bank wouldn’t have any issues with the amount. In that case, maybe Robbins would accept the copy of the transmittal as confirmation and let her get started before he actually had the money.
It took her close to an hour to get things sorted out. That didn’t seem to bother Patrick, who had fallen asleep again. A slight nudge wakened him. “Do you want some coffee?” she said.
“Sure, but not here. The coffee here is horrible.”
They climbed into a Toyota truck sitting in the no-parking zone in front of the hotel. He weaved through the now all-too-familiar downtown terrain.
“I’ve already sent the bank directions. The wire should be done within the next twelve hours. I’ll get you a copy of the confirmation once it’s gone,” she said.
“I don’t need to know any of this, so it’s best not to talk to me about it anymore. Just put the information in a sealed envelope. The Captain likes to keep details like that between himself and people like you. My directions are more basic.”
“Such as?”
“Take Ng out and do what I can to help you with Seto.” He looked hard at her. “The Captain says you’re a debt collector. He says you must be a very special kind to come here by yourself and be able to wire $100,000 as if it were nothing.”
“That’s what I do for a living,” she said. “Now, taking Ng out — how hard will that be?”
“Not a problem for us. How about Seto for you?”
She liked Patrick already. He was direct without being rude or aggressive, and he was confident and assertive.
“I’ll meet him at Eckie’s and try to convince him that it’s in his best interests to cooperate with me,” she said.
“What will you say? ‘Pretty please, give me back whatever gazillions of dollars you scammed’?”
“Something like that,” she laughed.
“Does it ever work?”
“You’d be surprised. Once they know I’ve found them and once they know I’ve located the money, most of them understand that I’m the best chance they have to give it back and maintain — how shall I say it? — their physical well-being. Mind you, this is me dealing with the Chinese — and all our clients are Chinese — in Hong Kong or New York or Toronto or Vancouver. They always assume that I’ve been sent by the triads, and that if they don’t cut a deal with me they’ll have four guys with machetes sitting beside their beds.”
“The Captain thinks you are triad.”
“I have no guys with machetes sitting back at the hotel,” she said, smiling. “And I have no tattoos. Everyone knows that triads have tattoos.”
“Do you think Seto will be as cooperative as your Chinese in Hong Kong?”
“Actually no, I don’t. He thinks he’s protected here. So I think I’m at Plan B already.”
“So not much chit-chat?”
“No.”
“What will you do?”
“Tell me first, how will you handle Ng?”
“Under our national security law we can detain anyone we suspect of anti-government activity for up to a week without laying charges and without providing a lawyer. They don’t even get to make a phone call. We’ll use that law to put Ng on ice for as long as you need. Now tell me about Seto.”
“He seems to go to Eckie’s every night. We’ll confront him there. He’s a scrawny little piece of shit — you shouldn’t have any problem putting handcuffs on him and getting him out the door. We’ll take him to his house. If the woman is in the club, she’ll go with us. If she isn’t, we’ll deal with her at the house.”
He didn’t speak again until he stopped the truck at Donald’s Doughnut Shop. She looked around; the neighbourhood was even more rundown than central Georgetown.
“I live over there,” he said, pointing to a small red bungalow at the end of the street. “It’s my mother’s house.”
They got out of the truck and entered the shop, sitting in the booth farthest from the door. The coffee wasn’t instant but she didn’t complain. Her doughnut was virtually oozing fat. She ate it silently.
“Seto owns a piece of Eckie’s,” Patrick said between bites. “That’s how our people got to know him at first. Eckie’s is not completely legal. By that I mean clubs in general aren’t exactly legal, so if you want to operate one you have to make arrangements with the right people.”
“Are there bouncers at the club, or might any of his partners choose to interfere with us?”
“If they know we’re involved, everyone will stay out of the way. No see, no hear, no nothing.”
“Then let’s hope he goes to Eckie’s.”
“If we weren’t involved, how would you — I mean, what do you do in other cases when people aren’t co- operating?”
“There are always options,” she said. “The most important thing is figuring out ahead of time what will work. If I think a direct approach will succeed, then I become direct. If I think there’s going to be resistance, then I’m more discreet, less visible. In a case like Seto’s, if I were acting alone I would use something like chloral hydrate to strengthen my position.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Jesus, I haven’t heard that mentioned in a while.”
“I know, it’s a little old-fashioned. But it’s effective. There’s something about waking up with your hands and feet bound, your eyes masked and mouth covered, that makes people want to be cooperative. It brings an unknown quality; it lets me create a bit of fantasy. Since I have you, that won’t be necessary, but I’ll still tape his eyes and mouth until we get to the house.”
“No problem,” he said.
“Where are you from?” she asked suddenly. “You and the Captain have a similar accent. I can’t place it but I know it isn’t from here.”
“Barbados — we’re both Bajans. My grandmother was his nanny, if you can believe that. He moved here more than thirty years ago and made his name, made his fortune. I was a boy in trouble back home when Gran called the Captain and asked him to take me on. So I came with my mother and my sister. It isn’t Barbados, but we’re doing okay.”
“The Captain is an impressive man,” she said.
“The Captain runs this poor excuse for a country,” he said. “He keeps the animals in check.”
She fought back an urge to comment on the potholes, brown water, and irregular power. “Thank goodness,” she said.
“What are you going to do today?” he asked.
“I have a little shopping to do. Other than that I can’t do very much until the Captain gives me the green light.”
“I know.” Patrick yawned. “I had a late night. I think I’ll go to the gym and get myself revved. You want to come?”
“No, I ran this morning. I’m good.”
“We were talking last night, Bobby and me, about the way you handled those two creeps. They’re handy, both of them, so we couldn’t figure out how you did it. I thought maybe you could show me at the gym.”
“I practise bak mei,” she said. “It isn’t something you teach someone at a gym.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a Chinese martial art.”
“Like karate, kung fu?“
“Like kung fu but not kung fu. No one makes movies about bak mei.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s very old, very Chinese — Taoist in fact. It has never caught on in the Western world because it isn’t pretty and it can’t be made into a sport. It’s purely functional, designed to inflict damage. And it can be lethal when applied to the extreme. I went relatively easy on those two.”
“Do you use kicks?”
“Only below the waist.”
“Nice,” he said. “How did you learn this stuff?”
