The Streetbird (20 page)

Henri pressed buttons hidden behind the bar that extinguished the red lamps that were scattered throughout the room. Baf zipped curtains aside and disclosed a raised stage. The music changed again—a sensitive hand plucked the strings of a lute. Virginia, grabbed by Baf and put down tenderly again, tripped to a rococo cast-iron garden table and sat down primly on a matching chair, but her skirt moved up and her shoes were tight so that she had to bend down and adjust their straps, and then her neck itched, an insect buzzed in between her legs and had to be removed, she also had to climb on her chair to pick a grape, the grape had to be eaten, sweetly pressed between her lips, lusciously squeezed by her tongue. The pantomime took a while, but the public was fascinated and unhappy when Virginia rang a little bell to call the maid.

The maid was Charlene, wearing a servant's outfit. She belonged to the servile type that is so often mistreated in pornographic magazines. She arranged cups and saucers, but not properly, so that madame had to scold her and beat her even. Virginia turned Charlene upside down on her lap and hit her smartly on the bare buns. Charlene cried but dried her tears, for a visitor arrived. The visitor was Eugenie in a modest costume. Eugenie sat down and was served with tea and bonbons. Conversation, most polite. Compliments to and fro. About clothes, jewelry, quality of skin. The ladies got up, pirouetted around each other, felt each other's parts admiringly. Eugenie went too far. The audience understood that the visitor, herself female, was perhaps overly fond of women, but poor Virginia didn't seem to catch on. She giggled and tittered while submitting to further lewd approaches. The lutist was no longer plucking his strings; on the contrary, the minstrel yanked and banged, degenerating rapidly into a rock guitarist quite incapable of controlling his lower lusts. Servant Charlene was also manhandling her employer, and Virginia finally understood that she was attacked by both the denizens of Sodom and Gomorrah, and yelled for help, but Eugenie's hand smashed the desperate request.

Virginia howled. She had been pushed backward on the table, after Charlene had swept the tea things away and stamped on their debris. Virginia sobbed when Eugenie, tearing and ripping, split her dress and discarded the rags. Virginia groaned when Charlene, her trusted handmaiden, pulled her up by the hair, stripping her of her underwear at the same time.

"Bruha!"

Whether Herr Sublieutenant Roder of the Hamburg Municipal Police came to save Virginia or whether he, not being confined within his own frontiers, wanted to air the subconscious part of his soul, wasn't clear to the stunned but interested audience.

"Baf!" shouted Lennie.

Baf came, grunting. He didn't come gracefully, he fell, his foot lifted by Grijpstra's leg, and hurt his chin on the edge of the stage. "Alas," shouted de Gier, and veered across the bar, grabbing hold of Henri. "Help," yelled de Gier in Henri's ear, but Henri couldn't be of much assistance because de Gier held on to him. Too tightly probably, for panic doesn't know its own strength. De Gier's hysterically shaking head bumped against Henri's chin. Henri became unwell. De Gier, surprised by Henri's detached silence, let go. "Do you want to lie down?" de Gier asked. Henri lay down.

Baf pushed himself onto the stage but slipped back because Grijpstra pulled his leg. "Save that poor woman!" shouted Grijpstra.

Lennie fought with the two young labor brokers, who wanted to help too and mistakenly thought that Lennie was detaining them. De Gier threw bottles. One hit one of the young men in the head. The young man, in defense, hit Lennie on the nose. The barman was up again, but de Gier's elbow hit him accidentally once more in the chin. Henri sighed and held on to a shelf that gave way. More bottles fell and were caught by de Gier. De Gier aimed better now, hitting spotlights that exploded. There was a sharp smell of burning.

Some light penetrated from the quayside through tulle curtains and Roder's misdeeds on the stage were all too visible. Even skeptics knew at that moment that there could be no more thought of good intentions. The unfortunate Virginia was indeed being raped.

The smell of burning became sharper.

"Police!" shouted Slanozzel.

"Charge!" shouted Jurriaans.

Sergeant Jurriaans came in through the door, Karate and Ketchup through the windows. Broken glass clattered on the hardwood floor and was crushed by a furiously striding Baf, now definitely removed from the stage by Roder. Roder's shoe had hit Baf in the face, and because Baf was rubbing blood into his eyes, his sight was impaired.

The labor brokers fought on dauntlessly, only attacking women, who were losing their clothes as they bounced back and forth.

"Light!" shouted Karate.

De Gier pressed Henri's buttons.

"Fire extinguishers!" Ketchup shouted.

