Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (32 page)

“This might hurt,” he spoke softly. Ah Sung nodded and closed his eyes as Chang held the part of the dart sticking out of the wound as motionless as possible as he twisted the shaft. As expected, unscrewing the shaft allowed the loop of the tie to pass over the dart buried in the wound. He pulled the tie snug around the Red Pole’s forearm as a tourniquet to stem the blood flow and helped Ah Sung to his feet. Chang placed the wounded man in the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel again.

An emergency room was out of the question. Chang touched Ah Sung’s shoulder. “Can you direct me to a friendly medic?”

The Red Pole nodded and fished his PDA from his pocket. While Chang drove, Ah Sung used his left hand to swipe his PDA keyboard. The Red Pole’s face was white with the strain and the pain, but his eyes were calm and he showed the screen of the PDA to Chang. A text with an address. Chang tapped the address in the GPS on the dashboard and followed directions while Ah Sung opened the glove box and took out a small bottle. Chang reached out and took the bottle from his hand. “No alcohol. You lost too much blood.”

He fished in his own pocket and took out his morphine pills. He took one out, broke it in half with his thumbnail and put half a pill in the Red Pole’s hand. Ah Sung looked at it.

“Trust me,” Chang said. “That will take the edge off. Better than alcohol.”

Ah Sung rolled his eyes, but he took the morphine, rested his head back and closed his eyes. Chang shook his shoulder and said, “Don’t close your eyes. I need to see if you’re still alert.”

The Red Pole signalled that he was all right, but he didn’t close his eyes anymore.

Glancing at his face from time to time, Chang concentrated on driving the BMW over the dark country roads north of the city. The GPS guided him to a typical Dutch farm with green shutters and a thatched roof close to Broek-in-Waterland, where he parked the BMW in the yard. A floodlight came on and a burly red-haired giant got out of the judas gate set in a pair of wide wooden stable doors.
 

Chang got out of the car, leaving the door open so the interior light illuminated the wounded Red Pole.

“Nasty,” the red-haired giant said with an Irish lilt in his voice. “Just in the arm?”

“Yes, but it’s a barbed crossbow dart.”

“Aye. Get in and drive the car inside.”

The Irishman opened the wide wooden doors and motioned for Chang to drive the BMW inside. After Chang drove inside, the Irishman closed the doors behind him. As he got out of the BMW, Chang looked up to the empty floors above, where a lone man sat with a machine gun in his lap. Chang made sure his hands were in full view, even if these people were supposed to be allies.

The Irishman whistled and two men came, opened the passenger side of the BMW, and helped Ah Sung from the car, taking him through a door to another section of the farm.

“The car, is it hot?”

“Stolen?”

The Irishman rolled his eyes. “Can you take it out of here or should we chop it?”

“It’s his car,” Chang said, pointing at the door where Ah Sung went through. “Far as I know it’s legit.”

The man shook his head. “He won’t drive for a while. His right elbow is busted. He’s lucky if he’ll keep the lower arm.”

“That’s what I figured. I’ll hold on to the car, for the time being.”
 

The car might come in handy, especially with the parking tags for the city center. Chang almost smiled to himself, but he could feel the Irishman studying him. Chang got back in the BMW and the Irishman doused the light in the stable and opened the doors again. Outside was fully dark now and Chang backed the car into the yard. The Irishman closed the doors and remained inside the stable.

Chang turned back to the country road and went back the way he’d come.

So far so good. He’d hesitated briefly before leaving Ah Sung under the bridge, liking him well enough not to want him killed, but he could take the risk. Thankfully, Loki had chosen to maim rather than kill. Although Chang was glad Ah Sung was merely disabled, he hoped Loki would be more decisive with the targets. Hesitation to kill someone could cost you your life. Loki was right, though. This job needed independent contractors. Ah Sung could’ve been helpful, but Chang preferred a real spotter, preferably one with combat experience. He smiled to himself. He knew someone, unaffiliated with the triads, who might be pleased to see some action, even if the action was restricted to being his spotter.

