Free Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) by Martyn V. Halm

him the coins. Speechless, the Rastafarian rested his hand against the leather of the punch bag, still shivering from the double elbow blow. Katla smiled at him, limped to the window and placed the guilders back on the sill.  
    As she turned around, Zeph asked, “What happen if you do that to a person?”
    “A person?” She looked at him aghast. “Why would I do that?”
    “You train this for fun?”
    “Not just fun. Testing my limitations gives me self-confidence.”
    “You have that in abundance already.”
    “You can never have enough.” She slung the towel back around her neck and shrugged into a hooded bathrobe. “And you never know if it might come in handy.”
    “Confidence or combat skills?” he called after her as she limped down the stairs. She could hear him slap the punch bag before he followed her downstairs.
    -o-
    Katla switched on the grinder, listening to the coffee beans getting caught and chewed up between the grindstones. Over the noise she could hear Zeph climb on a barstool behind her and asked without turning, “Cappuccino?”
    “Yes, thanks.”
    Zeph was silent until she turned around with the two cups of coffee. “What you go to do now, sista?”
    “Drink my coffee and have a shower,” she replied. “Why?”
    He folded his arms. “About them people in the harbour, sista.”
    “Bram told you about my adventures?”
    “He tell me Chinese people threaten you, want you company.”
    Katla met his grave eyes over the rim of her cup. He tried to meet her stare, succeeding for twenty seconds before looking away.
    She drained her cup. “They’re my problem, Zeph.”
    “I’m a friend, sista.” He spread his hands. “Friends help each other.”
    She twirled the warm stainless steel cup around her finger. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
    “Commendable,” Bram spoke from the doorway. “You two are at it early.”
    Katla turned to the Gaggia to make herself a fresh espresso. “It’s not that early.”  
    Bram shrugged. “It’s always too early for altercations.”
    “We’re conversing, not altercating.” She whacked the coffee grounds from the portafilter and wiped the basket dry. “You want tea, Bram?”
    “Lapsang.” He sat at the bar. “It didn’t sound like a conversation.”
    She filled the basket with freshly-ground coffee, tamped it down and screwed the portafilter back on the machine. While the machine filled her cup with fresh espresso, Katla lit the gas ring and placed the kettle on the stove. She switched off the espresso machine, reached into the cupboard for a glass, a tea clamp and his jar of Lapsang Souchon and placed it before him.
    “So what’s it about?” Bram fingered his tea paraphernalia. “Your ‘conversation’?”
    “Katla won’t let I-man help her.”
    She placed the cup of espresso on its saucer. “I don’t need help.”
    “You offered, bro.” Bram measured off the loose tea leaves and closed the clamp. “If she needs help, she’ll remember.”
    “Can I get straight answer?” The Rastafarian leant forward, his amber eyes fixed on hers. “This about trust?”
    “No.” She took a sip from her espresso. “Responsibility.”
    “Responsibility?”
    “I don’t want to be responsible for involving you in anything that might be dangerous. These people wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”
    “You no think I know, sista?”
    “My money’s tied up in this business. If I don’t do something, years of hard work are flushed down the drain. Those are my stakes. What is your stake?”
    “Friendship.”
    “You’d die for me? That’s not friendship. That’s dumb.”
    “I have to hand it to you, Katla.” Bram walked around her to the stove. “You have this uncanny ability to make someone feel useful and appreciated.”
    She ignored him. “I know why you want to come along, Zeph, but if you lack excitement in your life, go play laser games or take up bungee jumping.”
    “Paintball,” Bram put in, taking the kettle from the