Target: Tinos ak-4 Read online

  “Okay, let’s start with what’s on yours,” said Andreas nodding at Tassos.

  Tassos picked up a spanakopita. “Your friend, the police chief, has been on Tinos for only a little over a year, but he got the interviews right. Tsigani don’t take revenge that way.” Tassos pointed the tiny spinach pie at his chest. “I know the tsigani very well and they know me, but I wouldn’t have gotten any more out of those interviews than Odysseus did. The two were killed to deliver a very specific message. Any response had to come from the one who received it. No other tsigani would dare make that decision. Certainly not by talking to cops. Besides, tsigani know from experience that cops don’t give a shit about what happens to them.”

  “Some of us do,” said Andreas.

  “We know that, they don’t.” Tassos popped the spanakopita into his mouth.

  “So, what do you suggest we do?” said Kouros.

  Tassos finished chewing. “Find a tsigani who can get us answers. My money’s on this not being tsigani revenge killings, but since the victims were tsigani that’s where I’d start.”

  “Have anyone particular in mind?” said Andreas.

  “A few. Even the tsigani king owes me some favors. He shows up on Tinos every year a few days before August 15th to join in the celebration of the Assumption of the Virgin. Makes quite an entrance.”

  “I bet,” said Andreas.

  “What does our minister have to do with all of this?” said Maggie.

  “He implied the Prime Minister is all over him to close the case,” said Andreas.

  “Do you believe him or is it just more of that name-dropping bullshit he thinks gets us to do what he wants?” said Tassos.

  Andreas shrugged. “I reached Odysseus on vacation. He said everything he knows about it is in the file and that if we want to call it closed, ‘be my guest.’ But he told Spiros he wouldn’t be the one to do it.”

  “I always liked Odysseus,” said Tassos. He looked at Andreas. “If it’s not the Prime Minister pushing him, why do you think Spiros is so anxious to end the investigation?”

  “I hope it’s not because he’s trying to protect someone,” said Kouros.

  Maggie shook her head. “Spiros isn’t an idiot. He just treats everyone like he thinks they are. No way he’d be dumb enough to bring you guys into this if he wanted to pull off a cover-up.”

  “I don’t know,” said Kouros. “Our politicians are so arrogant these days at all they’ve gotten away with that I think they believe they can do just about anything they damn well please.”

  “What do you think has Spiros so anxious, Chief?” said Maggie.

  “I think he’s honestly afraid that something might turn up along the lines of tsigani being victims of a hate crime. And he knows if that happens at least he, if not the whole country, will be back in hot water with the press.”

  “I can see his point,” nodded Maggie. “Remember how fired up the international media was when the crazy French started deporting tsigani? Just imagine how they’d tear us apart, the E.U.’s bad-boy, if they could run a story that has Greece addressing its immigration problems by declaring open season on tsigani.”

  “I’d rather not,” said Andreas.

  “Me either,” said Tassos. “We don’t deserve it.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, folks, I have a tsigani to find.”

  “Happy hunting,” said Kouros.

  Andreas stared at Kouros. “At times your sense of humor is worse than his.”

  “Then buy me a beer. I’ll try to be funnier.”

  “Deal.”

  Beer was a big seller in Greece. Ouzo and retsina surely were too, and plainly the romanticized choice of tourists, but beer was the day-to-day staple. Andreas and Kouros were in plainclothes alone at a table in the back of a rundown taverna in a graffiti-covered, 19th Century, two-story neoclassical building. It was tucked away on one of the narrow commercial streets at the western end of Alexandras Avenue by the Victoria metro station. As shabby as the place was it had a certain old-world charm definitely not present in any of its late 20th Century, anonymous concrete neighbors.

  “How the hell did you find this place?” said Andreas.

  “A buddy brought me here a couple weeks ago. Said his father used to take him here. There aren’t many places like this left in Athens, what with all the old neighborhoods changing. I thought you might like it. Besides, it’s even cheaper than the ones across from headquarters. I figured that since you’re paying I’d help save you some money for the wedding.”

  Andreas lifted his beer. “ Yamas.”

  Kouros lifted his bottle and clinked on Andreas’ bottle. “ Yamas.” He took a sip. “Less than a week to go. Bet you’re nervous.”

  Andreas shrugged. “Only about the dancing. Not the getting married part.”

  “Come on, you have to be scared just a little bit. You know, one woman, the rest of your life.”

  Andreas gestured no. “As crazy as it may sound, I feel strangely at ease.” He smiled. “Doubt you’d understand, youngster.”

  “You bet. I like my life just as it is.”

