Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (33 page)

“And I have the basement doors behind me in case I want to get out.”

“I suggest you use them anyway, while I detain them.” He smiled. “Won’t be too difficult, since they have to take off their shoes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Katla hugged him. “You’re brilliant.”

“I have my moments.”

-o-

The BMW was pretty big and Chang needed three attempts before he’d backed into a parking slot on the Oudezijds Achterburgwal, worrying each time that he’d back the car right into the canal. When the BMW was in line with the car in front of him, Chang turned off the engine and opened the door, which angled out over the canal. Clutching the door he climbed out and clung to the roof of the car as he closed the door. Kiekendief had it easier, although he had to watch out for cyclists ploughing into the door as they barrelled down the bumpy quay. Chang went around the back of the car, took the flight case from the trunk, and switched on the car alarm.

“Not the kind of place to park when drunk,” Kiekendief remarked. Chang looked at the narrow strip of quay edging along the driver side of the BMW. “Or clumsy,” he said. “I wonder how many cars back into the canal here.”

“Not many,” Kiekendief said. “Either you know how to back a car into a parking spot, or you don’t even try.”

“Remind me to watch my step when we return.”

Kiekendief looked with curiosity at the flight case and followed him the short distance to the Japanese club. Chang climbed the steps to the main entrance and rang the bell.

“So your partner is here?” Kiekendief looked at the brass plate by the door with the engraved kanji characters. “He’s Japanese?”

“I don’t think so.” Chang rang the doorbell. “I really wouldn’t know.”

Kiekendief looked at him strangely. “You wouldn’t know?”

“Nobody knows. He takes great pains to remain anonymous.”

“Okay.” The gunsmith sounded doubtful. “But, I mean, we’re meeting him now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are.”

The door opened and the Japanese woman, who had helped Chang the last time, appeared in the opening. Her gaze lingered on the flight case, but her decorum took over and she bowed. “Mister Chang. Good to have you visit with us again.”

Chang bowed back. “Thank you.”

They entered and the woman helped them out of their shoes, putting the shoes on a stand and handing them a numbered token. She took them halfway down the hall, where she ushered them through wide double doors into the basement. Chang halted at the threshold. Basements gave him the creeps. Too many bad memories. Kiekendief put his hand on his shoulder.

“Something the matter?”

“No,” Chang said and crossed the threshold. The blind man was standing just inside the door, dressed in an indigo kendo gi and hakama, the cloth faded and soft from use. His left hand was curled around the scabbard of a Japanese sword, carried in his wide obi. His thumb rested on the tsuba, ready to push against the guard to facilitate a quicker drawing of the sword. Chang didn’t doubt his ability, his skill was apparent in the easy way the katana rode his hip.

“Hello, Bram. Brought you your flight case.”

The blind man seemed to look right through him with his cataract eyes.

“I also had the hole patched and the worn lining replaced.”

“You can put my case with your cases, near the bed.” His scarred face with the unseeing eyes turned to Kiekendief. “Who is your companion?”

“My spotter,” Chang replied. “Didn’t Loki tell you I’d bring him along?”

Kiekendief grabbed his sleeve. “Loki?”

Chang looked at him and nodded. “Loki. My partner.”

Kiekendief looked ill. “You didn’t—”

“You can take a seat on the pillows,” the blind man interrupted. His free hand gestured at the far end of the basement. The orb lights on the walls were dimly lit and illuminated just the outline of a hooded figure dressed in an indigo robe sitting by the basement doors. As Chang walked the mended judo mats, the hooded figure looked up. Unlike the blind man’s garb, the hooded figure’s robe wasn’t Japanese but an Afghan
chadri
. One of the most severe versions of the muslim burqa, the chadri didn’t just cover the body and the lower face, but even the eyes were hidden behind a grille of lace. Loki’s chadri looked ancient, the material wasn’t cotton but free-flowing silk and the lace grille looked handmade. Despite the feminine garb, Loki didn’t appear effeminate at all, the veiled visage more intimidating than demure. The assassin’s hands rested on his knees, covered by tactical gloves with textured palms to provide a grip on the dark throwing blades within easy reach on the mat in front of him.

“Chang,” Loki said, his low voice slightly muffled by the cloth hiding his face. “Please take a seat.”

Kiekendief shuffled closer and sank down on the other pillow. Loki’s head didn’t move. “This is your new spotter?”

