by PAUL BENNETT
‘Poor sweet Carlo. He was a naughty boy.’
‘Why? What did he do?’
‘He fell in love.’ She laughed louder this time. ‘It sometimes happens. The girls are pretty here. They do exactly what a man wants. It can cloud a man’s head. But none had it as bad as Carlo.’
I was beginning to dread the worst. If he had fallen in love and followed some impulse there was nothing he might not do.
‘There is a private room here – for poker. High stakes. Carlo was not very good. Lost heavily. He should have stopped, but he fell in love with Natasha. She was one of the dealers. Natasha said it was love at first sight for both of them. His money must have helped too, though.’
‘How did she know he had money?’
‘Because of the poker and because of the golden chips.’
It was my turn to look puzzled. I nodded at her to continue.
‘Carlo couldn’t bear the thought of Natasha being with another man,’ she explained. ‘We work a six-hour shift here. Every night Carlo would buy six golden chips and spend all of Natasha’s time with her.’
At €6,000 a night, even discounting the losses at poker, it was no wonder he had no money.
‘Carlo’s gone missing,’ I said.
‘That is good for Carlo,’ she said.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘Five nights ago Natasha didn’t show up for work. The boss thinks Carlo is responsible. He has men out looking for him. Bad men. It is better if they don’t find him.’ She made a throat-slitting gesture with her hand.
‘Have you heard anything from Natasha? Do you have any idea where they might have gone?’
‘Far away, I hope. For their sake.’
‘And no contact from her?’
She shook her head.
‘Tell me about Natasha. Where is she from? How did she finish up here?’
‘The same way we all finish up here. We seek a better life and the men say they can give that to us. And they have been good to us.’
Turning them into prostitutes – albeit high class ones – didn’t fit my definition of being good to someone.
‘We come from Chechnya. Life is bad there. Either we are fighting a war against Russia or we’re plotting one during a ceasefire. Much of the country’s money goes on arms and armies. We are poor. There are food shortages – when food comes you spend all day queuing up and hoping there will be some left when it’s your turn. Can anyone blame us for wanting a better life?’
She gulped down the second vodka and shook her head as I offered a refill.
‘The men come. They are Russians, but they say they are good Russians. They will help us escape poverty. Smuggle us into a new country. They charge us little and treat us well. Everyone is sent to a hospital and is checked out to make sure they are fit for whatever work they find us in the new country. Then they give us the chance of a new life.’
‘Not much of a life,’ I said.
‘I have plenty food, good vodka to drink, good clothes to wear and I get to keep twenty per cent of the money I earn. And in two years I am free to leave and go my own way.’
I was sceptical about the Russians keeping their side of the bargain. ‘How many girls,’ I asked, ‘have you known who have left?’
‘Plenty. Soon I will leave too. I have three months to go and plenty money saved.’
‘So where do the girls go when they leave?’
‘I do not know. None has ever made contact after they leave – maybe they don’t like to be reminded of this life. But wherever they go, it must be a better place than Chechnya.’
‘Look,’ I said, writing on a napkin next to the drinks, ‘here’s my mobile number. If you hear anything from Natasha, let me know. There will be a reward.’
I stood up to go.
She let the robe slip and looked up at me.
‘I could tell when I first met you that here was a man who would not need to pay. You are handsome, big and strong. You have no need for the likes of Anna. It would make you feel bad. But what if you consider the gold chip for the information and have the rest for free? We still have ten minutes.’
‘Another time, maybe,’ I said.
She shrugged. ‘Ten minutes would not be enough, anyway,’ she said. ‘When I’m free of here I phone you and we meet up, yes?’
‘I’d like that,’ I said. I drained my vodka glass. ‘Here’s to freedom,’ I said.
‘No, wait,’ she said.
The killer charm always works. She’ll be foregoing her twenty per cent, I reckoned.
‘She’s in Holland.’
‘What?’
