a building that housed various courts of law. From afar it looked elegant, but as they came closer Ava saw that paint was peeling off its exterior and some of the window shutters were broken and hanging at odd angles. There was a patch of dry, cracked earth between the sidewalk and the building, with a statue of Queen Victoria sitting on it. Both of the hands had been cut off and the torso was covered in graffiti. Ava looked away. There was something particularly depressing about public institutions — symbols of a nation — that were allowed to fall into such disrepair. It said as much about the people they represented as the structures themselves.
Ava next saw a wooden church spire soaring above the city’s skyline.
“St. George’s Anglican,” said Jeff. “It’s forty metres high at the peak of the spire, the tallest wooden cathedral in the world.”
“And what is that?” she asked, her attention now caught by a clock tower in the other direction.
“Stabroek Market, the bizarre bazaar. You name it, you can buy it there — everything from pineapple to shoes to furniture, jewellery, and even a whole pig.”
“The clock tower, what is it made of?”
“Corrugated iron. The whole building is made of iron, some corrugated, some cast. What would you expect when it was designed by an engineer and built by an iron company?”
“Interesting,” Ava said.
“Interest wears off soon enough.”
They reached the end of High Street. Jeff turned right and then did a quick left. “The hotel is straight ahead,” he said.
The Phoenix Hotel was framed on either side by nothing but sky. It was a big white wooden box, six storeys high and four times as wide. A line of palm trees dotted the front of the property and marched around the outer edge of the circular driveway. A water fountain stood in the middle of the driveway: six dolphins spewing a cloudy- looking liquid.
Jeff pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the hotel. The front doors had been thrown open and Ava could see directly into the cavernous lobby, which had a second set of open doors at the far end that offered an impressive view of the Atlantic Ocean.
She climbed out of the car and faced the hotel. To the left she could see a muddy brown river moving sluggishly towards the ocean.
“That’s the mouth of the Demerara,” Jeff said.
“Like the rum?”
“One and the same. The distillery is upriver.”
She looked again at the colour of the river and made a note to avoid the rum. Near the river and slightly back towards town, she saw some familiar flags flying. “And over there?” she asked, pointing.
“Foreign embassies.”
The American embassy was closest to the hotel and the Canadian was next in line.
Jeff carried her bags into the lobby. There was a breeze flowing from the ocean side, and huge fans churned overhead. Ava still felt hot, and she could only imagine how sticky it would get if the breeze subsided.
To her left was a cafe and a registration desk that was nine metres long and had one clerk standing behind it. To her right was a large sitting area filled with wicker furniture, the cushions rumpled and faded. Farther down was a bar with bamboo chairs and tables that were in better, if not pristine, condition.
As they crossed the lobby towards Registration, a large cockroach scurried across the hardwood floor almost directly in front of her. It startled her and she jumped. “Did you see that?” she said.
“No, I didn’t see anything,” Jeff said.
“It was a cockroach.”
“We don’t have cockroaches,” he said.
“It had to be three inches long, with a gold body, black spots, and a black head.”
“Son of a gun, that does sound like a cockroach,” he said as he dropped her bags at the front desk.
She tipped him twenty dollars. He looked uncertainly at the bill in his hand. “This is way more than the normal rate around here.”
“I insist. I appreciated the way you drove.”
“Thanks.”
“Jeff, tell me, do you ever make yourself and the Jeep available to guests for non-airport runs?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing too far out of the way, I would imagine. I may need a ride to a place called Malvern Gardens. Heard of it?”
“Yeah, I know it.”
“And I may need you to wait with me a while when I’m there.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think that’s much of a problem. The usual rate is ten dollars an hour.”
“For you and the Jeep?”
“Yeah, but you have to pay for any gas I use, and I have to tell you, gas is expensive.”
“What are we talking about?”
“Five dollars a gallon.”
“No problem.”
“Do you have any idea when you might need me? I’ve got another airport run to make today and I’ve actually got to get going.”
“There’s no rush. How about I let the doorman know after I figure things out? Check in with him when you get back.”
“That’ll work.”
Ava turned to the registration clerk and gave her name. For almost two hundred dollars a night — almost the same as the Grand Hyatt in Bangkok — she got an ocean view, a single bed, and a television, but no cable. There was Internet access in the business centre on the ground floor, but none in the room. If she wanted to make a long-distance call she would have to let the switchboard know so they could activate the service for her. There was no mini-bar or fridge in her room, and if she wanted ice she had to call down to the bar. She did get coffee and toast in the morning. When she asked about mobile phone service, she was told that if she had Bluetooth she could use her phone in Georgetown.
Ava rode the elevator to the fourth floor, unhappy with the hotel’s concept of “three star.” Anywhere in Asia, every service she’d asked about at the registration desk would have been provided. When she opened the door to her room, the Phoenix’s rating tumbled to one star.
There were two single beds covered in pink chenille spreads, and the floor was covered with white tile. It reminded Ava of a hospital. The dresser and bedside table were tattooed with cigarette burns, and the bedside lampshade was slightly frayed, as was the shade on the single overhead light.
Ava went into the bathroom. No bathrobe, no slippers. Two thin towels and one facecloth. There was one bar of soap, wrapped in paper, and no shampoo. She checked the shower. No mould. She flushed the toilet. It worked.
Back in the room she gazed resignedly at the room’s only feature that she liked: a rattan chair by the window. She sat in it and looked out at the Atlantic Ocean. The water was choppy, crashing against a seawall that extended over to the Demerara on the left and as far as she could see on the right.
It could be worse, she thought. At least it was clean, and she wasn’t there for the hotel anyway. Somewhere out there Jackson Seto was waiting to be found.
(18)
Since her meeting with Antonelli, Ava had been debating how to approach Seto. She had thought of phoning him first, maybe pretending to be a seafood buyer and setting up a meeting on that basis. There were a couple of problems with that idea. First, she didn’t really know enough about the business to survive any rigorous questioning. And second, why would anyone come to Guyana to buy seafood without making preliminary arrangements?
No, her first contact had to be incidental. It hadn’t worked with Antonelli, but he was into ladyboys. Not many