De Gier handed them out.

The fire consisted of some sparks in a far corner, but the fire extinguishers contained many gallons of foam. Rbder was finally restrained. He was done with Virginia and working on Eugenie, herself on the table now, and sideways on Charlene, who begged for mercy until she had to close her mouth, hit by a stream of bubbly liquid.

De Gier saw the conductor and the sheik escape and sprayed them as they crawled around the bar but let them go, out of pity and lack of interest, but Lennie was leaving too. Lennie stepped out of a window. De Gier was quick, but not quick enough. The labor brokers threw him a woman who scratched. Jurriaans was faster. Jurriaans saw how Lennie dropped into a powerboat. Jurriaans stepped out of the window too, but the powerboat was leaving. De Gier heard the splash and dived out of the window.

The powerboat reversed. Jurriaans and de Gier swam out of its wake. The powerboat jumped forward, raising its bow and leaving white waves that rushed at its pursuers.

"At last," Adjutant Adèle said, peering from the bow of Cardozo's brother's dory. "Something is coming at us. Catch it, colleagues."

Cardozo pulled the starting rope of his outboard engine. The engine burped and stalled. Cardozo rewound the rope.

"Let me try," Reserve Sergeant Varé said, and stumbled to the rear of the dory. Varé's position was port. Cardozo, yanking his string, moved to port as well. Adjutant Adèle, still observing the powerboat approaching rapidly, leaned to port too. The dory capsized.

Patrolboat M-3 of the Amsterdam Municipal Police started up its twin engines while its crew of six water constables manned their battle stations. Lennie saw the approaching danger, increased speed, and turned his wheel sharply. The powerboat shot off at a tangent and hit Cardozo's brother's dory.

Cardozo swam. He saw Lennie's head.

"I can't swim," Lennie said.

"I'll save you," Cardozo said. "Turn over on your back and go limp."

Lennie obeyed. Cardozo swam around him. Lennie turned over again, leered, seized Cardozo's throat with both hands, and squeezed.

Lennie didn't see Varé\ but Varé saw Lennie. Varé grabbed his left wrist with his right hand, made two fists, and made them come down with force on Lennie's head. Lennie released Cardozo.

"You okay?" Varé asked Cordozo.

Lennie popped up again.

"You're under arrest," said Varé. "Keep quiet or I'll drown you. Swim to the shore. You have a right to a telephone call, and if you can't afford to hire a lawyer, the state will hire one for you."

"Why don't you accompany the suspect," Adjutant Adèle said. "Then I can save Cardozo. Turn over on your back, Cardozo, and stop bulging your eyes."

"Hello?" the water constables shouted. "Anyone in the water?"

The water constables saved everybody.

"That fellow," Jurriaans said, "needs handcuffs."

"Hey," shouted de Gier.

"No," said Jurriaans. "The other fellow. This fellow is a splendid chap."

"Sorry," the water constable said. "But it's hard to see anything in this fog."

"And take us to the Catburgh Quay," Jurriaans said. "That's about all you can do for us. Thanks for the assistance."

"Our pleasure," said the water constables.

Karate looked about him. Slanozzel rested on a couch and smoked a cigar. Baf still bled, leaning against the stage, and against Henri, who bled too.

"Those two won't be going anywhere," Ketchup said. "You know what? We start the interrogations." He grabbed Char-lene. "You come with me." Karate grabbed Eugenie.

"Where do you want me?" Charlene asked.

Ketchup indicated a door. "Into there, on the double."

"And now?" Charlene asked, opening herself on the bed. "Do you want to enjoy your break? Why don't you go ahead?"

"No," Ketchup said. "You tell me where the heroin is kept. We'll find it anyway, but it'll take time, and in a minute they'll all be back and get in my way."

"I don't know what you're talking about, darling," said Charlene, and extended her arms. "Come along and let's get this over with."

"Dearest," Ketchup said, "cooperate a little, will you? Lennie has been caught. You'll have to look for another job. Try being more helpful for a change."

Charlene opened herself further. "Just for a moment? Do make an effort, dear."

"I wouldn't mind," Ketchup said, "but I'm working right now. Tell me where Lennie keeps his junk."

Charlene sat up and crossed both her legs and her arms. "Spoilsport. The heroin is in the safe, and the safe is in Lennie's office."

The door flew open. "What's going on here?" asked Sergeant Jurriaans, dripping on the expensive rug. "Since when do we segregate ourselves while dallying with unclad women?"

