‘… Yeah, missed opportunity, if you hadn’t been so fucking … Yeah, all right. What’s done is done. Just means you’re going to have to sort it out yourself. He’s getting too close, it has to be done today.’
Van der Pol, phone clamped between shoulder and ear, motions Kees into the back of the car he’s sitting in.
‘Yeah, today.’ He listens for a few seconds. ‘I know he’s a cop, you fucktard. What difference does that make? We’ve killed cops before. Just get it done. And you do remember that if I go down you do as well? I’ll make sure it all comes out at trial, how do you think your cop buddies will react when they find out about you?’
He shuts down the call, takes the SIM card out of the phone and puts it in a pocket. Then he removes the battery and puts the phone in another pocket. ‘Let’s move,’ Van der Pol says to Lumberjack as soon as Kees closes the door.
Lumberjack gets them going and Van der Pol starts talking.
‘I got your message,’ he says to Kees without looking at him. ‘You sure he’s dead? I mean I’m not seeing any proof here.’
Kees finds his heart’s pounding. It’s happening so often these days that he’s starting to be able to ignore it. He’s so close to being able to walk away, he just needs to control things a bit longer. And from what he’s just heard, he needs to find out who Van der Pol was talking to, because it sounded an awful lot like Van der Pol was not only talking to a bent cop, he was ordering the death of a straight one.
For a moment part of him awakens, tells him he can’t allow that. Another tells him he’s done, out, he deserves this. It’s not his problem any more. He’s no longer a cop – Smit had told him he’s been kept off the books. And having seen the way he killed Haanstra – ‘executed’ was a word which kept floating round his head in the hours afterwards – Kees believes him.
What he doesn’t get is what Smit really wants. Kees has given him more than enough to take Van der Pol down, but he keeps him on, keeps Kees going even though with each day, each passing minute, the chances of him being found out increase. Smit’s argument has been that he needs to make the case watertight, make sure Van der Pol not only goes away, but never comes back.
But, Kees realizes, he doesn’t care about that any more. The only thing which matters is getting the money for his ID and disappearing. And key to that is getting Van der Pol to pay out.
‘He’s dead. Absolutely,’ Kees replies, trying to keep everything loose, natural.
‘I asked for a photo, didn’t I?’
The car takes a long, slow corner. Kees feels the Gs. The windows are tinted, but in any case he’s not looking out of them. Or if he is he’s not seeing what’s outside.
‘Yeah, you did,’ Kees says. ‘But as soon as I shot him I could hear the police coming. I had to get out of there. Like fast.’
Van der Pol mulls it over, all the while his eyes locked on Kees’ face.
‘I’ve been in this business a long time, y’know?’ Van der Pol says finally. ‘And I’ve done that because one—’ He raises a hand and holds up his first finger ‘—I’m careful. And two—’ He lifts his middle finger ‘—the police aren’t fucking omnipotent beings who just happen to turn up right at the precise moment when someone has to be dealt with.’
Kees shrugs. The movement dislodges a globule of sweat which has been forming in his armpit. It runs down his side with agonizing slowness.
‘I don’t get it either. I think they may have been onto him already. I was lucky and just got there first.’
Van der Pol shakes his head. ‘You sure he’s dead?’
‘He’s dead,’ Kees says. ‘So I’d like to get paid.’
The car slows down, and stops. Silence seeps into the interior as the engine dies. Kees looks out the window, sees they’re in the middle of nowhere. No one around.
‘All right,’ Van der Pol finally says, ‘I’ll get you your money.’ He gets out of the car and motions to Kees to follow him. As Kees steps out of the car Van der Pol’s already opening up the boot. Kees walks round, expecting to see it filled with a plastic sheet, like something from an old mob movie. But there’s a row of sports-kit bags, four at least. Van der Pol’s unzipping one of them, it’s black with the Nike logo picked out in reflective silver. Inside are bundles of notes. Van der Pol reaches for one, his fingers clasping it the exact same moment Kees realizes three things.
The first is that Lumberjack is behind him.
The second is that something hard is just about to obliterate the back of his head.
And the third, as the blow hits and his mind spirals down into darkness, is that he’s totally, royally fucked.