The Streetbird Read Free

on his long legs, an example of virile awareness, and the little old chief, leaning on the arm of his protector, dragging his almost useless leg.
    "About to retire?" Jurriaans asked.
    Grijpstra frowned. "Never."
    Cardozo jumped up and down. "A murderer, a real murderer, haven't had one for years. A true killer, who has thought it all out, and he used a machine gun. Are we going to get him, adjutant, are we?"
    "Of course," Grijpstra said.
    Jurriaans removed his cap from under his arm and placed it carefully on his head. "I admire your optimism. Any idea what you're getting yourself into?" He adjusted the cap with both hands. "This is not your regular murder, politely planned by nice suburban types. Here everything is sick, rotten."
    "Good," Cardozo said.
    "A cup of coffee?" asked Jurriaans.
    "And an apartment," Grijpstra said. "Close by, available immediately so that we can move in at once." His lower lip protruded sadly. "Not that I want to. I have a nice house myself now."
    "You?" Cardozo asked. "Where? You always say you don't like your house. Did you move?"
    De Gier had come back. He smiled at Cardozo. "Things don't have to move to change, you know. They can stay where they are and be different."
    "So soon?" Cardozo flapped his hands. "The adjutant was still complaining last week." He puckered his nose. "About the smell." He covered his ears. 'The noise." He held his throat. "The lack of space."
    "Shshsh," Grijpstra said. An ambulance had arrived. The attendants placed the corpse on a stretcher. Obrian's long arms dangled and were tucked away. He was still smiling, in all directions now, as his head lolled about. The policemen followed, automatically falling into step, Jurriaans next to the adjutant, de Gier with Cardozo, Ketchup with Karate. They lined up, waiting for the attendants to close the doors of the ambulance.
    "Prince of the quarter," Jurriaans said. "I thought he would never leave."
    "We are the Crown."
    Jurriaans looked at Grijpstra. "What?"
    The adjutant reached up and took off the sergeant's cap. "Here, the crown, the supreme emblem, on your own hat."
    Jurriaans nodded. "One almost forgets here."
    De Gier talked to Cardozo. "A little while ago I saw three gentlemen roller-skating." He put one hand on his back and made his legs slide. He dangled his other hand in front of Cardozo's face. "Carrying briefcases. Can you imagine."
    "Do I have to?" asked Cardozo. He thumped de Gier on the arm. "Murder! I had almost forgotten. We've got a murder, sergeant. Hey ho!"
    "For five years," Ketchup said, "Obrian fucked us over. Made idiots out of us, had us by the neck, played with us like rag dolls. And now he's off forever." He shook his head. "Hard to believe."
    Karate was shaking his head too. "Can't believe it either, liberated illegally, we can't even thank the killer."
    The two constables ran up the stairs of the station together.
    "Stupid little buggers," Grijpstra said.
    "You think so?" Jurriaans asked.
    Grijpstra prodded the sergeant's stomach with his stubby finger. "Yes. They were right here, fifty paces away from the killing, and they didn't even bother to come out to see why someone might be firing a machine gun. Bubbles in pipes! Faulty exhaust!"
    "I was in there too," Jurriaans said. "It must have been a very short rattle. Machine pistols fire at a rate of five to six hundred rounds per minute, but they don't carry more than thirty or so. Six hundred rounds a minute, that's ten per second. Six rounds take about half a second. Bang." He flicked his fingers. "That was all."
    "Turrdm, you said just now. Not bang."
    "Adjutant," Jurriaans said pleasantly, "I often hear bangs. But they aren't shots. This is a bad district but it isn't a battlefield. There's bad sex here, and bad dope, and theft and blackmail and mugging. All bad. But hardly ever bad bullets."
    De Gier stepped up. "Coffee?"
    "Cake?" Grijpstra asked.
    "Be my guests."
    Jurriaans led the way. Grijpstra followed. Cardozo was still in the street,