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‘You,' said Dave in alarm.

‘Oh, sorry. Room's full huh?' He winked at Dave then fixed his eyes on the French kid now dressed in Dave's Telstra shirt.

One of the African prostitutes had pushed up onto the landing outside the room, and the Australian bumped into her as he turned away. ‘Changed my mind.'

‘Hey,' said the Maori looking from Dave to the other Australian. ‘What's going on?'

The Aussie pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and said, ‘Contact. Go, go, go.'

The Maori slammed him to the wall. The African prostitute screamed, her bright red bra and the landing wobbling dangerously.

Dave grabbed the red and blue parka and started out of the tiny room, squeezing upstairs through the threesome of large people on the landing.

The front door was being pounded. The French guys and the other
African prostitutes howled and pushed back against the door. ‘Descente de police!'

Dave clambered up another flight of stairs, turning to see the Maori and the Aussie grappling on the landing. The French youth ran down the stairs. The front door gave way and uniformed policemen pushed through the screaming Africans and yelling French. They rugby-tackled the Telstra shirt. Then the Australian and the Maori fell, tumbling down onto all of them amidst the screams and yells of a pretty good scrum pack.

Dave raced around the bend and found an open window. There was a fire escape and he slithered down it into a series of alleys filled with garbage and the smell of urine and the sound of many scurrying things, smaller than Dave.

Dave came out further up the street. The flashing blue mixed prettily with the red lights coming from the brothel window and the yellow from the street lamps. It was the light. It was frozen in balls in the night like ... like...

Dave nearly crashed into Margaret, who was berating a man in staccato Dutch. She turned to see Dave in surprise. ‘Angus!'

‘You speak Dutch,' Dave said.

‘I shouldn't come along here at night,' she said, indicating the departing man. ‘Nice jacket.'

‘I'm trying to blend in, like a native.'

‘I'm never going to get rid of you, am I?'

‘Can't fight good luck.'

She raised an eyebrow, but then took in the commotion down the street. ‘Actually, if you wouldn't mind, you can escort me out of here. I'm getting sick of the attention.'

‘Okay. Can we eat?'

They went away from the police action, Margaret switching into tour guide mode. She'd explained on the plane that as part of her travel agency she regularly saw the sights so she could tell her clients firsthand where to go. She'd already told Dave where to go a few times by that stage. As they walked Margaret pointed out historic areas, listed the seafaring history of the Dutch and explained why the cyclists might
be getting angry with him – because he kept blundering across the dedicated cycle lanes.

And then they were back by another canal and standing in the middle of a high stone bridge looking at the yellow lights flickering in the dark water. She pointed across the canal. ‘There's a wonderful restaurant up there next to Amstel Diamonds.'

The sign looked familiar. Dave looked to the other side of the canal. ‘You're not going to believe this, but I live up that way.'

‘You're kidding! You don't. In one of those gorgeous houses?'

‘A little closer to the waterline.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘I'm in a houseboat.'

‘How wonderful. That's not a bad idea for tours. You know. Fly to Amsterdam and stay on a canal.'

‘Well, I don't think they'd be keen staying on mine. More your hovel boat.'

‘Oh? Why are you staying there?'

‘Ah, that's a long story.

‘You seem to be good at those.' She stood smiling at him, some lamplights gleaming from her eyes.

‘Enough about me. Let's talk about you and me.'

‘Is this hovel boat one of your compulsions?'

‘Huh?'

‘On the plane. You said you were the impulsive type. Compulsive impulsive I think you said.'

‘And you remembered. Told you I'd wear you down.'

‘I think it was somewhere after Singapore. Not that you wore me down. But I must have been listening at some point.'

‘Ah, good, I think.' There was a small boat coming along the canal with its lights on. Dave looked towards the Amstel Diamonds sign and where he supposed food was cooking. Margaret didn't seem in any hurry to leave the bridge.

He said, ‘I was listening to everything you said. I believe you told me you were married.'

‘Yes?'

‘But there's no ring.'

‘Maybe I'm simply not wearing it.'

‘And maybe you were lying.'

‘Why would I do that?' She smiled. She was enjoying herself.

‘Maybe you thought it would put me off.'

