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

by Martyn V. Halm

  CHADRI

  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.”

&
nbsp; “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.”

  “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?”

&nbs
p; “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.”