The Amsterdam Chronicles: Def-Con City Trilogy Part 1

by Brian Christopher

  Dop and Kaps got out of their car just around the corner from the Leidseplein in the heart of Amsterdam.

  "Where do we go from here?" Dop asked.

  Kaps looked around the streets. "If you were a tourist who just arrived in Amsterdam where would you go?"

  "The red light district I'd do later," Dop replied. "First I would try to get acquainted with the city, look around, take in the sites, probably keep to the shopping areas, Leidsestraat, Kalverstraat, something like that, or maybe look for a museum."

  Kaps took the photo of Harvey Wall out of his inside jacket pocket and held it up to Dop. "This does not look like the type of person who would go straight to a museum on his first day in Amsterdam. But you're right about the red light district. Most tourists don't go there immediately when they arrive. They usually need a day or two to build up confidence. Let's get a quick bite and a beer, then work our way down to the Kalverstraat."

  ?In a Mexican restaurant in the Korte Leidsedwarsstraat, not more than two hundred meters from where Kaps and Dop had just stepped out of their unmarked police car, a waiter brought Harvey Wall a large plate of spare ribs.

  "Here you are sir."

  "Looks good. Tell me, where does a man go to have a good time around here?"

  The waiter smiled and leaned in close to Wall. Stains on his well-worn waiter's jacket reminded Wall of a rat-infested restaurant he once raided in the Bronx years ago. His appetite for the ribs suddenly vanished.

  "Depends on what you'd call a good time, sir."

  His breath reeked. Harvey opened a map of Amsterdam and handed the waiter a pen. "Just mark the spots buddy, and let me worry about the rest."

  Thirty minutes later Harvey Wall was out on the street. Around the corner from the restaurant, he eyed up a pair of Nike's in a store window and tried to figure out the exchange rate in his head. He quickly gave up and took out his iPhone.

  The conversion app calculated the Euros into dollars. To his surprise they were less expensive than in New York, but would they have something in his size? Fourteen? Probably not. Even in the US he had to order online or go to exclusive shops.

  Just then, on the other side of the Leidsestraat three youths ran out of the pizza restaurant.

  A waiter rushed out and shouted. "Stop? help me somebody, I've been robbed."

  Wall turned to look and automatically reached for his gun. Gone. He forgot he had packed it with his luggage, which was now back at the hotel. Further up the street he saw them split up. Keeping an eye on where they ran he quickly checked his other pockets and found all the equipment he needed. Without further hesitation, he took after the one who remained in view, the weakest.

  "They took all my money." The man shouted as Wall rushed past him.

  Unaware of Wall behind him, the thief ran towards the Leidseplein then turned to the right at a theatre into a narrow street, the Lijnbaansgracht.

  After passing the Melkweg music venue halfway down the street, the thief quickly slowed to a walking pace. Wall did exactly the same but kept a distance. Difficult to figure out why at first, but he quickly realized the thief walked past a police station on the right further down the street. The kid was either really stupid or had a ton of guts, Wall thought. At that moment, four uniformed police officers rushed out of the station.

  The thief hesitated for a second, but when they jumped into two police cars and sped past him, he cautiously carried on - stupid, he decided. Wall thought briefly about getting their attention as they drove past but decided against it. Trailing him was the best thing right now; it could lead to the others. Back home research had shown that groups committing robberies like this usually met up within an hour after the crime. The money would be shared out, then they would go their separate ways. He hoped the same statistics applied to Amsterdam.

  ?Heading past the police station he followed him over a small bridge and continued to tail him through a maze of small streets. He kept in the background, careful not to be spotted. After twenty minutes of dodging in and out of the narrow streets - some not much bigger than the width of a car - he saw the three meet up in the middle of the Jordaan district. He checked his position on his iPhone and marked it. He knew he would probably need the information when or if he had to write up a report about this. His Google maps told him he was in the Vuileweespad. They sure had the weirdest names here, he thought.