  “Some day, if you’re lucky, you’ll know what I mean. Until then just keep playing your kamaki games, but be careful where you put your spear, you wouldn’t want to dull it permanently.” Kamaki was the Greek name for the little trident used in hunting octopus-and slang for the Greek man’s real or imagined skills at pursuing women.

  “Safe sex lecture duly noted.” Kouros took another swig of beer.

  The bar area in the front of the taverna was filling up with what seemed mainly foreign workers, but the man behind the bar was Greek and spoke only Greek to his customers.

  “So, what do we do while Tassos looks for a lead?” asked Kouros.

  “Exactly what I planned to do before the minister popped into my office. Get ready for my wedding.”

  “Terrific. But don’t forget about your bachelor party.”

  “What bachelor party?”

  “The surprise one on for the night after tomorrow. Remember to act surprised.”

  “Anything else I should know?” said Andreas.

  Kouros paused and smiled. “Your world, as you know it, is about to change.”

  Andreas finished his beer. “Let’s get out of here. I want to get home before Tassaki goes to sleep.” He threw five euros on the table and headed toward the door.

  “I have to take a leak,” said Kouros.

  Outside the street was surprisingly quiet. Then again, it was August and that meant Athens was deserted by anyone who could get out of town. As Kouros came through the front door a man ran past them on the sidewalk screaming in a language neither cop understood at another man running fifteen yards behind him.

  When the second man reached the two cops he abruptly turned and pointed a gun at them.

  “ Dose mou to porto foli su! ” It was heavily accented Greek but he’d made his point.

  Andreas and Kouros immediately reached for their wallets. The man held the gun in his right hand and kept waving it back and forth between Kouros to his right and Andreas to his left. Andreas held out his wallet in his right hand and Kouros did the same with his left. The man hesitated as if deciding which to take first. He reached with his left hand for Andreas’ wallet, taking his eyes off of Kouros for a split second.

  Kouros’ right hand shot up and caught the barrel of the gun between his thumb and forefinger and drove it up and into the man’s forehead as he stepped in to put his right hip behind the man’s right side and force him backwards into the ground. There was the dull thud of the back of a head striking concrete.

  Andreas leaned over the unconscious gunman and took back his wallet. As Kouros checked him for other weapons, Andreas walked to the front of the taverna and picked up a chair. There was the high-pitched whine of a motorbike coming up fast alongside the curb.

  Andreas stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and swung the chair into the face and chest of the oncoming helmetless driver, sending both bike and
driver sprawling onto the street. As the driver stumbled to his feet, Andreas delivered a Champions League quality soccer kick to the man’s midsection, putting him back on the ground. The man tried to stand again. This time Andreas hit him with a roundhouse right that put him out cold.

  Andreas dragged the driver onto the sidewalk and dropped him next to the gunman. He gestured for Kouros to handcuff them both and punched in the code on his phone for “officer needs assistance.”

  “What the hell was all that about?” said Kouros. “The guy you just beat the shit out of was the one the other guy was chasing.”

  Andreas smiled. “Obviously, you’ve not kept up with your reading, detective.” Andreas looked at his right hand and flexed it. Nothing seemed broken. “There was a bulletin this week on a new urban crime technique. It takes advantage of our natural curiosity. One guy runs by the mark screaming at another guy, the mark stops to see what’s going on, the chaser robs the mark, the screamer returns on a motorbike, the chaser jumps on behind him, and they’re off and lost in traffic.”

  “Christ. What will they come up with next?”

  “Wish I knew. But there will always be something.” Andreas leaned down and checked the handcuffs as a blue and white Athens police car screeched to a halt in front of them.

  “Do me a favor, Yianni. Take care of the paperwork on this. I want to go home and hug my kid.”

  “No problem. Besides, I think I’ll go back inside. I could use another drink. Or three.”

  Andreas put his arm around Kouros’ shoulder and smiled. “That, my friend, sums up the difference between your life and mine.”

  Andreas, Lila, and Tassaki lived where no one existing on a cop’s pay could possibly afford, certainly no honest cop. It was Lila’s home when they met and, despite Andreas’ initial macho discomfort at the thought of moving into his girlfriend’s apartment, the reality of their potential living choices prevailed: either an entire, sixth-floor penthouse at perhaps Athens’ most exclusive address, next to the Presidential Palace, with unobstructed breathtaking views of both the Acropolis and its majestic sister hill, Lykavittos, or his one bedroom, slight view, maybe the elevator is working, fourth floor apartment.

