Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (36 page)

Against her closed eyelids she saw her assailant again, swinging the baton. He hadn’t been at the first meeting in the harbour, and his posture was smaller than the guys who killed Yun, but he seemed more dangerous. The killing of Yun had been horrific, but the killers had seemed like butchers, not surgeons like this guy.

Anouk padded softly into the dark bedroom. Clothing dropped on the floor and a moment later the bed sagged slightly as Anouk got into bed. Katla shivered as her cold fingers touched her warm back. Her cool naked body pressed against her and her moist breath stirred the back of her neck.

“Katla?”

Katla didn’t answer, just pretended to sleep. Anouk kissed the back of her neck, then curled up against her. Katla listened until her breathing signalled that Anouk had fallen asleep before she allowed herself to doze off.

With his knees drawn up to his chest, Bram huddled in the hanging chair under the awning of the rooftop garden, listening to the rain and the chain creaking softly as the wicker cocoon swung to and fro. The rain gurgling through the gutter and splattering in the puddles between the flagstones calmed him, clearing his head to do some serious thinking.

Somehow the Kau Hong had learned his address, or they wouldn’t have been hanging around. So he had to assume they knew who he was or at least knew that he was connected to Katla. Or maybe even figured he was connected to Loki. Now he understood what Katla had tried to tell him. If people would think he represented or associated with Loki, he’d walk around with a giant target on his back. He’d be safe enough in the club, though. Even the 14K would think twice about entering Yakuza territory.

He startled at the crash of a bottle on the street down below, then heard the argumentative voices from below. Probably some lost tourists, drunk and stoned on all Amsterdam had to offer. The night air was chilling his bones. Bram climbed from the wicker cocoon and unfurled his umbrella, walking the flagstones back to the rooftop door. His phone rang as he skipped down the stairs and he stopped on the landing and fished it from his pocket. Katla told him never to answer a phone with his name, as was customary in the Netherlands, so Bram pressed the left button and said, “Ja, zeg ’t maar.”

“It’s Chang.”

Bram switched to English. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you still up? I can be at your place in five minutes.”

“I’m a night owl,” Bram said. “Just knock on the basement doors. What is this…”
 

The line went dead before he could ask for the reason, but he shrugged. He’d know in another five minutes.

He walked down to the basement and filled his electric kettle to make tea. Chang knocked the basement doors just as the kettle clicked off. Bram opened the doors and quickly went back to the kettle to make tea. Chang coughed nervously and said, “You mind turning on the lights?”

“In a moment.” Bram continued pouring the water for the tea. “Could you close the doors behind you, you’re letting the cold in.”

“If you turn on the lights, please?”

Bram sighed and put the kettle down, walked up the ramp and twisted the dimmer switch. “You’re afraid of the dark or something?”

“I’m not phobic,” Chang said. “Dark basements make me uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Probably wasn’t ‘all’, Bram thought. There had been a hint of suppressed panic in the sniper’s voice.

“Bright enough for you now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like Lapsang tea or shall I get you something else?”

“Lapsang is fine,” Chang replied. “Do you mind if we sit close to the doors?”

“Not at all.” Bram carried the tea to the doors and placed the tray on the mats, moved to his stereo and put the needle back on the record. A riff on tom-toms filled the basement, followed by a hi-hat and bright piano runs with a bluesy intensity.

“I know that drummer,” Chang said. “Roy Haynes?”

“With Paul Chambers and Phineas Newborn.”

“Newborn, right. He’s a brilliant, but a bit of a show-off.”

“He’s pretty good on this record.” He felt Chang move closer, so he held up the sleeve. “
We Three
.”

The sniper halted behind him. “You have a marvellous collection.”

“I don’t think you came here just for the music.”

“No.” Chang put a folder with papers in his hand. “Here.”

Bram turned the folder over in his hands. “What is this?”

“Criminal records of the principals, for Loki.”

“Principals?”

Chang sighed, as if tired of explaining. “The main targets. The leaders of the Kau Hong. I added a photo of Gene Zhang, the boss. He doesn’t have a criminal record, so I don’t have any additional information.”

