Hard Rain

by Janwillem Van De Wetering

  "Take off your jacket and shirt," Celine said. "I love your chest. I saw it once at that judo match at Headquarters. Let me see it again. It'll look more natural when she brings in the drinks."

  De Gier obliged.

  "The name is Susan," the girl who brought in the drinks said to de Gier. She wore a miniskirt and a clinging T-shirt. "My, don't you have a body! Can I stay? I'm the special tonight. Half-price for the trio."

  "No, thanks," de Gier said. "The lady and I are friends. Haven't seen each other for a while. Some other time would be nice."

  "Susan might have stayed for free," Celine said. "How foolish of you. She's a hobby whore, likes to wear wet shirts. Didn't you like those long legs? Susan works as a secretary, just conies in one night a week."

  "No," de Gier said. "I came for you."

  "To knock me out?"

  De Gier poured the whiskey. "It'd be better for you if I did."

  "But I could be on your side," Celine said. "This place isn't really what I want. The customers are always drunk, they slosh and slobber so."

  "Your health," de Gier said. "That's what you get. You're planning to leave?"

  "Your health." Celine raised her glass. "Could be."

  "Know what you'll do instead?"

  "Not yet."

  "How's your husband?"

  "Unhappy too," Celine said. "He phones. The estate near Marbella is a mess. Some slob owns it. Ten Haaf, dopes up all the time. Guldemeester is the janitor up there, he doesn't like that."

  "Does he want to come back?"

  "Maybe."

  "And you'll be together again?"

  "No," Celine said. "It wouldn't work. Come into the bath."

  De Gier groaned as he lowered himself into the foam.

  "Oh," Celine said. "That's right, Fernandus said you broke your ribs. Do they hurt a lot?"

  "Some." de Gier said. "Please. Celine. I can't stay here too long. I'll have to go down in a while. If they knew that you met me here, you might be in worse trouble. If I knock you out. you'll be all right."

  She pushed her legs against his. "I'll drown if you knock me out in the bath." She rose from the water, twisting her torso, lifted her long blond hair, allowed it to fall down again. She swayed her hips a little, dipped foam, and covered her breasts. "You like me doing this?"

  "Sure," de Gier said. "Your figure is perfect."

  She stepped out of the bath and brought his drink. "You trust me now? I could have tried to run away. I won't do that, Til go down with you and do my tricks on Ronnie, make things more spectacular for you. What's this raid? Are you going to make arrests?"

  De Gier left the bath too. "We can't," he said.

  "So you are suspended. Fernandus and the baron weren't showing off."

  "It's not an official raid. We're after the Society's money."

  She looked at his clothes lying on the bed, and the pistol, conspicuous on the pale blue shirt. "They let you keep your gun? I've got a gun too." She clipped her pocketbook open and took out a Derringer, pointing it at his chest. "Enough of this now, put up your hands."

  De Gier sipped his drink.

  She came closer. "This is a .22 Magnum, no safety. All I have to do is pull the trigger. I've learned to handle this thing, it's very effective."

  "Did you remember to load it?"

  "Of course."

  "You probably forgot," de Gier said. "Give it to me. It's empty, I can see from here." He put out his hand. She dropped the gun and he caught it, broke it open, and watched its two cartridges bounce on the bed. He pushed them back into the chambers, snapped the little pistol back together, and gave it back. "You're right."

  Celine laughed. "Fool. There's no way to see if this thing is loaded until you open it."

  "Tricked you," de Gier said.

  "And you let me have it again? What if I shoot you?"

  "You won't."

  She sat on the bed. "You really weren't afraid? The girls at Headquarters say that you have no nerves. They all adore you. Is it true that you live alone with your cat and that you read a lot and never get involved?"

  "How can I live alone if I live with my cat?"

  She dropped the derringer into her bag. "Tell me more about the raid. Who's in on it?"

  "Eight of us."

  "The commissaris too? Does he want to steal the Society's cash?"

  "I don't think he'll keep it," de Gier said. "He's gunning for Fernandus. Some old trouble between the two of them. I haven't quite caught on yet, but it doesn't matter. I'm doing my own thing now."

  "But you're with the commissaris?"

  "So far," de Gier said, "but I don't think he's with me."

