heterosexual men could resist showing interest in Ava, so she had to find a way to get next to Seto and take it from there.
She walked down to the lobby and looked for the concierge or the doorman, neither of whom was on duty. She asked the front desk clerk where they were. “They’re on break. Be back around one,” the woman said.
“I need to buy a few things. Is there a mall around here?”
“The best place would be the Stabroek Market. It’s just down the street to the right. You can’t miss it — look for the tall clock tower.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“I wouldn’t go dressed like that,” the woman said.
Ava was wearing her running shoes and a T-shirt and track pants. “Why not?”
“I mean the jewellery. You should leave it here.”
Ava had on her gold crucifix, her Cartier watch, and a green jade bracelet. “It’s the middle of the day,” she said.
“Don’t matter. That watch — it’s real?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. It’s a magnet. You’ll get all kinds of unwanted attention, and if they go for the watch they’ll take the necklace and bracelet too.”
Ava took them off and put them in a pocket that zipped closed. “Better?”
“Just be careful.”
Outside the front entrance the heat was brutal and oppressive, and Ava thought about using the hotel Jeep, but she could see the clock tower and figured that Stabroek Market wasn’t much more than a ten-minute walk. She was fine until she had gone about a hundred metres and the ocean breeze had dissipated. The sky was cloudless and the sun beat directly down, radiating off the tarmac; the heat seemed to penetrate through the soles of her shoes. She began to sweat, her eyes burning, beads dripping from the end of her nose, her panties absorbing what they could and then sending the excess down her legs. It was hotter than Bangkok, more humid than a Hong Kong summer. And then there was the smell. She held her breath as she walked past the decaying garbage and dog shit on the sidewalk.
When Ava was about twenty paces from her destination, she heard a buzz in the air, a mixed symphony of voices haggling and car horns blaring. It wasn’t until she stepped onto Water Street that she had a full view of Stabroek Market. The building encompassed a large area of about sixty to eighty thousand square metres; it was, as advertised, completely encased, including the roof, in red iron. To Ava it looked less like a shopping centre than a steel foundry.
The noises she’d heard came from outside the building, where people were hawking goods from tables and stands shaded with tarps to fend off the sun. It was crowded, the stands were jammed close together, and people were milling about as they tried to avoid the bi-cycles and buses that circled the perimeter. Ava pushed her way past mounds of pineapples, plantain, bananas, coconut, okra, sweet potatoes, long beans, and spinach, sides of pigs and goats, and chickens clucking in cages. They were selling clothing outside as well, but not the knockoffs found in most Asian markets. These looked like second-hand garments that had been collected by a charity in the developed world and sold by the pound to some trader. Apparently there was a market for old Toronto Maple Leafs jerseys.
Ava went inside the market building to search for food and air conditioning. There were pockets of cold air here and there, and she lingered while she decided what to eat. She toured the stalls, trying to choose between chicken curry, duck curry, lamb and goat curry, rice and beans, and roti. She was about to give a curry a try when saw a vegetarian stand. She ordered three fried lentil patties with hot sauce and washed them down with mauby, a local soft drink made from tree bark.
After she finished eating, Ava wandered through the market. It was eclectic, to say the least. Most of the fruit, vegetables, and meat available outside were also for sale inside, along with more second-hand clothing, shoes, furniture, dishes, household utensils, fish, shrimp, and a surprising amount of gold. She had read that Guyana had deposits of the metal. And here it was, mined, refined, and then fashioned into some of the crudest jewellery she had ever seen. It was super-bling — large, chunky necklaces and bracelets moulded into zodiac signs and commercial logos for brands such as Nike, Calvin Klein, and Chanel. But crude or not, the jewellery looked to be made from twenty- or even twenty-two-karat gold.
Ava didn’t find what she wanted until she got to the very end of the market. It was dark there; the stalls were pressed closer together and there was no overhead light. She had to work her way around a throng of local shoppers, and as she did, she could feel eyes following her progress. The desk clerk hadn’t been wrong.
She wandered into one of the stalls and was greeted by an East Indian woman wearing a sari, rolls of flesh cascading over her waistband. She seemed surprised to see Ava, and turned away as if she expected her to leave again. When Ava didn’t go, the woman finally acknowledged her with a raised eyebrow.
“I want one of those,” Ava said, pointing to a selection of knives locked in a glass case.
“Which one?”
“I can’t tell. Could you open the case for me?”
The woman struggled to her feet and took a key from a drawer. She looked around suspiciously as she unlocked the case. When it was open, she motioned for Ava to come closer.
They were nearly all automatic switchblades, and it was a surprisingly good collection. She recognized Heckler and Koch, Blackwater, Schrade, Buck, and Smith and Wesson. Ava took her time appraising them and then asked the woman to pass her a Schrade. The blade was bit too short. “I prefer stilettos,” she said.
The woman lifted the felt-lined tray; underneath was a row of Italian stilettos. “Everything from six inches to fifteen inches,” the woman said.
“I think eleven inches will do just fine.”
The woman passed her the knife. It was lightweight and fitted easily into her palm. She touched the button and the beautifully crafted blade hissed into view in a microsecond. “How much?”
“One hundred and fifty American.”
“One hundred.”
“One twenty-five.”
“One hundred.”
“One twenty, final.”
“Done,” Ava said.
It was hotter than ever when she exited Stabroek. A taxi with its windows open sat at the curb. She got in and told the driver to turn on the air conditioning and take her to the Phoenix.
“I don’t have air conditioning,” he said.
“Drive anyway.”
“It is too close. You should walk.”
She passed him ten dollars. “Drive.”
At the hotel the doorman was back on duty. He was leaning against a wall, looking out at the empty lobby. She hadn’t seen any other guests coming or going and was beginning to wonder if she was the only one staying there. He acknowledged her arrival with a nod. She nodded back and walked over.
“Is Jeff back from the airport yet?”
“No, but he should be here soon enough.”
“When he does get back, could you please ask him to call my room? Tell him I’d like to use the Jeep this afternoon.”
She stripped off her clothes when she got to the room. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the closet door, and she caught her image in it. She was proud of her body and worked hard at maintaining it, but not to excess. No powerlifting for her; she liked her leanness. She liked even more her proportions, which were just about perfect. She had a thing about girls with thick ankles or long torsos — they weren’t for her.
Ava’s sense of well-being disappeared when she stepped into the shower. The water spewing from the showerhead was a light chocolate brown. She waited for it clear. It didn’t. She sniffed the water and detected a chemical odour. She waited for another minute, and when the colour still didn’t change, she left the bathroom and phoned the front desk. “The water in my shower is brown,” she said.
“Yes?”
