Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2)

by Martyn V. Halm

  Zeph caressed a small plant in the middle story. “Clones I grow at eye level. Later I slide boxes from frame, put them up top.”

  “So you don’t have to transplant them. Smart.”

  “Thanks.”

  He hoisted her gear out of the cargo hold and she followed. The setting sun turned the cement bridge arching high overhead a pale orange. Zeph preceded her to the pilothouse, where the Rottweiler rose from the deck and checked her out with muddy homicidal eyes. The Rastafarian gave the dog a hand signal and the Rottweiler disappeared around the corner.

  Katla took the jar of garage soap from the small toolbox and followed him inside. The inside of the pilothouse was cold, but Zeph led her down a couple of steps to a large chaotic space with a hammock in the back, warmed by a Zibro Kamin. Around the corner was a tiny kitchen and she put the jar by the sink, scooped out a gob of the green jelly and massaged the garage soap into her skin.

  Zeph took the jar, sniffed the contents and asked, “Special soap?”

  “Garage soap,” she replied. “Can you turn on the tap?”

  She rinsed her hands and dried them, limped back to his living quarters and asked, “Where do you want the flashlight?”

  “Where?”

  “I’m giving you this Streamlight, and you’re going to use that whenever you get near that generator. It has to hang down in the charger, Zeph. Where?”

  He rubbed his temple. “Next to them door?”

  “Get my big toolbox.”

  He disappeared into the pilothouse and returned with the toolbox. She selected a spot next to the light switch, glad the electrical wires ran through tubes fastened to the walls. After she drilled the holes, she switched the drill for a magnetic bit holder, screwed the charger to the wall, and lowered the flashlight into the plastic ring. Two small red lights glowed to life.

  “Take it out once a month and discharge the batteries.”

  Zeph nodded. “You save I-man crop, sista.”

  “Well, there’s something you can help me with.”

  A draft made her turn to watch a familiar pair of sneakers enter the pilothouse. Bram drifted down the steps into the living quarters, silent as a ghost, not using his cane.

  Katla put a finger to her lips and blocked his way.

  He halted a pace away. “You’re asking Zeph for help now?”

  “Sista fix I-man generator, bredda. True friend.”

  “I want to check my office, in the harbour,” Katla said. “I’d like to borrow your Zodiac.”

  Bram tilted his head. “Zeph, do you have something to drink?”

  “Ginger ale. Not cold. Fridge just started up.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  While the Rastafarian descended the steps into the kitchen, Bram pulled her close and whispered, “Why don’t you let me borrow the dinghy. Now he’ll want to come along.”

  “The harbour is not like the IJsselmeer,” she whispered back. “I need someone who can see.”

  “You can pilot the dinghy through the harbour. I’ll stay in the dinghy to guard it while you’re out exploring.”

  “You wanted me to involve Zeph if there wasn’t much risk,” Katla hissed. “This is easy, all he has to do is stay with the dinghy.”

  “Just don’t impose on my friends,” he replied and drew back as Zeph came from the kitchen with an opened bottle of Schweppes Ginger Ale. “Thanks.”

  “I&I take you to harbour,” Zeph said. “You want go tonight?”

  “Maybe,” Katla said. “How much time do you need to prepare?”

  “Dinghy is ready, always. I&I can take you tonight, ‘round eight?”

  “I’ll let you know. If you’re not home, I can’t wait on your ship, can I?”

  “Shaitan be a problem,” Zeph replied. “She no like strangers.”

  Katla had figured that already. In her work guard dogs were no obstacle, but she couldn’t knock out Shaitan.

  “I can always wait at the camping,” Katla said. “I think that’s the closest place.”

  “And always open.”

  The ship’s bell rang and Bram tilted his head. “Anouk?”

  “She bought some new games,” Zeph said and climbed the steps to the pilothouse.

  Bram waited until the Rastafarian stepped on deck, then turned to her and said, “Just promise me you’ll protect him.”

  “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, Bram. I need to approach by water, but he can stay with the dinghy.”