‘Natasha. She’s in Holland. She doesn’t have a passport. None of us has. The boss man, he keeps all our passports. So Natasha must still be in Holland.’
Bingo. Sometimes being wrong can be better than being right.
11
‘Have you got a pencil?’ I asked Scout.
It was midnight and she had just arrived back at the apartment. I was on my mobile phone talking to Bull.
‘What do you mean, have I got a pencil?’ she said. ‘I’ve been schlepping around half of Amsterdam for the last three hours and all you do is ask me for a pencil. Hell, Johnny, where are you coming from?’
‘Just trust me, OK? I need a pencil. A pen would do. Otherwise any instrument with a narrow barrel.’
She stared at me and heaved a sigh, dug into her handbag and produced a cheap ballpoint. It would serve its purpose. She handed it to me and I was out the door.
‘Stay here,’ I said, looking back.
I came out of the front entrance to the house, crossed the street, turned left, left, left and left again. Which brought me directly behind the guy in the trench coat. I wrapped my left hand around his mouth and dug the ballpoint into the small of his back with my right.
‘Do you know,’ I said, ‘what damage a bullet from a Browning High Power can do to a man’s spine at point-blank range?’
He gave a gurgle. I took it as a yes.
‘So, we’re going to walk across the street, into the building and up the stairs. If you give me any problems you’ll be walking on your hands for the rest of your life.’
He did as I said. Up the three floors to Carlo’s apartment. Bull joined us.
Scout looked puzzled as we entered.
‘Who…?’ she started to say.
‘That’s what we’re going to find out,’ I said.
I turned to the man in the trench coat. He had a pale complexion like he didn’t get out much, small eyes and was short and stocky. He was also sweating, despite the chill of the evening. Must have been the presence of the ballpoint. I nodded to Bull and he started to frisk the man. He was carrying. Glock 9mm – in that case, probably a professional. Bull handed me the gun and said, ‘Wallet has cash but no ID.’ He turned the man around so he was facing me. The man noticed the ballpoint for the first time and gave a scowl that told me he didn’t seem pleased that he had been suckered.
‘Now I’m going to ask you some questions,’ I said, placing the nose of the Glock against his temple. ‘If I don’t get an answer, then my trigger finger is going to get twitchy, and you don’t want that to happen, do you? What’s your name?’
‘No speak English.’
‘Ask him in Dutch,’ I said to Scout.
She did.
‘No understand,’ he said.
This was going to be a long night.
‘Scout, could you get me a couple of dishcloths.’
She gave me a strange look, but trusted the bizarre request this time. I took one of the dishcloths and tied the man’s hands together in front of him. The other cloth I stuffed in his mouth.
‘Maybe some fresh air will loosen your tongue,’ I said to the man. ‘What do you reckon, Bull? Shall we open a window?’
Bull opened the window on the canal side of the apartment and I led the man towards it. Bull and I took a leg each and threw him out the window, catching him at the last moment and leaving
him dangling. It was three floors up and below him the water gleamed like polished stone in the moonlight. He didn’t like it one bit. Craned his neck to look up at us and gave stifled noises that would have been cries of panic without the cloth in his mouth.
‘Listen carefully,’ I said. ‘If you’re prepared to talk, nod your head.’
He nodded his head vigorously and we hauled him in slowly to spin out the suspense, if you pardon the pun. We dumped him in a chair facing the window and I removed the gag.
‘We’re losing our touch,’ Bull said.
‘What?’
‘A few years ago he would have looked into our eyes and talked. He would have seen that we meant business, and that business was death. Now he stalled. Didn’t believe us.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said.
‘We’re gonna have to toughen up,’ he said. ‘Starting now.’
‘OK,’ I said to Bull and the stalker. ‘Let’s start again. What’s your name?’
‘Bronski,’ he said, glancing at the still-open window. That one word was enough to set alarm bells ringing in my head. Or rather the way he said it. Deep-toned, bored intonation.
