Free The Perfidious Parrot by Janwillem van de Wetering

wanted to stay in his loft with his meadow parsnips and green-headed coneflowers. “While using a nature-cured healthy body the spirit develops.”
    “Please,” Grijpstra said. “You should get rid of your mangy rat buds and dogshit poppies. Why do you think those noxious weeds survive in the city?”
    The commissaris spread his map between bottles of fake beer. “Look here, Rinus, these are the islands where
Sibylle
lost her cargo. St. Eustatius, here. Saba. And here is St. Maarten where the
Admiraal Rodney
is going.”
    Grijpstra was in daily telephone contact with their clients. Young Ambagt reported that the yacht was now in Bermuda. Some minor engine trouble, nothing bad, but not something that could be repaired on a resort island either. It might be better if the
Rodney
headed for Florida. “The Ambagts want us to fly to Key West and board their boat there.”
    “And from there to the Antilles.” The commissaris looked pleased. “That’s where this adventure started.”
    Grijpstra thumped the map. “YesyesYES.”
    “You’re going to be seasick, Henk,” de Gier warned.
    Grijpstra slapped his partner’s shoulder. “Key West! I read about it. At the dentist’s office. Supposed to be beautiful. KLM charter flights connect Amsterdam directly to the Florida Keysbut it will be more fun if we go to Miami and drive a car from there.” Grijpstra’s blunt forefinger traced the route. A hundred and forty miles of speedway and bridges connecting islands. “This bridge here is over seven miles long. Gulf of Mexico on the right side, Caribbean on the left side. We rent a Cadillac, that would be all right, wouldn’t it, sir? And play CDs while we drive. I’ll bring my new Wallace Roney.”
    “Sir,” de Gier said. “This is ridiculous. Are we going to give in to bad guys? Because they slapped me about and dunked Grijpstra?”
    “Nah.” The commissaris estimated distances on his map. Key West, the most southern point of the USA, was at some distance from Bermuda—about a week’s steady going for the disabled
Admiraal Rodney
. He suggested that they leave the next morning, make Grijpstra’s car trip, spend a few days in Key West and while waiting for father and son Ambagt, look around. “Yes. That’s it. We’ll do that.”
    Katrien, like de Gier, had also accused him of putting himself into criminal hands. And there was the matter of rank. Ketchup and Karate were mere constables, trying, Katrien said, to pull a staff officer down. Peons taking on executives. “But so what, Katrien?” he had replied. “Can we afford to underestimate talent within the lower echelons?” The strength, energy, even intelligence of Ketchup and Karate were not to be sneezed at. Certainly, he had misgivings about their motivations. He did not assume that the two rascals longed for the good old days of pre-drug trade peace and quiet. K&K always tended toward evil. “They’re in this for the money, Katrien. But they can be of help.”
    “Shouldn’t you devise a plan that would punish those twolittle weasels?” Katrien asked. “Poor Grijpstra and de Gier … K&K are bad, Jan. They could have gone after you too. No, don’t look stupid now. Everybody knows you go hiking in the nature reserve every day, they could have pushed you off a dike, run you over with a tractor”—Katrien laughed, she knew she was exaggerating—“they could even have shot you.”
    “Haha,” laughed the commissaris.
    He wasn’t into punishing people. Punished people, like beaten dogs, tend to get nasty. It is better to wait for people to do something right for a change and then flatter them to high heaven. Besides, K&K, together with Inspector Cardozo, linked him to the might of the Dutch state. Piracy, the commissaris thought, wasn’t this something? Michiel the sailor’s corpse pecked by seagulls, a fact documented—according to Grijpstra—by a color photograph. Captain Souza, found in his cabin in a helpless condition. They were