"Join us," Charlene said, and picked up a pink telephone. "Shall I call another girl for you?"

"It's in the safe," Ketchup said. "And the safe is in the office."

Jurriaans pulled Ketchup back into the room. "In the what?"

"In the safe, sergeant. They don't even bother to hide heroin anymore."

Karate looked out of half-opened door. "The witness here says that it's in the safe."

"I'll get the key," Jurriaans said.

Adjutant Adèle stood in the gangway. "I've called the station and they're sending a van, and blankets in case we catch cold." She wrung out her hair. "Bah, I've got dirty water everywhere."

Lennie stood behind Adjutant Adèle and in front of Varé, who guarded the suspect.

Jurriaans put out his hand. "Key of the safe."

"In the right pocket of my jacket," Lennie said. "I've got handcuffs on."

Jurriaans looked at the key. "You really keep it in your safe?"

"Where else?" said Lennie. "Isn't a safe safe? Do you know what heroin costs today . . . sergeant?"

"Yes?"

"Don't touch it, sergeant. There's a notebook in that safe too, with the names of those above you. They won't go after me if you mess with my junk, but they'll go after you."

Jurriaans put his finger on Lennie's nose and pressed.

"Ouch," said Lennie.

"You talk too much," Jurriaans said. "We're going. to stew you."

\\\\ 26 ////

"No," the commissaris said, "from my garden."

Jurriaans frowned, took the phone from his ear, and looked at it suspiciously. He pressed it against his ear again. "Are you inquiring about the Obrian case?"

"I will be," the commissaris said, "but not now. How about tonight, at six sharp in your station, and if you would, see to it that all colleagues who have worked on the case are present."

"Sir," Jurriaans said in confirmation.

"And, Jurriaans?"

"Sir?"

"Don't tell them that I'll be there."

The invited entered. "Welcome," the commissaris said. He got up. "Good evening, Adjutant Adèle." He sat down again. "Hello, Sergeant Jurriaans . . . Hello, Grijpstra . . . Hello, de Gier . . . Hello, Cardozo." He got up again. "I don't believe we have met."

Varé introduced himself. The commissaris shook Vary's hand. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, sergeant. I've heard your name mentioned. The chief of this station appreciates your contribution, and so do we at Headquarters."

Varé and the commissaris smiled at each other. The commissaris waved at a chair. "Do sit down, sergeant. And here we have the valiants who bring up the rear. Hello, Ketchup . . . Hello, Karate."

The subordinates scraped their chairs. The commissaris leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his waistcoat, and curved his eyebrows.

The colleagues mumbled.

"Well?" the commissaris asked.

The colleagues kept quiet.

"I'm here," the commissaris said, "because I was sent for. Something, I was told, appears to be wrong. What's wrong?"

De Gier admired his face mirrored in the waxed table's surface. He spoke to his reflection. "Weren't you supposed to be in Bad Gastein?"

"I am here," the commissaris said, "because one of you telephoned my wife, and my wife telephoned me."

"Who?" asked Grijpstra.

"Me," said Cardozo.

'
You
?" asked de Gier.

"Why?" asked Grijpstra.

"Because," Cardozo said, "I thought that something was wrong. I had hoped that I would be able to speak with the commissaris in private."

"There's nothing like teamwork," Sergeant Jurriaans said.

Cardozo looked straight ahead.

The commissaris coughed. He also touched his nose. He took his spectacles off and blew on his glasses. "When I left," he said softly, "I left orders that Obrian's murderer be apprehended. There were two suspects, Gustav and Lennie. I passed by Headquarters this afternoon and read all reports. Both Gustav and Lennie have been arrested." He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and polished his glasses.

"Can I smoke?" Grijpstra asked.

"No," said Adjutant Adèle.

"Can / smoke?" asked the commissaris.

"Certainly, sir."

"Could Grijpstra smoke with me?"

"Certainly, sir."

The commissaris and Grijpstra bit the ends of their cigars and struck matches. They puffed smoke into the direction of a window.

"So what's wrong?" the commissaris asked. "I would say that the preliminary investigation has been closed, for your reports do not mention the possibility of finding new facts." He refolded his hands and talked around his cigar. "But what seems strange is that you accuse neither Gustav nor Lennie of Obrian's death, although just about every other charge has been crammed into the forms. Who would care to explain?"

"Sir," said de Gier. "The suspects have not been charged with the Obrian murder because of lack of proof, their fervent denials, and the possible validity of a theory."

"What theory?"

De Gier mumbled.

