Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (35 page)

Overextended by missing the baton strike, his weight was on his forward leg and he couldn’t jump back, taking the full impact on his knee. Unlike her leathers, his jeans didn’t protect his knees and he buckled sideways. Katla managed to grab the baton and yank hard. The loop around his hand prevented him from dropping the baton, but also from releasing it. He fell on his back, arched his lithe body and sprang back to his feet like gravity had no hold on him. Katla hung on to the baton as if her life depended on it.

Yanking the baton back, he aimed a kick at her head. She blocked with her right leg, the heel of her motorcycle boot grazing his thigh. His kick went wild, but now he released the baton and danced backward out of reach. Katla flipped the baton and took the grip in her hand, scrambling backward until she reached a wall behind her.

He grinned at her as she pushed herself up to her feet .

“Hurting, are you?” The bastard wasn’t even out of breath. “Well, no more pussyfooting. I’m going to break your knees, make you crawl to my boss to sign those papers.”

Katla didn’t waste her breath by replying, just waited for him to come within reach. Her numb right arm was tingling, but the feeling came back and her hand moved slowly to the sheathed
tanto
on the inside of her jacket. The grip of her knife was in her hand as he danced forward. She swung the baton in her left hand at his right knee as she drew the tanto. His legwork was a feint for his left hand darting out and hitting her just below the right eye. Her head whipped back as her right hand with the tanto knife jabbed up at his left armpit. He whirled away, too quick. Instead of plunging into his armpit the sharp tip of her tanto ripped through his sleeve, slicing the skin of his upper arm.

Pain and fury flashed in his eyes as he sprang back to a safe distance. From the look in his eyes she could see he was hurting, but not enough to give up. Pressing his left arm against his side, he grinned at her. “Sharp move.”

Breathing heavily, Katla just glared at him, her right eye watering. Her whole body hurt and she knew only the adrenaline kept her going. Her right arm still tingled, making it difficult to hold on to the tanto. Her arms hung by her sides and she rolled her shoulders back, took a deep breath, steadying her jangling nerves.
 

“Second wind?” he taunted as he removed his right glove. “I’m going to knock that right back out.”

Her mouth was too dry, or she would’ve spat in front of him.

His right hand disappeared up his sleeve and she heard the snap of a button. With a slight tinkling sound a long thin chain with a weight at the end dropped down from his sleeve. His hand came back out and held the chain close to the cuff.
 

Oh, Jesus Christ.

With his hand in front of him he swung the chain in figure eights, protecting both sides of his body as he advanced on her.

A wrong move now and she was gone.

“Drop that or I’ll shoot,” a voice bellowed to her left. From her peripheral vision Katla could see two policeman advancing into the alley, guns drawn.
 

At the same time a yapping Jack Russell terrier ran into the Korte Dijkstraat from the other side, followed by an old woman, who stopped dead at the mouth of the alley. Katla’s assailant turned his back to the policemen and held his arm still, momentum wrapping the chain around his right sleeve.

“Next time,” he said with an impish grin and sprinted to the KTM standing between himself and the old woman. The yapping terrier snapped at his heels, but he ignored the dog and vaulted onto the motorcycle. The policemen ran after him but didn’t shoot, probably for fear of hitting the old woman.
 

The KTM roared to life and the assailant raced to the old woman, who screamed and moved to the side.

The policemen ran past her, and Katla leant against the wall, glancing to her left, where steps led down to a basement. She quickly tossed her tanto and the baton down the steps, limped a few meters away and sank down on the bricks. Running would mark her instantly as suspect, so she pulled up her legs and rested her head on her knees, her body shaking with the adrenalin.

Anouk took the spliff from Zeph and took a long drag. “Ready for a rematch?”

The Rastafarian shook his head, tossed the game console on the couch and switched off the television. “I’m done. You want more tea, dawta?”

“Always.”
 

Anouk took the spliff to the hammock. She was just settling in when Zeph’s cell phone started chirping. Anonymous caller.
 

Anouk flipped the phone open. “Yes?”

A brief silence on the other end, then Katla said, “Anouk?”

“Zeph’s making tea. How are you?”

“Crap. I’m at the ER of OLVG, but they won’t let me leave by myself.”