When his turn came at the counter, Chang ordered a cappuccino and a double espresso to go. The girl behind the counter put the coffees in disposable mugs embossed with the Coffee Company logo. Before he could ask, she put the mugs in a cardboard tray with holes for easier carrying. Chang tipped her a euro, took some small coffee milk containers and sugar packages and left the Coffee Company, turning right onto the Buiten Oranjestraat. With the coffee in his left hand and his dart cane in his right hand, Chang walked down the narrow one-way street to the Haarlemmer Houttuinen, crossed at the zebra to Tussen De Bogen and took the small pedestrian tunnel under the railroad embankment to the Hendrik Jonkerplein.

Despite the light drizzle, mothers were sitting on benches chatting while children played in the tiny square. Nobody paid Chang any attention as he walked along the embankment to the anonymous grey Peugeot van parked in the far corner.

Manfred Kiekendief smiled as he opened the door to his van. His gaze went to Chang’s hand, noticed the coffees and his smile faltered a bit, as the look in his eyes went from crafty to curious.

“Everything all right?”

“Perfect.” Chang handed him the coffee tray and ducked into the van. “The cappuccino is mine.”

He sat down at the small table and regarded the gunsmith, who opened the paper sugar packages and dumped the contents into the double espresso. He put his hands around the cup and said, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Manfred. It’s pretty cold outside. How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected.” Kiekendief shrugged. “I had hoped to go out differently, but I had a pretty good life.”

He took a sip from the hot coffee and closed his eyes. “When you called I thought you wanted to trade back the PGM.”

“I didn’t do the job yet.” Chang stirred his cappuccino until most of the foam had disappeared in the coffee. “I want you to tell me about your combat experience.”

Kiekendief opened his eyes, a guarded look in his gaze. “Why?”

“Indulge me,” Chang said. “You won’t regret it.”

The gunsmith’s mouth twisted into a sad smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “What do you want to know?”

“The combat part.”

Kiekendief combed his fingers through the remaining strands of grey hair. “It’s a long time ago.”

“Please don’t tell me you can’t remember,” Chang said. “My last war was a long time ago, but I can still recall every detail.”

“It’s different for you,” Kiekendief said. “You were a soldier. I wasn’t.”

“Didn’t you fight in the KNIL?”

“Not officially. I was fourteen, lived in Pasundan. I joined the Angkatan Perang Ratu Adil. I was big for my age, so I could pass for sixteen. I fought with some old KNIL soldiers when the APRA went to take Bandung, but the coup failed when Westerling couldn’t secure Batavia.” Kiekendief shrugged. “That was it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How many did you kill, Manfred?”

Kiekendief looked at the floor of the van. “In Bandung, a soldier tried to shoot me, but his rifle jammed, so he tried to stab me with his bayonet. I swiped at him with my
golok
. He stumbled back and fell under a truck. After the wheels passed over him, I could see his arm twitch. So I went up to him and I hacked my
golok
in his head.” The gunsmith looked up. “I’m not like you, Chang.”

“No, you’re not. I was five years older when I killed my first. With a rifle. You were brave, to go up against a soldier armed only with a cleaver.”

“I felt a lot of things, but brave wasn’t one of them.” Kiekendief sipped his coffee. “Well, I indulged you. What’s up?”

“How would you like to be my spotter on this job?”

“I thought you had someone? The young fellow with the BMW?”

Chang shrugged. “He had potential, but he annoyed my partner.”

Kiekendief motioned for him to go on.

“My partner doesn’t want anyone associated with the triads on this job.”

“But you, I mean, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a member of any triad, although several tried to persuade me to join.”

Kiekendief pursed his lips. “I’ve only been a spotter at tournaments.”

“You won’t have to do any killing and you’re relatively safe.”

“Relatively?”

“I don’t think there will be counter-snipers involved.”

“Suppose I agree,” Kiekendief said. “What will be my fee?”

Chang reached in his pocket and took out a small photo album. He pushed it across the table at the gunsmith. “How would you like to stay here for the rest of your life?”

Kiekendief opened the photo album and looked at the pictures. White sandy beaches, a bamboo house on stilts, glass bottom boats, coral reefs. He looked up. “This is yours?”

