Hard Rain

by Janwillem Van De Wetering

  Two tall men, barechested under their leather jackets, with rattling chains on their naked chests, were watching the roulette table, grinning inanely.

  The manager came in, escorted by the baron. The manager carried an armful of cash. He put it on the table. "Ronnie," the baron said, "we're ready for you. You sure you want to do this?"

  "This is my night," Ryder said, raising his hands. The room had filled up. "Are all of you with me?"

  "Yes!" the crowd shouted.

  De Gier walked up to Ryder and placed a finger on the big man's nose. "You."

  Waiters came closer. There was a clamor elsewhere in the building. The waiters looked over their shoulders. Some shouting penetrated the room.

  "You," de Gier said to Ryder. "You, sir, with your loud mouth, you've been irritating me."

  The waiters surged forward. The first one, a heavy-set man with no neck, fell over the commissaris's stick. "I'm leaving," the commissaris shrieked. "Foul play."

  The lights went out.

  A flashlight came on. Four hands, extended from leather sleeves, swept money into linen bags. De Gier hit Ryder on the side of his chin. Ryder fell against a waiter. The shouting in the poker room increased. Cardozo's necktie made a small show of clashing color as the beam of the flashlight touched it. "Where is my waiter?" Cardozo mumbled. "On the floor," the commissaris mumbled. "Pick another."

  "Green feces!" Grijpstra shouted. "Yaahg!" A body fell and a tray clanged on the floor. There was another crash in the hall, and a scream.

  The lights came on again. "After them," the baron yelled, picking up waiters. De Gier, supporting the commissaris's elbow, reached the hall. The stone angel lay on the floor, without its head. Karate was showing the head to Ketchup. The revolving glass doors still turned. The doorman lay next to the angel's body.

  "A doctor!" Grijpstra shouted. "This man is hurt!"

  "Phone the police!" Cardozo screamed. "Where's the phone? Can I use the phone?"

  "I'm leaving!" the commissaris shouted. Waiters were running toward the revolving doors. De Gier stopped the doors, with two waiters stuck inside.

  "Let go of that door!" the manager yelled. De Gier stepped back. The waiters, pushing furiously inside, tumbled out, one into the street, one back into the hallway.

  "What's the number?" Cardozo shouted, holding up the phone. "I've forgotten the number."

  The baron wrung the telephone from Cardozo's hands and smashed it down.

  "You don't want to phone the police?" Cardozo asked. "This is a robbery. Those fellows got away with the loot. I saw them. Black jackets. Chains. Didn't you see them?"

  Karate tried to give the angel's head to the manager. The manager shook his head. "As you like," Karate said, "I'm only trying to be helpful." He dropped the head. The manager danced away.

  "Clumsy," Ketchup said. "Look what you did. You got him on the toe."

  "Sir?" Grijpstra asked the dancing manager. "Your kitchen is serving lobster feces. Do you know that? Yagh."

  "After you," de Gier said to the commissaris.

  The black doorman staggered away, holding his stomach.

  There was a bellow from the roulette room. Ryder came into the hallway, rubbing his chin. "Where's my money?"

  "Lost it, old boy," the baron said. "We lost ours too."

  "Oh no," Ryder squeaked. "You're responsible for this place. You pay me back, double, I might have won."

  "We'll discuss it, old boy."

  "And where's the guy who hit me?" Ryder asked.

  Guests were leaving the club. Cardozo left with them. "Where's the bathroom?" Grijpstra asked a waiter. "I've got lobster crap all over my hands."

  "Miss?" Ketchup asked the satin woman. "Can I have some time with you now?"

  Karate stood in front of a group of hostesses, pointing at them in turn. "Eenie, meenie, minie, mo . . ."

  "We're closing," the baron shouted. "Sorry, everybody out, please. We'll be closed for the rest of the week, due to refurbishing. 'Bye now. Thank you."

  "But we haven't been upstairs yet," Karate protested. "Please? We were gambling all night." He tugged the baron's arm. "We won. Can we copulate some of our winnings away?"

  "Out," the baron said.

  Guests were shooed to the door. The waiters who had pursued the robbers came back, shaking their heads.

  Grijpstra reappeared in the empty hallway, drying his hands with his handkerchief. "Where's the chief cook? I have a complaint."

  "Goodbye," the baron said.

  Two uniformed policemen came in. "Any trouble?"

  "No trouble," the baron said. "Thank you. Closing early tonight."

  "What do you mean, no trouble?" Grijpstra asked. "Listen, officers, I'm making a complaint, about the lobster I tried to eat here."

