Amsterdam Noir by René Appel

Author:René Appel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2018-12-15T16:00:00+00:00

LUCKY SEVENS

by Theo Capel

De Jordaan

The A4 was crowded, as usual. Felix had been stuck behind a brand-new Seat Ateca for some time. He could almost see the guy in front of him frowning in his rearview mirror at Felix’s old Cordoba. It was time for a new car. There was enough money to buy one in the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. The problem was, it wasn’t his money.

When he hit the ring road, the traffic got worse. Up ahead, somebody slammed on his brakes, and Felix barely managed to avoid rear-ending him.

Eyes on the road, he told himself.

Imagine getting into an accident with all that cash on him. Some of his brothers in blue would surely suspect him of being crooked. He wouldn’t even be given the chance to explain himself. He shook off the thought and proceeded carefully to the exit for the S105—he still insisted on thinking of it by its traditional name, the Jan van Galenstraat—which would take him to his home in the Jordaan. The bureaucrats didn’t care that the Jordaan was the best-known part of the city. They felt it was good enough to put a simple Downtown on the exit signs.

It had been an unusual day for Felix. He was on his way back from South Holland, where he’d attended the funeral of a fellow Amsterdam police officer. Every cop there had been in uniform, including detectives like Felix. Dark-blue jacket, peaked cap. That had caused an uncomfortable moment, later in the day. Coincidentally, he’d also had an appointment in The Hague, at the headquarters of the agency that ran the national lottery. Tickets were cheap, and if you were lucky, instant happiness. Felix wasn’t a gambler himself, but today he’d walked in the door with a scratcher that had revealed a fifty-thousand-euro prize beneath its layer of foil. He’d bought it at the corner cigar store, along with two packs of filtered cigarettes and a magazine. Felix didn’t smoke, and it wasn’t a magazine he liked to read. The winning ticket wasn’t his either, and that’s why he’d collected the money in cash.

They’d been upset at the sight of his uniform. They were expecting a Mr. Felix de Grave, and what they got was a cop. He’d cleared up the confusion, but there’d been another misunderstanding when he left. The woman who showed him out was surprised by his pale purple car. She’d anticipated a police cruiser, not this sad old jalopy. She’d just been telling him that lots of winners bragged the first thing they were going to buy was a new vehicle, but most of them wound up sticking their winnings in the bank. She seemed to think that banking the fifty thousand euros would, in Felix’s case, be a mistake. She didn’t say it in so many words, but he could read it in her expression when she got a look at his car.

They’d already thought it was odd that he’d wanted the money in cash. The unspoken suspicion was that he didn’t want his wife to know about his win.

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