“My refuge. I stay there four or five months a year.” Chang put his hand on the photo so the gunsmith would look him in the eye. “Why don’t you exchange that engraved bullet for my island and as much morphine as you like? I’ll arrange a nice nurse to care for you, give you anything you need. Even if the dosage exceeds the legal limit, if you know what I mean.”

Kiekendief closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Can I think on it?”

“Sure.” Chang pushed a business card across the table. “I want to meet with my partner tomorrow, strategy meeting, and I need you there as well. So you have four hours. If you can’t or won’t be my spotter, perhaps you can find me someone who will?”

Kiekendief nodded.

Chang downed the rest of his cappuccino and patted the gunsmith on his back. “Keep the photo album. Imagine yourself lounging in the sunshine.”

He left the depressing van and strolled back to the Brouwersgracht where he’d parked the BMW.

-o-

The soft vibrating of her pager on the nightstand woke Katla. She blinked in the darkness and reached for the lamp next to the intercom. Bram had put it there for her consideration, knowing she didn’t like the total darkness he chose to live in. The lamp blossomed to life, slowly illuminating Bram’s sparsely furnished basement while she crawled from under his arm and swung her legs over the side of the low futon bed.

She picked up her pager and looked at the screen. Chang. Time: 07:00 hours.

Some people...
 

She assembled the scrambled telephone and called him, hardly needing to clear her throat to lower her voice. “What is it?”

“Good morning to you too,” Chang replied. “You sound a bit cranky. Didn’t have your coffee yet?”

“Why page me at this hour? Didn’t your heroin chill you out yet?”

She heard him chuckle.
 

“I’m always best in the mornings,” Chang said. “I guess you’re not a morning person.”

“I’m also two seconds from ending this conversation.”

“I gathered intel and I found a new spotter, but I need you to sign off on him. So you know not to shoot this one too.”

“Funny, Chang. You put the other one at risk yourself, leaving him in ambush under the bridge.”

“I needed a reason for the 14K to ditch him, so thanks for providing one for me. Saved me a lot of trouble.”

Cold fuck
. She had played right into his hands. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m curious though, why didn’t you shoot him in the head?”

Katla flopped back down on the bed and closed her eyes. “I only kill for profit or protection, Chang. Your goon was neither a target nor a threat. Even if I had come down those stairs, I would’ve gone through him like a wet tissue.”

“You just didn’t want to litter, is that it?”

“You needed an incentive to get the fuck out of there,” Katla said. “And seeking medical attention for your injured associate seemed like a good reason to me.”

“I was just wondering if you were a soft touch.”

“Killing him would’ve attracted unwanted attention.” She rubbed the crusts of sleep from her eyes and stared up at the ceiling of the basement. “Your new spotter, is he affiliated with the triads?”

“No, he’s independent, like I am. I want him at the meeting also.”

“You have a lot of demands.”

He chuckled. “You checked the balance in your account yet?”

“It’s satisfactory. This list of demands isn’t.”

“You can name the place and the time and whatever else you think is necessary to make this meeting happen. Call me back when you arranged something, okay?”

The line went dead.

Katla disassembled the phone.

Arms snaked around her waist and Bram kissed her neck. “Problems?”

“Chang wants a strategy meeting. And he wants to bring his spotter.”

“So?” Bram licked the nape of her neck. “Why is that a problem?”

Katla sighed.

“I know,” Bram murmured. “You don’t like meeting clients. You want me to mediate?”

“No, Bram. He wants to meet with Loki.”

“We can fix that. In the meantime, I have an issue that needs to be addressed.” He pointed down at his crotch. Katla sighed and said, “Men with their demands.”

Bram grinned. “I give as good as I get.”

“You better,” Katla said and pulled him down on the bed.

-o-

“Is this silk?” Bram ran his fingers over the indigo blue cloth. “Feels like silk.”

“Silk and lace,” Katla replied. “I bought it in Afghanistan, but I carried it everywhere. It’s quite handy in the Middle East. Keeps the sun out.”

“Well, it’s excellent for this purpose.” He handed her back the cloth and walked to the basement doors. “I suggest you sit here. They’ll come in through the main door of the club, and enter there,” he motioned at the large double doors that led to the main house, “take off their shoes and sit down facing you. I’ll sit to the side, ready to interfere if they try to spring something on you.”