The Rattle-Rat (15 page)

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C
ARDOZO CYCLED. IT WAS THE RIGHT DAY FOR SPORTING activity, with a sunny sky and hardly any wind—a day for a bike ride, but biking from Amsterdam to Dingjum was lunacy, he granted that much. He defined his behavior as childish, caused by his own hotheaded insistence on getting ahead, and he even considered his own appearance childish, dressed as he was in shorts and a touristy shirt, and especially because of his equipment—a tin lunch box strapped to the luggage carrier in the rear, containing cheese sandwiches and an apple. Moreover, he was breaking a promise. To break promises one made to others could be excused, but when the promise was made to oneself, some respect was due. All those years he had biked to school, always with the wind pushing him back, beaten by rain, with a painful crotch, pulled to and fro by cowardly obedience to teacher and parent, he had looked forward to the day when he would be free of the heavy bike. When school was over, he'd thrown the bicycle into the canal, and after that he had used only engine-driven transport, like real people use. So what was he doing here now, on Samuel's dated contraption?

Next to him, cars raced along, and on the other side the green dike flowed slowly up, topped by high grass where seagulls stalked about. On the Inland Sea, a fishing boat bobbed slowly. Against shreds of fog the sails of a flatbottomed pleasure yacht emerged from the pure blue swell.
In the yacht, holiday makers would be lounging about. I'm not living properly, Cardozo thought, pedaling with force. If I were as intelligent as I thought I was, I would be doing something pleasurably clever now.

Did a hunch get me here? Cardozo thought. Do my hunches
ever work? Why did I forget about practical cooperation?
Am I not part of a team? He could have telephoned the commissaris. "Sir, I'll be bicycling to Dingjum today." "Don't do that," the commissaris would have answered. Wouldn't that remark have saved him insane trouble? And shouldn't he be covered? Some risk is involved in the work of a police detective. Wasn't he hunting a dangerous fiend who thought nothing of putting a bullet through a fellow being's head and setting fire to his remains? Suppose the psychopathic demon knew that Cardozo was now cycling up the dike?

One of the handlebars on Samuel's bike carried a rear view mirror. In the mirror, three Chinese could be seen. The Chinese cycled in line. The nearest Chinese looked unhappy.
The nearest Chinese's pedal ground past the chain case with an irritating, repetitious, squeaky moan; unmusical, probably also to Far Eastern ears. The farthest Chinese cyclist was Wo Hop's mate, unrecognizable at that distance. Wo Hop's mate was tired. The various stages in his recent career had convinced him that he was indeed a Rotten Egg. How could he ever have allowed himself to be riding a low-quality bike to an ever-extending nowhere?

Isn't it about time, Cardozo thought, that I got off my bicycle to eat an apple? While he contemplated the possibility, three more Chinese cyclists appeared, coming toward him. A coincidence, Cardozo thought. To be followed by three bicycling Chinese, to be confronted by three bicycling Chinese—anything is bound to happen if life lasts long enough. The occurrence could even be turned about. It should be possible for a Chinese to cycle on a Chinese dike and be followed by three Dutchmen on bikes and approached by three more Dutchmen. But if I were that Chinese, Cardozo thought, I would get off my bike, peel an apple in some quiet spot, watch all those Dutchmen until the horizons swallowed them up, and hope never to see any of them again.

Cardozo slowed and jumped off his bike. The Chinese
followed his example. The Chinese produced pistols. Cardozo clawed his way deep into the grass.

The Chinese opened fire. Cardozo rolled into a shallow ditch left by a careless bulldozer driver, filled with flowering weeds. Nettles stung him, reed stalks scratched his ears, disturbed ants sank their jaws into his flesh, and a bullet cut off a leaf. The Chinese kept shooting, aiming at each other now. They weren't bad marksmen. Not every shot was successful, and two Chinese remained, crawling toward each other. They kept firing as they crawled.

