They read the sign together. It said 'If I don't answer the bell don't bang on the door for I won't be in.' They read it three times.
'What nonsense,' de Gier said finally. 'If she isn't in she won't mind us banging on the door.'
Grijpstra rang the bell. There was no answer. He banged on the door. A window opened on the second floor.
'Fuck off. Do you want a bucket of dishwater all over you?'
'Nellie,' Grijpstra shouted, 'it's me.'
The window closed and they heard steps.
'It's you,' Nellie said. 'How nice. And a friend. Very nice. Come in.'
The lights were switched on and they found themselves in a small bar. The only color in the bar seemed to be pink. Pink curtains, pink wallpaper, pink lampshades. Nellie was pink too, especially her breasts. De Gier stared at Nellie's breasts.
'You like them, darling?'
'Yes,' de Gier said.
'Sit down and have a drink. If you buy me a bottle of champagne I'll give you topless service.'
'How much is a bottle of champagne?'
'A hundred and seventy-five guilders.'
'I am a policeman,' de Gier said.
'I know you are, darling, but the police pay a hundred and seventy-five guilders too. I hate corruption.' 'Do you ever have any policemen in here?'
Nellie smiled coyly and looked at Grijpstra.
'You?' de Gier asked.
'Sometimes,' Grijpstra said, 'but I don't pay. Nellie is an old friend.'
'And you get topless service?'
'Of course he does,' Nellie said briskly. 'What will you have? It's a bit early but I'll mix you a cocktail. I don't serve straight drinks.'
'No, Nellie,' Grijpstra said. 'We want to use your bar for an hour or so. Our commissaris wants a quiet place to talk; there will be some others as well. Do you mind?'
'Of course not, dear.' Nellie smiled and bent over the bar and ruffled Grijpstra's hair. The breasts were very close to de Gier now and his hands twitched. 'The bar is closed tonight anyway,' Nellie crooned. 'These damn riots are bad for business. I haven't seen a customer for two days and my runners can't get anyone through the roadblocks.'
Her lips framed a snarl. 'Not that I would welcome any customers these days, not with all this tension about.'
'And you still dress like that?' de Gier asked, and stared.
Nellie giggled. 'No. I wear jeans and a jersey, like everybody else, but I don't want Grijpstra to see me in a jersey. He is used to me like this, so I slipped on a dress.'
'Wow,' de Gier said.
Nellie patted her breasts. 'Disqualified me for a Miss Holland contest once. I had too much, they said. But they are good for business.'
'Do you have a license for this place?' de Gier asked.
Her face clouded. 'I thought you were a friend.'
'I am curious, that's all.'
'No, I don't have a license. This isn't a real bar. It's private. I only entertain one or two clients at a time. The runners bring them in.'
Prostitution, de Gier thought, straight prostitution. He knew there were bars like Nellie's bar but he hadn't come across one yet. Grijpstra had and he hadn't told him. He looked at Grijpstra and Grijpstra grinned. De Gier raised his eyebrows.
'Nellie had trouble once and I happened to answer the call.'
'That was a long time ago,' Nellie said and pouted. 'You were still in uniform then. I haven't seen you for a year; you are lucky I am still here.' She groaned. 'That's the way it is. The nice ones are busy and they don't pay and the bastards take far too much time, but they pay.'
De Gier could imagine what the bastards would be like. The stray tourist, the lonely businessman. 'Want a nice woman, sir, something really special? Cozy place? All to yourself? A little champagne? Not too expensive? Let me show you the way, sir.' And an hour, two hours maybe, three hours at the most later, the bastard would be in the street again with a stomach full of fuzz and a light head and a light wallet. She would squeeze them in stages. A pink spider in a pink web. And out the minute they were dry, out into the street. And the runner would be waiting and slip in for his cut and rush out again, to catch the next fly.
'How's business, Nellie?'
She pulled in her underiip and bit it. 'Not so good.
The guilder is too high and the dollar too low. I don't get them as I used to get them. It's Japanese now and they make me work.'*
A majestic woman, tall and wide-shouldered, with long red hair framing the green slanting eyes. De Gier could feel her strength. The strength of a voluptuous snake.
'Who is your friend, Grijpstra?'
'Sergeant de Gier,' Grijpstra said.
'Nice. Very nice. I don't often see handsome men nowadays; they are getting scarce.' The green eyes became innocent.
'Careful,' Grijpstra said. 'He has a way with ladies.'
She giggled. 'Don't worry, Grijpstra. I prefer your type, warm and heavy and fatherly. Handsome men make me nervous. They don't really need me and I hate it when I am not needed. Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?'
'Let me use the phone,' Grijpstra said.
She pushed the phone across the counter of the small bar and suddenly leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. Grijpstra returned her kiss and reached out and patted her buttocks. De Gier looked away.
^* The ranks of the Dutch municipal police are constable, constable first class, sergeant, adjutant, inspector, chief inspector, commissaris, chief constable.
^* The ranks of the Dutch municipal police are constable, constable first class, sergeant, adjutant, inspector, chief inspector, commissaris, chief constable.
4
The bell rang and De Gier went to open the door. The commissaris came in, followed by the doctor and the fingerprint man.
'Evening,' the commissaris said brightly.
Grijpstra was rubbing his lips with a crumpled handkerchief. 'Nellie's bar, sir, only place we could find. Very quiet.'
'Your ears are red,' de Gier said.
Grijpstra mumbled through his handkerchief. 'Introduce me to the lady,' the commissaris said, and climbed on a bar stool.
Nellie smiled and extended a hand. 'A drink, commissaris?'
'A small jenever, if you have it.'
Nellie poured six glasses.
'I thought you didn't serve straight drinks,' de Gier said and looked at the woman's breasts again. He wasn't the only one who looked. The commissaris was fascinated; so was the doctor, so was the fingerprint man.
'Cleavage,' the doctor said. 'Lovely word, isn't it? Cleavage?'
The others grunted their agreement.