“I doubt if Loki needs it, but I’ll deliver it for you.” Bram tossed the folder on top of his record crates.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can I stop you?”
 

Chang chuckled. “Do you like working for Loki?”

“
With
Loki,” Bram said. “I’m not an employee. Do you like working for the 14K?”

“
With
,” Chang said. “I’m not in their service, I’m at their service. I like it fine, though. They pay well.”

Bram smiled. The man was obsessed by money.

“And you?” Chang said. “How are you compensated for your troubles?”

“Why do you want to know, Chang? Think I might be persuaded to switch allegiance?”

“I have no idea what you do for Loki. Except facilitate our meeting this morning.”

“Maybe Loki is lonely, like you are.” Bram turned around and moved to the tray. “Maybe I’m to Loki, what heroin is to you.”

The sniper paused briefly. “Excuse me?”

“Heroin,” Bram repeated. “That warm chemical blanket that you wrap around your cold heart for comfort.”

The sniper fell silent, but that didn’t bother Bram. He was an expert at waiting out a conversation. They drank in silence until a soft hiss announced the end of the record just before the slight ‘plink’ of the needle lifting from the record.
 

Bram lowered his tea cup, his little finger extended to feel the saucer before he set down the cup. He rocked forward to dig his toes into the mat and balanced back to get to his feet without using his hands. The sniper remained silent as he returned
We Three
to its sleeve and felt around for
Byrd in Paris
. He put on side B and lowered the needle to the vinyl. A haunting flute filled the basement. Bobby Jaspar, the Belgian flutist, his soaring bluesy flute sounding fragile compared to the more robust sound of a saxophone or a trumpet. Except for a sparse piano and a purring bass accompanying Jaspar, the flute filled all the melody lines. Bram sat back down and allowed the music to fill him. The flute paused and the piano and bass soloed. When the flute jumped in again and the audience applauded, Bram felt the sadness in the flute buoying him up. The flute piece ended with an ovation by the crowd and Donald Byrd announced the next song.
 

Chang put down his cup with a tinkle. “That was beautiful.”

“Yes,” Bram said. “The tinge of sadness in that flute never fails to lift my spirits.”

“I don’t think he sounds sad at all.”

“That’s the beauty of jazz. We hear the same song, but we both have our own interpretations.”

“Interpretations, yes. Is that why you think I’m lonely?”

Bram tilted his head. “Why did you come here, Chang?”

“I wanted to find out more about Loki,” the sniper said. “Who better to ask than you?”

“Is that supposed to flatter me into confiding in you?”

“Listen, I have misjudged you, but you may have misjudged me also.”

“I see that now. You’re not a sociopathic sniper, but a warm and caring jazz aficionado, who shot my friends by mistake.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Chang spoke contritely. “I’m just asking you to look past that.”

“For me to start doing that, would be for you to stop insulting my intelligence and cease your feeble manipulations.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t excuse yourself.” Bram shook his head. “You want me upset in order to gain a psychological advantage, perhaps so I’d inadvertently say something you could use for your own ends. It’s a perfectly valid reason, for a sociopath.”

Chang sighed. “Could you stop calling me a sociopath?”

“I could. Wouldn’t change what you are, but it might make our conversation less unpleasant.”

“If our conversation is unpleasant, perhaps I should go.”

“Perhaps you should stop trying to manipulate me.” Bram poured himself another cup of tea. “Threatening to leave might work with anyone intrigued by your aloofness. I’m not intrigued.”

He could feel the sniper’s frustration and wondered if Chang would act on it or if he would adjust.

“Not many people would recognise my ‘feeble’ manipulations.”

Bram held up his hand. “Appealing to my vanity is not going to work either.”

“You’re really irritating.”

“I don’t suffer fools gladly.” Bram sipped his tea. “Tends to annoy the fools.”

“So I’m a lonely sociopathic fool.”

“You’re a manipulative sociopath pretending to be a fool searching for companionship in order to alleviate his loneliness.”

“So I’m not lonely?”

“You are, but you don’t seek alleviation.” Bram finished his tea. “You enjoy wallowing in self-imposed isolation.”

“Why wouldn’t I seek companionship?”

