Water Rat of Wanchai (An Ava Lee Novel, 4) - Softcover

(1)
 
 
When the phone rang, Ava woke with a start. She looked at the bedside clock. It was just past 3 a.m. “Shit,” she said softly. She checked the incoming number. It was blocked. Hong Kong? Shenzhen? Shanghai? Or maybe even Manila or Jakarta, where the Chinese hid behind local names and were often all the more Chinese because of it. Wherever the call originated, Ava was sure it was somewhere in Asia, the caller ignorant about the time difference or just too desperate to care.
“ Wei, Ava Lee,” a male voice said in Cantonese. It was a voice she didn’t recognize.
“Who is calling?” she said in his dialect.
“Andrew Tam.”
It took a second for the name to register. “Can you speak English?”
“Yes, I can,” he said, switching. “I went to school in Canada.”
“Then you should know what time it is here,” she said.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Chow gave your name and number to my uncle and told him I could call you anytime. He also said you speak Mandarin and Cantonese.”
Ava rolled onto her back. “I do, but when it comes to business, I prefer English. There’s less chance of confusion, of misunderstanding from my end.”
“We have a job for you,” Tam said abruptly.
“We?”
“My company. Mr. Chow told my uncle he was going to discuss it with you.” Tam paused. “You are a forensic accountant, I’m told.”
“I am.”
“According to what Mr. Chow told my uncle, you have an amazing talent for finding people and money. Well, my money is missing and the person who took it has disappeared.”
“That is rarely a coincidence,” Ava said, letting the compliment slide.
“Ms. Lee, I really need your help,” Tam said, his voice breaking.
“I need more information before I can say yes. I don’t even know where or what the job is.”
“It’s a bit of a moving target. We’re based in Hong Kong and we were financing a company owned by a Chinese, which has offices in Hong Kong and Seattle and was doing production in Thailand for a U.S. food retailer.”
“That isn’t very helpful.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so vague. I’m actually better organized than I sound; it’s just that the stress right now is —”
“I understand about the stress,” Ava said.
Tam drew a deep breath. “After talking to my uncle about your company yesterday, I forwarded a complete package of information to a family member who lives in Toronto. Could you free yourself later today to meet?”
“In Toronto?” It was an oddity for her work to involve her home country, let alone city.
“Of course.”
“When?”
“How about dinner in Chinatown?”
“I would prefer something earlier. Dim sum, maybe.”
“All right, I’m sure dim sum will be fine.”
“And not in the old Chinatown downtown. I’d rather go to Richmond Hill. There’s a restaurant, Lucky Season, in the Times Square Mall, just west of Leslie Street on Highway 7. Do you know the area?”
“Yes, I do, generally speaking.”
“Tell them to meet me there at one.”
“How will they recognize you?”
“I will recognize them. Tell them to wear something red — a shirt or sweater — and to carry a copy of Sing Tao.”
“Okay.”
“Man or woman?”
“A woman, actually.”
“That’s unusual.”
He hesitated. She sensed that he was about to launch into another explanation, and she was about to cut him off when he said, “My uncle tells me that Mr. Chow is your uncle.”
“We’re not blood relatives,” Ava said. “I was raised traditionally. My mother insisted that we respect our elders, so it’s natural for me to call our older family friends Uncle and Auntie. Uncle isn’t a family friend, but from the very first time I met him it seemed appropriate. Even as my business partner he is still Uncle.”
“He’s a man whom very many people call Uncle.”
Ava knew where Tam was headed and decided to cut him off. “Look, I’ll meet with your contact later today. If I’m happy with the information she brings and I think the job is doable, then I’ll call my uncle and we’ll confirm that we’re taking the job. If I’m not happy, then you won’t hear from me again. Bai, bai,” she said, putting down the phone.
She struggled to find sleep again as Tam’s voice, with its too familiar sound of desperation, lingered in her ears. She pushed it aside. Until she took possession of his problem, that’s all it was: his problem.

 
Copyright © 2011, 2014 by Ian Hamilton