The Judas Goat (12 page)

“Yeah, I know. It was awful. We didn’t last long. She too weird for me. Surely could screw though. Strong pelvis, you know, man, strong.”

“Yeah,” I said, “me too. I think this is the place.” We were at an open-front bookstore. There were books and periodicals in racks and on tables out front and rows of them inside. Many of the books were in English. A sign on the wall said THREE HOT SEX SHOWS EVERY HOUR, and an arrow pointed toward the back of the store. In back was another sign that said the same thing with an arrow pointing downstairs. “What kind of books they sell here?” Hawk said. There were all kinds, books by Faulkner and Thomas Mann, books in English and books in French, books in Dutch. There was Shakespeare and Gore Vidal and a collection of bondage magazines with nude women on the cover so encumbered in chains, ropes, gags and leather restraints that it was hard to see them. You could buy Hustler, Time, Paris Match, Punch, and Gay Love. It was one of the things about Amsterdam that I never got over. At home you found a place that sold bondage porn sequestered in the Combat Zone and specializing. Here the bookstore with the THREE HOT SEX SHOWS EVERY HOUR was between a jewelry store and a bake shop. And it also sold the work of Saul Bellow and Jorge Luis Borges. Hawk said, “You figure Kathie lives here, we could look on a shelf under K.”

“Maybe upstairs,” I said. “This is the address.”

“Yeah,” Hawk said. “There’s a door.” It was just to the right of the bookstore, half obscured by the awning. “Think she in there?”

“I know how we find out.” Hawk grinned. “Yeah. We watch. You want to take the first shift while I make sure she not down there among the hot sex films?”

“I didn’t figure you for a looker, Hawk. I figured you for a doer.”

“Maybe pick up a trick or two. Man’s never too old to learn a little. Nobody’s perfect.”

“Yeah.”

“We gonna go round the clock on this, babe?”

“No. Just daytime.”

“That’s good. Twelve on, twelve off ain’t no fish fry.”

“This time out it’ll be harder. If she’s in there she knows us both, and she’s going to be very edgy.”

“Also,” Hawk said, “we camp out here long enough a Dutch cop going to come along and ask us what we doing.”

“If they’re any good.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll circulate,” I said. “I’ll stay up there by the dress shop for a half hour, then I’ll stroll down to the place that sells broodjes and you stroll up to the dress shop. And we’ll rotate that way every half hour or so.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hawk said, “let’s make the circulation irregular. Each time we switch we’ll decide how long before we switch again. Break up the rhythm.”

“Yes. We’ll do that. Unless there’s a back way she’ll have to pass one of us if she leaves.”

“Why don’t you anchor here for a while, babe, and I’ll go around and see if I find any back way. I’ll check in the store and I’ll go around the block and see what I can find.” I nodded. “If she comes out and I go after her I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” Hawk said, “Yowzah” and went into the bookstore. He went to the back and down the stairs. Five minutes later he was back up the stairs and out of the bookstore, his face glistening with humor. “Get any pointers?” I said. “Oh yeah, soon’s I make a move on a pony, I gonna know just what to do.”

“These Europeans are so sophisticated.” 

Hawk found no back entrance. We walked up and down a short stretch of the Kalverstraat all the rest of the day, staying close to the wall under Kathie’s windows, if they were Kathie’s windows, so she wouldn’t spot us, if she were looking out, if she were up there. The dress shop was featuring that season a fatigue green number that looked like a shelter half, long and formless, belted at the waist. It didn’t even look good on the window dummy. The broodje shop was featuring roast beef on a soft roll, topped with a fried egg. Broodje seemed to mean sandwich. There were about thirty-five different kinds of broodjes listed behind the counter, but the roast beef with the fried egg was the hot seller. The street was crowded all afternoon. There seemed to be a lot of tourists, Japanese and Germans with cameras, in groups. There was a fair number of Dutch sailors. More people seemed to smoke in Holland than they did at home. And there were far fewer big men. Sandals and clogs seemed more prevalent, especially for men, and occasionally a Dutch cop would stroll by in his gray-blue uniform with white trim. Nobody bothered me and nobody bothered Hawk. At eight o’clock I said to Hawk, “It is time to go eat before I break into tears.”

“I can dig that,” Hawk said. “There’s a place just off to the side here called The Little Nun. I ate there last time I was here.”

“What you doing here before, man?”

“Pleasure trip. Came with a lady.”

