Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (28 page)

About ten minutes later, her pager vibrated again. Same unknown number. Katla switched off the vibrating and kept her eye glued to the telescope’s viewfinder. It was still early afternoon, but she kept her Javelin night scope ready in case they’d show up after dusk.

“Listen, Bram, I need my phone back,” Yukiko said. “I’ll give you a heads up if Katla calls, all right?”

“I’m going over to Zeph. Give her his number and tell her to call me straight away, okay?” He took his saxophone case and a bag with a change of clothes and his toiletries. “Tell her I forgot my laminated address card.”

He smelled her girly perfume as she came near and kissed his cheek. “Give Zeph my regards.”

“I might be staying over, Zeph is inviting people over for a jam.”

Her hand rubbed his shoulder. “Have a good time.”

Bram left the club through the front door and walked down the steps, feeling exposed. Katla had spoken about protecting him, but he wondered how she would accomplish that, if he couldn’t even reach her now. Maybe he should’ve called Zeph and ask him to pick him up. He walked to the Kloveniersburgwal and crossed Zuiderkerkhof to the Antoniebreestraat. As he turned right toward the Jodenbreestraat, his cane swung to the right and hit something soft.

“Hey, fucko,” a voice growled from low down. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry,” Bram said and walked on. He heard someone scrambling up from the ground and rapid steps closed in on him. He started to turn when a hand grabbed his right arm and fetid breath assailed his nostrils.

“Listen, fucko,” the voice said. “You—”

Bram instinctively clamped his left hand on top the hand that grasped his right elbow, shot his free right hand underneath and up and turned his hips counterclockwise. He misjudged the room to move and felt the man’s body smack against something solid. Probably one of the pillars in front of the shops that lined the Antoniebreestraat.

Bram released the arm and stepped back, feeling a parked car behind him.

“My nose!” the man yelped. “You broke my fucking nose!”

Bram felt sweat prickling all over his body. “I’m sorry, that was not my intention.”

“You broke my nose!” the man bellowed. “You crazy fucker!”

He had to get away from here. Bram felt around for the bag with his clothes he’d dropped, but he couldn’t locate it. A chorus of voices surrounded him, commenting on how he’d smacked a panhandler against a pillar. The bag was of minor importance now. He had to leave before the matter escalated beyond his control. He bumped against bodies as he tried to find a gap in the crowd to get away, but they pushed him back, and he could feel panic rising within him. Without warning the crowd split and he could pass, but a pair of hands grabbed his sleeve and someone said, “
Politie
. Did you attack this man?”

Bram opened his eyes to show them he was blind. “No, he attacked me. He grabbed me, I defended myself.”

“He broke my goddamn nose!” the man yelped and Bram felt fingers grazing his arm. He backed away, but the policeman held him tight and said, “Mourad, hold that guy back.”

He could hear the man cursing. The policeman turned back to him and said, “Put your hands behind your back.”

“Why?”

“You’re under arrest for assault,” the policeman said. “I’m going to cuff you.”

“No, you’re not.” Bram put his palms together. “I’m blind. My hands are my eyes.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you started slamming people into pillars. Put your hands behind your back, I’m not telling you again.”

“You can cuff me in front.” Bram could hear the other policeman calling into his radio for an ambulance. “I’m not resisting arrest, but I won’t be cuffed behind my back.”

“Tough guy, aren’t you?” The policeman let go of his arm with one hand. Bram could feel the policeman’s hand near his face. In a flash he reached up with both hands and grabbed the policeman’s wrist, feeling a cylinder in the policeman’s fist.

“Fuck!” the policeman cursed. “Mourad!”

Twisting the wrist up and away Bram turned around and pushed the policeman forward against the car and jabbed his thumb in the nerve center of the wrist. The fingers opened and he took out the cylinder.

There was a click and the other policeman said, “I got a gun aimed at you. Drop the mace.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bram said. “You’re going to mace a blind man?”

The crowd grumbled and someone yelled, “Mace the motherfucker, he’s right in front of you.”

Shaking his head, Bram tossed the cylinder over the roof of the car into the street. The first policeman, breathing heavily, grabbed his arm, but Bram easily pulled his arm from his grasp. “You better bring an Arrestatie Team if you want to cuff me.”

A growling motorcycle bopped up on the sidewalk behind him and an commanding voice bellowed, “Mourad, put away that gun!”

