Danger Zones by Sally Beauman

Author:Sally Beauman [Beauman, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4475-1
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-08-20T00:19:00+00:00

Chapter 12

THE ANTICA COFFEE HOUSE was in an old section of Amsterdam, in a narrow street lined with bookshops and small art galleries. Inside, it consisted of one large, pleasant room lined with paneled booths; on a rack, newspapers in several different languages were available to patrons; at several tables, people were playing chess. The atmosphere, cosmopolitan and faintly bohemian, reminded Gini of the older cafés in Greenwich Village in New York, except that the air smelled strongly of marijuana, and grass was openly on sale at the bar, along with drinks and cigarettes.

Seating herself at the bar, and arming herself with a Herald Tribune from the rack, she ordered coffee and bided her time. The Tribune had run the story of Mina’s disappearance, and Cassandra’s death, as a small item on page three, rather as Gini had expected. Missing-girl stories took time to build. If the girls concerned were in their teens, editors assumed they were runaways, and there were too many runaways to make headlines. It would be days, she judged, possibly weeks, before Mina’s story became front-page tabloid news—unless her father used his position and influence to make waves, of course.

Folding the paper, she looked around the café. It was now five in the afternoon, and the Antica was in a pre-evening lull. It was less than half full, and the clientele was mixed, in terms of age, gender, and nationality. Most of the customers had the air of habitués; there were several student types, two older men playing chess, a quiet girl reading a book, a louder group of men in the far corner, arguing in German. She turned back, and kept her eye on the bar staff, wondering whom to approach.

They appeared to be working shifts; shortly after she arrived, the first two, who had been Dutch and Australian, departed. They were replaced by two Americans, one a tall, blond young man in his late twenties, the other a slightly older woman with dark hair and a warm laugh. Both were wearing a uniform of white shirt, red vest, and black pants. Both dealt with the other bar customers in a bewildering range of tongues, Dutch phrases, Italian, French. Catching her eye, the woman smiled.

“More coffee?”

“Thanks. I’m admiring your language abilities… Oh, and some cigarettes…”

“You’re sure cigarettes?”

“Yeah.” Gini strengthened her own accent. “You have Gitanes?”

“We sure do. And as for the languages… Don’t be too impressed. I can say ‘The men’s room is on the right’ in about ten languages. Not too useful, huh?”

She leaned up against the bar and looked at Gini.

“You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you before. Your first time in Amsterdam?”

“Yes, it is. I’m just passing through. I don’t know the city too well…”

“It’s a great city. Freedom city—right, Lance?” She grinned across at her partner. “Lance is a surfer. From L.A. A wave freak. But even he thinks it’s cool.”

“So what’s a surfer doing in Amsterdam? It’s a bit low on beaches.”

“Making loot. Seeing the world. Same way I am.

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