“I’ll be right over.” She closed the phone and called out to Zeph. “Leave the tea, Zeph, I have to go.”

Zeph stuck his head around the corner. “Something happen?”

“I have to collect someone at the ER.”

She waved at him and went out of the pilothouse, lifted her ATB on her shoulder and strolled around Shaitan to the gangway.
 

Zeph came up to the deck, his cell phone in his hand. “You no tell me Katla is in the ER.”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

Zeph put the phone back at his ear. “I can no stop her, sista.”

“Nope,” Anouk said, strolling down to the embankment. “Tell her I’m coming.”

“No ask for Sieltjes,” Zeph yelled from the top to the gangway. “She register under Carolien de Boer.”

Anouk waved and sped away.

-o-

Katla was stretched out on an examination table, dressed in just a hospital gown, looking pale, holding an ice pack to her right eye. All the visible parts of her body were bruised, some contusions more extensive than others. A massive purple bruise covered the outside of her right upper arm and her left leg had a web of angry red welts around an oblong contusion just above her knee.

“You look a mess.”

Katla opened her left eye, looking at her warily. “Guess what, I feel even worse.”

A doctor came in, glanced at Anouk and turned to Katla. “You’re lucky. Fractured ribs, but no internal injuries.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Well, tape me up and I’ll be out of here.”

The doctor looked at Anouk and said, “Are you a relative or partner?”

“Partner,” Anouk said quickly, glancing at Katla’s noncommittal gaze. “How serious is this, doctor?”

The doctor turned to Katla. “Three cracked ribs. One more damaged rib and I would’ve kept you here for observation.”

“Right,” Katla said. “Like you could hold me against my will.”

“Will she listen to you?” The doctor turned to Anouk. “She can’t be alone for a while. She could develop respiratory problems.”

“She’ll do as I say, doc.”

“One of the ribs on your left side seems to be cracked, two ribs on your right side are fractured, but not broken. If you have three or more ribs broken in more than one place, it’s called flail chest. The broken area can’t hold its shape when you take a breath, leaving less space in your chest for your lungs to expand and air to flow in. It also makes it harder for the muscles to work well, so it’s harder to take a breath.” He put his fingers on Katla’s sides and said, “Can you take a deep breath?”

Katla breathed in and although she didn’t make a sound, Anouk could see her pupils drawn into pinpricks with the pain.

“You’ll be tempted to take shallow breaths to ease the pain, but you need to take at least one deep breath like this twice every hour to prevent pneumonia or partial collapse of the lung tissue. You don’t want to tape your ribs. It might ease the pain somewhat, but prevents you from taking deep breaths. And you need to sleep on your right side.”

Katla tilted her head. “You mean my left.”

“No, I mean your right side. The side with the most damage. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it will allow you to take deeper breaths while you sleep.” He wrote something on a pad. “I will prescribe some Vicodin, just for the first few days. After that, you can manage the pain with ibuprofen.”

Katla removed the ice pack from her face. Her right eye was swollen shut.

“You might feel dizzy or short of breath, but that’s normal.” He handed the prescription to Anouk. “If she gets a fever or has fainting or panic spells, you need to bring her back.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Try not to enrage any more people.” The doctor left the examination room, closed the sliding door behind him.

“Enrage?” Anouk said. “What did you do?”

“Road rage.” Katla lowered her legs gingerly over the side of the examination table. “I think I’ll need your help getting dressed.”

“Road rage? Again?”

“That’s what I told the police,” Katla said. “My leathers are behind you.”

Anouk helped her into her motorcycle pants, tugging the tough leather over her bruised legs while Katla leant back on her hands, unable to bend forward. Her motorcycle boots zipped open all the way to the sole, so they were easy to put on. Katla hooked her fingers behind Anouk’s neck and slipped from the examination table, tottering on her legs. She winced with the pain, but didn’t cry out. Anouk pulled up her pants and Katla turned around so Anouk could undo her hospital gown. Her muscular back had some red spots but no contusions, but as Katla slipped out of the gown and turned around Anouk gasped. The skin on her right side was a purple mass and her left side was only slightly less bruised.
 

“Forget about my bra,” Katla said. “Just my shirt and jacket.”

