My Friend Bobby by Alan Edward Nourse (big ebook reader txt) 📕

Africa, their mother, his sister, Famke accompanying them, probably to escape the freezing winters they had in Amsterdam. They had seemed carefree as teenagers, Bart the oldest at about eighteen being a young man, and his sister Lotte six or seven years younger. Yet even back then, it had been apparent to Johan how much Lotte had dominated her big brother, how she had him wrapped around her little finger, the lad already overweight and soft from eating too much junk food. Johan had tried to instil a bit of masculinity in him, giving him jobs around the farm, taking him hunting – what a disaster that turned out to be – and hoping to draw him out of his shell, out from his sister’s shadow, but it had been to no avail. The young man was too weedy, big and strong, yes, but totally lacking in fibre or initiative. Always traipsing around after his sister, doing anything she asked. Was he gay? Johan had wondered, or retarded? Certainly that was a possibility, especially considering who his grandparents had been and the lunatic DNA he must have had slopping around in his genes. Which also, now that he thought about it as he sat in his chair watching Lotte, might explain the way she had developed in her adult years. He shook his head, too weary to think about it too deeply.

And now here she was, with her crazy offer to him – with its crazy financial reward!

His reverie was interrupted just then, when she glanced back over her shoulder.

“How’s the hunting these days?” she asked.

“Lucrative.”

“I should imagine it is. These people in the photos are seriously rich, I’m sure I recognize one or two from TV.”

She’d paused in front of one particular framed image. He knew the one. It showed a guy holding a rifle, the stock resting on his thigh and the barrel pointing skyward, his foot resting on the young buck he had killed. A young homeless man from the township.

“Isn’t he that American politician? A Senator, right? Jeez, how much did he pay for that?”

Johan cleared his throat. “Half a million dollars.” Half of what she had just offered him, he thought to himself.

Lotte whistled between her teeth, shaking her head. “You certainly do have a good thing going here, Uncle. You must be building yourself quite a reputation amongst the rich and famous who go in for this kind of thing?”

“A reputation built on discretion,” he corrected her, “and trust.”

“For you and your clients surely? Considering what it is you and they are doing? By its very nature, it guarantees their silence.”

She reached up and touched the photo, running her fingers over the image of the dead man.

“How did you persuade them to let you photograph them?”

“It’s part of the contract. My insurance, you could say.”

Lotte giggled, her back still to him.

Johan sighed and pushed himself back from his desk, his patience growing thin.

“Listen, this job - one million you said, paid in bitcoins, right?”

His niece turned and sashayed across, and sat in the chair opposite. She nodded. “The transfer could be in your account by this evening.”

“And where is it?”

“Amsterdam of course.”

“Shit, it’ll be freezing there at this time of the year,” he grumbled.

Lotte shrugged, her small white teeth showing as she grinned impishly. “Amsterdam is pretty at Christmas time. You’ll enjoy it.”

Johan rose, now his turn to stroll back and forth, thinking hard. Which was a bit pointless he knew, for his decision was already made. He was simply trying to convince himself he’d made the right choice. He glanced across at his niece, seeing her waiting quietly, watching him go through this pretence. For some reason, this annoyed him even more.

“And you’ll get everything prepared? The whole thing set up?”

“Yes, events are already in motion, as they say. The whole thing should take just a few days. Before you know it, you’ll be on a plane flying back home.”

“And the target? This man? You can guarantee that he’ll be exactly where you say he’ll be? I don’t like last-minute hitches, especially when I’m working in a foreign country.”

“Don’t worry Uncle. I have it all worked out. Everything will run as smoothly as clockwork.”

Johan gave a short, humourless laugh.

“I’ve learned from my past mistakes,” Lotte added, an edge now in her voice and a small frown of irritation on her brow, which made him feel uncomfortable for some reason, and so he averted his gaze.

He paused in his nervous walking and lifted a part of the window blind to peer outside. Across in the paddock, the pilot was now having a snooze, his head leaning against the glass cockpit of the helicopter.

“The other stuff, all of that weird shit you do, I want nothing to do with that crap you understand? I had enough of that nonsense from your mother when we were growing up.”

“I’ll take care of that,” she replied, her tone now softer again. “You just do what you specialize in, and I will do likewise.”

Johan Roost turned back from the window and looked her square in the face.

“In that case, you have a deal.”

Chapter 2

A foggy night in Amsterdam

He drove the specially-converted black delivery van slowly along Vondelstraat, the engine humming quietly and the headlights penetrating the swirling December fog. At just after 7pm at this time of the year, this quiet and exclusive suburban street was all but deserted, the residents of the large, gated townhouses safely inside their homes, perhaps sitting down to enjoy their evening meals or watching the TV news.

Over to the left was the large park, empty now and filled with shadows. On the right, the ornate stone building housing the Hollandsche Manege, the historic riding school and stables.

Following the road around the large red-bricked church, the driver slowed down even further, his eyes roving left and right, looking for the correct building, and when he saw the huge gates he turned the wheel and drew to a halt before the entranceway.