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

stove. “Skydiving.”
    “Skydiving is expensive.” Katla rinsed her cup. “Material, air fare, courses. Parasailing is cheaper, more like a cross between parachuting and hang gliding.”
    “What’s the difference between parachuting and skydiving?”
    “The time elapsing before opening your parachute,” Katla replied. “Skydivers delay opening as long as possible.”
    The Rastafarian tapped his spoon against his cup to draw her attention. “I scare easy, that it?”
    “You handle yourself well, Zeph, but I might have to do… illegal things.”
    “You think I care about the law? I’m a criminal too.”
    “You grow weed. Real criminals don’t bother with misdemeanours.” She pointed at her leg. “You want to get shot, Zeph? I don’t recommend it. Even with the reconstructive surgery my leg might never regain its former strength and agility.”
    “I could drive you. Stand watch. Things like that, sista.”
    “Zeph is right,” Bram said. “You might want someone to watch your back.”
    She pulled him close and whispered, “Don’t interfere.”
    “You can trust him,” Bram whispered back. “Just don’t kill anyone.”
    She turned back to the Rastafarian. “I can watch my own back, Zeph. Like Bram says, if I need help, I know where to find you.”
    He shrugged and finished his coffee. “I go home, feed Shaitan.”
    “Pat her for me,” Bram said, removing the strainer from his tea and adding sugar.  
    Katla waited until the door closed behind Zeph and put her arms around Bram’s neck, burying her nose in his hair and breathing his scent.
    “You smell good. Didn’t take a shower yet, did you?”
    “I wanted to take a bath and figured you might want to share it.”
    “You figured right,” Katla replied and leant against him, listening to his heartbeat while he drank his tea.
    -o-
    Katla gazed out the rain-splattered windows at the dark sky over the zoo. Soft jazz music played on her stereo, the music only disturbed by the sound of the occasional peanut dancing over the floor and the squeaking of tiny rubber wheels.
    Kourou bumped against her ankle and said, “Happy?”
    “Yes, I’m happy,” Katla told the macaw and turned away from the window. The soft yellow lights gave the room a cozy feeling, although she also credited Bram’s presence. Kourou bopped his head, his bright eyes focused on Bram sitting cross-legged on the far side of the living room. Bram fished another unshelled peanut from the paper bag in his lap and tossed it across the wooden floor in the direction of the hallway. The macaw screeched and skittered around the coffee table on his roller skates, tiny wheels squeaking as he skated after the peanut.
    Katla walked back to her laptop on the coffee table and completed the transaction. Pascal had files on his computer. Files pertaining to Sphinx Shipping. She needed them and she didn’t want anyone else to have access to the contents of Pascal’s computer. Although she was an adequate hacker and could circumvent most security measures, she wasn’t a creator. And you needed a creative mind to create a virus. Like the one she just bought.
    Bram cocked his head and pointed at the ceiling. “I think you caught one.”
    “You think, or you know?”  
    Katla rose from the couch and walked to the stairs leading up to the gym. Only directly under the trapdoor could she hear the hysterical chirping and the flutter of tiny wings. Smiling she ascended the stairs and went to the small roof terrace.
    The tiny sparrow tried to fly away, its feet stuck to one of the glue sticks Katla left scattered around the bowl with pigeon food. She donned a pair of motorcycle gloves and opened the sliding door. The sparrow panicked, dragging the glue stick along the pebbled tiles, but before he could entangle himself in the other glue sticks Katla scooped him up and carried him down the stairs to the kitchen. Bram had already filled the sink with warm water. Katla held the sparrow’s feet in the