Aki came by to pick up Ishmaers money. "More coffee, dear?"
He watched the slender hand tipping the pot. He thanked Aki.
Now, Grijpstra thought, there was a given set of circumstances here, and there was his intelligent self, and there had to be a way his intelligent self could manipulate those circumstances optimally. De Gier should be here to help but de Gier's absence, alas, proved his assholery. Grijpstra didn't want to think that way about a fellow musician he played "Endless Blues" with, practicing what had been called, by a slumming journalist writing about amateur jazz, a "loose irresistible shuffle beat," he didn't want to classify a colleague as such, a brother policeman he had shared a working lifetime with, twenty years of watching the city of Amsterdam getting steadily worse, from an unmarked rustbucket Volkswagen mostly, with no springs, ever-steamed-up windows and a radio that crackled in between directing its hapless crew to scenes of domestic violence: "Did your husband beat you, ma'am? "No, I fell." "Did your wife blacken your eye, sir?" "No, it's always black." "So who phoned for assistance, ma'am?" "The goddamn neighbors."
Where was asshole de Gier? Safely tucked away while his savior crossed an ocean in an airplane that had to be protected from terrorists by armored vehicles with machine guns on top, and while his guardian angel flew in a kite soaked in explosives, and while his redeemer was abused by authorities… Was he really expected to row across an ocean to an island?
Grijpstra would rather be ferried. He smiled at the woman behind the counter, loading more plates. "You must be Beth. I'm Kripstra, guest of Rinus de Gier."
Beth smiled too. She had cascading chins and bulging arms and breasts like stuffed hammocks. She had large blue eyes. The eyes were very clear. "Pleased to meet you. Coming to watch nature too?"
Grijpstra kept smiling. He explained his presence. He painted ducks on Sunday afternoons, upside-down ducks, using their orange feet for little sails. Nature always turned him on. "Yes, ma'am." Nature. Nature Woman. Dead nature woman Lorraine, floating upside down in that vast ocean out there?
Facing the younger woman he was being friendly-fatherly, he was good at that. When he and de Gier policed Amsterdam's inner city, de Gier bothered the suspect while Grijpstra took care, held hands, bought cofiee, worried about his client's feelings, read him his rights.
Grijpstra smiled.
He spotted a gray metal box on the shelf behind the counter. There was a microphone connected to the box.
"Is that your CB radio? You think you could reach the Kathy Three?"
Grijpstra remembered the commissaris summing up his New World experience. "Americans mean well. If they can figure out what it is you want them to help you out with, and they think they can help you out, they will."
"Sure." Beth activated her set. "Kathy Three, this is Beth, come in, Kathy Three"
The radio crackled.
Beth tried Squid Island too. "Rinus, this is Beth…"
Beth shook her head. "Nothin' doiri."
"I could row, couldn't I?"
"Sure," Beth said. If he'd wait a moment she'd take him to the Point, or Aki could take him, but there were still too many fishermen in the restaurant. Would he mind waiting? Could she get him more coffee? "Excuse me, Kripstra." New customers had come in. "Seat yourselves, dears."
Grijpstra wandered away from the counter. He knew where the rowboats were and he could see Squid Island. He'd left his bag at the table. Aki handed it to him. He liked Aki. Aki and Beth, was it? Nellie had gay friends too. She was probably bisexual. He had never dared to ask.
At the quay Grijpstra met Little Max, son of Big Max the lobsterman. Little Max was fishing from his dad's dory.
"Hi."
Little Max said hi too.
They exchanged names.
"My friend Rinus lives on Squid Island, Little Max. I'm going to stay with him for a while. I'd like to row out there. Can I borrow your dory? I'll bring it back when the tide turns and then I'll pay you ten dollars."
"Ten dollars," Little Max said thoughtfully.
Grijpstra, to diminish distance-he was good with dogs too-sat on his haunches. "You know the man out on Squid Island, the fellow who watches nature? You must have seen the foreign man. I wanted to go with the Kathy Three, with Flash Farnsworth? And Bad George? But Beth can't raise them on the CB, so now I'll have to row."
Little Max was impressed. This outsider sure knew names. Grijpstra had shaved on the El Al airplane, and his worsted suit didn't look too crumpled. The leather bag was new. Little Max thought this knowledgeable fellow, talking "from away," sure looked like a banker. Little Max had seen Bostonian bankers before, they came out to fish or hunt and they spread dollars around like crazy but so far not to him. Ten big ones' worth of Beth's chocolate-chip ice cream; he could spread that out some.
Grijpstra rowed. He hadn't lost his touch since his father had taken him out fishing some forty years ago. The oars stayed in their locks, little waves broke musically against the bow behind him. His direction was good for he'd drawn a line between Squid Island behind his back and Jameson's tallest church spire facing him now and if he could just manage to keep that spire between his feet, which were planted firmly against the dory's rear seat, and look over his shoulder once in while to check out the other end, he should make it easily, he thought. The tide pulled and the wind pushed, a breeze that kept strengthening as the dory got further out ofjameson. The waves increased in size. He saw a beige-colored speedboat leaving Jameson Harbor, powered by twin outboards. It approached rapidly. As the speedboat skipped across waves, wavering a bit before coming back on course, Grijpstra could read the lettering on both sides of the bow: SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT WOODCOCK COUNTY. The boat was fair-sized, thirty feet long at least, sleek, dangerous, and efficient. A shark prowling.
Hairy Harry was at the console, standing behind the wheel. Billy Boy, protected by curved glass, crouched in the bow. The sheriff smiled, Billy Boy didn't. "How're you doing?"
"Good," Grijpstra said.
The outboards, in neutral, growled mightily. The powerboat stopped next to the dory. "We're enforcing rules today," Billy Boy said. "You been studying sea rules, Krip?"
"Not lately," Grijpstra said.
Billy had a checklist, clipped to a board. He also had a ballpoint. He was ready to make some checkmarks.
"Life jacket?"
"No life jacket."
"Horn?"
"No horn."
No bail bucket either. No extra paddle. No flashlight. No flares.
"Absolutely got to have flares," the sheriff said, towering high above the console, chewing his cigar. "Suppose you're in trouble, Kripstra, and you want some attention. You got to fire some flares."
"Flare gun?" Billy Boy asked.
No flare gun.
"This is for your own protection," Billy Boy said. "I know the fines are high but people got to learn to listen. Drop by anytime. Six violations at forty bucks each, let's see now."
"Two hundred and forty," Hairy Harry said.
"Thank you, Sheriff." Billy, taking his time, steady in spite of the boat's movements, filled in the ticket. He handed it over. "So you only got Europe dollars, I hear?"
Hairy Harry shifted into forward and pulled the gas handle a bit so that the powerboat could stay on course. "That's okay, Deputy, we can phone Boston for the rate of exchange."
"Plus forty percent," Billy Boy said, "for the trouble."
"Did you take the rowboat, Krip?" Hairy Harry asked.
Grijpstra mentioned Little Max and the ten dollars.
"Little Max has no right to rent out Big Max's dory."
"That'll be extra," Billy said. "Big Max will have to press charges. And he will. Isn't that right, Sheriff?"
"That's right," Hairy Harry said.