‘Well, Mr Bronski, what are you doing following my friend Scout?’
‘Orders.’
I sighed.
‘Let’s not make this too lengthy, Bronski. Be specific. Whose orders?’
‘Almas?’
‘Yes.’
I looked across at Scout. She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Tell me about him, or it, or whatever.’
‘Big company here in Amsterdam. Much money. Much power. I protect people. I had call from the chief executive at Almas saying would I do this little job for them. The pay was good, so I said yes.’
‘What does this Almas do?’
‘Everything.’
God, this was like pulling teeth.
‘OK, what were you supposed to do after trailing Scout?’
‘Grab her when she was alone. Take her to a house.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t ask questions from Almas. Just do my job.’
‘What’s the address of this house?’
He gave it to me. I looked at Scout again.
‘Run-down area to the south of the city. The sort of place you don’t go unless you have to.’
‘Which is a shame,’ I said, ‘because that is exactly what we’re going to have to do tomorrow.’
‘It is tomorrow,’ said Scout, yawning.
‘What are we going to do with Bronski?’ Bull asked.
‘Have you got a car, Scout?’
She nodded.
‘Then let’s all go for a ride.’
Her car was an anonymous black VW Beetle, ideal for trailing someone inconspicuously, but not accommodating four adults, two the size of Bull and Bronski. Bull had his knees round his ears and Bronski was stuffed into one corner.
We drove to the west of the city to a place called Erasmusparkand. Scout’s driving was in the Italian Job mode – she seemed to know every back alley in Amsterdam and intended to use every one at the maximum possible speed. No one spoke – none of us dared to break her concentration. We dumped Bronski, bound hand and foot and gagged, in a group of trees. I kept the Glock. I was getting the feeling that it might come in useful.
On the way back we stopped at Scout’s apartment and collected some things – we all agreed that it wasn’t safe for her to be alone. By the time we got back it was three in the morning and we were all feeling the pace. There was still a debriefing to do before hitting the sack.
I made a huge pot of coffee and we sat together as comfortably as we could in the impractical chairs.
‘I’ll start, shall I?’ I said. ‘The gold chip isn’t for betting. It’s worth a thousand euros and pays for an hour of whatever is your pleasure with your pick of the dealers, who are all stunning, by the way.’ Scout gave a feminist grunt. ‘Carlo’s been buying them like there’s no tomorrow so that he gets all the time of his new love, Natasha. And so she’s all his. He’s also been losing big time at the tables. The girl has disappeared too. Good motive for stealing a bunch of bearer bonds. If my source’ – another grunt from Scout – ‘is to be believed, then they’re still in Holland – the girl doesn’t have a passport.’
‘You can buy a lot of passports with ten million euros,’ Scout said.
‘If you’ve got the sources,’ I said. ‘I’m hoping that Carlo doesn’t know that kind of people. If he gets outside Holland, our chances of finding him and the money get a whole lot slimmer.’ I was beginning to wonder whether this haystack actually had a needle in it. ‘What did the previous Ms Librarian get up to?’
‘They walked round the Leidseplein soaking up the atmosphere and then went to El Dorado. They toured the tables like they were casing the joint, placing small bets here and there and taking everything in – they acted like it was more a job than a bit of fun. After that they went to The Bulldog, one of the coffee shops, and watched people rolling up joints – they just had coffee. Then it was back to the square and brandys at a table outside. I sat behind them and listened to what they were talking about.’
‘Learn anything useful?’ I asked.
‘Only that I should have studied Italian. They were talking nineteen to the dozen and I couldn’t understand a word of it. Strange though, the guy seems to speak perfect English – ordered the brandy with an American accent.’
‘They didn’t spot you?’
‘No way.’
‘Then I presume they were being very careful to speak Italian to each other. Damn. I wished I’d been there. Can’t be helped. And after the brandy?’