  He drank the last of his ginger ale. “You want to go?”

  “I’m not in a hurry,” Katla replied. “Can I stay at your place tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  Anouk entered in a whirl of cold air and moisture and came to a dead stop. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” Katla said. “How is your back?”

  “Fine.”

  She came up to Katla, clearly unsure whether to shake her hand or kiss her cheek. Katla smiled and put a hand on her shoulder, lightly kissing her cheeks. With the second kiss she murmured, “You smell nice.”

  “You smell like you’ve been working on a car,” Anouk replied and her cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sista fix my generator,” Zeph said. “Save I-man crop.”

  “How is the harvest coming along?” Anouk asked. “I might have a new client for you. Needs organically grown plants.”

  “So you find clients for Zeph’s drugs?”

  “Dawta in the arts.” Zeph put his arm around Anouk’s shoulders. “Lots of contacts that appreciate fine quality ganja.”

  “The arts?”

  Anouk shrugged. “You know, paintings and sculptures.”

  Zeph steered her away toward the television. “I&I check out them games, dawta.”

  “We’re leaving,” Katla said, pulling Bram along. “See you tonight.”

  CLAIRVOYANT

  The young woman would’ve been lovely if seen from the side. The left side, so the scar tissue covering the right side of her face remained invisible. Burn marks ran down her jaw to her throat and disappeared in the collar of her shimmering black turtleneck. Nicky watched her slender hands on top of Lau’s hands resting flat on the kitchen table, her right hand a withered claw from ligaments shortened by the heat of the same fire that disfigured her features.

  Lau believed the goddess of fire and light had marked the young woman before handing her psychic powers. Nicky believed the young woman’s ‘clairvoyance’ was strictly limited to her own future. Her hideously deformed face limited her options. Most occupations demanded, if not beauty, at least a pleasing countenance, while as a psychic the horrific scarring gave her a twisted credibility.

  After a few minutes of silent meditation the young woman shuddered, drew away from Lau and folded her arms across her chest, hunched over as if protecting her body. Despite the warmth of the kitchen she seemed to be shivering. She slowly raised her head, eyes closed.

  Lau rubbed his hands and gazed at her expectantly.

  “You challenged the dark,” she intoned solemnly, her eyes still closed. “And the dark accepts. The man in the mist is the first to fall. The dark will take his voice and his shield. Out of the shadows, aided by the blind, guided by signals from debris and spoils of the dead, the dark will circle ever closer, sealing all venues of escape. Surrounded by the dead and the dying, killer bees will fly by harmlessly, but a cold whisper will silence your voice and fill your ears with the sound of leaving.”

  Leaning back in her seat she opened her eyes. Sadness filled her left eye, but not the glass eye in the right socket.

  “Leaving?” Lau asked. “I’m going to die?”

  “Leaving this life, yes.”

  “Bummer,” Nicky murmured. Lau looked around sharply, then turned back to the young woman and asked, “Can I change my fate?”

  “Your life evolved to this point in time. The future I see is connected to your life in the present. Cause and effect. Change your life, change your future.”

&nb
sp; “I could do that.”

  The eyebrow over her left eye rose slightly. “Could you?”

  “I can change.”

  “You’d have to sever all links with your current life.”

  “All?”

  She nodded. “Death is not thwarted easily.”

  “That’s impossible. I can’t abandon everything just like that.”

  “It would be difficult, but not impossible. The premonition is strong. Too many factors influence your fate.”

  Lau rose and looked down at her. “How much time have I got?”

  “Until the next new moon.”

  He took out his money clip and peeled a couple of notes to put them in the bowl to his right, but she raised her good hand and said, “I do not receive payment for bad predictions.”

  “You don’t want to get paid?”

  “If you manage to change your life and live beyond the new moon, you can pay me. And if you can’t…” She closed her eyes. “May the next world be kinder to you than this one.”

  Lau’s hand shook as he put the money clip back in his pocket. Nicky stepped aside and opened the door. Lau turned in the opening and said, “Good-bye.”

