Gier said. "How about a little raid across the border once in a while?"
"Yes."
"So?"
"When they get to the boat, the lights are out and there's nobody home. The station here has a large number of telephones. I imagine most of the colleagues know Lennie's unlisted number."
"That was Lennie," Grijpstra said. "What about Gustav?"
"Lunch first," said de Gier.
"You can't eat here, adjutant," Cardozo said, and pulled Grijpstra's sleeve.
Grijpstra pointed with his other arm. "Is that sign in Chinese or isn't it?"
"That's a gambling joint, adjutant. The characters are different. We can eat across the street. See?"
Grijpstra turned his hand. "Same scribbles."
"No, adjutant. See the ones on the sign across the street? Meaning 'Eating House'?"
"Scribbles."
"Look at the scribble at the left. See the little running legs sticking out of it? It means 'eat.' And the one on this side, see, with the uncombed beard hanging underneath, says 'gamble.'"
Grijpstra narrowed his eyes. His hand weighed heavily on Cardozo's shoulder. "Since when can you read Chinese?"
"I worked here, adjutant. I had to learn what is what. I got to know the signs to know what goes on inside."
"The boy is intelligent," de Gier said. "He can't help it. Can we go to the eating house now, or do you prefer to play Mah-Jongg?"
Grijpstra crossed the street. He still held on to Cardozo. "Constable first-class?"
Cardozo's chin rested on Grijpstra's hand. "Yes?"
"If gambling is illegal, how come the slit-eyes have the sign on their door?"
Cardozo squeaked. "But this is the quarter. Anything goes here."
"Too far," Grijpstra growled. "You too."
A middle-aged black man squatted on the sidewalk, leaning against the restaurant's gable. He wore a heavy sweater in spite of the heat and was rolling up his tattered sleeve. The man wasn't interested in the portly gentleman in the pinstriped suit who was observing him. He was intent on the point of his hollow needle, sucking milky fluid out of a bent teaspoon. When the needle was full it emptied itself again, into the man's arm, after having found a spot of skin between running sores. The needle yanked free and the man looked up, grinning inanely, then sighed and closed his eyes. Grijpstra closed his eyes too. De Gier pushed the adjutant's shoulder. "Come eat. Mandarin cooking. Very special."
Grijpstra studied the gleaming dark red naked carcasses dangling from a sagging string behind the restaurant's dirty window.
"Birds," Cardozo said. "Exotic birds."
"Yecch."
"Duck is good," de Gier said. "Ugly duck is good too. Come along, dear."
The waiter brought the menu.
"Don't take forever," de Gier said. "I'm hungry."
Grijpstra was still staring through his half-glasses. "I wanted fried rice, with a fried egg on top, can't find it on the list."
"You can eat that everywhere."
"So I can eat it here too."
The waiter covered the table with dishes. They weren't Grijpstra's. Grijpstra got a small bowl heaped with dark brown rice topped with a fried egg the size of an overcoat button.
"Small egg," the adjutant said.
"Duck's egg," said the waiter.
"Bald duckling's egg," said Cardozo. "Will you tell us about Gustav, sergeant? Is he still driving a Corvette? He did in my days, always the latest model."
Grijpstra jabbed at the egg with a chopstick.
"Hold them like these, adjutant," Cardozo said. "One fixed and the other like a pencil. Like this. You can do it."
Grijpstra pressed the bowl against his mouth and inhaled the egg. "What's a Corvette?"
"American," de Gier explained. "Flat. Like an iron without the handle, hollow inside. Goes fast, costs money."
"How much?"
"What you and I make a year."
"But he has other cars too," Cardozo said. "Gustav likes cars. He likes women too, he's got lots of them, in my time anyway. Look, adjutant, it's really quite easy. Hold your chopsticks like this and you can pick up anything. See that bit of meat next to de Gier's bowl? I'll pick it up."
Cardozo inserted the meat between his