The Midas Murders Read Online Free PDF Page B

Gigolo deserved, he thought.
    â€œWhat makes you think I would know this old man?” asked the Gigolo after looking at the photos a couple of times.
    â€œIt’s important,” Van In insisted. “Believe me. If someone here can identify the man, I promise—”
    The sentence was interrupted by a rattling coughing fit. Leo jumped to his feet and helped Van In stand up. The commissioner wasn’t a pretty sight.
    â€œI’d be happy to help you, my friend,” said the Gigolo with a note of pity. “But I just got back from Jamaica. And even if I had been here….”
    Van In recovered and sat down on the edge of the chaise longue.
    â€œJesus H.,” he wheezed. “I’m not asking if you recognize him. I want permission to talk to your staff. Mario had his doubts, but perhaps Jacques can identify him.”
    The Gigolo gulped at his whiskey like a true American, greedily and without enjoying it.
    â€œListen here, Pieter. The place is packed. Leave the photos with me and I’ll get everyone to have a look after we close.”
    â€œMuch appreciated, Patrick,” said Van In, peering at the Gigolo like a dazed reveler.
    Leo followed the conversation with growing amazement. He couldn’t understand why Van In was letting the guy walk all over him. He took a swig of his drink out of pure frustration. It tasted like stale cough syrup.
    â€œDo we have a deal, Pieter?” The Gigolo fidgeted with a golden scuba diver on a chain dangling around his neck. “If Véronique had been here….” He deliberately cut his sentence short.
    â€œI thought she was here,” Van In said.
    â€œNot tonight,” the Gigolo lied.
    â€œYou expecting her?” Van In reached for his glass. His hand shook. Leo gave him a dig in the ribs. He had known Van In for more than twenty years, and it hurt to see his friend let himself down like this.
    â€œShe’ll be here on Wednesday,” the Gigolo dawdled. “I can ask her to wait for you.”
    Van In retched and lay back in his chaise longue. His eyes started to turn in their sockets like a pair of revolving lights, and his left leg suddenly went into a spasm.
    â€œI think we should go, Pieter.” Leo got to his feet and shook Van In by the shoulders. The Gigolo nodded and came to take a closer look.
    â€œHe’s not a well man. Maybe he ate something?”
    â€œJust give me a hand,” Leo snarled. “He needs air. Fresh air,” he added bad-temperedly.
    The two men helped Van In to his feet. He seemed in a daze and didn’t put up a struggle. The walk to the padded door took forever. Van In felt like he was walking on a conveyor belt, his legs like those of a comatose spider, his head still resting on the chaise longue.
    It took Leo and the Gigolo a full five minutes to work their way through the heaving masses. Jacques lent a hand when they got close to the exit. The Gigolo slipped quietly out of the picture.
    â€œHave a good day, gentlemen.” The anemic waiter made no effort to disguise the derision in his voice.
    â€œHave you lost it completely?” Leo snorted when Van In leaned against a wall and slumped into the snow. “You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful.”
    Van In scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it into his face.
    â€œYou’re smashed. Don’t expect me to sympathize,” Leo snapped.
    â€œThe fucking … ,” Van In shuddered. “The fucker spiked my drink.”
    â€œOf course he did,” said Vanmaele sarcastically. “They spiked your cola with whiskey.”
    Van In started to cough and retch. He took off his jacket and shirt and tossed snow on his chest like a child burying himself in sand on the beach.
    â€œAre you all right, buddy?” A well-dressed gentleman had stopped out of curiosity. “Shall I call an ambulance?”
    â€œMind your own business,” Vanmaele snapped.
    â€œYour