“Just get up,” Patrick said.

“Or what?”

She could see Seto clearly now. He wore a black suit with a crisp white shirt. She figured he couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds. His eyes skittered left and right as if he was trying to figure out if this was a joke. “Don’t you know who I am?” he yelled.

“I know exactly who you are,” Patrick said. “Now you and the woman get up or I’ll come in there and help you.”

“Fuck you,” Seto said.

Patrick reared back and punched Anna on the side of the head, catching her on the ear and driving her into the back of the booth with an audible thump.

“
Fucccckkkk!
” Seto screamed. “Don’t you know who I am? Talk to General Swandas, for fuck’s sake. I’m with him. Call him.
Call him
.”

“This has gone several levels above the general,” Patrick said. “Now for the last time, get your skinny ass out of there and bring the woman with you.”

Seto looked at the gun Patrick was now holding in his girlfriend’s face. “You wouldn’t —”

“You have five seconds.”

Seto slid sideways, bringing her with him.

“Turn around,” Patrick said.

Seto pulled the woman to her feet. She held her hand over her ear, tears flowing down her cheeks. Patrick handcuffed him first. When he put the cuffs on Anna, he had to wrench her hand away from her head. “Sorry to do this, but if your asshole boyfriend was more cooperative this would not have been necessary.”

“This is a mistake,” Seto insisted. “Call the general.”

“Here, you call him,” Patrick said, holding out his phone to Seto. “If he answers and agrees to help you, I’ll shoot both you and the woman right here.”

Seto’s face collapsed, his confidence gone, the fear visible in eyes that darted around the club looking for help — which wasn’t coming. “What do you want?” he said.

“In time, in good time,” Patrick said. “First we have to get you out of here.”

He led them to the fire door. Ava couldn’t help noticing that every eye in the club was focused somewhere else. It was as if they didn’t exist.

She had her kitbag in her hand. “Put them against the wall,” she said to Patrick when they were outside. She took out a roll of duct tape and wrapped it around their eyes. “Turn him around now,” she said. She tore off a small strip and sealed his mouth. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ava and Patrick helped them get into the back seat. Anna pressed herself against the window as if she were trying to get as far away from Seto as possible. She was sobbing so hard she was having difficulty catching her breath.

Ava reached back, grabbed the woman’s knee, and squeezed until she had her attention. “Listen to me. When we get to the house, you’re going to tell us the entry code and whatever information we need to get in the front door. I’m telling you this now so you have time to think about it and be prepared when I ask. I don’t want to ask twice.”

Anna didn’t reply.

Ava squeezed harder. “I need you to say yes.”

“Y-yes.”

To Ava the drive to the house seemed to take forever; she could only imagine how long it felt for Seto and the woman. Neither she nor Patrick spoke. They both knew how intimidating silence could be.

When they pulled up to the gate, Ava asked, “Anna, is there anyone in the house?”

“No.”

“Good. Now tell me the code.”

“Eighty-eight, eighty-eight, eight.”

“How Chinese,” Ava said.

“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.

“Superstition. The number eight in Chinese is pronounced
ba
, and that sounds like the word for wealth. Two figure eights resemble the way “double joy” is written. Having an eight in your address, on your licence plate, or in your phone number is thought to bring good luck, and the more eights the better. Except, of course, for Seto in this instance,” Ava said as she punched in the numbers.

The gate swung open. Patrick parked the Toyota next to the Mercedes. “The house code?” Ava asked.

“The same as the gate,” Anna said.

They walked to the front door. Ava held the woman by the elbow and Patrick had a firm grip on the back of Seto’s suit jacket. The walkway was uneven, making the blindfolded pair stumble; Ava held her charge steady and Patrick yanked Seto straight.

The house was remarkable in at least one way: when they entered, Ava saw a staircase directly in front of her, running straight from the door to the second floor. For anyone Chinese it was an unthinkable design. It would take only a minimal understanding of feng shui to know that it would bring the worst possible luck to the owners of the house. She figured that Seto, or most probably the woman, had bought the house as is.

To the left of the unlucky staircase was a dining room furnished with six chairs and a naked table. No sideboard, no plants, no pictures. It looked as if the room had never been used. The rectangular room on the right was about forty square metres in area, and all it contained was a cheap-looking leather couch, two beanbag chairs, and a large LCD television.

Ava walked towards the kitchen at the back of the house, pushing Anna in front of her. The room held a glass table with three napkins on it and a bowl of fruit, plus a counter large enough for a double sink and a prep area on either side. There was a cutting board and a set of knives in one prep area and the other had a substantial spice rack and jars of flour, sugar, and cereal.