“Yes,” Chang replied. “This is Manfred.”

“
Nederlander
.” Loki seemed to have no discernible accent, but Chang didn’t speak Dutch. “Are you an independent contractor, like Chang?”

“Yes, sir,” Kiekendief replied. “I’m a gunsmith by trade.”

Bram sat at an angle between Kiekendief and Loki, his posture relaxed but formal, like a knight by the side of his liege lord. His left hand remained on the scabbard, thumb caressing the rim of the sword guard. His position wasn’t arbitrary. Chang noted that Bram could strike at either of them while the assassin could throw his blades without running the risk of hitting the blind man.

“Gunsmith,” Loki said. “You supplied the rifle and the scopes?”

“Just the rifle, sir.”

Chang looked at Kiekendief, who looked pale even in the dim lighting. “Are you all right?”

The assassin spoke softly, “Would you like a glass of water, Manfred?”

“Yes, please.”

Bram floated to his feet without using his hands and strolled at ease to a washbasin near the double doors, where he fetched a tray with glasses and a carafe tinkling with ice cubes. He sank to his knees next to the gunsmith and put down the tray. The gunsmith poured himself a glass of water and drank it down, poured a refill and downed that too. He looked nervously at Bram sitting two arm-lengths away.

“Manfred,” Loki said. “You have nothing to be nervous about, as long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Kiekendief didn’t look assured.

The assassin turned to Chang. “You wanted to meet?”

“Our targets have a couple of hide-outs around the Zeedijk.” With a wary eye on the blind man, Chang took out a map, red dots marking the locations. “Two here, one here and one over here.”

Loki didn’t look at the map. “Yes, I know. Difficult terrain, too many witnesses for comfort.”

“We need to lure them away from Chinatown.”

“I agree. How many of them do we need to kill?”

“Depends on your objective.”

The assassin paused, then said, “My client’s business suffers from a hostile takeover by the Kau Hong. She wants them to cease their activities, one way or another.”

“Does your client know you’re an assassin?” Kiekendief asked.

“I’m a corporate troubleshooter,” the assassin corrected him. “My clients are not concerned with my methods, just my results.”

The gunsmith nodded. “Ah, yes.”

“Cease their activities?” Chang shook his head. “You’d have to kill Zhang, Lau and Nicholas. At the very least. If you’re lucky, Ri Lang will attend the meeting. There are some lower ranking members, but they don’t pose the same threat. It will be difficult to get all three in the same room, though.”

Loki didn’t move at all. “Why?”

“Zhang rarely ventures outside Chinatown. And Lau and Nicholas operate pretty independently.”

The blind man stirred. “Picking them off one by one will only put them on guard.”

“If they’re not on guard already.” Chang looked at the assassin. “You killed one of them, for the amulet.”

“The amulet was a bonus,” Loki replied. “They know I’m after them, though. I gave them a message.”

“You did?”

“I cornered one of their soldiers, who was sent to fetch the amulet at the hospital. I marked him, so they know I’m coming after them.”

Chang shook his head. “You don’t get rid of them that easily.”

“No,” the assassin agreed. “Fools rarely heed warnings.”

“Are they a true triad?” Bram asked. “Would it be enough to kill these three you mentioned?”

“No and yes,” Chang said. “The Kau Hong used to be runners for the 14K, but they got illusions of grandeur. They model their organisation after the triads, but they’re a single gang, without affiliations.”

“And all of them are in Amsterdam?”

“No. Gene Zhang has a twin brother, Julian, who handles the Hong Kong branch.”

Loki tapped a finger on the mat and all heads swivelled towards the hooded assassin. “Would Julian retaliate?”

“He’ll want to, but I don’t know if he can. He’d have to come over here, with sufficient force.”

Bram tilted his head. “Or just hire someone like you.”

“Or Loki,” Chang said and smiled. “That would be funny. You’d have to kill yourself.”

“Hilarious,” the assassin replied. “Maybe we need to strike simultaneously.”

“Or only in Hong Kong,” Bram said. “If we’d kill Julian, wouldn’t Gene head back to Hong Kong? To take care of the business?”

“For the funeral, perhaps, but the Hong Kong branch has more personnel to guarantee continuity.” Chang shook his head. “Anyway, Julian isn’t bound to come running when his brother is in dire straits.”

