Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (26 page)

“I think there’s more than one bad apple in the basket, Mr. Zhang.”

“You think Bernard worked for my brother? Here, in Amsterdam?”

A muscle twitched in the detective’s cheek. “You managed to keep a low profile for a long time.”

“No, detective. I see what you’re getting at, but you’re wrong. My brother made it impossible for me to set up legitimate businesses in Hong Kong. His bad reputation hangs over our whole family like smog over Kowloon. I left my homeland to come here, to tolerant Amsterdam, to get away from my brother and our tarnished family name, to build a solid reputation as a restaurateur and entrepreneur.” He rose to his feet and jabbed a finger at the desk. “And now you’re trying to shove this mess down my throat? I run legitimate businesses and I will not let you tarnish my reputation in the Chinese community.”

“Mr. Zhang, please sit down.”

“No, detective. I was wrong to show you respect by coming here in person to answer your unfounded allegations. I’ll send my lawyer, next time around.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office. Outside, he stepped in the car and told to the driver to get Nicky on the phone.

A moment later, Nicky’s calm voice came through the speakers. “Yes, Vanguard?”

“Nicky, get a haircut, shave off your goatee, and get rid of your leather jacket.”

“Right away.”

“Have Feng lift the security tapes from OLVG. Get Lau and Ri, meeting at the safe house in an hour.”

Nicky broke the connection. Zhang leant back and closed his eyes, longing to be in his office and watch his soap operas, just to soothe his nerves. He stared at the rain coating the windows of his car and hoped Lau was indeed as good with faces as he claimed to be.

Ah Sung guided Chang through the Negen Straatjes or Nine Small Streets, a block of narrow one-way streets on the west side of the center that connected the major Amsterdam canals. Chang strolled at ease, studying the tiny shops. A museum devoted entirely to spectacle frames, a shop for toothbrushes, vintage Fifties and Sixties clothing, a shop with board games. Chang halted in front of a shop that sold handmade Italian shirts and wondered if they made to measure.

Ah Sung held up his PDA, showed him the screen. ‘We can shop later.’

Chang shrugged and followed the Red Pole as they crossed the Keizersgracht and entered the Berenstraat. At the end of the narrow street Ah Sung pointed at a luncheonette. They halted on the other side of the street and looked in through the high windows. A slender scruffy man with white-streaked dark hair sat alone in a booth, munching a sandwich while he stirred a tea strainer in a glass.
 

Barbarians. Tea should be served in bone china cups.
 

Apart from the girl behind the counter, the luncheonette was empty.

“You’re sure that’s the guy?”

Ah Sung mimicked calling a phone and handed Chang his PDA, the unknown cell phone number already in the display. Chang touched the green telephone symbol and watched Scruffy fish a cell phone from his breast pocket, his lips moving as the sound came into Chang’s ear.
 

“
Ja
?”

“You hung up on me, last time I called.”

Scruffy took the phone from his ear and pressed a button. The line went dead.
 

Chang motioned for Ah Sung to follow him. They crossed the street and entered the luncheonette. The girl at the counter looked up and stopped tapping the screen of her smartphone, but they strode past her.
 

While Ah Sung halted next to Scruffy’s bench to block his exit, Chang slipped into the booth at the other side of the table to sit across from him.
 

Scruffy sat up straight and turned in his direction. His still, mask-like face was peppered with old scars. Looked like shrapnel, but the impact seemed to have been light. His eyelids opened slightly, showing milky cataracts.

“Now you can’t hang up on me,” Chang said. “I don’t like people hanging up on me.”

He signalled Ah Sung to sit down next to the blind man. Without warning, Scruffy knocked over his glass of tea and lunged across the bench towards the Red Pole blocking his exit. While Ah Sung moved in to prevent Scruffy’s escape, Chang scooted back to avoid the hot tea flowing across the tabletop. Sharp pain flashed through his leg as a hard object under the table drove forcefully into the side of his knee. Something silvery in the blind man’s hand glittered in the light. Ah Sung grunted and stumbled backward into the aisle, a fork jutting up from his right arm.
 

As the Red Pole crashed into a window side table, Scruffy rose and stepped into the aisle, his left hand yanking a saxophone flight case from under the table. Chang cursed, it had been the hard shell of the flight case that hit his knee under the table. Ah Sung came to his feet, pulled the fork from his arm and sprang forward like a quarterback to tackle the blind man.
 