"We're here anyway," the commissaris said, "and theories can be quite interesting. Tell me of your thoughts, sergeant, I can do with some entertainment."

"Coffee?" asked Jurriaans, and put his hand on a telephone. "Delicious cake?"

"If you please," said the commissaris.

The coffee came, as did the cake. Everybody busied himself with the tearing of sugar packets and the passing of the milk jug. There was diligent stirring.

"Gustav," de Gier said, "was apprehended first and I've listened to his comments. My impression is that Gustav didn't kill Obrian, but he did attempt manslaughter on Orang Utan and he's definitely a deranged and dangerous criminal. He should go to jail for a long time because of what he did—and would still do if he weren't incarcerated."

"Not a nice man?" the commissaris asked.

'No, sir. I think," de Gier said, "that Gustav had to be imprisoned. In order to realize that intention, the quarter's police station had come up with serious suspicions. Because there didn't happen to be any at the moment, they had to be fabricated. They were fabricated by manipulation."

"Who manipulated whom?"

De Gier looked at Karate.

"Me?" Karate said. "Why me? What can I, a simple constable manipulated by higher forces, manipulate?" He frowned sadly. "Me, caught in the banality of anonymous existence, me, a mere minion ..."

De Gier looked at Ketchup.

Ketchup blew his nose.

De Gier waited.

Ketchup put his handkerchief away. His small face grinned morosely. "Could I, my colleague's colleague, cause the tiniest deviation in the path of destiny?"

"Miserable modesty," de Gier said, "is a weapon I'm learning to handle too, but let me theorize further. Orang Utan is a brother with a violent reputation. He has been reprimanded several times. His last offense was an assault on rebels riding Harleys. They called him a nigger, but he is an Ambonese."

"Who are brown," said Varé.

"And Obrian was black. I mention the color"—de Gier kneaded his chin—"but color hardly fits in my theory. What does fit is that Orang Utan detested Gustav. He persecuted Gustav. Gustav usually drove a Corvette. The morning that he attacked Orang Utan he drove a Peugeot. I have found out why Gustav wasn't driving the Corvette. That car had been towed away by the police but couldn't be found on the parking lot where the police trucks customarily deposit their catches."

"Why had the Corvette been towed away?"

"Because of double parking, sir. The ticket had been issued by Orang Utan. According to my information, Orang Utan made a habit of sticking tickets on the Corvette and then radioed the tow trucks so that they could impound the car."

"A feud between Gustav and Orang Utan," the commissaris said. "Very good. The two men knew each other? There had been arguments?"

"Yes, sir."

"And on this occasion the Corvette had not been taken to the proper place. Why not? My car has been towed away too, but I got it back easily. All I had to do was pay the fine to the officer guarding the yard."

"I was told that the tow truck had an engine problem and ditched the Corvette somewhere along the way."

"You believe that the truck had no engine trouble?"

"Yes, sir. The tow truck's driver and Orang Utan are friends."

"You can prove the relationship?"

"Yes, sir. But both the driver and Orang Utan deny that they were harassing Gustav. Double-parked cars are customarily towed away, and Gustav makes a habit of double parking. Tow trucks are known to have engine trouble at times."

"So how did you manage to arrest Gustav?"

Ketchup held up his hand. "Our report states clearly what went on."

The commissaris nodded. "What didn't the report state?"

"That Orang Utan," de Gier said, "who was riding ahead of Gustav had been warned via the walkie-talkies of our helpful constables that Gustav was following him."

"So the channels of the walkie-talkies were the same as the channel used by the motorcycle cops," the commissaris said, "which is a coincidence, since there are many channels."

"Too much of a coincidence sir."

Jurriaans removed a speck of dust off his sleeve. "Coincidences do happen."

De Gier also removed a speck of dust off his sleeve. "And what were Ketchup and Orang Utan discussing when they met earlier on that same day in the police garage?"

"The weather?" asked Ketchup.

"We are not supposed to provoke," the commissaris said, "but even provocations have to be proved. I spoke to the public prosecutor, who never mentioned the possibility. The lawyer for the defense may speak up, of course, but there's still the heroin found in Gustav's house and the charges that Gustav's prostitutes are pressing against their previous employer. It seems that we did meet with some success after all, but we
were
working on the Obrian case, or am I mistaken perhaps?"

"Gustav is fried," Jurriaans said.

"And there was another suspect. Lennie."

"Are you looking at me?" Grijpstra asked. "Sir?"

"I have to look at someone," the commissaris said. "I can look at someone else if you prefer."

