Outsider in Amsterdam by Janwillem van de Wetering Page B

the froth.
    “Maybe you are right. I can’t see him destroying money. Like putting it into one of these grey plastic rubbish bags we havenowadays and giving it to the garbage man. Nobody ever opens those bags. But Piet wouldn’t destroy money. He liked money.”
    “But he may have been blackmailed.”
    “Seventy-five thousand is a lot of blackmail. What had he done? What can anyone do in Holland nowadays that he could be blackmailed for? Even murder will give you no more than a few years in jail.”
    “Ha,” Grijpstra said. “Weren’t you telling me the other day that even twenty-four hours in jail is more punishment than any man should take?”
    “True, true,” de Gier said. “Forget it. Let’s eat.”
    They ordered and de Gier started eating the moment the waiter placed the food on the table. He tore the fried meat off the thin sticks with his teeth, broke a piece of shrimp cracker and grabbed the noodles, all at the same time.
    “Easy,” Grijpstra said. “You are sharing this meal with me.”
    “You are right,” de Gier said with his mouth full.
    “Easy is the word. We shouldn’t rush so much. This case will solve itself, all we have to do is sit around and watch it. That’s what the chief inspector told me this …”
    Grijpstra didn’t finish his sentence and de Gier looked up.
    “What now?” de Gier asked.
    Grijpstra’s face had frozen.
    “Look behind you,” he said.
    De Gier looked around and froze as well.
    “Shit,” de Gier said, and jumped. Grijpstra jumped at the same time. They both pulled out their pistols and they were both running toward the door but de Gier got there first. Grijpstra had run into the waiter, and the waiter and his tray were still falling when Grijpstra got into the street and saw de Gier running after their victim, a tall thin Chinese man by the name of Lee Fong.
    Poor Lee Fong was having very bad luck that day, the culmination of a lot of bad luck that he had had to put up withduring his short stay in Holland. Ever since he had deserted his ship he had nothing but misadventure. He had lost at gambling and been arrested for pushing drugs. He had wounded a guard while escaping from jail. He had quarreled with the acquaintances who had hid him. This was the day he would leave the country. He should have stayed in hiding until the last minute but he had risked a short walk in order to buy a last good meal. And now he had run into two plainclothes policemen.
    He shouldn’t have hesitated when Grijpstra looked at him. There are a lot of photographs policemen have to remember and Chinese men look very much alike to a Dutchman. But he had hesitated and touched his knife, a long nasty blade that he kept in a special pocket in his jeans. That one movement had caused Grijpstra to act. And now Lee Fong had de Gier after him and de Gier was gaining.
    Lee took a corner and found himself in an alley called the Ramskooi. The Ramskooi is a cul de sac. Lee thought he had no choice. He stopped, turned and pulled out his knife. De Gier stopped too and kicked. A good kick from a long leg will remove any knife. De Gier had learned at least three grips to disarm a knife fighter but they were all complicated, consisting of several movements. And he would have had to drop his pistol. He preferred holding onto the pistol. Lee Fong put up his hands as Grijpstra came panting.
    The Ramskooi is a short alley and there are three bars on it. The bars’ occupants were spilling into the street.
    De Gier handcuffed Lee Fong and the crowd stared and muttered. Grijpstra entered the first bar and telephoned the central radio room. Within seconds a siren began to whine. Within two minutes a white VW turned into the alley. Within three minutes it had left again, carrying de Gier and Lee Fong. The crowd was still muttering and Grijpstra dabbed at his foreheadwith a large dirty handkerchief. The crowd stopped muttering and returned to the bars and the next flood of beer.
    “Sir,” a small voice