  She sat down gingerly on his knee. "Shall we fly away?" Her fingertips gently traced his ribs. "I have such a good fantasy with you. You're an angel, just like the angel here in the hall, and you swoop down and pick me up and then we're off, and we never come down again, your wings take us higher and higher and we waft away until we aren't anywhere anymore."

  "That's good?" de Gier asked, softly stroking her hair.

  "I wouldn't mind not being anywhere. Would you?"

  He pointed at the bottle standing on the edge of the bath. She fetched it and came back. "You don't really care for me much, do you? We could have sex. Would that hurt you?"

  "Probably," de Gier said.

  She poured whiskey. "If you lay on your back and I was very gentle? It's always so quick here, I need more time. Jane says you're slow."

  "You discuss my technique?" de Gier asked. "I thought Constable Jane was shy. She's always shy with me."

  "We act a lot," Celine said. "But I do think Jane likes you. So do I. Toine prefers the commissaris. I like him too. Do you know that Toine is with Fernandus now? Isn't that rather a loss? Younger men threaten Toine, but I didn't think she would go for Fernandus. He's all twisted inside."

  "The commissaris isn't?"

  "Is he?" Celine asked. "You know him best. Guldemeester was always jealous of you. Teacher's pet."

  "No,"deGiersaid.

  She pushed him onto his back. "Do you mind? I won't touch your ribs. What do you mean, 'no'? You're not teacher's pet?"

  "The commissaris isn't twisted," de Gier said. "And if he is, that's up to him. I don't consider myself his student anymore. Ouch."

  "Sorry," Celine said. "Okay now? What if I bend back?"

  "Better, go ahead."

  "Thanks," Celine said when she disengaged herself. "You were very patient. Did you like it too?"

  "Didn't you notice?"

  "Yes, but it could have been automatic."

  "It wasn't," de Gier said. "Shall we go downstairs?"

  She dressed. "You don't still think I'll tell on you?"

  De Gier had trouble bending down to pull up his pants. Celine helped. "You'd be in a mess if I did," she said. "There are six waiters and the doorman downstairs, all of them fighters, and the manager throws knives. There's the baron too."

  "The all-around sportsman," de Gier said. "I could have the lights turned off at the right moment. There must be a main switch, do you know where it is?"

  "I'll show you." She nestled into his arm. "Hold me a while."

  The hug lasted until she stirred.

  "But what will you tell them afterward?" de Gier asked.

  "I don't know yet."

  He rested his chin on her head. "Tell them I turn you on and that you thought I came for you. You don't have to recognize the others in our team, they're supposed to be disguised."

  \\ 21 /////

  IN THE CLUB'S LARGEST ROOM, WHERE HALF A DOZEN comfortable couches, upholstered in different materials but all in striking shades of a bright orangy red, were grouped around a roulette table that attracted an enthusiastic crowd, de Gier sat stiffly next to a small gentleman in an old-fashioned but dapper summer suit. The commissaris, hard to recognize under his shock of false white hair, had crossed his legs and was contemplating his highly polished boot. A small hand stroked his full beard, and his pale blue eye
s peered at the sergeant through a sparkling lorgnette that he had just, with a delicate gesture, pushed up to the bridge of his thin nose. "Excellent," the commissaris said, tapping de Gier's knee. "That's what I like about working with you, Rinus, you always do so much better than can be expected. So Celine's with us now? You 'turned' her, so to speak?" He glanced at Celine, standing next to Ryder, chattering brightly to the big man, who looked shabby in spite of his white linen jacket and loud checkered pants. Ryder's bulging cheeks dripped with sweat and his bulging eyes stared hungrily at a cluster of thousand-guilder notes, pushed toward him by the croupier's little rake. Ryder's pudgy hands rearranged the money, quickly finding numbered squares. A shiny pendant, a combination of precious stones set in massive gold, dangled from a silk ribbon hung around his neck, as he corrected a choice while the croupier and the crowd waited.

  "Rien ne va plus," the croupier sang out. The wheel turned. A small metal ball jumped musically in the sudden hush that pervaded the room. The crowd applauded. Ryder swept up his profits, impassively dispensed by the croupier's magical instrument. Ryder thanked the powers below with a clumsy bow and proposed a toast. Waiters came running with a silver tray.