‘Whereas it made no difference whatsoever.'

‘Maybe.'

‘You are right. I am a liar.' She was flirting and she was good at it. ‘Are you?'

‘What?'

She studied him a moment, then looked towards the Diamonds sign. ‘It looks too busy.' There were some Volvos and a dark van all manoeuvring for parking spots nearby.

She suddenly squeezed Dave's arm and said, ‘Let's go to your houseboat.'

Dave could not quite believe his luck. He managed to gasp, ‘Yes.'

She took back her hand and looked down, a little shy, but then she looked up and said, ‘See, I can be impulsive too.'

Dave leant to kiss her, but she stepped past and he missed.

He lit the lamp and turned it down. Margaret stood examining the inside of the houseboat.

‘So you reckon it might not make your tour list, huh?'

‘It did look better before you lit the lamp. Authentic would be the real estate word.' She went to the window and looked out on the water. ‘Must be a policeman's birthday.'

Dave went to the window and looked out. ‘What do you mean?'

‘At the restaurant.' She looked at him.

‘What?'

‘The police Volvos. The vans with tinted windows.'

Dave looked across the water. ‘Are they?'

She drew the curtains and they both straightened together and she kissed him. It was gentle and she tasted like white wine, but as he tried to kiss her more fully she stepped back, crinkling her nose.

‘Hold that thought, lover. I believe you smell.'

‘Testosterone?'

‘Possibly. Or twenty hours on a plane with a hint of three different kinds of very cheap Middle Eastern perfume.'

‘Ah. I stink huh?'

She nodded, still smiling. ‘Nothing a shower and shave and clean teeth and nakedness won't fix.'

Dave's mind went blank, like he'd put everything on the last race and was waiting for the start.

She was speaking again. ‘What say I meet you in there?' She pointed to the bunk under the stairs.

‘You bet.'

Campbell looked from the bunk bed to Margaret to Dave and then down to Dave's shrunken aspiration. ‘Ye just met her?' He didn't look like he believed any of it.

‘On the plane,' said Dave.

‘And the brothel?' asked the Indian.

‘Getting a jacket. It was cold. Speaking of which.' Dave gestured towards the pile of clothes by the bathroom door.

‘Well, whatever was going to happen won't now,' said Margaret with what Dave was sure was regret. A lot of regret. ‘If you'll excuse me gentlemen?' She took a step to get past Campbell, but he grabbed her handbag.

‘Hey,' said Dave.

‘Ah doon't like surprises. Let's see who we've ... Ah. Deary, deary me.' He pulled a plastic bag full of uncut diamonds out of Margaret's handbag.

Dave stood blinking, hurt.

‘Sorry, Angus. They looked valuable, and well, I did tell you I was a liar. I suppose I'm also a thief. Nothing personal.' She fluttered her eyelashes.

‘Evidently not,' said Dave, feeling further diminished.

‘Whit ye goot gooin' here, Angus?' asked Campbell. ‘A doublecross?' He looked over to Karushi then to Dave again.

‘Why would I travel all this way before I did it, if that's what I was going to do?'

Campbell passed the plastic bag of stones to Karushi, who had his briefcase open on the table.

‘Gentlemen,' said Margaret, edging towards the stairs. ‘You've said nothing yet that in any way implicates anyone. So, I know nothing and I'd rather not know anything.'

‘It's no' up to ye to “rather” anything,' said Campbell, continuing to block her.

Dave said, magnanimously under the circumstances, ‘Come on. No harm, no foul. You've got the stones.'

‘We'll see aboot that.' Campbell looked towards the table. ‘Karushi?'

The Indian had an eyeglass to his eye, examining the stones. He scratched one with a metal prod.

Dave thought he heard a thump outside. Maybe dripping water. Margaret seemed to have heard it too.

Campbell was watching the Indian. ‘Well?'

‘Mostly shit,' he said in his thick London accent. He flicked a smaller rock away. It shimmered. ‘This one's gem quality. The rest are industrial. And no pinks as requested.'

Dave nodded knowingly.

‘Speak fookin' English,' growled Campbell.

‘Geologically, these are them. A lot of fuckin' fuss for not too much. But it's what the Gov ordered.' He shrugged, good soldier.