Bram recognised the voice of the motorcycle cop. “Ruurd?”

“I got a call about a panhandler being assaulted. What’s going on?”

“He’s under arrest for assault,” the first policeman said. “He—”

“Jos, shut up. What’s going on, Bram?”

“They wanted to mace me for not allowing them to cuff my hands behind my back.”

“You’re arrested. Cuffing is SOP.”

“Listen, I was grabbed by this panhandler and when I tried to disengage myself I accidentally pushed him against a pillar. I—”

“Accidentally, my ass!” the panhandler bellowed. “You hit me with your stick first, and—”

“Shut up,” Ruurd bellowed back. “Jos, take him to the ambulance and stay with him at the hospital.”

“Ruurd,” the first policeman said. “He didn’t just assault this guy, he assaulted me as well.”

“Nice, Jos. You can commiserate about getting your ass handed to you by a blind man.” The motorcycle cop came closer and gently took Bram’s arm. “You’re under arrest, Bram. Will you come quietly, now?”

“As long as I’m not cuffed. My hands are my eyes.”

“No cuffs. Mourad, escort Bram. Take him to the station. I’ll see you there.”

The other policeman grabbed his elbow less gently and Bram said, “Ruurd said escort, Mourad, not manhandle.”

“Wiseass,” Mourad said and loosened his grip. “And it’s ‘agent’, not ‘Mourad’.”

They halted and the policeman said, “Give me your case and your cane.”

He handed over his cane and his saxophone case and heard the policeman open the passenger door. It closed and Mourad said, “Before you get in, I need to frisk you. Do you have any sharp implements on you? Needles, knives?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Put your hands on the car.” He felt Mourad’s hands frisk him quickly. “I also dropped my bag, back there, agent.”

“Get into the car.”

The door opened and he felt a hand on top of his head, making sure he wouldn’t bump his head.
 

“Put your hands behind your back.”

“Ruurd said—”

“I know what Ruurd said. I’m just cuffing you for the ride, to protect myself. I’ll remove the cuffs at the station.”

Bram put his hands behind him and felt the cool metal bracelets around his wrists. The door slammed shut. Bram waited for the policeman to get in, but he’d gone away. He leant back his head. This was bad. If Ruurd hadn’t responded to the call, he could’ve been hurt, simply because he’d defended himself against a panhandler and a belligerent policeman. The door opened and Mourad said, “An Adidas sportsbag?”

“If it has a little ball of rope fixed the zipper, it’s mine.”

The policeman tossed something on the passenger seat with his saxophone case and said, “I understand how you might dislike having your hands cuffed during the ride, so I’ll tell you whenever I’m making a turn and which direction, okay?”

“Thank you, that will be great.”

“Don’t mention it. I have to take care of your well-being while you’re in my custody.”

The patrol car pulled away, bopping off the sidewalk and speeding off. True to his word, Mourad kept him up to date about turns and speed bumps. They rode for about five minutes, then Mourad said, “We’re there.”

Mourad walked around the car and opened the door for him. Bram offered his cuffed hands first and sighed with relief as the policeman removed the cuffs.

“Can I have my cane, please?”

“No, but I’ll hold your arm and squeeze your elbow when you need to take a step up. The steps are wide and I don’t want you to stumble, okay?’

His right arm was gripped firmly and he stepped on a loose grate that pitched under his feet. “Christ, I almost fell.”

“Don’t worry, that grate is just the lowest step. The rest is solid concrete.”

The next step was wide and rough under his shoes. Mourad squeezed his elbow every time he had to take a step. After ten squeezes he told Bram to halt and opened a door. They moved into a small corridor, then another door was opened across from the entrance and Bram was led into a tiny room. Mourad walked him to the left and guided his hands to a ledge.

“Empty your pockets and place the items in the slot. Do you need any help?”

“I think I can manage.” His fingers found a plastic barrier with little holes with a slot. Plexiglass. A voice on the other side of the plexiglass barrier said, “Please empty your pockets and slide your possessions through the slot.”

Wordlessly Bram took out his wallet and bag with coins and put them through the slot, adding his keys.

“Your belt and shoestrings?”

Bram removed his belt and said, “I’m wearing ankle boots.”

“Do you have any jewellery?”

“No.”

“I see a chain around your neck,” Mourad said. Bram removed his dogtags. “I don’t consider this jewellery.”

