Janwillem De Wetering - The Rattle-Rat

"Always an extra problem," the commander said. "How can one ever take all possibilities into account? Some idiot truck, complete with trailer, suddenly shooting off toward the gate. All my routes blocked at once. Car number three, supposedly swerving to the right, totals car number one, which supposedly is the pivot of my pursuit."

"And Fritz?" asked de Gier.

The commander waved a tired arm at the gate. "A most unfortunate concurrence of unpredictable circumstances. My car in the middle, pushed out of its course by the truck and trailer, makes a sudden sharp left, and one of my men, ready to shoot, falls on the door handle. The door opens. My man falls out. Fritz, in his Mercedes, coasting toward the gate too, sees the pistol in the hands of my man."

"You had five cars," de Gier said.

"Three are in pursuit now," the commander said. "But where is the beauty of a well-planned attack, if two-fifths of my power falls away at the start? If it could only go right once, just once. Why do I always have to improvise within the first five seconds?"

De Gier found his Volkswagen and drove into Leeuwarden. The streets were busy. Somewhere ahead, in the core of the city, sirens chanted sadly. Threatened by two lanes of oncoming traffic, the Volkswagen found refuge on the sidewalk. A policeman approached. "Lost, colleague?"

"Looking for those sirens."

The officer listened too. "Would be close to the railway station. Take the next alley to the right, and never mind from then on. Just go straight, can you do that?"

De Gier made the Volkswagen bounce along the pavement and took the first right. The alley was marked as a bicycle route. Ignoring further signs, de Gier took a one-way bridge from the wrong side, broke through a red and white check- ered partition that bordered a parking lot, and roamed about between long lines of silent cars. A Mercedes sports car appeared, and the car's pursuers, racing along in two sleek Ford convertibles. The Volkswagen jumped ahead and tried to follow the chase.

Around and around and around.

Monotonous, de Gier thought. The Volkswagen began to weaken. De Gier noticed an open parking space, and filled it. The Mercedes aimed for the bridge, but a Ford tried to cut it off. The military policeman in the rear seat emptied a clip from his Uzi. The weapon spat rapid fire just before Mercedes and Ford ripped off each other's fenders, went out of control, and began to destroy parked cars. De Gier approached the final scene on foot. The Ford's driver rested his bleeding head on the steering wheel. The Ford's horn howled tragically. "Yayhay" the other policemen, jumping from the Ford, were shouting while they leaped at the stalled and silent Mercedes from three sides. The Uzi chattered again. De Gier reached the Mercedes too.

"Huh?" the military policemen asked each other.

De Gier looked into the car. "You took his head off," he said quietly. "No head." De Gier sat down, for he was tired now. He preferred to lie down, and stretched himself on the tarmac.

"Everything is fine," a kind voice said.

De Gier thought he might want to sit up now for a bit, but he couldn't, for he was strapped down.

"Won't be long now," a kind voice said.

Isn't the world a friendly place? de Gier thought.

He woke up a few minutes later and heard Grijpstra's voice.

"Can I have him now?" Grijpstra asked.

De Gier noticed a sour taste in his mouth.

"He threw up in the ambulance just now," Grijpstra said. "Otherwise he's fine. Truly. I've known him for maybe twenty years. The sergeant can't stand blood. If he sees blood he throws up."

De Gier stumbled against Grijpstra's arm. "Fritz had no head." He burped.

"So they were saying," Grijpstra said. "But it isn't too bad. Sprayed fire, they call it. The bullets spread, formed a cloud, cut down everything in their way. And that Fritz was no good."

The Volkswagen waited in the hospital's driveway, with a bashed-in front end.

"Did I do that?" de Gier asked.

"It was me this time," Grijpstra said, "but it's all right. Bit of confusion out there. I found the car, and you had left the key. I wanted to save our faithful companion, but one of the Arrest Team's vehicles was still tearing about, and the ambulance came for you. Not a clear situation. You know a colleague by the name of Eldor Janssen?"

"A great man," de Gier said. "An example to us all. A true Viking, Adjutant, they still have some here, I believe. If only there were more of them."

"Sure," Grijpstra said. "Well now, that Eldor has a wife and she also wrecked a Volkswagen, her own, but the front end is okay. She's giving it to us."

"When I looked in on Fritz," de Gier said, "there was still some movement in there. Maybe Fritz wanted to tell me something, but he was short of his head."

"What were you doing there, anyway?" Grijpstra asked. "The confrontation was planned for next week. Here I am, doing everything possible to keep you free of what's going on, and you're out there in a hail of bullets."

De Gier had been bedded down on the couch. Grijpstra brought tea.

"Was I out a long time?"

"The doctor said you were asleep," Grijpstra said. "He thought you'd been overdoing things a bit."

"I fainted."

"You did not, you know," Grijpstra said. "First you ran about all day on a tourist island, and then you spent a hectic night with Hylkje. A visit to the cattle market after that. You had worn yourself out."

"I'm tired now," de Gier said.

"Rinus?"

De Gier mumbled.

"You're not doing something sneaky, are you now? Remember our arrangement? This is my project. Rinus, are you with me?"

"So tired," mumbled de Gier.

" I never thought otherwise," Samuel Cardozo said, "and it couldn't have gone any other way."

Simon Cardozo was trying to carry the bicycle's remains up the steep and narrow stairs.

"You wouldn't be expecting any help, would you?" Samuel asked. "Why bring up this mess, anyway? Leave it outside with the other garbage."

"Shh," Cardozo said. "I'm not alone.

"Evening, sir," Samuel said to the commissaris. "Didn't see you. Sorry about that. A bit dark on the staircase." The commissaris pushed, Simon pulled, Samuel pulled a little too.

"Not in my kitchen, that scrap," Mrs. Cardozo shouted. "Oh, hello, sir. Nice of you to visit us. Would you like some coffee?"

Samuel had a friend with him. "Are you the famous com-missaris?" the friend asked. "I read about you. About the bribes and so forth, but that wasn't your department, that's what you said to the journalist."

"How are your legs these days?" Mrs. Cardozo asked.

"Better," the commissaris said. 'Thank you. I've been given exotic herbs for my bath. Samuel, I'm sorry about your bicycle. We brought in what's left because your brother says you're handy. You think the bike can be fixed?"

Samuel bowed over what had been put against the kitchen table. "The frame is gone, and the wheels are beyond repair too, buckled, very buckled, and the pedals-these must be the pedals-and the handlebars, where are the handlebars? Maybe I could do something with what's left. The chain seems okay-no, the chain is broken."

"I'm sorry," the commissaris said. "The police are thrifty these days, but I would be delighted to buy you the new bicycle of your choice."

"Sir," Samuel said, holding up his hands. "Sir. Please."

"Don't do it, sir," Simon said. "My brother is a member of the Socialist Party. The purpose of his life is to serve others, right? Samuel?"

"Mrs. Cardozo," the commissaris said, "your Simon has been a true hero again, I came to tell you that. You should be proud of him."

"Is that right?" Mrs. Cardozo asked. "Oh, sir, I was so pleased when my Symie was able to become a detective. When he was still in uniform, I always worried so. When he's in regular clothes he can always get away. I keep telling him that. 'Simon,' I say, 'I'm telling you, me, your mother, for one heroic deed and one guilder and seventy-five cents, no respectable caf6 will serve you a cup of coffee.'"