  "Please take this man out," the baron said.

  "Sir?" the cops said, pointing at the door.

  "Oh, very well," Grijpstra said, and left.

  When Grijpstra arrived, the commissaris's wife opened the door. "There you are, Adjutant, we were worried about you."

  "I'll never eat lobster again," Grijpstra said. "Good evening, ma'am. I'm sorry, I couldn't find a cab, and the night bus was slow. Is everybody here?"

  \\ 22 /////

  "PICK HIM UP AT HIS HOUSE?" CARDOZO ASKED.

  Adjutant Grijpstra braked for a traffic light. "In the street, I would think. We don't want Huip Fernandus to know. It may take some time. Who knows where those fellows hang out?" The Citroen moved again. "We don't have much time. I have a feeling we should push on. You want to collect that computer later today? What do we want with a computer?"

  "Don't know yet," Cardozo said, peering through sheets of rain pushed up by a city bus that passed their car. "Might come in handy. Where's de Gier?"

  Grijpstra switched the windshield wipers to double speed. "In bed. The commissaris wants him to rest his ribs. Besides, everybody knows now that the sergeant's suspended."

  "De Gier wasn't happy with the raid." Cardozo rolled a cigarette. "Didn't get to do much."

  "Except keep Mrs. Guldemeester busy for a while." Grijpstra grinned. "The sergeant didn't want to do that, either. Do you know who brought that stone angel down last night?"

  "Karate," Cardozo said. "Cut the wires while I took care of the lights. Karate likes spectacles. He and Ketchup did well, kept a few waiters out of the way and won a bundle at poker."

  "And handed the money over," Grijpstra said. "Surprising. Wicked little devils, but they did pay up. Don't think they kept a penny. Wonder why."

  "Honest?" Cardozo asked. "Some of us are honest. You wouldn't have kept any of that Society's money, would you, Adjutant?"

  "Bah." Grijpstra shook his head.

  "You need money," Cardozo said. "Everybody does."

  "Never cared for the stuff." Grijpstra parked the car on the Binnenkant bridge. "Let's hope we see Heul. If we do, you grab him. He may run if he spots me. Do you know what he looks like?"

  "Thin?" Cardozo said. "Orange hair? What do you have against money, Adjutant?"

  "Money is weight." Grijpstra lit a cigar. "Buys furniture. Furniture clutters the house. Buys gadgets. Gadgets break down. Buys holidays. I hate holidays. Attracts company. I'd rather live alone."

  Cardozo puffed on his cigarette. "I rather like money. All that cash yesterday was exciting. Close to a million. We really cleaned that place out. I could have counted it all night. De Gier doesn't like money, either, does he?"

  "De Gier is going a little crazy," Grijpstra said. "Keeps babbling about killing that baron. He's been seeing too many movies."

  "The sergeant hardly ever sees movies."

  Grijpstra gestured. "Or he reads too much. Novels with happy endings. There aren't any happy endings. What really happens is that it all goes on. So he gets the baron, so what? He'll also get a lot of trouble."

  "We'll have to get the baron," Cardozo said. "Him and Fernandus. They're the killers we're after."

  "No proof."

  "The baron sho
t IJsbreker," Cardozo said. "De la Faille must have been an officer with some crack outfit in the army, so he's probably a good shot. Set up a rifle in that house over there, in the part occupied by Huip and Heul, second floor. It couldn't have been anywhere else. We're not after proper evidence. The case won't go to court. None of us have any authority now. The authorities are all against us."

  "Yes, yes," Grijpstra said as he wiped the fogged-up windshield. "So?"

  "So? Last night's raid was illegal, right? If we arrest Heul now, that'll be illegal too. We can only pretend, try to shake the bad guys into tripping themselves up. Aren't we setting them up? For some accident, maybe?"

  "De Gier wants a duel," Grijpstra said. "That's crazy. There must be another way."

  "Push him or Fernandus into committing some careless crime? Hand them over to Chief Inspector Rood, maybe?"

  "Remember that lobster last night?" Grijpstra asked. "That green stuff inside? Sort of pale green? That's the color I'm after for my painting. Mixed it up this morning. I think it's the right shade."

  "Hello," Cardozo said, wiping the window with his hand. "That must be Heul. I'll go get him."

  Cardozo ran through the rain. Heul, carrying a shopping bag and holding an umbrella, tried to step out of the way. "Heul?" Cardozo asked.

  "Yes?"

  "Police." A handcuff clicked on Heul's wrist.

  "Hey!"