Another thump. Then a loud voice outside. It was a woman, yelling in Dutch.

Campbell looked up.

In spite of her rather tight skirt, Margaret launched a sudden but seemingly precise kick, karate style, into Campbell's knee.

He fell to the floor, groaning. She picked up her handbag and stepped smoothly up over him onto the steps. He grabbed her ankle before she could go further, but Dave launched himself across the room onto Campbell's shoulder. Margaret scampered up the steps.

Dave heard her say, ‘I owe you one, Angus.' He didn't have time to reply, because something hit him on the head.

Dave woke but didn't open his eyes. He could hear Campbell talking.
‘Och, naw, Mr Dewar. He was as surprised as anyone. No' t'first lad to be ripped aff by his dick.' Dave could feel the slight movement of water under the barge. He was shivering.

A voice talked through a phone like the echo of an angry bee. Dave opened one eye. Campbell was on a mobile. ‘Ye wahnt ah tae dae 'im and bring t'stones?'

Dave tried to see if there was anything he might use as a weapon.

‘Oh aye.' Campbell clicked off the phone and turned to Karushi. ‘Change of plans. We're tae bring 'im tae Glasgow. Have ye got t'condoms?'

Dave sat up. ‘Whoa there. Now I know this is Amsterdam, but...'

‘Doon't flatter yirself, Angus. Get dressed. What did ye think ye were goonae dae wi' that wee thing?'

‘It's cold.'

As Dave got dressed, Karushi funnelled batches of the tiny stones into each condom.

‘Hope ye've an appetite,' said Campbell pulling a bottle of scotch from the briefcase. He filled a tumbler and pushed it across the table towards Dave.

‘Good news, Angus,' said Karushi. ‘We thought we'd have to do this.'

Dave took a gulp of the whisky. ‘So how much money, again?'

‘Twenty thousand.'

Dave eyed the growing pile of condoms.

‘And we won't kill you.'

Dave stood uneasily near the departure gate in Schiphol. His legs were rubbery, partly from all the whisky he'd drunk, but also from the strange sensations the lumps in his stomach were causing.

Karushi pushed a cheap backpack under his arm. ‘The hotel address is in the bag.'

Campbell patted him on the shoulder. ‘Ye wait there until we come. Naw wee love affairs.'

Dave nodded. He was pushed towards the departure gate. He walked very carefully.

He sat very still on the plane. He didn't try to make new friends.

He asked the taxi driver in Edinburgh to go round corners as slowly as he could.

He stood against the wall of the charmless white and magenta room of the Jurys Inn trying to work with rather than against the movements inside his body. There was a faint smell of vinegar somewhere in the room. The condoms of rough diamonds continued their slow progress like obese worms heading south. The whisky had worn off.

The battered telephone shrilled centimetres from his ear.

The vigorous Australian voice at the other end said, ‘Ken, it's Bruce. A quick call while you're alone. Mal's still in hospital in the Netherlands, but he'll be here soon. Okay?'

‘Okay,' said Dave.

‘I'm still with you, mate.'

‘Mate.'

‘Here they come.'

Bruce rang off. Dave had no idea who Bruce was or why he had called or who Mal was, but he'd sounded Australian and that was comforting so many kilometres from home.

The hotel room door opened and the Glaswegian Campbell and London-Indian Karushi walked in to find Dave holding the phone.

‘For fook's sake, whit's going on noo?'

‘Room service. I ... more whisky?'

Campbell studied him, but Dave closed his eyes, still standing.

‘Naw, ye already have a full toommy. It's time to retrieve oor packages.'

‘I've got a bit of bad news about that. I'm not ready.'

There was a pause. Dave heard the telephone dialling.

‘We're here, but we have a wee hold-up. The stupid bastard's constipated.'

Dave could hear the other side of the conversation. Another Scottish voice. ‘Noo matter. T'woman in Holland bothers me. Bring him tae Perth. Ah'll meet ye at Scone Castle.'

‘Scone Castle!' exclaimed Campbell.

‘Aye. I want ye tae take t'train up. Look tae see if ye're being followed. There's something no' right here.'