“That’s actionable intelligence,” Knox says. “Three days.”
“End it, nice and gentle, or you’ll find yourself on a plane to Detroit.”
“If I end it, we have problems. It wasn’t planned, and we aren’t . . . we aren’t sleeping together. Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Don’t go all Bill Clinton on me.”
Dulwich relates Grace’s theory about Kreiger’s using the money trail to hide behind.
“Where does she get this stuff?” Knox asks.
“Don’t ask me.”
“It’s a blind?”
“It’s a possibility he’s using it as one. Yes.”
“So we treat Kreiger as hostile. That’s where he was anyway. No change.”
“Agreed.”
“I sit on him until something better comes along.”
“And you stop her from sitting on you,” Dulwich says.
“You’re not going to enjoy where this goes if you keep that up.”
A table of women laugh from the corner. One of them makes eyes at Knox, causing Dulwich to moan like he’s sick.
“Have you ever had to work for anything in your life?” Dulwich asks.
He’s ruined the moment. Knox can think only of Tommy, of all the work that has gone into saving for his brother’s independence, of how far there is to go. He guzzles some beer. Dulwich notes the change from sipping.
“We’ll find her,” he says. Dulwich isn’t referring to the knot shop.
“Soon, or it’ll all be spent.”
“She’s an accountant—”
“A bookkeeper.”
“She’ll invest it. Purchase assets. It won’t be spent frivolously. We’ll regain ninety percent or better.”
“Your lips . . .”
“Trust me.”
Knox polishes off the beer and sets the stein down heavily. Says nothing. Doesn’t offer to pay. Never looks back on his way out.
Grace’s plan is fraught with risk. Knox wishes he and Sarge had spent less time on his sex life and more on how to best protect her. His concern for her takes a backseat to the embezzlement. He stews on establishing priorities as he endures the drizzle.
Across the street, Kreiger is on the move.
—
KREIGER LEAVES THE COFFEE SHOP with yet another young woman and they walk up the street to his electric silver Volvo C30. The car pulls out and Knox parallels him across the canal. Knox has left two messages for the man and has yet to hear back. If any of the man’s appointments have to do with Knox’s purchase, Knox has yet to make a connection.
With his earlier two attempts to follow the Volvo botched because of traffic and weather, Knox tightens the distance of the current tail. He backs off only at traffic lights. He detours to avoid a jam and ends up getting ahead of Kreiger, allowing himself to wait for the Volvo to retake him. The tactic works: he’s got the Volvo in sight five minutes later as it slows for a parking space. Knox knows the final destination, having been here before. He drives past.
PRIVAAT CLUB
NATUURHONIG
The engraved plaque is mounted to the left of the stone stairs leading to the canal house’s imposing front door. Knox has passed close enough to read it only once, and that was three days earlier. Natural Honey. It’s the whorehouse where Kreiger keeps an office.
“Kreiger’s earlier stops make sense now,” Knox tells Sarge over the phone, watching the club from a distance. “The coffee shops sell drugs. Teens from all over Europe arrive in droves, get high and expect to find work. Instead, they run out of money, some more quickly than others. What better place than the coffee shops to recruit girls for a sex club? The manager keeps his eye out, calls Kreiger, and Kreiger pimps the girl to the club, taking a cut of her earnings.”
“Unless he owns the club in the first place.”
“There’s that, too.”
“Can you get in there?”
“The only thing private about the club is the cover charge. Fifty euros to get through the door. Helps keep the window gawkers from Oudezijds Achterburgwal out.”
“Your accent’s improving.”
“Kreiger knows me. If I’m spotted, I’m busted. But if I make a date with him that takes him away from the club . . .”
“If you’re asking me to volunteer, the answer is unequivocally yes.”
“Your job is Kreiger. I will set up a meet. You’re my backer and you’re sick and tired of all the delays with the rug deal. It’s either yes or no, but you’re not waiting around. It guarantees he’s out of the building. Grace and I do this together: a couple shopping for a threesome. I get the office open, Grace does whatever she does and we find out if Kreiger is our guy.”
“Fahiz identified his attackers as two Caucasians. Not Muslim, or Turks or Russians. Kreiger’s Caucasian.”
“That hasn’t slipped my mind,” Knox says.
“But it’s too easy. We both know that,” Dulwich states.
“We do.”
“Shit like this doesn’t drop into your lap.”
“Grace teed it up for us. We have to swing at this one in order to get a mulligan.” It was unfair but necessary to manipulate Dulwich through his love for golf. “We know it was his cash that reached the trigger man. It’s not a matter of going after Kreiger, it’s how—as a somewhat innocent bystander, or the big dick. Big difference.”
“I’d rather be the one doing the legwork. Why don’t you take Kreiger?”
“Who is going to buy you and Grace as a couple?”
“Up yours.”
“He hasn’t been answering my calls, so it may all be moot, but I’m sure he’s getting them. If you imply it’s now or never—”
“It is now or never,” Dulwich says.
“But maybe not for him. I’ll let you know.”
The last time we were together in a place like this, it did not work out so well.” Grace’s nervousness manifests itself as tightness in her body, even her voice.
“You’re walking like a robot. Loosen up. Remember, this is exciting for us. We are flush with anticipation.”
She snorts. “I may look the part, but I do not feel it. Do not set your expectations too high, John.”
“So noted.”
“Not exactly my area of expertise.”
They’ve taken the usual precautions in order to be together. Grace has gone one step further—she has found herself a leather miniskirt, and a metallic gray silk shirt that’s unbuttoned to her navel. She’s wrapped in a silver trench coat and completes the look with black spike heels that give her the calves of a supermodel. He catches himself looking over at her yet again, not seeing her as a colleague, and looks away.
“You apparently like robots.”
“Busted.”
“I am flattered.”
“You’re nervous.”
Of course I am. Another woman? “A threesome? I am not this woman, John.”
“I’m open to suggestions. We can still call it off. I can do this alone, if you can coach me through the IT stuff.”
“No one is requiring this. I will do what the job requires of me.”
Over the course of the next city block, she transforms. It is the butterfly appearing from the chrysalis. There’s a definite, defiant swing to her walk, and her spine straightens. Her posture is aggressive, but also alluring—even the sound of her high heels on the concrete is different, more certain, more determined. She has entered the zone.
—
GRACE IS WORRIED ABOUT HIM. She has witnessed his Messiah complex. Though honorable, it has no place here. They aren’t here to save a prostitute. Together, they must buy each other time. She has set herself to that goal. She would like to avoid getting naked in front of Knox, though she’s no prude. Her earlier sexual encounter at the hotel has prepared her well; nothing could be worse than an unfulfilling lay with a stranger.