"Market stall," Halba sneered. "He'll need a license for that. It'll be withheld. Insurrection of the slaves, indeed. Won't have it, you know."
"Who's the slave?" the commissaris asked.
Halba pointed to Cardozo, bicycling through the hospital's gate. "He's planning to work a stall in the street market, says he won't serve under me. I tell you, that case is closed."
"Cardozo's case?" the commissaris said, putting up an umbrella. "Isn't this rain a bother?"
"IJsbreker's," Halba snarled. "You're all working on IJsbreker still. You're defying orders."
"Let's go into the building," the commissaris said. "Or have you come out just now? How are Grijpstra and de Gier doing?"
"Hah," Halba said as they entered the hospital. "How do you know they're here? They're not supposed to leave their beds."
"Birdies," the commissaris said, "do fly by my ear, transmitting information. Have you ever noticed, Chief Inspector, how many birds there are in this city? At any given location you can count at least nine species. Crows, seagulls, herons…"
Halba asked for the room number at the counter. They got into the elevator together. "… sparrows, starlings, terns…"
"Please," the chief inspector said.
"… thrushes…"
"You'll lose out on this caper."
"… goldfinches…"
"You may think you're a wily old bird yourself."
"… and canaries," the commissaris said. "They sing, you know. Lovely songs. Meaningful, too. What would we ever do without canaries, eh, Halba?"
Halba steamed behind the commissaris as the old man limped along, swinging a silver-knobbed bamboo cane. "Here we are."
"Sir," Grijpstra said, "you shouldn't have put yourself out. It's just a scratch."
"I looked into his head," de Gier said. "He's got a lot of meat in there. Never thought I'd see the meat in the adjutant's head."
"And you, Sergeant?"
"I can walk," de Gier said. "I tried just now. I smoked in the lavatory. I'm quite comfortable, thank you, sin"
"Morning," Chief Inspector Halba said.
Grijpstra nodded, holding on to his bandaged head. "We can't have visitors," de Gier said. "Just family. We're seriously wounded."
"Glad to hear that," Halba said. "I'll be brief. You, Adjutant, will be on extended sick leave from now on. Your accident was discussed this morning with this hospital's surgeon and the chief constable. In view of your age and general condition, aggravated by your present wounds, you're ordered to stay away from Headquarters for at least a month."
"That's nice," Grijpstra said. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome." Halba turned to de Gier. "And you, Sergeant, are suspended. You have a record of dangerous driving and the State Police officers who investigated your accident yesterday say that you failed to grant the right-of-way to an oncoming vehicle."
"Without pay?" de Gier asked.
"I've suggested that, Sergeant. You will be staying home to reflect on your reckless attitude. When you're readmitted to the force, you will be on probation for a year."
"Heheh," de Gier said. He held on to his chest. "Ouch."
The commissaris pointed to the door. " 'Bye, Chief Inspector."
"He would bang the door," Grijpstra said, holding his head.
The commissaris sat down, taking out his tin of cigars. "I can't smoke here?" He looked at his watch. "It's a quarter after twelve already."
The nurse came in. She glanced at the commissaris. "No smoking here."
"We're fine, nurse," Grijpstra said. "We would like a half hour to discuss business with our chief."
"No business," the nurse said.
"Just chitchat." The commissaris smiled at the nurse. The nurse smiled back.
"She's beautiful," the commissaris said when the nurse had left. "I shouldn't say this because it's a racial slur, but I privately think that beautiful black women are more beautiful than beautiful white women. Anyone care for a cigar?"
"Please," Grijpstra said.
"If you don't mind," de Gier said.
They smoked peacefully for a while.
"You were set up?" the commissaris asked. "Do you have a description of the other car?"
"No number," de Gier said. "It was a green Daimler, 1976. Pretty silly to use an uncommon car. Maybe it was just an accident. The driver and his companion were young men, bearded types, they wore duckbilled caps."
"Maybe it's fashionable for the enemy to use uncommon cars," Grijpstra said. "State Detection drives a Corvette."
The commissaris got up and looked out the window. "The Corvette is in the yard here now. I spoke to the driver earlier on, introducing myself. If they're going to follow me about everywhere, we may as well get acquainted. The driver is a sergeant, made up to resemble a gay person, like his assisting constable-detective. He told me they like to drive confiscated cars supplied by the drug trade in The Hague. So a Daimler got you?" The commissaris closed his eyes. "A Daimler, eh?"
"I'd like to check that intersection," de Gier said. "I never saw a stop sign painted on the road. I'm usually quite alert."
"Heyho," the commissaris said. "Willem Fernandus was complaining that junkies break into his Daimler. Maybe Cardozo can find out the color of the Daimler that Fernandus drives. I saw Cardozo at the gate just now. How is he?"
"Secretive," Grijpstra said. "I asked the nurse to phone Miss Antoinette. She must have told Cardozo we were here. He kindly looked us up but he still won't say what he is working on. Did you see Miss Antoinette this morning, sir?"
"I certainly did," the commissaris said. He tried to blow a smoke ring. "Fernandus can blow smoke rings. I've never been able to do that. It's because Fernandus has a naturally pouting mouth, I suppose. An elderly cherub, damn the fellow. Miss Antoinette…"
"Yes?" de Gier asked. "Yes?"
The commissaris shook his head. "I don't know. I'll never understand women, Sergeant. Are they naturally promiscuous, as we are? Have I been misinformed? I always thought that women have a, uh, natural tendency to, uh, purity."
"No," de Gier said.
"Yes," the commissaris said, "but your opinion doesn't count, Sergeant. You have a, uh, natural charisma that seems to attract female favors."
Grijpstra struggled into a sitting position, carefully holding on to his head. "So have you, sir."
"No, no," the commissaris said.
"I think the adjutant is right," de Gier said. "Perhaps you think along Victorian lines, sir. Grijpstra and I took that evening course on guilt. The pychologist postulated that older men have guilt feelings toward women, because they think they abuse female purity out of their power position. Since the sexual revolution, guilt in men has considerably diminished, but that may have been too late for you."
"I think," Grijpstra said, "that Miss Antoinette would just love to be promiscuous. She's lonely. She might even take me on, if I offered steady company, but first she'd have her fling with macho men."
"Like me?" de Gier asked. "She won't fling with me."
"You joke with her," Grijpstra said. "That's insulting. You've been getting into a flirtatious attitude that won't get you anywhere with refined types like Miss Antoinette."
"Refined?" the commissaris asked. "If only you knew what she has been suggesting."
"What?" de Gier asked. "What?"
The commissaris sighed. "She wants to be our inside contact at the Society for Help Abroad's club."
"Ah," Grijpstra said. "What's wrong with that? That'll be her fling."
"But don't you see?" the commissaris asked. "That means that Fernandus…"
Grijpstra puffed on his cigar. De Gier tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position.
"You think I'm jealous?" the commissaris asked.
"Maybe I could kill Fernandus," de Gier said. "He's a bad guy for sure, but he would be too easy to push over. Little old fat fellow, I hear. I need a matched type. A proper adversary."