by Jonas Saul
His stomach released and forced its contents upwards. He gagged in an attempt to breathe. Water continually filled his mouth and nostrils. Then the bile from his abdomen filled his mouth along with the water and he inhaled into his lungs, the liquid mess of what he thought were his final moments.
His eyes bulged. The ceiling of the barn came into focus and then the realization that the cloth had been torn away. Someone shoved his face sideways. Fingers pulled his jaw open as someone poked the back of his mouth with something like a stick. He vomited again, but this time the stomach contents mixed with the water, pooled beside his head and not back inside his mouth or esophagus.
His lungs begged for air and finally got a little. Then a moment later, on the next breath, they got more. Gracefully, more after that. The air was sweet, divine.
Men moved away. Some laughed. His face was soaked. His mouth wasn’t so dry anymore. It tasted of bile. Eyes still wide, he looked at the man who spoke to him with an Hispanic accent.
“What? Was that—” He coughed. “For?”
“Where’s Sarah?” the man asked.
Aaron dropped his head back and breathed. The beams on the roof of the barn reminded him of a barn he had played in when he was a small boy and still with his parents—before they had abandoned him and his sister. When his sister was murdered and he had hunted her killer, he’d almost died. Aaron had survived a lot in his two and a half decades, but he wasn’t sure he would survive this place. He didn’t know where Sarah was and he wouldn’t tell them if he did. What would they believe? How long would they torture him to get to Sarah? Until he died?
His host moved closer. “That’s called water torture. Water torture goes all the way back to the Spanish Inquisition.” He grabbed Aaron’s jaw and twisted his head so Aaron was looking at him. “It’s painful, eh? The drowning, damage to the lungs, sometimes even brain damage. There’s usually lasting psychological damage, too. When you vomited, there’s a risk of sudden death because you’re breathing in your own vomit. Crazy, eh? How your own gag reflex can kill you?” He released Aaron’s jawline. Aaron focused on the ceiling and his breathing, which had gotten considerably better. “Tell us where Sarah is and all this goes away.”
“I have no idea where she is.”
The leader backhanded Aaron’s face. “Wrong answer. Are you stupid? Tell us what you do know then.”
“I dropped her off at the airport in Toronto.”
“To go where?”
“Europe.”
“Specifically?”
His hands and feet were numb. He couldn’t feel them anymore. He needed to be untied. His hot prison cell was suddenly better than this.
“I know her plane landed in Amsterdam, but she was supposed to transfer from there.” He turned his head and looked at his host. “You’ll never find her in all of Europe.”
The host smiled, revealing a wretched set of teeth, one capped in gold.
“We have special abilities that even governments of small countries don’t have. We’ll find your bitch with you alive or dead.” He nodded. “We’ll find her.”
The cloth covered Aaron’s face again.
Then the water came rushing in, cutting off his scream.
Chapter 26
“What’ll we do?” Amber whispered as the police knocked on her apartment door again.
“I’ll hide,” Sarah whispered. “Find a way to get rid of them. They’re only here because they found Sven’s body and people know you’re his girl. Act surprised. Try to cry. Then get rid of them.”
Amber nodded her understanding, adjusted her shirt, and whispered, “I got this.”
Sarah ran the length of the hall and decided on Nikki’s room as it would appear justified if that door was locked. She held her breath, opened and closed the door quietly, then set the lock. What if they want to search the place and find her with a dead body?
Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.
She put her ear to the door and tried to hear what was happening. Amber was speaking. Something about not letting them in. A man’s voice, authoritative, asked where she had been at a certain time. A door slammed in the apartment. Footsteps hammered their way down the hall. Then a soft knock on the door.
Sarah unlocked and opened it a crack.
“He’s gone,” Amber said.
Sarah locked Nikki’s door behind her. “What did they want?”
“They wanted to know where I was yesterday. Asked me about my boyfriend. It was weird. He asked about Sven as if Sven was still alive.”
“They were trying to see what you knew.”
“You were right. Bastards didn’t even tell me he was dead.”
“They’re probably watching this place. Is there a café where we can meet?”
“Meet?” Amber asked as they made it to the apartment door.
“I’ll go first. You follow a few minutes later. We separate and reconvene at a café.”
“Yeah, okay, two blocks up. It’s called, Café Americain. You can’t miss it. It’s got large black umbrellas and a big fountain beside the tables and chairs.”
“Okay, I’ll head there now. See you in ten minutes. Let’s have a cappuccino and then you can take me to Mila.”
“Agreed.”
Sarah peered through the peephole in the door. The hallway outside was empty. She nodded at Amber, stepped out into the hall and made her way downstairs and outside. She found the café without trouble and located a table at the edge of the seating area so no one could disturb them.
