Lost(28)

“That’s almost exactly right. Except that I live fifty miles northwest of South Beach in a house with my mom and my sister.”

Marie paused, then said, “That’s sweet. I think.”

“Sweet, weird—it’s a matter of perspective. The fact is they’re good roommates and I can trust them. I haven’t always had that kind of success in my other living arrangements.”

Clearly wanting to move on and not make me uncomfortable, Marie said, “Why don’t we take a look at some other neighborhoods?”

It was like police work anywhere. Gather as much intelligence as possible before you act. I felt at home.





CHAPTER 37





IT WAS EARLY evening when Hanna and Albert started following Marie Meijer. Hanna wanted Albert to practice with the tracker. The signal had faded in and out a couple of times during the day, but he was learning how to follow the display on his iPhone.

Albert put his hand on her arm as they turned a corner in central Amsterdam. He pointed across a busy street and said, “She’s just leaving that café and her car is parked out front.”

Hanna said, “Who’s that with her? It looks like a cop.”

“He’s either a cop or some kind of wrestler. He’d be a handful.”

“It’s too crowded here. Let’s see where they head next. I’d prefer to get Funky-Eyed Bitch by herself.” Albert had given Hanna a Browning nine-millimeter pistol. He carried the Makarov nine-millimeter he’d bought at a military-surplus show. He’d had to pay the man extra to buy a working pistol, not just a museum item.

They tracked the couple into the Oost District and found the car parked near Molukkenstraat, a block from the canal.

Hanna said, “Why would they be over here?”

“Does it matter? This is perfect. With all the crazy shit that goes on around here, no one would be surprised by a shooting.” He glanced around, hoping to see Meijer. “Remember, your gun is just for extra security. Let me do the shooting. We’ll do it when there are no witnesses.”

“Are you going to shoot the man too?”

“If he’s with her, I have to shoot him. There can’t be any witnesses. But I’m pretty good with this thing. I might be able to do it from down the block.”

Hanna didn’t like the idea of murder, but she could only deal with so many problems at once. Marie Meijer was the driving force of human-smuggling investigations. With her gone, Hanna could focus on the Russians. Just today, they had threatened her again, after Albert had stabbed one of their flunkies in the shoulder. She’d tried to explain that it was a personal argument in a bar, nothing to do with business.

That’s all Russians cared about.





CHAPTER 38





WE PARKED THE car on a side street in the Oost District, and I noticed that this area catered to a younger, more vibrant crowd. There didn’t seem to be many tourists here, judging by how clean and serene the district felt.

I was so comfortable with Marie now that it felt like I’d known her for years. She had a quick sense of humor, and, more important, she could let things go. She showed no resentment for my question about her eye earlier.

When she took me to a charming place called the Volkshotel, I wondered what she was up to. One of the desk clerks waved to Marie as we entered.

Marie looked over her left shoulder and said, “There’s a bar on the roof, Canvas. It’ll give us a nice view, and they have several beers that are outstanding.”

I had given up trying to decipher the menus, so when we got there, I left my order up to Marie and she didn’t let me down.

The IPA was from Belgium and the name unpronounceable. It had to be close to 10 percent alcohol. But it went down easy. Very easy. If this beer had been available in Miami when I was younger, I might not have graduated.

Marie looked over and said, “Do you feel like being honest with me for a few minutes? Have I earned your trust enough?”

I lifted my beer and said, “Fire away.”

“How’s a smart, good-looking guy like you not married? You wouldn’t be able to stay single for ten days on the streets of Amsterdam.”

I’d been prepared for a question about my mother. I was even ready to tell her all about the dementia that had stolen Mom from me and Lila a little bit at a time. It was the biggest, most difficult thing in my life. But this question hit home in a different way.

I took a long pull on the beer and said, “It’s not a big deal.”

That made Marie laugh. “I’m sorry, but when anyone begins a discussion with ‘It’s not a big deal,’ it’s usually a pretty big deal.”

She was right. “What I meant to say was there’s not a good explanation. There’s just an old story.” I paused to take another sip of beer and choose my words.

“Basically, I was engaged to a girl in law school. I took an internship with a local attorney in Miami, and the flashy son of a bitch stole my fiancée. That’s why I’m not married.”

Marie was quite serious when she said, “I’m sorry the woman didn’t have enough sense to recognize she was with a good guy.” She paused, then added, “I was engaged once myself.”

“What happened?”