Ten Arrest Team members, military policemen, kenneled and trained in the south of the country, dressed in combat fatigues, were driving along the dike in five cars. They had been issued orders to exterminate or; if possible, to arrest two dangerous criminals, Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft, in the cattle market of Leeuwarden, in another week's time.
Because the extermination or arrest of two dangerous criminals who would be well armed and most likely in possession of a fast car would require coordination on the road, the Arrest Team was now on exercise. The five cars were connected by radio. The commander was in the first vehicle.
He saw and heard the Chinese cyclists shooting at each other.

"All cars stop and park, over."

"Weapons ready to fire, over."

"Prepare attack direction Friesland, over."

"Leave cars, follow me, attack. Over and out."

P-S machine pistols with shortened barrels crackled, and folly automatic Uzi carbine/machine-gun combinations fired away. The men crawled, got up, broke into short runs, dropped down again. The Chinese pistols boomed individual heavy dots in the pattern of lines that the Attack Team's superior weapons were drawing.
Turram. Voom. Tack-tack-tack.
There were other heavy sounds caused by cars hitting each other and tires shrieking on the dike's tarmac. Surprised highway traffic, which had been moving along at easy speeds, clumped together, accompanied by the ragged blowing of horns.

The Arrest Team members reported to their chief. "They're all dead, sir, will that be all right?"

"Very nice," the commander bellowed. "You and you, guard corpses, the others, see what you can do about rearranging the traffic. Hello? Not you. Get back to your car and radio for ambulances."

A silver Citroen parked on the shoulder. "Drive on," a
military policeman barked. He strengthened his order with a sweep of his weapon. A small gentleman left the Citroen.

"Back to your car and remove yourself, sir."

"Police," the little gentleman said. "What's going on here?"

"Chinese, sir. Six of them. All taken care of."

"Your chief?"

The military policeman pointed.

"Get the hell out of here," the commander shouted.

"Police," the commissaris said. "You didn't happen to hit a tousle-headed compatriot, I trust?"

The commander didn't think so. They went over together
to look. The commander suddenly felt sick, and the commissaris didn't feel well either. One corpse showed a partly blown-away head; another had lost half an arm, and blood was pumping out of the stump; Wo Hop's mate observed the commander and the commissaris from one staring eye and one hole.

"Captain," a military policeman shouted. "Over there."

Two pink hands waved from a tuft of weeds.

"Arrest him."

Cardozo was arrested from six sides simultaneously.

"He's mine," the commissaris said. "I want him, Captain."

Cardozo was handed over.

"What happened?" Cardozo asked, laughing.

"Poor boy," the commissaris said. "Come with me, Simon,
we'll sit down over there."

"An apple," sobbed Cardozo. "I was just going to peel it."

"Yes, dear boy."

"And they were all killing each other, all of a sudden."

"Care for a cigar?" the commissaris asked. Cardozo preferred to roll his own cigarette, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. The commissaris lit a cigar and stuck it between Cardozo's lips.

"There are too many Chinese," Cardozo stuttered. "I had them in the Red Quarter too. Last night. Wo Hop and his mate, tied up. I released them, and two others too, and now this lot again."

"The same Chinese?" the commissaris asked.

"Lots of them, sir."

"Are you doing better now?"

"Because I wanted to eat an apple."

"It won't be an appetizing sight," the commissaris said, "but maybe you should take a look."

Ambulances climbed the dike crying plaintively with their
sirens. A motorcycle cop rode slowly along the path reserved for cyclists. "Hey!" Cardozo shouted. "Watch it! Officer, that ambulance has flattened Samuel's bike. Oh, no. Officer,
do
something. I've got to bring that bike back, it belongs to my brother."

The cop took off his helmet. "Hello, Hylkje," the commissaris said. He introduced Cardozo.

"Will you be writing a report?" Cardozo asked. "I'll need it for the insurance."

Hylkje staggered off.

"Too many dead Chinese," the commissaris said. "Do you recognize any, Cardozo?"

"Here," Cardozo said. "Wo Hop's mate. This man who's
missing an eye." Cardozo staggered off too.