When the waitress brought out a menu, Sarah told her she was waiting for someone else.
Approximately ten minutes later—Sarah had no way of telling time—Amber shambled up to the café and sat down opposite her. The waitress noticed and came to take their order of two cappuccinos and two croissants.
“Everything work out?” Sarah asked. “You all right?”
Amber nodded as she hooked her purse on the back of her chair and turned to face Sarah. She shrugged. “I guess so. On the way here it just hit me. Sven’s dead. I’m free. And Nikki’s dead, too. So much has happened so fast. It hasn’t hit me yet. I must be in shock.”
“You’re free? You weren’t free before?”
Amber shook her head in the negative. “Sven picked me up when I was seventeen. Wined and dined me. Within a month I was sleeping with his friends—” she used air quotes on the last word, “—his customers. By the time I turned eighteen I’d been beaten, had broken my right arm twice, was raped several times and sodomized—oh, and lost a tooth, all in the name of love. Sven loved me and if I loved him, this was how I showed it. Making money for us. I was supposed to be an artist.” She looked down and fumbled with the corner of her shirt. “I lost my dad when I was two. Never knew him. My mother hated me. Always told me I was useless. She didn’t want me. I ran away from home too young and discovered what love really was, I guess.”
“You went from one abusive relationship to another.”
“I know that now, but was powerless to stop it then. Once I was in, I couldn’t see a way out.” She looked down and brushed her finger at a black mark imbedded in the tabletop. “Over the years, I never saw much of the money, but I had a place to stay and I wasn’t with my mother anymore.”
“Where’s your mother now?” Sarah asked.
“Over that way about six miles.”
“What’s over there?”
“Her grave.”
“She’s dead? When?”
“Two years ago. Just after my twenty-fifth birthday.”
“How did you feel at the funeral?”
“Don’t know.” Amber met Sarah’s eyes. “Didn’t go. She didn’t deserve my presence when she was alive. She definitely didn’t deserve it when she was a corpse. In the end, I now understand that she led me into the life I have through conditioning. I read books now. She was my primary caregiver when I was little. She programmed me like a computer. I have faults, defects and more issues than Nikki’s Glamour magazines. I
could learn to live with my baggage, heal some things, and try to be a better person, but I can’t change what’s in my core. So I accepted my life. I accepted Sven. I even started to like the sex. Kept me detached emotionally but I felt loved in a strange way. People wanted me. Desired me. For a long time that was enough. And it felt good.”
“What’s changed?”
“HIV. A death sentence. When the test came back positive, I decided to take care of the people who killed me before I die. Since my mom was already dead, I wanted Sven dead, then myself. At first I was just going to tell him about the HIV, but he’d beat me, or find a way to do it without getting blood on him. It was hopeless. So killing him instead just felt like the right thing to do.” She fidgeted with her hands. “No one knows what he’s put me through.”
“And now? You still want to kill yourself?”
Amber watched the tourists passing by on the other side of the fountain. “Not sure yet. Ask me that again tonight. Maybe tomorrow.” She faced Sarah. “I need to think about it. Now, let’s change the subject.”
Sarah crossed her legs and leaned forward on the table. “Then tell me about the cops here. Do you have a good knowledge of the Amsterdam Police?”
Amber chuckled. “Of course I do. It’s part of my profession. What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know Amsterdam like you.” Sarah leaned in further so no one would overhear her. “Earlier, I mentioned I was going to abduct a cop. Where can I stash him? I need a place to make a trade. And before we establish all that, I need to know what the police carry.”
“Carry?”
“What’s standard issue? What weapons do they routinely have on them?”
The waitress meandered through the tables toward them. Sarah nodded toward the waitress so Amber knew she was coming and leaned back in her chair. As the waitress set their drinks and croissants down, Sarah took the opportunity to look around, make sure no one was watching them. The sun was already heating the city up. Camera toting tourists were filling the streets in droves as the morning wore on. Bicyclists beeped their tiny bells as unsuspecting foreigners stepped in their way. Another day in Amsterdam. If only this were a vacation and Aaron was here to enjoy it with her.
The waitress finished and headed off to serve other tables.
“Okay,” Amber flapped a sugar packet back and forth, tore the end off, poured and stirred it into her frothy cappuccino. “Let me start by saying, I love you.”
Sarah arched her eyebrows and offered a mock look of surprise.
“Oh, well, I, hmm, love you, too,” she stammered.
They laughed. It felt good to be here, laughing with Amber. Maybe when this was all over Amber wouldn’t kill herself. There was so much left to live for, so much left in her life to do. She would need to make changes, but Sarah was confident she could do it.
