“Mr Maes, you have killed four people!” “Completely true.” “How did you do that?” asks the Commissioner. The sweat pearls on his forehead as he pops down on a chair. “In style!” I laugh. He rips his tie, so it almost rips. The man breathes superficially, as if he could explode at any moment. We have been sitting here for 14 hours in a far too small space, undoubtedly full of cameras. “Mr Maes, you are allowed to go to jail!” he roars. It happened: his patience is up. - Finally. - Yeah. I crave a cigarette. And a bed. It's softer than the street. Not much later, I finally got out of that room. Not that this is any better. In the distance I hear snoring and swearing. It's so dark I can't see a hand in front of my eyes. On the touch, I'm looking for a light switch, but instead, I'm touching some gunk. I pull my hand back and sit still. In the distance I hear noise. The light goes on and there's a banging on the door. A window opens, with a tray. “May!” mumbles the man on the other bed. “René,” I say. I want to stick out my hand, but think of the gunk. He turns around. We look at each other for seconds. “You are supposed to be dead!” he calls. There's the man I hoped never to see again. “Everything is paid,” I say.” And I have not been doing drugs for a long time.” Bas growls and says nothing. I'm gonna have to watch my passes. He is definitely not a sweetheart. I eat silently. When I swallow my last bite, there's my lawyer. Showtime! “Sir...,” he stutters when we sit down. “I am here to...” “Jajaja...,” I interrupt him impatiently. “I know it. I'm going to fall straight into the house: yes, I killed them. But take it from me, everyone can thank me.” He swallows and slides his glasses a little right on the nose, as if he had to come to himself. “How... do you mean?” “They're gangsters, terrorists... call it whatever you want,” I continue. “If I hadn't fired, they would have wiped out half the city already.” I think he just graduated, so young he seems. Ros curly hair, glasses with thick glasses, freckles, small in stature and not exactly lean. Some people have all the bad luck. When he has rumbled in his papers for a moment, he looks up. “I will have to get more information,” he says. “I did not expect this.” “I'll help you.” I stretch out my hand. “Adolf Maes, detective.” We shake hands. “I'm on the trail of a family. They've been trading cannabis and cocaine on a large scale for years. They operate from Mechelen, in Belgium. Unfortunately, I had to kill four, but there are more of them, I can assure you.” He diligently notes, “The pivotal figure of the whole gang, which operated mainly from hotels, is in my cell. His name is Bas. I can provide you with all the data.” 'Then why did you not inform the Commissioner immediately? ' asks the boy. “You can't be careful enough in this world,” I explain. “Drugs bring money. There would be people from the police force involved. I still have to rule that out.” He nods understanding. How bad, I'm probably his first client after graduation. “You're going to have your job, boy,” I say, “the gang has a large customer base in the Netherlands and Belgium. This is just the tip of the iceberg.” “I'll get you out quickly,” he replies. “Then we look further.” This story is part of the #schrijfuitdaging of @Hans Van Gemert.

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