“Any more branches we should worry about?”

“Nope. Gene handles Amsterdam and Rotterdam, Julian controls their action in Hong Kong, Macao and Singapore.” He poured himself a glass of water. “This client of yours, her business is in shipping?”

Loki tensed. First time the assassin moved in the meeting. “That’s not important.”

“Amsterdam or Rotterdam?” Chang took a sip of water. “Amsterdam is sewn up tight by the triads. So it has to be Rotterdam.”

The assassin settled down again. “Like I said, it’s not important right now.”

Chang smiled, Loki was a bad poker player. Even in a burqa the assassin had a tell. So, a shipping business in Amsterdam, led by a woman. Couldn’t be that many. He spread his hands. “Okay, so how do we lure them away from their home turf?”

“By giving them what they desire most,” Bram said. “The business they want to take over.”

Kiekendief nodded. “And making sure you pick the place for the negotiations.”

“I don’t think my client wants to be part of that,” Loki said.

Bram grinned. “I’m sure you can persuade her.”

Manfred’s phone made the sound of a bolt action rifle being armed.

The blind man moved forward with unexpected speed, the sword leaping from the scabbard, a silver blur slicing the air. Chang threw himself backward, landing on his elbows on the mended judo mats as the tip of the blade hovered motionless over his face, the razor-sharp edge winking in the light, not more than a few inches away from his nose.

“Bram,” Loki said in a soft voice, almost chiding. “Don’t attack until I say so.”

Bram curled his lip. His sword returned smoothly and soundlessly into the scabbard. To Chang’s left, a deep moan was followed by a soft thud as the gunsmith’s body listed sideways and hit the floor.

Kiekendief had fainted.

-o-

Chang patted Kiekendief on the back as he drank a glass of water, his face pale as a ghost. “Never thought your phone would almost get me killed,” Chang said. “You might want to change that ringtone.”

“I’m sorry,” Kiekendief mumbled. “Didn’t think to switch it off.”

Chang looked warily at Bram, now sitting squarely in front of the small doors Loki had used to leave the basement. Despite the blind man’s relaxation, Chang decided not to make any sudden moves in his presence. Only now did he realise the blind man could’ve done worse than stick a fork in Ah Sung’s arm at their altercation in the diner a few days ago. Bram cocked his head, as if listening to some far away sound, reached in his belt and pulled at a cord that he dropped on the mats. He slowly drew the scabbarded sword from his obi and floated to his feet.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked in a pleasant voice, changing from a Doberman into a Retriever, now that his master was out of danger.

“Yes, please. Manfred?”

The gunsmith nodded, but the blind man obviously couldn’t see that.

“Manfred would also like some tea,” Chang said. “Is it okay if I stand up now?’

“Sure.” Bram walked to the ramp near the wide doors leading to the house and turned up the lights, pushing the dark out of the basement. “Not used to sitting on the floor?”

“I’m getting old,” Chang said. “Bones get stiff.”

“Well, your reflexes are still pretty good.” Bram put the sword in a stand near the bed and pressed a button on a small intercom.

Chang could hear kitchen sounds and a gruff voice said, “
Naani
?”

The blind man ordered tea in guttural Japanese, Lapsang for himself and regular for his guests.

“Could you make that Earl Grey for me?” Chang said.

“Sure.”
 

Bram changed the order and walked to stereo equipment hanging from wires attached to the dark wooden ceiling beams. His fingers walked over the LPs in the crates fixed to the wall and he took out Hank Mobley’s
Soul Station
, his hands moving with practised ease as he slipped the LP from the inner sleeve and placed it on the turntable, wiping the surface before lowering the needle. As the jazz music started to fill the basement, a tiny bell sounded in a far corner and Bram fetched a tray with tea from a dumbwaiter. He placed the tray next to Kiekendief, sank down beside him and spoke to him softly in Dutch. The gunsmith extended his hand and the blind man took it in both hands. Turning the hand palm up, he clamped the thumb and little finger between his own fingers and stretched the palm, using his thumbs to press various acupressure points. Chang noted how the gunsmith visibly relaxed and regained some of his colour. Bram took his other hand, repeated the procedure, and poured the gunsmith a cup of tea.

Chang kneeled by the crates with LPs and said, “Do you mind if I look through your collection?”