always open affectionately Paul Morgan.
David said, Crafty old bastard, and stuffed both messages into his
pocket.
Is there a reply? Van Gent asked.
Thank you, no. It was good of you to take this trouble.
No trouble, Mr. Morgan Can I help you in any way?
Is there anything you require?
Nothing, but thanks again. They shook hands and Van Gent bowed and left
him. David went to the Avis counter and the girl smiled brightly at
him.
Good evening, sir.
David slipped his Avis card across the desk. I want something with a
little jump to it, please.
Let me see, we have a Mustang Mach 1? 1 She was pure blonde with a
cream and pink unlined face.
That will do admirably, David assured her, and as she began filling the
form in, she asked, Your first visit to Amsterdam, sir?
They tell me it's the city with the most action in Europe, is that
right?
If you know where to go, she murmured.
You should show me? David asked and she looked up at him with
calculating eyes behind a neutral expression, made a decision and
resumed her writings.
Please sign here, sir. Your account will be charged, then she dropped
her voice. If you have any queries on this contract, you can contact me
at this number, after hours. My name is Gilda.
Gilda shared a walk-up over the outer canal with three other girls who
showed no surprise, and made no objection when David carried his single
Samsonite case up the steep staircase. However, the action that Gilda
provided was in a series of discotheques and coffee bars where lost
little people gathered to talk revolution and guru babble. In two days
David discovered that pot tasted terrible and made him nauseous, and
that Gilda's mind was as bland and unmarked as her exterior. He felt
the stirrings of uneasiness when he studied the others that had been
drawn to this city by the news that it was wide open, with the most
understanding police force in the world. In them he saw symptoms of his
own restlessness, and he recognized them as fellow seekers.
Then the damp chill of the lowlands seemed to rise up out of the canals
like the spirits of the dead on doomsday, and when you have been born
under the sun of Africa the wintry effusions of the north are a pale
substitute.
Gilda showed no visible emotion when she said goodbye, and with the
heaters blasting hot air into the cab of the Mustang David sent it
booming southwards. On the outskirts of Namur there was a girl standing
beside the road. in the cold her legs were bare and brown, protruding
sweetly from the short faded blue denim pants she wore. She tilted her
golden head and cocked a thumb.
David hit the stick down, and braked with the rubber squealing protest.
He reversed back to where she stood.
She had flat-planed slavic features and her hair was white blonde and