  "Hey to you too." Cardozo grabbed Heul's shoulder. The umbrella fell. The other handcuff clicked shut. "Come along." He picked up the umbrella and prodded Heul's back with it. "Forward, buddy. See that Citroen? Keep going."

  "Morning," Grijpstra said when Cardozo pushed Heul into the Citroen's backseat. "We meet again. This time the charge is attempted murder. We'll take you to Headquarters. How have you been?"

  Heul stuttered.

  "Attempted murder is a nice solid charge," Cardozo said. "We have witnesses who saw you put that tarpaper down. There are other charges too. Receiving stolen property. Remember Carl? Mrs. Jongs made a statement too; she saw you. Nice tight charges."

  Grijpstra started the car.

  "But. . ." Heul stared at Cardozo. "Shit, man ..."

  "Shhh," Cardozo said. "Yes, Adjutant, what were you saying just now?"

  "Last night's soccer game on TV," Grijpstra said. "It's the goalkeeper, I tell you. No good. They should fire the old fogey."

  "Hmmm." Cardozo considered the suggestion. "There's luck too, so, okay, he was unlucky. The ball was slippery, maybe. He did manage to catch it, but it slithered into the goal anyway. Can't blame him for that."

  "Something with his eyesight," Grijpstra said. "The paper mentioned a medical check. He should be retired."

  "Listen," Heul said. "Please. I picked up that tarpaper because it was lying in the road. I pushed it to the side. I'm always cleaning up. Habit, you know?"

  "Tell the judge," Cardozo said. "Take the next right, Adjutant, the traffic is blocked ahead."

  The alley was blocked too. Grijpstra switched the engine off. "This may take a while, that truck there is loading."

  "Oh, no," Heul said. "Oh, shit."

  Cardozo turned to the prisoner. "Dumb punk. You really did it now. These charges will stick."

  "Listen," Heul said. "Please."

  Grijpstra looked at the truck ahead in the narrow alley. "They've hardly started. I don't know why there's still so much business in town. All this loading. There must be a thousand cartons in that truck." He honked his horn. "They should give the city to the tourists."

  "Listen," Heul said. "It wasn't me. Huip told me to lay that tarpaper down, I didn't know what for. He put the Daimler in your way, I wasn't in the car."

  "If you had been, you might have gotten hurt," Grijpstra said. He pointed at his scar. "I got hurt, and the sergeant. Judges don't like it when cops get hurt."

  "Huip Fernandus," Heul said, "he's your man. I'm nothing. What do you want with me?"

  "Got to start somewhere," Cardozo said. "You lost your hat, and our witness saw your hair. She didn't see Huip Fernandus. Mrs. Jongs didn't see him take the paintings and vases from the junkies burglarizing the IJsbreker house—she saw you. Carl helped take stuff downstairs, and who did he give it to?"

  "See?" Grijpstra asked.

  "Don't you want Huip?" Heul asked.

  Grijpstra thought. "Isn't young Fernandus your friend?"

  "Yeh," Heul said. "You want Huip or not?"

  "On what charges?" Cardozo asked. "Because you say so? You're not reliable. You were in it yourself. Shifting the blame."

  "Huip will deny the charges, you see," Grijpstra said patiently.

  Heul waved his cuffed hands. "Catch him on other charges. Better."

  Grijpstra pressed his horn again. A man carrying cartons to the truck came over, dropped his load, and banged on the Citroen's roof. "Quit honking, you're making me nervous."

  "Like what charges?" Cardozo asked.

  Heul rattled his handcuffs. "Give me a cigarette."

  "No," Cardozo said. "I don't like you. What charges?"

  "Murder?"

  "Huip didn't shoot IJsbreker," Cardozo said. "I don't believe it."

  "Huip didn't waste IJsbreker," Heul said. "De la Faille did, I saw that happen. Huip saw it too. If you get Huip, he'll tell you,"

  Grijpstra had left the car and was arguing with the truckdriver and his mate.

  "This is too complicated," Cardozo said. "What's the charge against Huip? Has he murdered someone else?"

  "He will," Heul said. "I'll tell you who and how, if you let me go."

  Grijpstra came back. "This is interesting, Adjutant," Cardozo said. "Suspect wants to trade."

  "You've got nothing on me," Heul said. "So I was Huip's flunky. So I put tarpaper on a street. So I picked up some paintings. You want Huip on real stuff, right?"

  "Do I?" Grijpstra asked. "I've got you. Maybe you're enough. The city is short of cells."