“Because your isolation is better than pretending to love and care.” Bram shrugged. “If you have a relationship, it’s probably the relationship of a leech to a host. You’d hang on to someone until they bore you and then you’d leave.”

“That kind of behaviour is not unique to sociopaths.”

“Probably not, but it’s one of the sociopathic trademarks. The inability to truly bond with another person.”

“Do you get these insights from your sociopathic friend Loki?”

“Loki is not my friend,” Bram said. “And Loki is capable of genuine empathy.”

Chang chuckled. “Right. A hitman with a heart.”

“Only a sociopath views empathy as a weakness.” Bram rolled his empty tea cup between his palms. “Empathy requires self-reflection, but you probably don’t like to look into the void that pretends to be your soul.”

The sniper was silent for a while, then said, “Do you know who Loki’s client is? The woman with the shipping firm?”

Bram put down his tea cup. “Loki discusses strategy with me, but keeps most details out of the discussion.”

“So you’re his strategist?”

“I’m a sounding board to detect weaknesses in the strategy. Why are you desperate to know Loki’s client?”

“Who says I’m desperate?”

“You’re not really interested in people, so you came for information.” Bram lowered his voice. “Your weakness is your misdirected curiosity. You seek not to enlighten, but to manipulate. And that blinds you to misdirection, causing you to waste your time chasing useless information.”

“If my weakness is curiosity, what’s yours?”

“My compulsion to inflict cruel acts of intellectual debasement on lower beings such as yourself.” Bram grinned. “I try to rise above this vainglorious need, but I enjoy it too much.”

“Lower beings?” Chang snorted. “The Chinese were at the pinnacle of culture when the Dutch were still cavorting through the swampy marshes.”

“Don’t think you can ride the coattails of Chinese culture and presume an exalted stature on the basis of the achievements of your illustrious ancestors. If you had noble blood, you would’ve shown more refinement.”

Bram thought he’d pushed the sniper over the brink. The man was breathing heavily to counter the adrenalin soaring through his system, fighting for control. Bram got up slowly, turned his back and walked the length of his basement to the ramp, listening for sounds of Chang rushing him from behind.
 

The sniper didn’t attack him.
 

Old soldier, not a bold soldier.
 

Bram halted with his hand on the dimmer switch. “Consider my verbal abuse payback for messing with my friends. Bye, Chang.”

He turned off the light and heard a strangled sound as if someone knocked the wind out of the sniper. Chang scrambled to his feet and pushed out of the dark basement through the small doors. Bram followed the sniper, closed the doors behind him and walked back to his stereo. Smiling to himself, he put on
Workout
by Hank Mobley, cleaned away the tray and brushed his teeth to get ready for bed.

Her pager vibrated and Katla blearily checked the number. Bram’s new cell phone.
 

The alarm clock on the nightstand showed a quarter to eleven. Anouk was not in the bedroom, and the house was silent. She assembled her burner phone, climbed back under the covers and called him. She could hear the wind in the background as he answered, “How are you?”

“Hey, lover,” she murmured. “I feel worse than crap.”

“I’m on my way over, with a weekend bag and a folder Chang dropped off for you. Be there in an hour or so.”

“Chang brought a folder?”

“On the Kau Hong,” Bram said. “He came over last night.”

Katla sat up. “He just came by?”

“I think he’s lonely. He didn’t give a clear reason for his visit, but we had some tea and listened to jazz.”

Christ. Next thing he’ll be sending him Christmas cards.
 

“Just because he shares your taste in music doesn’t make him a friend, Bram.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten about Zeph and Shaitan.”

“Why didn’t you just send him away?”

“He wanted to give me a folder for Loki.”

“He could’ve just dropped that off. You didn’t have to invite him in for tea.”

“Chang is looking for your client, the woman with the shipping firm in Amsterdam.”

“I slipped up there, I know.” Katla sighed. “Let’s hope he’s not digging too deep.”

“Don’t worry. He thought your slip was inadvertent.”

“It was.”

“I know, but I told him it might be on purpose. Wheels within wheels, that sort of thing.”

Leave it to Bram to sow doubt.
“And he accepted that?”