  “Farewell,” she replied without opening her eyes.

  Lau stepped out into the hallway and Nicky followed, closing the door behind him. They let themselves out of the apartment, not looking into the living room where other people were waiting to hear their fate.

  VIRUS

  Lau and Nicky stood in a corner of the room, watching Feng at work. Feng’s enormous desk featured an impressive amount of electronic machinery, rendering the small man behind the desk even more diminutive. Feng was in his element though, his child-sized hands connecting the hard drive taken from the former accountant’s computer to his own machines. Working on several screens at the same time, Feng ran a scan on Vermeer’s hard drive, but stopped before the scan was ready.

  “Unusual,” Feng murmured, cocking his head sideways like a curious bird. “Not exactly standard protection.”

  “What?”

  “The hard drive has been infected.” Feng swivelled around. “If we had turned on Vermeer’s computer, the virus would’ve destroyed the hard drive. As it is, I can’t access the hard drive until I’ve determined the nature of the—”

  “You can’t do your job?” Lau stroked an unlit cigarette. “You’re a computer wizard, aren’t you?”

  Feng winced, as if the interruption caused him physical pain. Nicky, standing behind Lau, motioned for Feng to ignore the remark and continue. With a disparaging look at the senior Red Pole, Feng said, “As I said, the hard drive cannot be accessed without activating the virus. I have to find a way around the virus before I can access the files.”

  Nicky nodded. “How long will that take, Feng?”

  “Difficult to say, really. The virus is a professional—”

  Lau leant on the table. “How many hours will we have to wait, Feng?”

  “Unlike you, the virus is sophisticated.” Feng broke the last word down in separate syllables, as if talking to a retarded child instead of a Red Pole. “Which requires a delicate approach.”

  “So, what are you saying? Hours? Days?”

  “Thirty-six hours, at the minimum.”

  “You have twenty-four.” Lau turned for the door.

  Feng snorted. “You cannot intimidate me, Lau. If you’re in a hurry, bring this mou lei tau to someone else.”

  “I thought you liked challenges,” Nicky said. “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

  Feng turned to Nicky. “I will give this job top priority, but I won’t be pressed for time by bullies.”

  Lau rolled his eyes, but Nicky put a hand on Feng’s thin shoulder. “Just do your best, that’s all we ask. Let us know as soon as you can access the folders.”

  “Anything particular you’re looking for?” Feng asked, opening a notebook on his display. Nicky gave him particulars of Sieltjes and Sphinx and Feng noted them, put on his headphones and swivelled back to his work station.

  -o-

  “I’m not a bully,” Lau grumbled as the elevator descended. “Just trying to motivate him to pull harder.”

  “Motivate him? Feng is motivated by challenges, not by threats.”

  “I didn’t threaten him.”

  “You were leaning on his table while you were making demands.”

  Lau shrugged. “A little intimidation.”

  “What were you going to do?” Nicky held out his pack of cigarettes. “Break his legs?”

  Lau accepted a cigarette and brooded in silence.

  “Infected files,” Nicky mused out loud. “Unorthodox security. Vermeer doesn’t strike me as the type to use that kind of protection.”

  “Well, it’s too late to ask him now.”

  “He also doesn’t strike me as the type of person to leave a window open.”

  The elevator doors opened, but Lau didn’t move. “Someone else?”

  Nicky nodded and left the elevator. “Clearly.”

  “That’s why the security came so quickly.” Lau followed him into the lobby. “Someone opened the window and left the bird to mask a break-in.”

  “There’s something seriously wrong, Elder Brother. I think there might be other people involved than just Bootz and Sieltjes.”

  “Feng checked Sphinx from top to bottom, clean bill of health. No criminal activity whatsoever.”

  “This should’ve been a breeze,” Nicky said. “Pascal was a push-over, Sieltjes should’ve signed, and Bootz should just comply.”

  Lau shrugged. “Bootz is complying.”

