Blindside (Michael Bennett 12)

I said, “The driver doesn’t speak?”

Davis smiled. “He’d rather not be identified, seeing as how we’re way out of our home base doing a favor for Lieutenant Martindale.”

“That’s a good partner.”

“The best. And he doesn’t want to know why the FBI tried to detain you. You know, plausible deniability and all that shit. We figured they were more worried about their jurisdiction. They hate the NYPD.”

I asked, “Where are you assigned?”

“Paris.”

“No shit. And you came all the way up here to help me?”

“NYPD never leaves a detective behind.” He handed me a folded newspaper. “Or unarmed.”

I opened the paper to see a black Beretta 9mm inside. I pulled the slide back a few centimeters to check if a round was in the chamber. It was loaded and ready to go.

Davis smiled and said, “In case of emergency.” Then he handed me a card with just a phone number. “Any problems you can’t handle, call that number. I’ll be in Bonn on an unrelated issue. We’re off the books. No official engagement at all. But that doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

“Thanks. Did Martindale tell you what I was up to?”

“Nope. And I don’t want to know. Remember, we’ll deny everything if you cause a bunch of shit here.”

I was impressed by Martindale’s tight lips. “I won’t do anything that reflects poorly on us.”

Davis laughed. “Me? I was never here. How can it reflect poorly on me?”

I smiled. “I meant I won’t embarrass the NYPD.”

“Still not an issue I’m worried about. Cops have got enough to worry about. All I care about is that you get home safely.”

“Thanks. That’s my main concern, too.”

We pulled up to a four-story hotel on the edge of the city.

Davis said, “You’re all set up here. Good luck.” He handed me my small carry-on bag, which I thought had been lost in the scuffles.

Then they were gone.

CHAPTER 58

CHRISTOPH VISSER AND Ollie Van Netta were happy to be back in Amsterdam. Here the pot was better, they knew plenty of girls, and Christoph was able to stop by his mother’s apartment.

His mom was always happy to see her engineer. At least, that’s what he told her he did for a living. A traveling engineer. His fake diploma from Erasmus University in Rotterdam hung on the wall of her living room, along with photos of his late father.

Christoph enjoyed playing the role of dutiful and respectable son. He liked seeing his mother happy and proud, and when he visited home, he did everything his mother expected of him. He even attended mass at Christmas and Easter.

Christoph knew this deception would work because for twenty-five years his father had worked as a collector for a loan shark. Christoph’s mother had believed her husband’s lie, that he was an accountant for a private equity firm.

The gullible tend to be the happiest.

No matter what he told his mother, Christoph wanted to take care of her. She was the only one in his whole life who cared what happened to him. She was the only one he didn’t want to disappoint.

When he killed someone when he was young, Christoph realized it didn’t bother him. That wasn’t to say he enjoyed killing; he didn’t. He did it to make money. Money he planned to use on a nice house for his mother. And a wild apartment for himself.

He had, on occasion, appreciated killing someone. Like those asses Janos and Alice. He and Ollie had made good money for that one, but it had been fun, too. It had been satisfying.

He found Ollie at his favorite coffeehouse on the edge of the tourist district in Amsterdam. He usually went to a place on Handboogstraat called Dampkring. Tonight, he was in a smaller place, down the street, that didn’t mind when Ollie dozed off in a booth, as long as he spent plenty of money and didn’t cause problems.