Tattoo by Manuel Vázquez Montalbán Page A

alleyway. They either pulled or pushed me into it. Four of them. They beat me up, and I pretended I had lost consciousness. They threw me into the canal. I waited until they had gone. Then I climbed out. I dried myself as best I could with sheets of newspaper and walked back to the hotel.’
    ‘Why walk? We always have patrol cars in the neighbourhood. Or at the very least you could have got a taxi.’
    ‘I was stunned. From all the blows. I wanted to reach the hotel, so I came walking back like a robot.’
    The inspector seemed to be more interested in looking round the room.
    ‘This hotel needs redecorating.’
    ‘But it’s still very pleasant.’
    ‘Mr Carvalho, did you come to Holland on business related in any way to drugs? I don’t expect you to tell me the truth. I just want to warn you.’
    The inspector’s finger was pointing at him accusingly.
    ‘The Dutch state has sufficient resources to create its own security mechanisms. We don’t need any foreign interference. Still less from somebody who isn’t even officially one of us any more. You’re a loose cannon, Mr Carvalho.’
    ‘I guess this isn’t the first case of a tourist getting beaten up and given a bath in a canal.’
    ‘No, but you’re a very special tourist. For example, normal tourists go and make a complaint to the police after the assault. I suppose you don’t want to do that.’
    ‘No. I’m only in Holland a few days, and I don’t want to complicate things by getting mixed up in a police investigation. Besides, they didn’t take anything. I was only carrying American credit cards, Carte Blanche and Diners, and about forty florins.’
    ‘You’ve still got them. They’re rather wet, but still usable. Which means they didn’t even steal the forty florins that were in your pocket.’
    ‘Perhaps it wasn’t enough for them.’
    ‘We’ve come across cases where people have been drowned for less than twenty.’
    ‘Unbelievable.’
    Carvalho did not want to seem too smart, or to behave like a Chandler character facing a stupid, brutal LAPD cop. Among other things, because the inspector was not a stupid, brutal LAPD cop and he wasn’t a Chandler character. The inspector stood up.
    ‘This is the second and last warning. If you get mixed up in anything else, we’ll take drastic measures. By the way, Inspector Kayser sends his regards and hopes you get better quickly.’
    ‘Tell him I’ll pay him a visit before I leave.’
    ‘When will that be?’
    ‘Probably tomorrow. Or the day after.’
    The inspector left the room. Carvalho rang down to reception to ask whether he had been seen by a doctor. He had, and apparently there was nothing seriously wrong with him. He was to stay in bed for a day, and if he had anyproblems, feeling dizzy for example, he was to call at once so he could be taken to hospital. Carvalho lay back on the plump pillows and drank half of the glass of water that was on the bedside table. Then he hauled himself out of bed to see whether he could stand up. He knelt down and slowly straightened. So far, so good. He could feel pain in several parts of his body, and his eye stung like hell, but apart from that, there seemed to be nothing broken. He lay back on the bed, relieved. He called reception again and asked them to fetch his suit and take it to the dry cleaner’s. The receptionist himself came to get it. He asked how Carvalho was feeling, and promised his suit would be as good as new in a few hours. Carvalho ordered a fresh orange juice. It appeared with American alacrity. He drank it all, then sank back on the pillows. He did not want to fall asleep, but could feel a wave of tiredness coming over him. He closed his eyes, and almost immediately thought he could feel the slimy grip of the canal waters on his body. Grey rats were swimming towards him, their whiskers bristling above the water as they closed in on him. Carvalho was threshing about trying to stop them biting him. But he couldn’t make any noise,