Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) by Martyn V. Halm Page A
Authors: Martyn V. Halm
Ads: Link
top.”
“So you don’t have to transplant them. Smart.”
“Thanks.”
He hoisted her gear out of the cargo hold and she followed. The setting sun turned the cement bridge arching high overhead a pale orange. Zeph preceded her to the pilothouse, where the Rottweiler rose from the deck and checked her out with muddy homicidal eyes. The Rastafarian gave the dog a hand signal and the Rottweiler disappeared around the corner.
Katla took the jar of garage soap from the small toolbox and followed him inside. The inside of the pilothouse was cold, but Zeph led her down a couple of steps to a large chaotic space with a hammock in the back, warmed by a Zibro Kamin. Around the corner was a tiny kitchen and she put the jar by the sink, scooped out a gob of the green jelly and massaged the garage soap into her skin.
Zeph took the jar, sniffed the contents and asked, “Special soap?”
“Garage soap,” she replied. “Can you turn on the tap?”
She rinsed her hands and dried them, limped back to his living quarters and asked, “Where do you want the flashlight?”
“Where?”
“I’m giving you this Streamlight, and you’re going to use that whenever you get near that generator. It has to hang down in the charger, Zeph. Where?”
He rubbed his temple. “Next to them door?”
“Get my big toolbox.”
He disappeared into the pilothouse and returned with the toolbox. She selected a spot next to the light switch, glad the electrical wires ran through tubes fastened to the walls. After she drilled the holes, she switched the drill for a magnetic bit holder, screwed the charger to the wall, and lowered the flashlight into the plastic ring. Two small red lights glowed to life.
“Take it out once a month and discharge the batteries.”
Zeph nodded. “You save I-man crop, sista.”
“Well, there’s something you can help me with.”
A draft made her turn to watch a familiar pair of sneakers enter the pilothouse. Bram drifted down the steps into the living quarters, silent as a ghost, not using his cane.
Katla put a finger to her lips and blocked his way.
He halted a pace away. “You’re asking Zeph for help now?”
“Sista fix I-man generator, bredda. True friend.”
“I want to check my office, in the harbour,” Katla said. “I’d like to borrow your Zodiac.”
Bram tilted his head. “Zeph, do you have something to drink?”
“Ginger ale. Not cold. Fridge just started up.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
While the Rastafarian descended the steps into the kitchen, Bram pulled her close and whispered, “Why don’t you let me borrow the dinghy. Now he’ll want to come along.”
“The harbour is not like the IJsselmeer,” she whispered back. “I need someone who can see.”
“You can pilot the dinghy through the harbour. I’ll stay in the dinghy to guard it while you’re out exploring.”
“You wanted me to involve Zeph if there wasn’t much risk,” Katla hissed. “This is easy, all he has to do is stay with the dinghy.”
“Just don’t impose on my friends,” he replied and drew back as Zeph came from the kitchen with an opened bottle of Schweppes Ginger Ale. “Thanks.”
“I&I take you to harbour,” Zeph said. “You want go tonight?”
“Maybe,” Katla said. “How much time do you need to prepare?”
“Dinghy is ready, always. I&I can take you tonight, ‘round eight?”
“I’ll let you know. If you’re not home, I can’t wait on your ship, can I?”
“Shaitan be a problem,” Zeph replied. “She no like strangers.”
Katla had figured that already. In her work guard dogs were no obstacle, but she couldn’t knock out Shaitan.
“I can always wait at the camping,” Katla said. “I think that’s the closest place.”
“And always open.”
The ship’s bell rang and Bram tilted his head. “Anouk?”
“She bought some new games,” Zeph said and climbed the steps to the pilothouse.
Bram waited until the Rastafarian stepped on deck, then turned to her and
“So you don’t have to transplant them. Smart.”
“Thanks.”
He hoisted her gear out of the cargo hold and she followed. The setting sun turned the cement bridge arching high overhead a pale orange. Zeph preceded her to the pilothouse, where the Rottweiler rose from the deck and checked her out with muddy homicidal eyes. The Rastafarian gave the dog a hand signal and the Rottweiler disappeared around the corner.
Katla took the jar of garage soap from the small toolbox and followed him inside. The inside of the pilothouse was cold, but Zeph led her down a couple of steps to a large chaotic space with a hammock in the back, warmed by a Zibro Kamin. Around the corner was a tiny kitchen and she put the jar by the sink, scooped out a gob of the green jelly and massaged the garage soap into her skin.
Zeph took the jar, sniffed the contents and asked, “Special soap?”
“Garage soap,” she replied. “Can you turn on the tap?”
She rinsed her hands and dried them, limped back to his living quarters and asked, “Where do you want the flashlight?”
“Where?”
“I’m giving you this Streamlight, and you’re going to use that whenever you get near that generator. It has to hang down in the charger, Zeph. Where?”
He rubbed his temple. “Next to them door?”
“Get my big toolbox.”
He disappeared into the pilothouse and returned with the toolbox. She selected a spot next to the light switch, glad the electrical wires ran through tubes fastened to the walls. After she drilled the holes, she switched the drill for a magnetic bit holder, screwed the charger to the wall, and lowered the flashlight into the plastic ring. Two small red lights glowed to life.
“Take it out once a month and discharge the batteries.”
Zeph nodded. “You save I-man crop, sista.”
“Well, there’s something you can help me with.”
A draft made her turn to watch a familiar pair of sneakers enter the pilothouse. Bram drifted down the steps into the living quarters, silent as a ghost, not using his cane.
Katla put a finger to her lips and blocked his way.
He halted a pace away. “You’re asking Zeph for help now?”
“Sista fix I-man generator, bredda. True friend.”
“I want to check my office, in the harbour,” Katla said. “I’d like to borrow your Zodiac.”
Bram tilted his head. “Zeph, do you have something to drink?”
“Ginger ale. Not cold. Fridge just started up.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
While the Rastafarian descended the steps into the kitchen, Bram pulled her close and whispered, “Why don’t you let me borrow the dinghy. Now he’ll want to come along.”
“The harbour is not like the IJsselmeer,” she whispered back. “I need someone who can see.”
“You can pilot the dinghy through the harbour. I’ll stay in the dinghy to guard it while you’re out exploring.”
“You wanted me to involve Zeph if there wasn’t much risk,” Katla hissed. “This is easy, all he has to do is stay with the dinghy.”
“Just don’t impose on my friends,” he replied and drew back as Zeph came from the kitchen with an opened bottle of Schweppes Ginger Ale. “Thanks.”
“I&I take you to harbour,” Zeph said. “You want go tonight?”
“Maybe,” Katla said. “How much time do you need to prepare?”
“Dinghy is ready, always. I&I can take you tonight, ‘round eight?”
“I’ll let you know. If you’re not home, I can’t wait on your ship, can I?”
“Shaitan be a problem,” Zeph replied. “She no like strangers.”
Katla had figured that already. In her work guard dogs were no obstacle, but she couldn’t knock out Shaitan.
“I can always wait at the camping,” Katla said. “I think that’s the closest place.”
“And always open.”
The ship’s bell rang and Bram tilted his head. “Anouk?”
“She bought some new games,” Zeph said and climbed the steps to the pilothouse.
Bram waited until the Rastafarian stepped on deck, then turned to her and
Similar Books