With effortless grace, Scruffy pivoted and swung the heavy flight case at shoulder height. The Red Pole raised his arms to block the attack, but his timing was wrong and the flight case cracked against his elbow and spun around on its nylon shoulder strap, the metal reinforced bottom of the case striking a glancing blow against Ah Sung’s temple. The impact was enough to knock the Red Pole sideways into another window side booth. His elbows skidded across the polished tabletop into the stack of condiments and his head banged against the window, which rattled in the frame, but didn’t break.

“Wait!” Chang yelled, but Scruffy was already at the door. The blind man swung the battered flight case on his back and reached in his inside pocket. The girl moved slowly around the counter, her mouth agape. Chang ran past the counter. Scruffy turned towards the noise and his right arm moved up in an arc towards Chang as if pointing at his face. A long white cane telescoped out, the tip flying in his direction. Chang threw himself backwards and the tip of the cane whizzed past, missing his face by mere inches. His evasive action proved too much for the traction of his leather-soled shoes. Pinwheeling his arms Chang slipped on the tiled floor and fell back against the counter. His elbow hit the metal edge and a sharp pain shot through his arm. The girl stepped in front of him and grabbed his sleeve, blocking his view. He had to pull himself loose, before he could follow the blind man out the door.

He hadn’t seen which way Scruffy had turned, so Chang looked first into the Berenstraat, then along the Keizersgracht, but the blind man seemed to have vanished into thin air. As he limped back to the luncheonette, Ah Sung stood in the doorway, rubbing the side of his head, his right sleeve spotted with blood. His face was a mask of fury and embarrassment, but Chang shook his head.
 

‘It’s okay,’ he mouthed silently. ‘You couldn’t know he’d react like that.’

“You wrecked my place,” the girl yelled at Ah Sung, who didn’t see her and didn’t notice her anger. “Look at this mess!”

Chang motioned for the Red Pole to step aside. “We’re sorry, Miss. We just wanted to talk to that man and we didn’t know he’d react like that. Is he a regular?”

Her angry eyes became guarded. “No, and I don’t think he’ll be back.”

A lie.

“You don’t know his name, by any chance?”

She shook her head. “Why would I?”

Another lie. Chang smiled at her. “Please, let me reimburse you for any damages.”

While Ah Sung stepped outside, cradling his bleeding arm, Chang gave the girl two crisp hundred euro bills. “If, by any chance, you see him again, could you tell him to call me?”

“After what you did?”

“He started the fight, Miss. Don’t—”

Disgust flashed across her face. “He’s blind. Didn’t you notice?”

“My number is in his cell,” Chang said. “Again, sorry for the mess.”

He walked out and took Ah Sung by his uninjured arm, walking him down the Berenstraat, back to the car.

-o-

Bram had run into the Berenstraat and entered the first shop on his right. The shop smelled like secondhand clothes, although in this neighbourhood the clothes would be called ‘vintage’. He’d be pursued by the men he fought, so he had to hide, somewhere where he couldn’t be seen from the street. He moved quickly along the racks of clothing until he reached the far corner, when a girl said, “Can I help you?”

He held out his hand and his cane. “Do you have a bathroom?”
 

A hand took his elbow. “Of course,” she said, her breath redolent of chewing gum. “This way, mind the steps.”

She led him down a short flight of steps. He could smell old cardboard boxes and more old clothes. A door creaked and a switch clicked. She giggled nervously. “Sorry, you don’t need the light…”

“Thank you very much. What’s your name?”

“Suze.”

“I’ll call you when I’m finished, okay?”

She giggled again. “I’ll be in the shop, but I’ll keep an ear out.”

At last she left and he locked himself into the cramped toilet, fished out his cell phone and called Katla’s pager to leave a Voicemail.

“Call me. I was in a fight at Bianca’s. People looking for you, I think.”

He broke the connection and sat on the toilet, hoping Katla would get the message straight away. Nervously turning his cell phone over in his hand, he thought about Katla’s pager. Katla refused to walk around with an active cell phone, claiming they were too easy to trace. Triangulate, that was what she’d called it. He’d called her paranoid for disassembling her cell phone after every call, but now he understood. Whoever these people were, they’d triangulated his cell phone. There was no other way they could have found him. Maybe he should disassemble his phone now, to prevent them from finding him again, but if he did, Katla couldn’t call him back and...

