It was dark when Ava was woken by a ringing phone. The Clavell book was open on her lap to page thirty. She looked at both her mobiles before she realized it was the hotel phone.
“Yes?” she said.
“Ava, this is Marc Lafontaine. I’m just finishing work and I’m still wondering if you would like to have dinner with me.”
She was still groggy from her nap and his name didn’t register at first. Then it clicked and she almost groaned. Half of her wanted to hang up and the other half realized she might need him again before this project was finished. “I can’t leave the hotel,” she said. “I have a meeting here tonight and I’m not sure of the time.”
“We can eat at the hotel. It’s not that bad.”
“All right, but if my appointment arrives while we’re eating I’ll have to leave.”
“I understand. I’ll see you in the lobby in, say, fifteen minutes?”
“Okay.”
She brushed her teeth using bottled water and then splashed some on her face. Her linen slacks were still presentable and she had a white cotton shirt she hadn’t worn yet. She thought about putting on makeup for her meeting with Patrick West, and then decided against it. The more innocent she looked, the better.
There was a bar and lounge beside the lobby. Marc Lafontaine was sitting at a table with a Carib beer and a bowl of peanuts in front of him. “Glad you could join me,” he said. “We don’t get many Canadians coming through here, and truthfully it gets pretty lonely. I’m grateful for the company.”
She knew he meant it, and she felt a twinge of guilt for having thought about blowing him off.
He looked at the two cellphones as she placed them on the table. “Busy girl, eh?”
“I’m trying to be. I managed to get in touch with Captain Robbins and I’m scheduled to meet one of his people here tonight at some time or another.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! You actually got through to Robbins?”
“I did.”
“That’s amazing.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s the easy part.”
“Do you want a drink?”
“White wine would be fine.”
“I’ll have to go to the bar to get it. There’s no table service here.”
He returned with her wine and another beer for himself. “They have a restaurant on the second floor. It’s Georgetown’s version of fine dining. I’ve eaten there three or four times and not gotten ill. The only thing is, they normally have only a quarter of the menu available, so I ask them what they do have rather than wait to be told they don’t have something.”
“Sounds good. I just want to tell the front desk where I am before we go upstairs, in case the Captain’s man comes asking for me.”
The restaurant was empty except for them. A sign by the entrance said PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED. Ava wondered who had thought that was necessary.
They were taken to a seat by a window. The lights from the part of Georgetown that had electricity sparkled in the night. “It looks almost attractive,” he said.
She told him about meeting the Englishman Tom Benson that morning, and about his daily trek to the power company. Lafontaine laughed and told her that Benson’s attitude was the only way to deal with Guyana and still stay sane. If you expected things to change, you were a fool.
She talked about Asia and about how North Americans in particular often went with preconceived notions of how hard life must be there, only to find themselves in Hong Kong or Singapore or Bangkok or Shanghai. The lifestyle in those places was more refined and luxurious than what they would find in just about any city in North America.
The waiter appeared with menus. “Just tell us what you have,” Lafontaine said.
They had a choice of grilled snapper, broiled chicken, baked pork chops, and roast beef. There was only the one fish, and Ava chose it. Lafontaine ordered the chicken.
She asked him about his children in Ottawa. As Lafontaine began to talk about them, he suddenly caught himself. “There’s something I really need to talk to you about,” he said. “I hope you won’t think I’m being rude.”
“What is it about?”
“This morning when you told me that you were gay, you were being serious, yes? Not just keeping me at arm’s length?”
“Marc, I could not have been more serious.”
“I believe you,” he said. “The thing is, homosexuality is illegal in Guyana. In fact, it’s punishable by life imprisonment. Now, I haven’t heard about anyone being prosecuted, but the law is on the books. And they really frown on any display of affection between two people of the same sex.” He stopped, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not trying to pry into your life or anything, but you need to be careful here, circumspect.”
“I wasn’t planning on going to gay bars,” she said.
“That’s good, because there aren’t any.”
“Thanks. Enough said.”
Ava directed the conversation back towards his children. They were all teenagers and drifting away from him. She listened to him lament the fact and realized he knew absolutely nothing about girls. She was about to give him some suggestions when her Guyanese phone rang.
“Hi, Jeff,” she said.
“He left the house about an hour and a half ago and went out to eat — guess where — and then went to drink and party — guess where.”
“Same as last night.”
“He’s a creature of habit.”
“Good. Pack it in. There’s no reason to hang around there anymore tonight.”
“What are you up to?” he asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly.