“I have a place in mind,” Amber said, “where you could hold your victim. Also, I have friends. Friends who don’t like the police. As long as you’re doing all the dirty work, there are girls in my trade who’ll keep a watchful eye on the premises. No one will get in or out without us knowing.”
“Things are looking up,” Sarah said as she bit into her croissant. Part of the flaky pastry crumbled onto her lap. It was so delicious she ignored the mess and took another bite.
“Standard issue for a cop here is handcuffs, pepper spray, a short baton, a gun called a Walther and a radio.”
“It’s what I thought,” Sarah said after swallowing. “Basic stuff. I’m going to want his gun and pepper spray.” She sipped her cappuccino. “How do you know their gun type?”
“Do you know how many cops I’ve slept with over the years doing what I do? Now, you tell me. What cop are you after? Anyone specific?”
Sarah shook her head. “Random.”
Amber rubbed her hands together. “Ohh, this is going to be great. I haven’t had this much fun in forever. And I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I need to get Dekker’s attention.”
“Who’s Dekker?”
“The inspector who set me up at that warehouse. I learned long ago that pleasing everyone is almost impossible,” Sarah said. “Pissing people off is a lot easier. So I stick with that. I get better results.”
Amber stopped chewing her croissant and looked at Sarah, a deadpan expression on her face. Then she broke into laughter that took a full minute to rein in. Amber’s laugh was infectious, and Sarah laughed along with her.
“I love it,” Amber said as she got herself under control. “Pissing everyone off. Classic.”
They finished and Sarah paid the bill.
“Come with me, my newfound friend,” Amber said, taking Sarah’s arm. “I will take you to where I work. Then we will go find Mila.”
“Sounds good to me.”
As they got closer to the canals, Sarah noticed what looked like a houseboat moored to the side. But this was more a house than a boat. It had a back deck and flower pots spaced out evenly along it. From what she could tell, the flowers were freshly watered.
“Where do those boats sail?” she asked.
Amber turned to Sarah. “They don’t sail. That’s a house on the water. It has its own address and everything.”
“What?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes. There are over 150 canals throughout Amsterdam, with over 2,500 of these things lining their banks. As like this one,” she pointed at the blue sided one they were passing, “they usually have a terrace and a garden. It’s a permanent address. They don’t move. They’re moored as if built there.”
“Fascinating. I see a ton of bikes everywhere, too. Not just people riding them, but bikes locked to fences, grates and the base of trees. Bikes everywhere. The Dutch must be huge cyclists.”
“They are. Here’s a statistic you may not know. There are approximately 850,000 people living in Amsterdam and approximately 880,000 bikes. That’s more than one bike per person. Each month they estimate a few thousand bikes fall into the canal. We have a crane that works every day dragging the bottom of the canals, pulling up to a thousand bikes out of the water monthly.”
“It’s such a different culture than in North America. We should be riding bikes more. Maybe it’s because things are farther away back home, more spread out. Who knows?”
They walked along another canal, staying in the shade as the sun worked its way up to offering a scorcher of a summer day. They passed a sign on a building that read Anne Frank Huis.
“Is this the actual house where Anne Frank lived?” Sarah asked.
“The very one. Tourists come every year to view it. The lines can get pretty long.”
“I imagine so.”
Soon they had traversed canals, seen more homes moored to the banks, and watched tour boats take their charges expertly up and down the canals, maneuvering in and out of little tunnels under small bridges. It was a unique and wonderful experience.
“Amber, tell me a bit about the red light district. Are there torture gardens or torture clubs here?”
“Oh, Sarah, there’s anything you want here. The district has four live sex theaters where people pay to watch sex acts.”
“Sex acts? Real ones?” Sarah asked.
Amber was nodding. “Yes, real sex as in intercourse on the stage. There is a torture garden here just like in the U.K. but it’s more of a fetish club. There’s an underground torture club that Wong runs, but he moves it around the city every few months. I’m not sure how he does it or why, but for some reason Wong stays under the radar. And Sven did whatever Wong told him to. Sven was tough, feared by many, but he was Wong’s bitch.”
Amber’s voice changed. Sarah leaned forward to catch a glimpse of her face. She was wiping away a tear.
“You okay?” Sarah asked, placing a hand on Amber’s shoulder.
“Yeah, just thinking about Nikki back in my apartment. She was a crazy bitch but she didn’t deserve that.”
Sarah rubbed Amber’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
&nb
sp; “Me too, me too.”
They walked on in silence until they entered the red light district. It was easy to distinguish the difference. Even though the sun was high, purple lights lined the tops of the windows. Inside some of the windows, the lights illuminated girls who were starting early. Other windows had curtains drawn.
On the other side of the canal, Sarah caught a glimpse of two police officers. They were looking at her. She nudged Amber’s arm.
