Yok by Tim Davys Read Free Book Online Page A

the
wheel sat one of the many security animals with a dark suit and strong jawline,
whom Hawk could not tell apart.
    He leaned back and closed his eyes while the car
slowly rolled away toward the ramp. He did not need to say where he was going;
his schedule had been confirmed and communicated for weeks. Twenty minutes’
sleep in the backseat was just what he needed.
    Once a month prosecutor Schleizinger had dinner
with Manuela Hamster, the police chief in Sors. She was a professional
administrator, an ambitious politician, but Schleizinger respected her anyway.
She held her district in an iron grip, and her fight against corruption in the
police force was genuine and reasonably successful. When the two did not meet at
her office, they had dinner at Au Sultan. It was Schleizinger’s favorite
restaurant, mostly due to the pickled radishes that were served as an appetizer.
Both the prosecutor’s and the police chief’s bodyguards felt comfortable with
the place; it was simple to secure and guard.
    Manuela Hamster was at the table when Hawk
Schleizinger entered the restaurant. They had jointly decided that the table in
the corner next to the bar was the best. They sat with their backs to the wall,
with a view of the entrance and restrooms opposite. The bodyguards sat at the
window tables, and from the other direction they were protected by the
lead-reinforced bar.
    â€œCongratulations,” said Manuela, rising briefly as
Hawk sat down. “I heard you had yet another brilliant performance today. Four
years, was that it?”
    â€œIt wasn’t me,” Schleizinger answered modestly. “It
was justice that triumphed. That happens sometimes. Extremely satisfying.”
    He was not a humorous stuffed animal. He picked up
the menu from the table, but set it down again.
    â€œI already know what I want,” he said. “Have you
decided?”
    Hamster opened the menu. She liked variety, and
tried to remember what she had had the last time.
    â€œThe salsicca, maybe?” she said.
    Schleizinger immediately raised a claw and signaled
to the headwaiter that they were ready to order. He was in a hurry; work was
piling up at home and he didn’t want to be too late.
    It took less than an hour to finish the appetizer
and entrée. Over coffee they discussed the intensifying struggle against the
gang leaders in Sors, a program they had launched jointly six months earlier,
and which had already borne fruit. The Ministry of Finance had placed expanded
resources at their disposal, and Hamster maintained that she felt they were
close to a breakthrough. But suddenly she interrupted herself, and nodded toward
the window.
    â€œThat fox on the other side of the street, is that
anyone you know?”
    Schleizinger controlled himself. He refrained from
twisting his head, and instead leaned directly toward the bodyguard sitting
closest.
    â€œContact Smithson,” he said. “Say that the fox is
back. Outside Au Sultan. And before you start chasing him, I want him
surrounded. He won’t get away this time.”
    The bodyguard nodded, got up slowly, and went over
to the kitchen to place the call. Schleizinger, meanwhile, let Hamster in on the
situation, and together they continued conversing as they had their coffee,
careful not to change body language or in some other way worry the fox, who was
patiently hiding in the shadows on the sidewalk across from the restaurant.
    Fifteen minutes after Police Chief Hamster noticed
him, the fox was surrounded without his knowledge. There were animals inside the
building where Fox was standing in the doorway. They had entered via the
courtyard and waited for a signal. Farther up on the street stood twenty-two
riot police hidden in a nameless, colorless alley never intended for anything
other than drainage, and in the other direction two police vans showed up.
    At Smithson’s command the prosecutor’s and the
police chief’s twelve bodyguards stood