“I’m having dinner with a friend from the Canadian High Commission, and then I have a meeting with a Guyanese government official. I’ll see you tomorrow and settle our accounts.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the restaurant host hovering. The moment she ended her phone call he walked to the table. “There are some people downstairs waiting to see you,” he said.
“Call downstairs and tell them I’ll be right there,” she said. “And bring me the bill.”
“I’m paying,” Lafontaine said.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’ve done quite enough for me today as it is.”
While they waited for the bill to arrive, Lafontaine said, “People? I thought you were meeting one person.”
“Me too.”
“Would you mind if I walk down with you?”
“Not at all.”
There were three people sitting in the lounge: two large black men who looked as if they had come directly from the gym to an Esquire photo shoot, and a very pale, rotund man with a sly smile and a glint in his deep blue eyes.
“Christ, that’s Robbins,” Lafontaine said.
The three stood as Ava and Lafontaine approached, and she was shocked by how physically imposing Robbins was. His men were both over six feet tall, but Robbins was a shaved head taller. His belly mounded under a black satin shirt draped over black jeans; his face was round and jowly. His heaviness made him look, if anything, more dangerous. And then there was his skin — it was the colour of paper. In a country where everyone was some variation of brown, he was a ghost.
His eyes found her and didn’t let go.
“Ah, Sergeant Lafontaine,” Robbins said, his eyes still on Ava. “So it was you who gave Ms. Lee my phone number.”
“Captain.”
“What shall I say to you for unleashing this young woman on us?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“And why would you? Look at her — a Havergal graduate, tiny, well-mannered, a Chinese doll. And then… Ah, I’m not being polite. This is Patrick and this is Robert,” he said, motioning to his men. “I thought you should meet them,” he said to Ava, “and truthfully, they wanted to meet you.
“My plan, Mr. Lafontaine, was to send Patrick to meet with Ms. Lee, but after what happened today I couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet her myself. Robert, why don’t you explain?”
“I was called by the police today after they picked up two men at the seawall,” Robert said.
Robbins interrupted. “It seems that a young Chinese woman was jogging there when she encountered these men. They are known to us, and not as particularly good citizens. Some minor theft charges, some more serious rape allegations, though never proven… Still, they told an interesting story. They claim they were sitting on the seawall, minding their own business, when this young woman ran by. They do admit they ogled her, and maybe made some inappropriate comments, but certainly did nothing to warrant the attack that ensued. One of them had his nose destroyed. The other had his windpipe crushed and is lucky to be alive. These are not small men, Mr. Lafontaine. I daresay even you or I would have found it a challenge to take on the two of them at the same time. You do jog, don’t you, Ms. Lee?”
“Once in a while.”
“The victims, or villains — call them what you will — said the woman in question came from this hotel. And as far as we can ascertain, Ms. Lee is the only Chinese woman in residence.” Robbins stared at her, his expression not the least unkind. “So tell me, how do you explain the damage you inflicted on these men?”
“I restrained myself,” Ava said.
Robbins exploded with laughter. Patrick and Robert followed suit. Marc Lafontaine looked as if he had wandered into the wrong wedding reception.
“Marc, I have business to discuss with Captain Robbins, and I don’t think you should be here,” she said softly.
“Ms. Lee is quite right. We do have business to discuss, Mr. Lafontaine,” Robbins said, wiping tears from eyes. “This is no place for you.”
Lafontaine started to say something but Ava cut him off. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
They watched him leave, the three men still chuckling. Robbins said, “When I heard this story, how could I send Patrick to meet you alone? What if he offended you?”
“Don’t make fun of me or the situation I was in. They were going to rape me. I dealt with them, that’s all.”
“Apologies,” Robbins said. “Sit, please.” Robbins sat down as well; his two men stood on either side of his chair. “I have daughters, as you know, and I am sensitive to the situation you found yourself in this afternoon. I’d like to think that anyone who tried that with my girls would be equally indisposed. Except I can’t imagine my girls inflicting that kind of damage. You are an amazing young woman, Ms. Lee. That’s why I wanted to meet you in person. I thought you would be built like a shot putter, yet here you are, not much more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
“I appreciate that you came,” she said.
“I’m drinking beer. What can I get you?”
“Nothing, thank you. I’m quite sated.”
“You speak like a Havergal graduate.”
“I am one.”
“I believe you. So what is this business you’re involved in? It doesn’t sound like something a Havergal grad would pursue.”
“I’m a forensic accountant. I find money that has been misappropriated and try to return it to its rightful owner.”
“And there’s misappropriated money in Guyana?”
“No, the money is in the British Virgin Islands, but the thief is here.”
“Name?”
“Jackson Seto.”