The phone rang and he almost dropped it. He pressed the answer button. “Ja?”

“It’s me,” Katla spoke. “I heard your message. Where are you?”

Just the sound of her voice flooded his body with relief.

“I fled, I’m in the Berenstraat. A vintage clothing store, on the right side.”

Her voice became soft. “Can you be seen from the street?”

“No. Listen, I think they triangulated my cell.”

“Open the back and remove the battery. Borrow someone else’s phone and call the diner, ask her to check if they’re gone.”

“Will you come and get me, please?”

“I know you’re shaken, but I’m not going anywhere near Bianca’s. Especially if there are people looking for me.”

“Kat—”

“No names. Next, take a cab to Hartenstraat 12, Screaming Beans. I’ll be in the back.”

“Hartenstraat is within walking distance, I—”

“Just do what I tell you, okay? I’ll reimburse you for the cab.”

Katla severed the connection.

“Thank you very fucking much,” Bram spoke into the dead phone. He pulled the back of the cell phone and removed the battery, putting the parts back in his pocket. After relieving himself he left the toilet and called Suze. The salesgirl came straight away and said, “Doesn’t your sister have the lunchroom at the corner? Bianca Merleyn?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m Bram. I had a scare just now, a car almost hit me.”

“Got you disorientated?” There was pity in her voice. “You want me to take you to Bianca?”

“I think I’ll manage. Can I borrow your phone for a second?” A hand took his wrist and another hand pressed a cell phone in his palm. He smiled in her direction and called Bianca’s number.
 

He whispered. “Are they gone?”

“Jesus Christ, Bram. What was that about?”

So they were gone. “I need their descriptions for Katla.”

“I can do better.” Bianca laughed. “I took pictures with my phone.”

“I’m meeting Katla at Screaming Beans in the Hartenstraat. Can you come over?”

“Why don’t you ask her to come here. I can’t just close my luncheonette. It’s close to lunch time and—”

“You could close your shop when you burned your arm, remember?”

“If I hadn’t burned my arm, you two never would’ve met, so who’s doing who a favor?”

“I—” Bram swallowed the rest of the words. He couldn’t tell Bianca he knew Katla before the scalding incident. “Listen, just do this for me. And make sure you’re not followed, okay?”

“Sure, Rambo.” Bianca laughed again and rang off.

Ah Sung drove his BMW around to a vantage point on the Prinsengracht from where they could see the luncheonette, while Chang rummaged through the glove compartment for the First Aid Kit. Chang took out a bandage and disinfected the four punctures in the Red Pole’s arm.
 

Chang bandaged Ah Sung’s arm and said, “If Scruffy licked that fork before he stuck it in your arm, I think you’ll need a rabies shot.”

Ah Sung motioned strangling someone, but Chang shook his head. “I know you’re pissed, but we both underestimated him. The girl is lying, though. She knows him better than she’s letting on.”

Chang checked his leg, but the saxophone flight case had merely bruised his knee. There was an abrasion on his elbow from the fall against the counter and his arm felt a bit stiff. His elbow would probably cause him more trouble than his knee.
 

Ah Sung pointed at the luncheonette. The girl seemed to be closing up shop, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Chang studied her through his binoculars as she walked to the door, turned the sign to ‘closed’, and stepped outside.
 

Ah Sung showed Chang his PDA. ‘Weird. A luncheonette that closes for lunch?’

“I wonder where she’s going.” Chang handed Ah Sung his binoculars. “I’m going to follow her. Go and have your injury checked, pick me up later. I’ll text you the location.”

Chang got out of the BMW, took the raincoat, and his cane rifle he had intended to use on the blind man. From the pocket of the raincoat, he took a battered hat that he pulled deep over his eyes, putting up his collar against the rain as he limped across the bridge to the other side of the canal.
 

The girl locked the door to the luncheonette, unfolded an umbrella, and strolled into the Berenstraat. Chang followed at leisure, the cane rifle under his arm. At the Keizersgracht, the girl turned left and walked in the direction of the Westermarkt.