‘Proper gentleman. He walks her back to her hotel – she’s staying at the Schiller, just about the most chic hotel in the city – and then he gets a taxi. She goes straight to her room. Exit Scout, straight back here.’
‘Seems like there’s more to this that we have to find out. We need that meeting with your contact inside Silvers. Tomorrow would be good.’
‘No problem, as long as I’m there – I’m the draw.’
I nodded. Then thought for a while, weighing up options and possibilities.
‘We need to get out of here, find somewhere anonymous where we can hide away and they won’t think of looking for us.’
‘Who’s they?’ Bull said.
‘That’s the problem. Let’s start by following up on our friend Bronski and this Almas company. See if we can find out why they’re interested in Scout.’
‘I don’t know about you guys,’ Scout said yawning, ‘but I need some sleep. It’s been a long night and it sounds like tomorrow won’t get any easier. Where can I sleep?’
I indicated the room that Bull had been using.
‘Goodnight and sleep tight,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ we said.
We watched her go into the bedroom and then looked at each other.
‘First or second?’ Bull asked.
‘I’ll take second.’ I put the Glock on the coffee table. ‘Wake me in two hours.’
12
Whatever they did at Almas there were a lot of people doing it. Their offices were on the top three floors of a modem building on a business estate so close to the airport you could see the colour of the lipstick the cabin crew were wearing. Bull and I approached the reception area where a large purpose-built desk was ruled by a hard-looking lady of about forty. She had large, black-rimmed glasses that she peered over to examine us. The glasses accentuated the lightness of her eyes. Her hair, judging by the eye colour, was artificially jet black and it did nothing for her except to make her look more formidable. She wasn’t fazed by Bull, which was always a bad sign. Our chances of getting past her seemed as remote as sneaking a giraffe into a rabbit hutch.
‘We’d like to see your chief executive, please,’ I said, with what I imagined was wasted politeness.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ she said.
‘Not exactly,’ I said.
‘Mr Garanov doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.’
‘He’ll see us,’ I said, trying to think of a good reason why.
‘Mr Garanov doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.’
This was looking like a stalemate.
‘Perhaps if I give you my calling card.’
I reached inside my jacket and took out the Glock from its place inside the waistband at the small of my back. I ejected the clip and placed the unloaded gun on her desk. She looked at it in horror, got up quickly and, carrying the gun between finger and thumb, scuttled off to an office in the corner of the building, looking back at us as she did so.
‘You didn’t say it,’ Bull said.
‘I’m saving it for our exit.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Bull said with a grin.
The receptionist reappeared flanked by two gorillas in tight-fitting dark suits.
‘If you would follow these gentlemen,’ she said, her composure returning to normal aided by the presence of the heavies, ‘Mr Garanov will see you now.’
It’s wonderful how the presence of a Glock can make even the busiest man find a time window in his diary.
One of the gorillas moved behind us and the other set off in front. Bull made a point of walking backward so that he could keep an eye on the trailing gorilla. We reached the corner office and the first gorilla knocked and, when summoned, we all trooped in and the gorillas took up station at each side of the door.
Garanov did not offer us a seat. He sat behind a large black desk, the muscles of his upper body straining against sleeves of the pale-blue shirt. He had a thick neck and close-cropped hair which was probably black and streaked with grey if you used your imagination or grey and streaked with black if you didn’t.
‘Do you know it is illegal to carry guns in this country?’ he said. ‘You can only own a gun if you belong to a registered gun club; you must keep it at that club and can only fire it at that club. You could be in big trouble.’
‘You should have told that to Bronski,’ I said.
‘Who?’ he replied.
‘You sent Bronski to tail one of our friends and snatch her if he got the chance. Only Bronski wasn’t good enough. And that will be the same for anyone else you send, so don’t waste your time thinking about it.’ I moved closer to the desk and leaned over towards him. ‘What does this company do, Mr Garanov, that it has to rely on muscle like Bronski?’