Robbins’s eyes showed no sign of recognition, and she felt a surge of optimism. If he didn’t know the name, Seto couldn’t be all that high in the food chain.
“Boys, do you have any information for me?” Robbins asked.
Patrick leaned forward and whispered in Robbins’s ear.
The Captain looked at her and said, “Could you excuse us for a moment, Ms. Lee? We need to chat amongst ourselves.”
She left the lounge and sat in the lobby, her back deliberately turned to them. In what seemed like less than a minute there was a gentle tap on her shoulder. Patrick was looking down at her. “The Captain will talk to you now.”
Now it was just the two of them; the men had moved to the lobby.
“Seto is a friend of a friend,” Robbins said.
“I want to be a better friend.”
The Captain put his fingertips together, placing them against his nose. “To whom?”
“That’s your decision.”
“Tell me what your plans are for this Seto.”
“I have to convince him to give the money back.”
“Using logic?”
“Yes.”
“And if that fails?”
She shrugged.
“And what would we be expected to do?”
“Stay out of it. Keep everyone out of it.”
“That sounds simple enough.”
“That isn’t to say that I might not need active assistance at some point.”
His eyes glittered, and she wondered why he seemed so amused.
“There is a substantial difference between turning a blind eye and becoming actively involved in whatever it is you have in mind,” Robbins said.
“Everything has a price.”
“You are a mercenary, Ms. Lee.”
“I am an accountant,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“Obviously I can’t be sure what kind of help I might need until I can actually get to Seto and spend some time alone with him.”
“Give me an idea, though, will you?”
“I’d like all the information you have on him. You must have a dossier somewhere.”
“That’s not difficult.”
“He has a Vietnamese bodyguard. I would like to have him put out of circulation for forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
“Go on.”
“Seto seems to go to Eckie’s Club every night. I’ll try to talk to him there. If he isn’t cooperative I’ll need a place to take him. I can’t very well bring him back to the hotel. His house would be ideal but I’m not sure that will be doable, so I want to have a backup plan.”
“This is getting more expensive. You know that, yes?”
“If I do need to start moving him around I’ll need some physical assistance, so you might have to assign someone to me.”
“Is there more?”
“Not for now.”
“Those are a lot of ifs.”
“I always think it’s better to plan for the worst.”
“You do know that he pays a fee to some friends to look out for his interests?”
“I’ll pay more.”
“But you’ll only pay once. He pays annually. Then there are all those ifs. How do we factor those into the equation?”
“I want you to assume that I’ll need all the help I’ve outlined here and to give me a figure that accommodates them and makes everyone happy about upgrading friends.”
He put the beer bottle to his lips and drank delicately. “I’m not good at numbers,” he said.
Ava was not going to be the one to put the first offer on the table. It was Uncle’s primary rule of negotiation: let the other party start. Not that she needed that advice. Her mother had practised that her entire life, in every transaction, big or small, that she had ever made. Even at the Chanel store in Toronto, her mother regarded the sticker price as merely an opening bid in the negotiation process. Ava had absorbed that life lesson. She turned her palms upward, as if helpless to know where to start, caught his eye, and let him know she was waiting for him.
He breathed deeply, a sigh of exasperation. She could almost see him calculating. How much money was she here to get? How much could Seto have gotten away with? He was in Guyana, after all, not the Cayman Islands, so it couldn’t be a fortune. What percentage of it could he claim?
“Two hundred thousand will get you all the assistance you need,” he said.
She had expected a larger sum. “That’s too much, Captain. My clients would never agree to pay that amount.”
“Then…?”
She couldn’t insult him. They had paid for help before, sometimes up to ten percent of the amount owed. But that had been based on a successful recovery. This was a payment with no guarantees attached. All she knew was that without the Captain she probably had zero chance of success.
“One hundred thousand — U.S. dollars of course,” she said.
“Cash?”
“We prefer wire transfers.”
“Upfront.”
Uncle hated paying upfront. The most he had ever agreed to was half upfront and half at the conclusion. But the Captain hadn’t been making a request — those were his terms. She sensed that trying to negotiate those terms would put a crimp in what had so far been a relatively painless exercise. Uncle was going to have to put up with it.
“Yes, upfront.”
The Captain’s face broke into a smile. “Okay, let me speak with my friends. If they’re happy with the arrangement I’ll let you know and give you the details of how the money should be transferred.” He nodded in the direction of Robert and Patrick. “You’ve met the boys. If we go ahead I’ll lend one of them to you as a… liaison. Do you have a preference?”
“Who is senior?”
“Patrick.”
“He’s the one I’ll take.”
“Assuming we do business,” the Captain said.
“Assuming.”