Free Black Widow by Isadora Bryan Page A

then?’
    ‘Oh, I know a place. It isn’t far. A hotel.’
    Jesus fucking Christ!
thought Gus.
    ‘Well, in a minute then,’ he said.
    He polished off the remainder of his whisky, then ordered another. And another. By the time he’d finished his third double, Sophia’s thinly veiled proposition no longer filled him with
absolute
loathing.
    It had been a while, he supposed. And his dick had needs. And he was a professional; there was literally nothing that he wouldn’t do to get his story.

Chapter 6
    Friday
    Jasper Endqvist had his routines. Every Friday he would buy his lunch at
Jan’s Poffertjeskraam
on the west bank of the Singelgracht. It was a tiny little place, not much more than a market stall, which nevertheless served up the best soft pancakes in the city.
    True, the
kraam
was an awkward walk from the insurance office in which he worked, but it was worth it. He’d even made a few calculations, – the journey burned off a good hundred calories, which was worth half a pancake in itself. And it wasn’t as if he was fat; his calorific intake was mostly offset by regular doses of squash and jogging.
    Jan was just turning the cinnamon coated treats as Jasper appeared. ‘You’re thirty seconds late,’ he grinned.
    Jasper pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Sorry!’
    A minute later, a brown paper bag of
poffertjes
in one hand, a Styrofoam cup of frothy coffee in the other, he made his way outside –
    There was a thud, and a yelp, as a woman walked straight into him. Jasper cursed, and feared for his lunch, and might well have remonstrated further if not for the pained look on the woman’s face.
    She was a good twenty years older than him, in her fifties, maybe, but certainly fit enough, if you liked that sort of thing. Which Jasper did, albeit in a very low-key way.
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ she apologised. ‘My fault entirely.’
    ‘No,’ Jasper responded automatically. ‘It’s my fault. As soon as it’s lunchtime I get my blinkers on.’
    ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m new to the city. I was looking at the canal –’
    ‘It’s a very nice canal,’ Jasper noted. ‘The Singelgracht has always been a favourite of mine.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘It’s got character,’ Jasper explained. He pointed at an unusually shaped houseboat, bobbing on the water just a few metres away. ‘See that, for instance? That’s the
Poezenboot
. It’s a sanctuary for stray cats. See what I mean? Only on the Singel!’
    ‘I love cats!’ the woman said, as she plucked at her blouse. Jasper’s coffee had spilled all over it, to interesting effect.
    ‘That’ll need dry cleaning,’ he said. ‘I feel bad – I’ll pay for it, yes?’
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Why should you pay for my clumsiness?’
    But Jasper was fully committed to his chivalrous course, now. He fished about in his pocket, to hand her his card. ‘Really, I insist. Let me know how much it costs to put right, and I’ll send you a cheque.’
    The woman – she really was quite striking – bowed her blonde head, and murmured her thanks. Jasper watched her leave, all thoughts of his ruined lunch forgotten.
    *
    Chief Inspector Wever worried at another biscuit, knowing that he would regret it later. His metabolism was no longer the worker of miracles it had once been; his gut no longer performed that dance of osmotic alchemy (as Erik Polderhuis had once described it) that had kept him thin right until his late forties. Meals tended to lurk in his body, nowadays, with all the grubby determination of squatters.
    He was getting podgy, frankly. His wife had told him so that very morning. He frowned, as he considered a visit to the station gym. It really was the most god-awful place, populated by the most god-awful people. The smell of sweat and guilt always stuck in the throat. He didn’t know any man who exercised out of
choice
. It was always a consequence of a doctor issuing a health warning, or a woman intimating that she would rather sleep with