  "To me!" Ryder shouted. "To me!" his cronies shouted, grinning and waving. "To me and all!" Ryder's surprisingly high voice shrilled like a piercing whistle on a lopsided locomotive as he bent down to put an arm around Celine.

  "To me and all!" The choir around the pair obediently echoed. The commissaris's and de Gier's glasses were raised too. "Hurrah," the commissaris said.

  "Hey-ho," de Gier said softly. "Hey-ho."

  "And Celine'll let us know?" the commissaris asked. "Splendid. You really have a way. How do you do it?"

  "I was going to knock her out," de Gier said. "I didn't do well at all. There were some risks. She could have gotten away, but I'm not good at hitting women. If she had alarmed the waiters, we would have been in a pretty fix again."

  "Not really," the commissaris said. "What can they do? This is a shadowy operation, Rinus. A small bubble. We can prick it, and when we succeed we run away from the foul smell." He touched his flowing beard. "Itchy. The glue prickles. My wife spent most of the afternoon attaching all this hair. I have to bring this off or she'll be most upset. Doesn't like to waste energy, Katrien doesn't."

  De Gier had spotted the baron hovering at the other side of the room, and excused himself. Cardozo took his place. "And how did you fare?" the commissaris asked. "Have you picked your waiter?"

  "Yes, sir." Cardozo reinserted his multicolored tie, which kept jumping out of his waistcoat. "Your waiter is the fellow with the red sash over there, carrying the smoked salmon. You should try some of that. Do you know they employ slaves here?"

  The commissaris observed his waiter, a bowlegged individual with a barrel chest, a low brow, and shaggy tufts sprouting from malformed ears.

  "Slaves, Simon?" The commissaris tried to raise his glued-on eyebrows.

  "There," Cardozo said. "The Indian lady in the sari. Sayukta. She took me upstairs, we talked for a while."

  "Talked?" The commissaris raised his hand, but dropped it again. "Shouldn't scratch. Bah."

  "Sayukta's from Calcutta," Cardozo said. "She was born in a park. The rats in the park ate her baby brother, but she learned how to beat them off. Seems like a hard life. Everybody sleeps in the street there, but the parks are worse. And then she got sold to some organization that ships young girls out. The slaves get hired out to brothels, and since they never have proper papers, they're in the power of whoever exploits them. Sayukta's only nineteen. She seems to like me."

  "Did you make any promises?" the commissaris asked.

  "No, sir, I only said I might perhaps be able to help. She doesn't care for her present occupation."

  The commissaris dug his fingers into his sideburns. "You might get her address"

  "I have it, sir."

  Grijpstra passed the couch, wishing the commissaris a good evening. The adjutant wore a wig too, combed down over his forehead so that the scar of his wound wouldn't show. A walrus mustache drooped down impressively. With his baggy tweed jacket, he could have been British. "Jones is the name," Grijpstra said, pausing briefly. "A parson by trade, representing the lunatic fringe of the Protestant faith. Would they provide attractive indecent minors here? Are we getting close to the kill?"

  "Not yet," the commissaris said. "Celine will tell de Gier. Ryder is celebrating now. We want a lot of money on the table. Are our State detectives alert?"

  "They're in the poker room now, sir, winning. Trying to get your investment back."

  "Karate and Ketchup are gambling too," Cardozo said. "How much did you put in? A thousand for each of us?"

  "Never mind mere money," the commissaris said. "It's such a pleasure not having to apply to the administration for funds."

  Guests were drifting back into the room, and the croupier came to attention. "I'll play some blackjack," Grijpstra said. "They don't seem to like it when you just eat a lot. Have you sampled the little rolls with mushroom ragout yet? I've had a few, but they're too filling."

  "So you sell luxury goods to the Russian elite?" the baron asked de Gier in the poker room. "I believe the more equal comrades do drugs a lot. You have a connection?"

  De Gier sucked his cheroot. "I could use a better quality." He winked at the baron. "And some financing, perhaps. So you're a banker?"

  De la Faille handed de Gier his card. "Give me a buzz tomorrow, perhaps we shouldn't meet at the bank. Come over to my apartment. Do you sell outboard engines, perhaps? I hear the communist lakes are good for sporty boating, but there's a better market now, with the Iranian army stuck in inundated swamps. Ever been to Iran? I could arrange a passport and a Japanese supply. Officially the trade is banned, but the demand is quite hectic. We could find a way." He touched de Gier's shoulder. "Did you find Celine? You seemed rather in a hurry."