“That’s fine, sir, but you cannot wear that in our holding pen. Mourad, can you frisk him?”

This time, the policeman turned out all his pockets and made him take off his boots to check them.

The policeman behind the barrier read the details of his ID back to him and asked him to confirm them, then told him he was under arrest for assault. “You have the right to an attorney, if you don’t have one, one will be provided. You have the right to remain silent. Do you wish to make a statement?”

“I plead self-defence. I’d like to make a phone call.”

“You can make a phone call later. I have a receipt here for your possessions. Can you sign the receipt?”

“Sorry, I can’t sign what I can’t read.”

“I’ll read it to you.”

“I still won’t sign it.”

“That’s fine, sir.” A door to his left opened and Mourad said, “The holding pen is just across the corridor.”

The pen smelled anti-septic. Mourad took him the wall opposite the door and guided his fingers to an intercom embedded in the wall. “You’re alone in the pen. Press the button if you need anything.”

He guided him to the left and sat him down on a hard bench.

“Is there a toilet here?”

“No. Do you need one now?”

“Not now.”

“If you need to relieve yourself, call us on the intercom.”

His steps echoed and the door closed with a soft thump, then two harsh clunks sounded as the door was locked. Bram sighed and leant back against the cool concrete wall behind him. The adrenalin was slowly dissipating and he felt nauseated. First the fight in Bianca’s diner and now this. He hadn’t had violent altercations for years and now twice in one week. He wondered what the smartest thing would be now. Katla could probably sort out an attorney for him, but he needed her to call him. Calling Zeph would probably be best, asking him to relay everything to Katla. He had her pager number and Katla would know something was up if Zeph called her pager.

-o-

Dusk was falling and still the Chinese hadn’t shown themselves. Katla unscrewed the telescope and picked up her Javelin. As she was sighting in the night scope, her pager vibrated again. She looked at the lighted screen. Zeph. That was weird, he rarely called her. She assembled one of her cell phones and called him back.

He sounded relieved. “Sista. The police arrest Bram for assault. He call I-man from the police station.”

“Which one?”

“Y-tunnel. Someone grab him and he break his nose.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Wait, sista. Bram tell I-man to tell you he forgot his laminated address card in the case.”

“What?”

“That’s it, sista. Verbatim. He say you know what it mean.”

Katla walked back to the mounted night scope. “Yes, I do. Thanks, Zeph. I’ll handle it.”

She switched off the phone and looked through the Javelin’s view finder. Two shadows moved near the hiding place of the flight case and Katla adjusted the view finder. A large young Chinese and an older smaller man. That had to be them.

Katla stormed out of the door and ran down the stairs while she zipped her jacket and fished the keys for her Yamaha from her pocket.
 

She crossed the Nijlpaardenbrug and headed to the right, where her old XT225 was parked at the quay. She unlocked the Yamaha motorcycle, put the lock in the top case and fished out the helmet. While she donned the helmet, Katla watched the entry to the strip of wasteland in the rearview mirror. Two men appeared from the muddy track, the large one carrying Bram’s flight case. They walked to a BMW sedan and tossed the flight case in the backseat. Katla memorised the license plate, but waited until they pulled away in the direction of the intersection with the Plantage Middenlaan, before she thumbed the motorcycle’s electric starter and took up pursuit.

The BMW took a left at the intersection, heading in the direction of the Tropenmuseum. Katla hung back, allowing a few cars to get between the BMW and her Yamaha. The BMW went into the Linnaeusstraat and halted in the long queue for the traffic lights. Normally she’d pass the queue and get to the front of the line, but she didn’t want to attract attention. Right after the intersection, riding down the Linnaeusstraat, the BMW signalled and crossed the road to enter the forecourt of the Manor Hotel. Katla went straight and took a right onto Vrolikstraat, took another right on the Kastanjeweg and raced along the Derde Oosterparkstraat back to the Linnaeusstraat. Before she reached the busy thoroughfare Katla parked the XT on the sidewalk and walked to the corner. The Derde Oosterparkstraat was straight across from the entrance of the Manor Hotel, so she had a good view of the BMW parked in the temporary parking space of the forecourt. The Chinese were nowhere in sight, so she took off her helmet and found a recessed doorway that allowed her to duck out of sight. She studied the entrance with her small binoculars while she took out her cell phone and called her attorney.