“Suze?”

“Yeah. ” The Little Nun was everything I remembered. Polished stone floor, whitewashed walls, low-beamed ceiling, some stained glass in the windows, flowers and very fine food. For dessert they brought out a great crock of red currants, cherries, strawberries, raspberries and blackberries that had been marinated in cassis. Everyone spoke English. In fact everyone in Holland spoke English as far as I could tell, and spoke it with very little accent. We went to bed in the Marriott feeling good about supper but bad about tomorrow. I had the feeling that a lot of aimless walking was in store for us tomorrow. It was. We walked up and down the Kalverstraat all day. I looked in every store window along the way until I knew the price of all the merchandise. I ate five broodjes during the day, three out of hunger and two out of boredom. The high point of the day was two trips to the public urinal near the Dutch Tourist Bureau on Rokin. At night we had an Indonesian rijsttafel at the Bali Restaurant on Leidsestraat. There were about twenty-five different courses of meat, vegetables and rice. We drank Amstel beer with the meal. Hawk too. Champagne didn’t go with a rijsttafel. Hawk drank some Amstel and said to me, “Spenser, how long we gonna walk up and down past the hot sex shows?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We only been at it two days.”

“Yeah, man, but we don’t even know she’s in there. I mean we may be walking up and down in front of some old Dutch granny.”

“But no one has come out of that place or gone in it in two days. Isn’t that a little strange?”

“Maybe nobody lives there.” I ate some beef with peanuts. “We’ll give it another day, then we’ll go in and see, okay?” Hawk nodded. “I like going in and seeing,” he said, “a lot better than hanging around and watching.”

“I knew you were a doer,” I said. “I am that,” he said. “And I want to do something pretty quick.” We walked back to the Marriott through night life and music along the Leidsestraat. The lobby was nearly empty. There were two kids from a South American soccer team half asleep in chairs. A bellhop leaned on the counter talking to the desk clerk. Faint music from the in-house night spot drifted down toward the elevators. We rode to the eighth floor in silence. At our room the no NOT DISTURB sign was on the door. I looked at Hawk, he shook his head. The sign had not been there this morning. I put my ear hard against the door. I could hear the bedsprings creak, and what sounded like heavy breathing. I motioned Hawk to the door. He listened. We had a room near the corner, and I gestured Hawk around the corner. “Sound like one of them hot sex shows,” Hawk said. “You think somebody shacking up in our room?”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “Maybe a maid or something, see we’re out all day, figures she’ll slip in with her old man and make it while we out.”

“If you can think of it somebody will do it,” I said. “But I don’t believe it.”

“We could stand around out here awhile and see if they come out. If there’s somebody in there putting the boots to his old lady, they can’t stay all night.”

“I been standing around in hotel corridors and on street corners since I been in Europe. I’m getting sick of it.”

“Let’s do it,” Hawk said. He pulled the shotgun out from under his coat. I took out the room key and we went around the corner. There was no one in the hall. Hawk sprawled on the floor in front of the door. I slipped the key in the door. Hawk leveled the shotgun on his propped elbows and nodded. I turned the key from one side of the door out of the line of fire and swung the door open. I had my gun out. Hawk said, “Jesus Christ,” and gestured with his head. I slid around the door, staying flat against the wall. There were two dead men on the floor and Kathie on the bed. She wasn’t dead. She was tied. I kicked open the door to the bathroom. No one there. Hawk was in behind me. He closed the room door with his left hand. The right kept the shotgun half erect in front of him. I came out of the bathroom. “Nothing,” I said, and slid my gun back in its holster. Hawk squatted beside the two men on the floor. “They dead,” he said. I nodded. Kathie lay on the bed, her hands tied behind her, her feet bound. Her mouth was taped, and a rope around her waist fastened her to the bed. Hawk looked down at her and said, “That what we heard. Nobody screwing, old Kathie here trying to get loose.” Kathie made a thick muffled sound of outrage and twisted against the ropes. “What killed the stiffs on the floor?” I said. 124 125 “Somebody shot each of them behind the left ear with a small bullet.”

“Twenty-two?”