  "Ryder," Heul said. "Ronnie Ryder. Next Sunday, in a boat, they'll blow him up. If you're there, you can see it happen. Huip will do it by radio, watch Huip push the button."

  "Nah," Grijpstra said. He put his arm on the top of the front seat and put the car in reverse. "Move your head to the side, I'm going to back up."

  Another truck entered the alley behind the Citroen. Grijpstra switched the engine off again. "Stuck."

  "All you have on me," Heul said, "is old stuff. Shaky stuff. It's not a good charge. None of it. Won't hold. But if you see Huip blow up Mr. Ryder ..."

  "Why would Huip do that?" Cardozo asked.

  "Some shit," Heul said. "I heard him talk to his father on the phone. Ryder wants money out of the bank or out of the Society or something. Fernandus and de la Faille cleaned him out, and Ryder wants his dough back. He knows about some big deals—coke from Bogotd, heroin from Calcutta, all sorts of shit. He's got them over a barrel. There's a meeting Sunday at the Vinker Lakes to talk it out. They've got speedboats there, Mr. Ryder likes that. He'll take out a boat and then Huip will blow him up. The gas tank will explode. A little plastic bomb that won't leave a trace. Voosh!"

  "Voosh," Grijpstra said.

  "No more Ronnie Ryder," Heul said. "The engine on the boat blows, and the engine is close to the gas tank. A spark. Huip is good with stuff like that. He wanted to blow up Mrs. Jongs too, but she isn't home now. Burn the house down—it's falling apart anyway, and it's insured. The Society wants to construct a classy building instead, start another club."

  "Voosh," Cardozo said.

  "Voosh." Heul leaned back. "Give me a cigarette."

  Cardozo smoked.

  "When exactly will this come about?" Grijpstra asked.

  "Sunday, two o'clock. Huip and some expert are fixing the bomb now. Okay? Let me go?

  "Who killed the three junkies?" Cardozo asked.

  "Huip." Heul's nose dripped, and he tried to get a handkerchief from his pocket. "I wasn't in on that. Nobody told me. I thought the horse was regular— cut, you know? Weak shit. But Huip gave them pure j
unk supplied by the baron. I didn't like that at all."

  Grijpstra sucked his cigar.

  "Okay," Heul said. "I'll give you more. I don't want to go to jail, man. I'm too sensitive for jail. Okay?"

  " If it' s good," Grijpstra said.

  "Real good. There's a girl with the Society, from Calcutta. Calls herself Sayukta. Ruby in her nose. Bare belly. They're going to send her home, but she'll come straight back, carrying four ki's of horse. She doesn't want to, but she'll go, all right."

  "When?"

  "Soon."

  "When exactly?"

  "I don't know. Very soon. The junk isn't in Calcutta yet. It comes from somewhere else. Nepal. Okay?"

  "Okay," Grijpstra said. "For now. If either tip isn't right, we'll get you later. In any way we know of."

  "We know lots of ways these days," Cardozo said. "Quick ways." He patted his jacket. "It's good hunting now. We can do lots of stuff. Not so many regular cops around anymore who'd bother to check. Nice."

  Heul held up his hands. Cardozo unlocked the cuffs. "Don't forget your umbrella."

  " 'Bye," Heul said. "Have a good day." He scrambled out of the car.

  "He thinks we're regular cops," Grijpstra said. "Maybe he thinks we won't dare."

  "We dared last night," Cardozo said.

  The truck ahead moved away. Grypstra started the Citroen again. "Heul's a little guy. Little guys scare easy. Maybe we're getting somewhere now. Pity the Vinker Lakes are out of town, we can't make the arrest."

  Cardozo was pressed back in his seat as the car shot away. "Ha," Grijpstra said. "If we see it happen, we've got them anyway. We'll bring in the local cops later. Wouldn't do to call them in early. Suspects could notice."

  "Shouldn't we warn Ryder?" Cardozo asked. "I mean ..."

  "Yes?"

  "I mean he's going to die. He'll blow up in front of us. Can you take that?"

  "I've seen Ryder go down once," Grijpstra said. "When de Gier pushed him over. I rather liked seeing him go down."

  "This time he'll go up."

  "Yes," Grijpstra said. "Where's the computer store you wanted to go to?"

  \\ 23 /////

  LATER THAT DAY, WHILE GRUPSTRA WAS HOME painting in the pale green background that would set off his bare-boned ducks, and Cardozo was working with his new computer on the kitchen table that his mother needed to cut cucumbers on, and de Gier was half-asleep on his antique brass bed, the commissaris' s wife served tea.