Anouk helped her into her shirt. Katla couldn’t raise her arms, so getting the shirt over her head was difficult, but they managed with only minor groans and gasps from Katla. Anouk left the back protector on the chair and helped Katla into her leather motorcycle jacket. Katla unfolded her cane and limped past Anouk to the reception desk. Anouk grabbed her back protector, noticing the cracked plastic segments. Katla’s gloves and bra were on the other chair. She picked them up, looked around for a helmet, but there was none. She followed Katla, who nodded at the receptionist and limped outside.
 

Anouk ran after her and said, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she said, without looking back.

“You can’t go home. They might be waiting to finish what they started.” Anouk took her elbow. “You’re coming with me.”

Katla pulled her elbow out of her grasp. “They don’t know where I live.”

“This is no time to be stubborn. You might think you’re hurting now, but tomorrow you probably won’t be able to move.”

Katla closed her eyes, swaying slightly. Anouk took her chin and said, “Don’t faint on me.”

“I’m not.” Katla opened her left eye. “You want to play doctor?”

“I’ll be the nurse,” Anouk said. “Come, we’ll hobble to the taxi rank, see if there’s a minivan.”

“I don’t need that much room.”

“I need to bring my bike,” Anouk said. “And I don’t want to drag you out of a low car seat.”

Katla sighed, wincing with the pain, and allowed her to lead her to the taxi rank.

-o-

The Vicodin reduced the throbbing pain to a dull ache and soaking in Anouk’s bath eased her tension, but her muscles still felt tender with every breath she took. And the fingers massaging shampoo in her hair made her sleepy. Anouk touched a tender spot on her scalp and Katla said, “The baton grazed my scalp there.”

“Well, the skin isn’t broken.” Anouk caressed the spot. “You’re afraid they’re going to find you here? Taking two taxis seemed a bit unnecessary.”

They’d taken a taxi from OLVG to the pharmacy at the corner of Leidsestraat and Prinsengracht, bought some toiletries and walked to Leidseplein, where they’d taken another taxi to Haarlemmerplein, then walked to Anouk’s house.

Katla pressed the ice pack against her right eye. “The guy who did this to me might have figured I went to the hospital, and that I took a taxi.”

“You went under an assumed name.” Anouk took a cup and ladled water over her hair to rinse out the shampoo. “You think he’ll track you down to finish the job?”

Katla took a deep breath despite the pain and exhaled slowly. “At this point, I’m not taking anything for granted.”

“How did he find you?”

“I don’t know. He was waiting for me at the Zandstraat. Maybe he was staking out the Spinhuissteeg.”

Anouk tossed the cup in the bath. “You might have mentioned this sooner.”
 

Katla opened her left eye, watched Anouk fish her cell phone from her pocket and stalk from the bathroom. “Are you calling Bram?”

“What do you think?” Anouk spoke from the hallway. “You owe me an explanation. Start thinking up a better lie than ‘road rage’.”

“I might owe you gratitude, but I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Anouk stalked back into the bathroom and held out the phone. “Bram wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks a lot.” Katla took the phone. “Hey, lover.”

“Hey yourself,” Bram said. “How bad is it?”

“Bruised and battered, but I’m okay.”

Anouk ripped the phone from her hand. “She’s not okay, Bram. She has three broken ribs.”

“Fractured,” Katla corrected, reaching for the phone.

Anouk stepped out of reach. “The asshole who did this to her staked out the Spinhuissteeg.”

She listened, then said, “I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Broken ribs?” Bram asked. “Did you go to the hospital?”

“Yes,” Katla said. “Don’t worry, they’ll mend.”

“Is Anouk right? Are they staking out the club?”

“He was waiting for me in the alley next to the Engelbewaarder.”

Bram cursed under his breath. “I’ll make sure I’m safe, but you better get things rolling. You have to put a stop to this.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“Do better,” Bram said and the line went dead.

Anouk tilted her head. “I’ve known him to be more compassionate.”

“Maybe I don’t inspire compassion with my antics,” Katla said. “Can you help me to bed?”

“If I don’t strain my back too much.”

While the bath drained, Anouk towelled her off, then helped her down the stairs to the bedroom. Katla crawled under the covers, resting on her right side as the doctor ordered, and dozed as she listened to Anouk feeding the cats in the kitchen.