Cardozo turned, grabbing hold of afencepost. "What are the commandos doing here, sir? Paratroopers? Is there a war? I haven't been reading the paper for a few days."

The commander of the Arrest Team reported to the commissaris. "Do you know what was going on here, sir? We were on our way to Leeuwarden, when we came upon these cyclists gunning each other down."

"I'm going to Leeuwarden too," the commissaris said.
"I'll construct a theory on my way up. You'll be hearing from me."

"Chinese, all of them," the commander said.

"I was just going to eat an apple," Cardozo said. "I jumped
off my bike. And suddenly, from nowhere, slaughter all over."

"You're on our side, right?" the commander asked. "And your chief was looking for you? He seemed to know that something was amiss."

"I'll reconstruct an acceptable situation," the commissaris
said. "You'll be the first to know. You'll be securing the cattle market against predicted trouble?"

"You know about that too?"

"I heard rumors."

The commander took his helmet off and put it on again.
"The Chinese are cattle dealers?"

"I hardly think so," the commissaris said.

A State Police Land Rover climbed the dike. A sergeant and a corporal got out. "What is going on here?"

"I was going to eat an apple," Cardozo said. "But I had to peel it first."

"Cycling Chinese," the commander said.

Hylkje came closer, holding a ballpoint pen and a notepad.
"Who owned the bicycle that has just been totaled?"

"Any witnesses?" the state cops asked. "Why is everybody
dead? Is the army involved?"

"Can we pick up the corpses now?" an ambulance attendant asked.

"I'll come up with a suitable hypothesis," the commissaris said.

"Did we manage to hit anyone?" the commander asked.
"Hey. You and you. Did you get anyone?"

'This is where I jumped off my bike," Cardozo said. "They were all coming at me. Three from the rear and three from ahead."

"Not the army," the commander said, "although technically we might be, of course. An Arrest Team, trained in the south. I'm in charge."

"I got one, Captain, the man over there. I was spraying low, and as he fell I must have hit him in the head," a military policeman said.

"We're not authorized to pronounce them dead," the ambulance attendant said, "but they are, they're ripped to pieces."

"I'm going to call everybody in here," the State Police sergeant said. "Anyone I can think of. This is not for me. I can't even look at this mess. What could have done it?"

"I'll pass my solution to your Colonel Kopinie," the commissaris said, "and he'll pass it on to you."

"A battle," the State Police corporal was yelling into his microphone. "Maybe an attempted invasion. Come here, I say. The Chinese are losing."

"Come along, Cardozo," the commissaris said. "This is no place for us."

"I'll guide the way," Hylkje said. "There's cattle plague around again, and the north exit of the dike is clogged because of checks. I'll get you through them."

"I'm going to Dingjum," the commissaris said. "Put your
bike in my car."

"Are you in a hurry?" Hylkje asked.

"Yes," the commissaris said. "No time to lose."

"Siren?"

"If you please."

"Are you sure we're in a hurry?" Cardozo asked.

"I think better at high speeds," the commissaris said. 'Tell me now, what were you doing with the Chinese suspects last night?"

Cardozo reported.

"Of course," the commissaris said.

"Is it clear to you now, sir?"

"Surely," the commissaris said, "but my explanation might be farfetched, and the theory cannot be confirmed, as both parties have left the situation. But that's the way it all fits."

"What way?" Cardozo asked.

"Just one little question," the commissaris said. "Do you
recall having stated in public that you would be cycling along this dike starting early this morning? Think carefully, Cardozo."

Cardozo thought carefully.

"Yes," Cardozo said. "On the way, between the station in the Red Quarter and Troelstra's bar, I did make such a statement. Karate and Ketchup refused to believe me. Then I said it again and they repeated what I said, loudly.
By
bicycle. Six
AM. TO
Friesland. Along the dike"

"Aha," the commissaris said.

"It's really all clear to you now, sir?"

"Two hundred and five kilometers per hour," the commissaris said. "A most helpful speed. Pity. We're slowing down already. There's the end of the dike."