"Les dollars Mamere asked.
He handed them over: two twenties, one ten, one fifty.
"Merci. You relax now, don't care about nothing."
Nothing would please the commissaris more. He semi-dozed while Mamere hummed, then sang a fairly long song. African West Coast, the commissaris thought, although he hadn't been there. Toward the end of the song the commissaris lost his mind, although his mind never left the room, for he saw it float around Mamere's potted plants and the budgie birds in their multistoried bamboo cage, waft through the eyes of an alligator skull on a sideboard, then whirl about in the smoke of smouldering herb leaves.
He really liked being mindless.
Mindless, he saw Road Warrior drag a white-bearded man into some bushes. It didn't matter that the commissaris hadn't seen the movie and that he had never met Bert Termeer. There they were, Road Warrior screaming abuse, Bert Termeer whining for mercy.
Road Warrior shook the old man like a dog shakes a squirrel. Termeer lost his dentures. The commissaris saw Road Warrior bend over the helpless body of his enemy, saw a sharp blade flash and blood spout. He saw Road Warrior emerge from flowering azalea bushes, a zombie from the grave, moving one foot, the other foot, one foot, the other foot.
He didn't see the hollow-eyed long-legged beautiful blond angel. He asked Mamere about the angel when she let him out. "Someone you know?" Mamere asked. "More dollars sometime soon?"
"The angel drives a tram, Mamere."
"You can't trust angels," Mamere said.
"I saw Road Warrior and he wasn't Charlie," the commissaris said, "as I knew all along, and didn't want to know all along. I was sorry for the fellow, and I was flattered, of course. Coming to me, the Grand Old Man of Crime Detection. What did I see coming? What did you see coming? Did you see the uncle-loving nephew, fellow cop, fearless street fighter, Grijpstra's star student?" He glared at de Gier. "The truth, Rinus, stares me in the face, and my mind rushes off to look for lies. How many times has this happened?"
He sat next to de Gier in the coffee shop, sipping weak coffee and eating a donut as if that is what you do after having lost your mind for a while, then, alas, regained it. You sit in a coffee shop, between big black men on small stools, and you ask for more weak coffee and another donut.
"You know what you get when you eat a donut?" a man wearing a baseball cap the wrong way around told another. "You get a zero with the ring removed."
While riding the Number Five train back to Manhattan, de Gier wrote to the commissaris's dictation. De Gier got off at Fourteenth Street to make his dinner engagement with Maggie and the commissaris got off at Eighty-sixth Street to fax his notes home.
Chapter 24
"Now what?" Grijpstra asked, reading the commissaris's latest fax. "How many fourths of June do we have here, eh?"
He put the paper down, staring at it furiously, then brightening up. "Cardozo!"
Cardozo grunted.
Grijpstra's smile widened. "Let me tell you how you do this. You really disliked that Eugene character, didn't you?" Grijpstra beamed at Cardozo, slumped behind de Gier's desk. Grijpstra suddenly scowled again. "You did dislike him." Grijpstra thumped the desk. "Am I right?"
Cardozo opened long-lashed eyes. "I dislike all assholes."
Grijpstra nodded. "Good, good, good. Tell you what you do. You go and find this asshole Eugene, and you meet him somewhere…lemmesee, lemmesee, what's a good place for two assholes to meet…?" Grijpstra looked out of the window, into the cruel yellow eyes of a sea gull flying by. "How about Vondel Park?"
Cardozo stared. "Meet to do what?"
"You extract information."
Cardozo grunted.
"Information as to Jo Termeer's whereabouts on June Fourth this year."
Cardozo straightened up. "We've already done that, remember. You asked Peter?"
"Phone Peter now," Grijpstra said. "Peter will know where to locate Eugene. Phone Eugene and tell him you want to meet him in Vondel Park. Today. At sunset."
"You want ME to tell YOU about my good friend Jo Termeer?" Eugene asked. "A storm trooper interviews a FAIRY? Are you going to BEAT me?"
Cardozo and Eugene strolled along Vondel Park's main path. Evening fell.
Cardozo fell too, because Eugene had hooked his foot behind Cardozo's leg and put his hand against Cardozo's chest. Eugene's leg pulled, Eugene's hand pushed.
Cardozo fell, head over heels. Cardozo stood.
Eugene and Cardozo laughed. They were two karate students exercising in Amterdam's most beautiful park, between ponds where exotic ducks floated about slowly, giant carp patroled leisurely and cranes stood on one leg under ornamental shade trees.
Eugene, being the winner, shook hands with Cardozo, who was the loser.
Eugene's hand squeezed painfully. Cardozo's thumb pressed the back of Eugene's hand. Cardozo moved his other hand under Eugene's elbow. Cardozo pushed Eugene's elbow up and Eugene's hand down.
Eugene yelled and sobbed.
"Swan-wrist hold," Cardozo said. "I could have broken your arm. You want that? You don't want that." Cardozo smiled. "Now tell me everything about Jo Termeer."
Cardozo fell again, because Eugene had hooked his foot behind Cardozo's leg again and put his hand again Cardozo's chest again. Leg pulled, hand pushed.
This time the falling Cardozo pulled Eugene's arm while he kicked Eugene's knee. Cardozo jumped up again, Eugene groveled in the gravel.
"Baboon's knee," Cardozo said.
"Don't you two lads have anything better to do?" asked an elderly lady. She helped Eugene up. "You two go and study Rudolf Steiner."
"Yes, ma'am," Cardozo and Eugene said.
"But for now you can help me feed the carp."
The elderly lady, Eugene and Cardozo fed a long stale baguette of French bread, which the lady broke into small pieces, to the giant fish of Southern Pond. Greedy ducks standing on racing carp approached at speed. The ducks held out their wings to keep their balance. As the carp stopped to feed, some ducks kept going and crashed into the pond's raised shore. Other ducks fell sideways, tumbling, like long-lost friends meeting, into each other's wings. Other ducks managed to hold on, making their steeds flap muscular fish tails to free themselves.
"You two behave now," the elderly lady said. "I can't be everywhere to save you poor fellows."
Eugene and Simon sat on a bench and rolled cigarettes.
"Tell me all about Jo Termeer," Cardozo said.
"Say 'please'?" Eugene asked.
Cardozo offered a light. "Say 'thank you.'"
Cardozo's report, delivered to the commissaris as soon as he and de Gier got off their KLM Boeing, stated that, about a year ago, Eugene had linked up with Jo Termeer and Peter in a Long Leyden Transverse Street gay bar.
The three pals wined and dined together and shared holidays abroad. Peter liked to go steady. Jo liked to cruise. Peter had an even temper. Jo was highly strung.
Jo, Eugene stated, had become impossible to be with after his interview with the commissaris. He didn't show up at the hair salon much and neglected his duties at Warmoes Street Precinct. He hung about the apartment. Then, when he heard that the commissaris had gone to New York, Jo began to drink heavily and to stay out nights.
As to where Jo was on June 4, the day of Bert Termeer's death: Eugene was told Jo was walking about the Ardennes Mountains region alone. Neither he nor Peter had heard from Jo for a few days, there were no calls or postcards and Jo had brought back no mementos from his foreign journey.
Interesting fact: Jo, while on holiday on the French Riviera, about a year ago, with Peter and Eugene, had said he'd lost his passport and obtained a new one at the Dutch Consulate in Marseilles.