  In the shelter of a doorway, he watched them share out the money. Minutes later they split up once again. Making a mental note of the directions they took, he studied the surrounding buildings and noted the different types of doors, parked cars, and anything that made an impression. It would save him from getting lost. He had his iPhone but long before they appeared this was the way he worked to prevent getting totally lost - a habit he enjoyed and did not intend to lose. If he moved quickly, he knew his plan would work. The thieves would now feel secure and have little reason to run. They would slow down, relax and begin to take things easy.

  ?Wall watched his target - a small white kid, about seventeen, blond hair, black t-shirt, scruffy jeans hanging down his ass, strutting his Bjorn Borg underwear. Suddenly the kid turned around and headed back towards him.

  Wall was not quite ready for the encounter. He stopped, reached into his jacket pocket, took out a yellow post-it paper block and wrote on it. The thief drew close. Wall continued to write - then as he strolled past reached out and grabbed the youth from behind with his huge hand and pinned him up against the red brick front wall of a house.

  With a look of fear on his face, the thief shouted something unintelligible in Dutch.

  "Sorry pal, I don't understand a word, but where I come from I would have shot you between the eyes as soon as you came out that pizza joint. But I'm a guest here, so I've got another surprise for you."

  From his inside jacket pocket, Wall took out a long plastic tie-wrap. He pulled the thief's hands behind his back and quickly locked his wrists, securing it with a second tie-wrap to the drainpipe.

  "Well, how do you like that?" Wall said, laughing. "With all your newfound wealth you have just bought yourself a brand new pair of bracelets, all the way from the US of A."

  The thief tried to pull his hands out of the tie-wraps, but quickly realized it was impossible. Wall took out his pre-written post-it, peeled it off and slapped it on his back.

  "Bye bye now." Wall flashed a bright smile, then ran back down the street.

  The stunned thief looked on in disbelief. "What the fuck?" He screamed in English. "You can't just leave me here. Who do you think you are, Batman or something?"

  Wall turned, while continuing to jog backwards he pointed to his face. "Do I look like Batman? You break the rules then you lose the right to walk the streets, boy." Wall shouted back, then turned and disappeared down the small street.

  "Come back here. Where are you going?" The thief tried to break free of the tie-wraps. "You can't leave me here?" He slumped in shock, then began to cry for help.

  Like a typical tourist Harvey Wall stared up at the century-old houses, as if studying the architecture, and at the same time keeping an eye on the second thief fifty meters in front. He followed him to the Rozengracht, a broad street with heavy traffic, bicycles, and trams going each way in the middle, and into the Akoleienstraat the opposite side.

  When the thief took a right turn at the Bloemstraat, Wall quickly doubled back towards the Rozengracht and turned left; then broke into a run. He turned left again at the next corner and ran up to the edge of the Bloemstraat, where he suspected the thief would now be. As if on cue he appeared looking relaxed and unconcerned about the day's events. Wall took out the post-it block and wrote on it. As the youth grew near, he became aware of Wall, who seemed out of place in the alley. Within reaching distance, Wall slipped the block back into his inside pocket and took out the tie-wraps, but it was a few seconds too soon. The moment the thief saw them he darted back down the Bloemstraat.

  Without hesitation, Wall shot after him with speed that seemed
to defy his exceptional build. At the end of the street the thief, who was small, nimble and fast, turned left out onto the busy Rozengracht. Wall held his pace - he was directly behind him - but not close enough.

  Automobiles screeched to a halt and tram drivers slowed down to watch the chase.

  Wall kept his concentration, gained half a meter, then lashed out. He smacked the thief across the back of the head with a fist as big as a boxing glove.

  The youth flipped over, crashing to the pavement. As he climbed to his feet in a dazed state, Wall pulled his arms behind his back and secured him to a lamppost with the tie-wraps. He took out the post-it block, peeled off the note and stuck it to the thief's back.

  "Quick, but not quick enough," Wall said, panting heavily.

  As the kid began to recover, he shouted something in Dutch.

  "Two down, one to go," Wall said to the thief, as he straightened his jacket and walked away. He passed a tram driver who had stopped his tram in the middle of the Rozengracht to watch the incident. "I really love your city," Wall remarked, with a mischievous smile.

  Chapter Six