Karl Webber began close to the Rembrandt Park and worked his way over the rooftops, forever looking for a suitable opening. It was this time of the evening he preferred to leave his den and go to work. He never thought it would be so easy. In the beginning, the pressure was an incredible burden that continuously played on his mind, making him feel depressed, guilty and ashamed. But eventually it became familiar and he accepted it. The goal long outweighed the negativity.
?He moved towards a part of the city that held few, but vivid memories, sometimes at a slow pace, sometimes fast, yet always silent. Agility and swiftness was the one thing he ever wanted in life and now he had exactly that. The air rushed through his hair as he quickened his pace to leap the six meter gap between two blocks of houses. His foot hit the edge of the gable, he took off. In mid-air, he let out a loud cry of joy, then landed with expertise and ease on the other side. None of his fellow patients back at the hospital and rehabilitation center could ever do this, he realized. He was not Superman that he knew. Any fit person could do the same, but he was born never to achieve anything close to this - that was now the past.
Stepping towards the front of the building Karl looked down to observe the relatively quiet street. Most of the regular shops were already shut, except the supermarkets that stayed open late.
?The Kinker neighborhood was an old established residential area of Amsterdam dominated by working class families and a busy shopping street, the Kinkerstraat. A large influx of Turkish, Moroccan and people from the old Dutch colonies had changed the scope of the area from a monotone of typical white families to a vibrant color of mixes and races. Karl could remember being wheeled in a buggy by his parents as they walked to the tram depot in the Tollenstraat, where his father worked as a junior manager. They had only made that one trip together before he walked out on the family.
?At a young age, he was diagnosed with an incurable muscular disease, which would devastate his body as he got older. It would kill him before he reached the age of twenty. His mother tried to cope, but he could see her struggling. At night, he would wake up to the sound of her crying.
A year after his father left, his mother brought him to a hospital for a three-day stay so tests could be carried out. This was to determine the progress of the disease, and plan physiotherapy and other treatment. It was the last time he saw her. The following day she committed suicide by gassing herself in the kitchen.
Karl never saw the funeral. Some people, family they told him, kept him at their home for a month or two before he was taken into care, followed by years in various institutions, hospitals, and research clinics.
Looking down from the roof he remembered his mother saying goodbye to his father at the tram depot before they went shopping in the streets below. In and out of various clothes shops she tried on dresses and skirts, always asking him whether he liked them or not. He remembered saying yes to all, the thank you was a kiss on the cheek each time. He loved her perfume. Other mothers had the sort that made his eyes sting and nose itch, which drove him to plunge his face into her soft woolen overcoat where he sucked in his mother's scent, blocking all others. Karl enjoyed going to the areas that brought back good and warm memories. Unfortunately, there were few like this.
?He observed the world below with mixed emotions; resentment, contempt, jealousy. He watched women arguing with their husbands, children being pushed or dragged along by loving or weary mothers. Groups of teenage girls teasing the boys who in turn were on the lookout for intruders on their turf. He witnessed what seemed like a million stories from the rooftops for the past year and it never ceased to amaze him.
As he scanned the street below something caught his eye - a man being followed by a tall black male, who kept his distance. He watched him stop every now and then to observe the others moves. This he had never witnessed before, and decided to study it at close range. At the rear of the building, Karl climbed down to ground level and followed them.
Wall watched the thief cross over and turn into another street to the right. He checked the name of the street; Ten Katestraat. The area was more run down than he had seen elsewhere. Graffiti covered closed shop shutters and bare walls in between. He realized that this area was out of the tourist route, and therefore did not have to parade the niceties of the city. When the thief rounded another corner and disappeared from view, Harvey broke into a sprint and reached the corner within seconds. He peered around and observed the thief searching for the right key at a door no more than ten meters away. It only took three giant steps before Harvey Wall reached him and whacked him over the head with his massive hand. The thief hit the ground with a thud. After checking to see if he was still alive, Wall pulled him to a lamppost by the scruff of the neck and used two tie-wraps to secure him. As he regained consciousness, the thief screamed and shouted in Dutch.
Harvey Wall raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry son, don't understand a word. I guess you'll have to wait for the authorities to tell them what you think of tourists like me."
Harvey took out a post-it, wrote on it, then pasted it to his back. He turned to walk away, then noticed a woman in her late sixties, staring out of an open window on the first floor of an apartment just a few meters away.
"Could you do me a favor and call the police? This man robbed a pizza restaurant this afternoon."
She stood up from her chair to get a better look at Harvey Wall. The old woman wore a dark dress with a flower print, and a blue cardigan that sagged at the pockets. "Oh, are you American?"
"Yes I am, ma'am."
"Really? And you caught him all by yourself?"
"Well?' Wall replied, sounding hesitant. "He's the last of three guys who robbed a pizza joint. I think he's better on the inside than out, don't you?"
"Oh yes, you are so right, and you are so brave," she replied, smiling brightly. "And you caught the other two as well?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"If I was 40 years younger, I would be having breakfast with you in the morning. But you are much too young for me. Instead, I will make you my hero of the day."
Harvey Wall glanced quickly around to see if anyone was listening, and possibly provide an exit.
"Ehm? thank you very much, ma'am, but I'm only doing my job."
"We have so many problems in the neighborhood these days. You are better than the police, that's for sure. They are never around when you need them. In fact, I haven't seen them down these streets in years, but I'll call them anyway. Maybe this time they will come when they see someone has already done all the dangerous work for them."
"Thank you, lady, I appreciate your help. I'm really beginning to enjoy this little town of yours," he replied, and began to walk away. "Take care now, and keep a close eye on that guy "till they get here."
"I will, don't worry. By the way, are you married?"
"Yes ma'am, and I've got six mouths to feed back home. Thank you for your help." Harvey waved to the old lady and walked back towards the Kinkerstraat. He lied, but it was the only thing he could think of to get the hell out of there.
From a distance, Karl could hear Wall talk to the old woman. From his accent he could hear he was American. He backed into a darkened doorway when he turned and began to walk back in his direction. Wall never noticed him in the shadows of the portal.
Karl followed him back down the Kinkerstraat, where he turned right at the traffic lights. He watched Wall check his iPhone and look up at the street names. Definitely not local. He followed him back to the Alfred hotel on the De Lairessestraat - a thirty-minute walk.
Now dark, he watched Wall enter the hotel from across the street. After about a minute, he saw a light go on in a room on the third floor. Keeping out of sight he removed the small backpack on his back, and took out what he needed. A couple of minutes later he scaled the building opposite the hotel to get a better view.
From the roof of Christie's auction house, he observed the tall black American in his room through a pair of bi
noculars. Wall switched on the television and zapped through the channels until he stopped at CNN. He put down the remote and lifted a large sports bag onto the bed, removed some clothes and placed them in the cupboards. To his surprise, he saw him take a handgun out of his bag and check the loading mechanism. He had seen him catch and restrain someone, and now he had a gun. Police? On holiday?
Other people's lives never really interested Karl since his own life and work took up all of his waking moments. There was no girlfriend, family or friend, and he was content with that. With all those distractions, he would never have survived.
He was totally alone, just like this imposing American.
He checked his watch. It was getting late, but not late too late to carry out some more work. He stepped carefully over Christie's rooftop, careful not to disrupt the sensitive alarms in the building. He had work to do, check out possibilities along the way and start planning his next move.
The Amsterdam Chronicles: Def-Con City Trilogy Part 1 Page 8