  "I had this urge," de Gier said.

  "You had met her before?"

  De Gier waved about vaguely. "Earlier this evening. I wasn't sure then, but the need suddenly arose."

  "You must have found her. You look all relaxed."

  "Yes," de Gier said. "So do you. I didn't quite get what you were telling me when we met at the mirror."

  The baron shrugged. "Cocaine does that to me. Sudden insight, you know; it's still with me, but I took a downer later on. Drugs are fun, don't you think? Don't know what we ever did without them. To be able to inspire and control the mind at will. Manipulating others is easy enough, merely a matter of applying power at the right time, but the self can be quite silly, jumps around too much, all that intelligence wanting to go astray."

  "You were inspired when we met just now?" de Gier asked. "What did you see?"

  The baron's hand was still on de Gier's shoulder. "You must have seen it too. Physically, of course, we're very much alike, but I saw more. Mated souls?"

  De Gier led the way to the couch. They sat down together.

  The baron called a waiter over. "Champagne?"

  "Thank you." De Gier took the glass. "No, not mated. Opposed. I think you and I should fight. That's what I saw." He grinned. "A duel to the death."

  "But, my dear fellow . . ." The baron stared.

  "Didn't you see that?" de Gier asked. "Drawn swords, and we're both riding horses, yours black, mine white, superb stallions. The fog on the field in the early morning. Gold braid on our chests, a single bright-colored feather in our bearskin hats? Going full out at each other. Swishing steel? One of us goes down."

  "No . . ."

  "Oh yes," de Gier said. "Any way you like it, of course. Choose your weapons. Til win anyway. I absolutely have to. I'm the white knight." He suddenly sat up. "Ouch." He felt his chest. "Handicapped, of course. The good always attacks from a weak position, but there should be a happy ending."

  "You're on coke too?" the baron asked. "Shouldn't mix it with alcohol too much. What's the happy ending?"

  De Gier smiled. "Your corpse.
"

  A waiter came over. "Sir? Mr. Ryder wants to know if the Society can match his bet."

  The baron nodded. "Be right with you." He turned to de Gier. "I still don't have your name."

  "You'll know it tomorrow." De Gier stood up too.

  The baron strode off. He even walks like me, de Gier thought, turning away from the satin woman, who, still unattached, roamed the room behind an all-embracing smile. Karate and Ketchup, dressed in inconspicuous gray suits, played poker. De Gier stumbled and grabbed Karate's shoulder. "Excuse me."

  Karate dropped his cards. "I'll pass." He frowned at de Gier. "Get away from me. You drunk?"

  "What's the matter?" Ketchup asked Karate. "You couldn't get the ace up your sleeve?"

  "Sir?" Karate asked.

  "I said," Ketchup said in a loud voice, "that maybe you don't have an ace up your cuff this time."

  "Are you," Karate asked ominously, "accusing me of foul play?"

  "Are you," de Gier asked Karate, "accusing me of intoxication?"

  Two waiters hovered nearby. De Gier walked on.

  "Watch those guys," he whispered to a waiter. "Sharpies, you know? Mouthy sharpies?"

  The waiter, a small square man with a squint, fluttered an eyelid.

  De Gier found Grijpstra in the next room, showing a piece of lobster to another waiter. He poked a finger at his plate, held close under the waiter's nose. "Feces. See? That green stuff inside the shell? That's, eh . . ." Grijpstra dropped his voice. ". . . shit. Lobster droppings. Yagh. Wah."

  De Gier wandered on.

  Celine stood in the hall. "Where were you? Ryder's going to put up everything he has. The manager is getting more money from the safe."

  "Good," de Gier said. "Did you show Cardozo what to do?"

  "Yes."

  "I could love you," de Gier said.

  The commissaris was talking to the roulette croupier. "Now, my man, I've been watching you. You keep tipping that wheel. Shouldn't, you know." The commissaris wagged a finger. "No." He called a waiter. "You there, bring my hat and stick, I'm leaving. I won't make any complaints, of course. In low-class joints like this, foul play can be expected. Thank you." The commissaris pounded his stick on the floor. "Disgusting."