"Lennie," Grijpstra said, "was arrested on a charge of assaulting an officer, Cardozo in this case, whom he tried to throttle and drown. The report was signed by Cardozo himself and the witness John Varé, who is also a policeman, and signed under oath. Lennie was also arrested on a charge of drug dealing. We found two kilos of heroin in his safe."

"And cocaine, one pound," Jurriaans said.

"And hashish," Ketchup said. "Oil, a gallon."

"And some jars filled with speed," said Karate.

"And," said Grijpstra, "on a charge of employing a minor for lecherous purposes, a certain Charlene, fifteen years old."

"A well-formed child," Karate said.

"Overly well-formed," Ketchup said. "If you ignore half, you would still think she is ten years older."

"Gentlemen," the commissaris said, "there's a lady present." He bowed to Adjutant Adèle. He addressed Grijpstra. "The report was not signed by you."

"I signed, sir," Jurriaans said. "I arrested the suspect. Grijpstra and de Gier happened to be visiting the brothel, on the invitation of a friend of mine, Mr. Slanozzel. Trouble arose, someone called for the police, and as I happened to be on patrol in the neighborhood, I entered the establishment."

"Via the waterside?" the commissaris asked. "Since when do you patrol in a boat?"

"We happened to employ a boat, sir, because there had been complaints. Lennie's brothel has a bad reputation, and if we had approached the trouble spot via the quay, we would have been seen. The quay is well-lit."

"So you were on the water, accompanied by five officers, and Grijpstra and de Gier were causing discord in the brothel."

"No, sir," Grijpstra said. "We just happened to be around because we wanted to know what the brothel was like, and also to please Mr. Slanozzel, who asked us to accompany him. It would have been rude to refuse his invitation in view of his friendship with Sergeant Jurriaans."

"Who caused the trouble?"

"Some German," de Gier said.

"And where did he go?"

"He left," Grijpstra said. "We didn't see where he went. There was so much going on, and everybody kept falling into the canal."

"A German," the commissaris said. "I wonder who that could be?" He took off his glasses again and inspected their lenses.

"Sir?" asked Jurriaans.

"Let's have it, sergeant."

"We didn't need witnesses, so Grijpstra and de Gier weren't mentioned in the report either. The charges are clear enough. Naked facts don't have to be dressed up."

"I should say not," Ketchup said. "The girl who I interrogated was shapely enough."

"And did you see the blond?" Karate asked. "Who was taken care of by the Kraut?"

"Hmm," the commissaris said. His small fist hit the table. "That German." He pointed at Grijpstra. "Sublieutenant Roder, Hamburg Municipal Police. He's the only German police officer I can recall who owes us a favor. Did you send for him?"

Grijpstra studied his hands.

"I sent for him," de Gier said. "Roder is a civilian here. He can provoke as much as he likes."

"So you all had a good many drinks first," the commissaris said, "at the expense of this Mr. Slanozzel. I don't know the name."

"Four bourbons," De Gier said.

"Four genevers," Grijpstra said.

"Mr. Slanozzel is an upright citizen," Jurriaans said. "A businessman from the West who likes the quarter. A wealthy man."

"Legally wealthy?"

"I do believe so," Grijpstra said.

"And did you instigate relationships with any of the women?"

"No, sir."

"Although sex was included in the price," de Gier said, "but we couldn't have it anyway. Too much happening, fistfights, fire, cops coming in through the windows . . . "

"If you couldn't extricate yourself from the human situation," the commissaris said to Karate, "and your colleague was unable to influence fate, then we may perhaps excuse the adjutant's just lassitude and the sergeant's rightful ignorance." He rubbed out his cigar.
"If."
He smiled brightly. "But we could still try to analyze the premises." He looked at Adjutant Adèle. "You were highest in rank, so we may assume that you were in charge of the raid. Would you say there was any provocation?"

"I do not always say what I think, sir."

"What would you say?"

"I would say," said Adjutant Adèle, "that we were on patrol and heard citizens shouting for help. We responded. We found what we found."

"Yes." The commissaris shook his head.

"Lennie is stewed," Karate said.

"And did Lennie murder Obrian?"

"He says he didn't," Jurriaans said, "and my report does not mention the Obrian-related charge. We will continue interrogating the suspect, but don't you think we have enough on Lennie?"

"I'm not really thinking yet," the commissaris said. "Yes, Cardozo, you want to say something too?"

Cardozo dropped his finger and smiled slyly. "I too have a theory."