  “If he finds out that Sieltjes didn’t sign and just disappeared, he might stop complying. And we can’t take his family hostage. That village they live in is just too damn small.”

  “His youngest isn’t four yet,” Lau said. “School isn’t mandatory yet, so if he goes on an extended vacation, no-one will notice.”

  “You can’t just take a three-year old hostage, Lau.”

  Lau just looked at him, shrugged again and said, “I’m hungry.”

  -o-

  Bram woke from a tapping on the basement doors. Zeph. He scrambled for his yukata robe and felt for Katla, but she was gone. Normally he woke when she tried to slip out, but she must’ve worn him out. Bram strolled over the old mended judo mats to the basement doors, unlatched the chain and opened the left door.

  A gust of cold wind preceded Zeph as he slipped his bulk inside and closed the door behind him. “You was still in bed, bredda?”

  Bram nodded. “What time is it?”

  “Ten-thirty.” The wooden chest by the doors groaned under Zeph’s weight as he sat down to remove his shoes. “You no have a class?”

  “I can skip aikido once in a while.” Bram walked back to his bed. “Coffee?”

  “Chai, please.” The glass beads in his dreadlocks clicked together as Zeph followed him. “Not them tar one.”

  Bram filled his electric kettle and made tea. He could hear the Rastafarian grab a pillow, sit down on the mats and rummage through his pockets for his reefer tin. The strong smell of marihuana filled his nose as Zeph lit up.

  “You interested inna gig, bredda?”

  “Depends. Studio or tour?”

  “Studio,” Zeph replied. “Tim Underwater cutting an album with Mobley tracks.”

  “Like he did with that Pettiford record?”

  “Exactly. Tim want talk to you. He’s seen you play, he like your sound.” Zeph’s voice dropped. “You sound hesitate, bredda. You kept mahn now?”

  Bram grinned. “A kept man?”

  “Katla provide for you, no?”

  “She pays me when I help her, Zeph. And she doesn’t pay shabbily neither, but I’m not a ‘kept man’.”

  “So you want in on them gig?”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t want to become a kept man.”

  The dumbwaiter in the corner pinged and Bram fetched the tray, placing it in on the mats by the bed. “So when’s the rec
ording?”

  “Tim say, a month. He ask you meet him this week. Jam and see if it work out.”

  “What’s his number?”

  Zeph recited the number slowly and Bram tapped it out on his leg. “I’ll give him a call. Did he tell you what tracks he wanted? Soul Station? Earlier work?”

  “I think different times. Some old, some not so old.”

  “Well, there’s not much Mobley I can’t play.”

  “Exactly, bredda. That what I tell him.”

  “Any other guys in the running?”

  “No think so.”

  They sipped their tea in silence for a while. Bram put down his cup. “About Katla…”

  “I want help, that all,” Zeph said. “She no need to pay me.”

  “That’s up to her. I don’t think you should do it, though.”

  “Help her?”

  “You can help her, just don’t go with her on her expeditions.”

  “She no put me in danger, bredda.”

  “Not deliberately, no, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be in danger.” Bram shook his head. “You can take care of yourself, I know you can. But Katla…”

  “You no think she can take care herself?”

  “She might think so, but she got shot. And no matter what she says about how that was a mistake, I wouldn’t want to be around people who might be packing guns.”

  Zeph was silent. Bram poured himself another cup of tea.

  “You doubt her? You think she lie about getting shot be a mistake?”

  “I know the shooter made a mistake. I know he regretted it. That doesn’t change the fact that Katla was hurt. Hurt bad. And she could’ve died, so she was lucky.”

  “I think I can assess risk.”

  “Funny, that’s exactly the same thing Katla said when I confronted her about getting shot. And if she has trouble assessing her own risks, I doubt if she’ll be able to assess the risks she lets you take.”

  “I grow up in Tivoli Gardens, bredda. I think I can assess risk.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. Just promise me you won’t try to impress her.”

  “I&I stay with Zodiac, bredda, no worry. Where she now?”