“Could be. Been a while, they pretty cold.” There was an envelope stuck to Kathie’s right thigh with some of the same adhesive tape that closed her mouth. I picked it up. “Maybe we won her in a raffle,” I said. “I bet that ain’t it,” Hawk said. He was still holding the shotgun, but now negligently, hanging loosely at his side. I opened the note. Kathie squirmed on the bed and made her muffled noise some more. Hawk read over my shoulder. The note said: We have much to do and you are in the way. Had we the time we would kill you. But you are obviously hard to kill, as is the Schwartze. Thus we have delivered to you what you seek. The two dead men are the last of those you sought. I shall probably be sorry that I let the woman live, but I am more sentimental than I should be. We have cared for each other and I cannot kill her. You have no reason now to bother us further. If you persist despite that we shall turn our full attention to your deaths. Paul. “Sonovabitch,” I said. “Schwartze?” Hawk said. “That’s German for spade, I think.”

“I know what it mean,” Hawk said. “These two look like your sketches?”

“We’ll look,” I said. I got the Identikit drawings out of the top bureau drawer. With his foot Hawk turned both bodies over on their backs. I looked at the pictures and at the phony-looking dead faces staring up at me. “I’d say so.” I handed the drawings to Hawk. He nodded. “Look about right,” he said. I pointed my chin at Kathie. “And that makes number nine.”

“What you going to do?”

“We could untie her.”

“You think we safe?”

“There’s two of us,” I said. “She awful mean and mad-looking,” Hawk said. He was right. Kathie’s eyes were wide and angry. Since we had entered the room she had not stopped twisting against the ropes, squirming to get free. She grunted furiously at us. “Actually, you know, we better pat her down. It could be a very elaborate fake. We untie her and she jumps up and shoots us.” Hawk laughed. “You are a suspicious mamma.” He put the shotgun down on the night table. “But I’ll check her.” I looked out the window at the street eight floors below. Nothing looked different than it should. Across the street in the light of street lamps the canal flowed past. A tour boat taking a candlelight cruise glimmered by. They served wine and cheese on the candlelight cruises. If I were with Suze we could drift through the ancient graceful city and drink the wine and eat the cheese and have a nice time. But Suze wasn’t here. Hawk would probably go with me, but I didn’t think he’d care for the hand-holding. I looked back at Hawk. He was methodically patting Kathie for a hidden weapon. As he did so she began to twist and squirm, and a high locust sort of noise forced out around the tape. As he touched her thighs she arched her back and, straining against the ropes, thrust her pelvis forward. Her face was very red and her breath came in snorts through her nose. Hawk looked at me. “She ain’t armed,” he said. I reached down and carefully peeled the tape from her mouth. She breathed in gasps through her open mouth, reddened from the friction of the tape. “Shall you,” she gasped, “shall you rape me? Shall he?” She looked at Hawk. The locust hum in her voice had softened to a kind of hiss. A little saliva bubbled at the left corner of her mouth. Her body continued to arch against the ropes. “I’m not sure it would be rape,” I said. “Shall you both take me, gag me again. Take me while I’m helpless, voiceless, bound and writhing on the bed?” Her mouth was open now and her tongue ran and fretted over her lower lip. “I can’t move,” she gasped. “I’m bound and helpless, shall you tear my clothing, use me, degrade me, drive me mad?” Hawk said, “Naw.” I said, “Maybe later.” Hawk pulled a jackknife from his right hip pocket and cut her free. He had to roll her over to cut the rope on her hands, and when he did he gave her a slap on the backside, light and friendly, like one ballplayer to another. She sat up abruptly. “Nigger,” she said. “Never touch me, nigger.” Hawk looked at me, his face bright. “Nigger?” he said. “That’s English for spade, I think.”

“I know what it mean,” Hawk said. “What happened to take me, ravage me?” I said. “I’ll kill you both,” she said, “as soon as I can.”

“That gonna be awhile, hon,” Hawk said. “Beside you gonna have to get in line.” She was sitting up now on the edge of the bed. Her white linen dress was badly wrinkled from her struggle against the ropes. “I want to go to the bathroom,” she said. “Go ahead,” I said. “Take your time.” She walked stiffly to the bathroom and closed the door. We heard the bolt slide and then the water begin to run in the sink. Hawk walked over to one of the red vinyl armchairs, stepped carefully over the two dead men on the floor. “What we going to do with the corpus delicti here?” Hawk said. “Oh,” I said. “You don’t know either?” 

While Kathie was still in the bathroom, Hawk and I took one body each and slipped them under the twin beds. In the bathroom, the faucet still ran in the sink, masking any other sound. “What you suppose she doing?” Hawk said. “Nothing probably. She’s probably trying to think what to do when she comes out.”