  Andreas was crawling on the nursery room floor watching a diaper-clad Tassaki run around him in circles. Every once in a while Andreas reached out to catch him, put him on his back, and tickle his belly until he laughed. Lila was standing at the doorway smiling.

  “One of you is definitely having a good time.”

  “The one with the diaper is wearing me out.” Andreas pinched Tassaki’s bottom, making him laugh even more.

  “Maybe you should take him with you to your bachelor party?”

  “You mean the secret one?”

  “Yep, I cleared the dancers.”

  “If you cleared them, I’m not sure it’s worth going.” He picked up Tassaki and handed him to Lila. “Give mommy a kiss to make up for daddy’s bad sense of humor.”

  “I’ll put him to bed. Go away or he’ll never go to sleep.”

  Andreas kissed Tassaki and went to their bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and plopped on the bed. He shut his eyes and his mind wandered back to that taverna. He wondered if Kouros was also thinking of how close they’d just come to being another random, street crime fatality statistic.

  He’d almost fallen asleep when he heard, “Thanks for coming home early.”

  He opened his eyes. Lila was standing at the edge of the bed holding a book. He wasn’t about to tell her how he almost didn’t make it home. Ever. “I figured I’m already in enough hot water with you.”

  “Smart choice.”

  “You trained me right.”

  She smiled. “Just keep working on the ‘don’t worry I won’t miss the wedding’ part.”

  “Remind me again, why do you love me?”

  “Because of your wonderful mind, compassionate nature, big-”

  “Finally, the truth comes out.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, stud. It’s your big understanding heart. As represented by the wonderful surprise you sent me.”

  God bless Maggie. “You mean those photographs of church weddings?”

  “You did pick it out!” She held up the book.

  “Maggie had a hand in it.”

  “Sometimes, Kaldis, you’re too honest a cop.” Lila smiled and lightly patted him on the belly with her book. “So, what has you so distracted?”

  It always amazed him how Lila sensed his moods. Still, he wasn’t going to talk about the taverna. It would only upset her. Besides, he wanted to forget it. He’d take the easy way out. “I thought we agreed no more involvement in my cases.” Involvement in one had almost cost Lila her life.

  “I’m not trying to get involved, just curious. I think Tassaki’s having one parent at risk everyday is more than enough of a gamble on his future.”

  “No reason to get heavy on me.”

  She stared at him. “I’m just letting you know why you have no reason to worry about me getting involved. Our child means more to me than solving your cases.”

  He wondered if that was meant as a jab at him, but decided to let it drop. After all, it was their wedding week and he was a missing-in-action participant.

  Andreas reached up, took her hand, and kissed it. “I’m such a lucky guy.”

  Lila poked him with her finger. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  Andreas kissed her hand again. “And you’re smart, too.”

  Lila smiled. “Then why am I marrying a cop?”

  Andreas grinned. “My impressive credentials.”

  “What credentials?”

  Andreas pulled her down onto the bed and proceeded to present his credentials to Lila’s very vocal satisfaction.

  Chapter Four

  Finding the specific tsigani you’re looking for wasn’t as difficult as it once was, provided you had his cell phone number. Not all were poor and itinerant; many were well off and some very rich. Stefan fell somewhere in the middle but had major connections among them all. When Tassos finally reached him it was nearly midnight and Stefan said to meet at one of the lowest end skiladika clubs in all of Athens. Skiladika derived from the Greek word for “female dog” but it was a matter of debate whether applying that name to that sort of club was because of its relationship to the English-language connotation for “bitch” or the notorious howl of some female performers.

  Skiladika were dark, cavernous places, filled with hardcore Greek bouzoukia music sung by third-rate singers playing through a haze of cigarette smoke to crowds of heavily drinking men, and bosom thrusting women prone to breaking into belly-dancing. To some, the places seemed more eastern than Greek and to others the Greek equivalent of an American, redneck country western bar. Skiladika were out of touch with the times on almost every level, which was precisely what made them so very popular.

  This one was just off the National Road in a rundown area where you’d expect to find a skiladika but not a tsigani. It wasn’t their sort of neighborhood, or for that matter, neither was a skiladika their kind of place. Tassos figured that’s why Stefan picked it: he wanted to be anonymous, a hard thing for man of Stefan’s girth to achieve. Tassos pulled into the parking lot and sat for a few minutes watching the people heading inside. He wanted to get an idea of the crowd before going in. It looked much as he expected. Mostly working class types dressed up for a night out, and a mix of twenty-somethings slumming it from some of Athens’ wealthier parts.

  Tassos trailed a group of kids up to the front door. They walked right in and he started to follow in behind them when a bouncer held up his hand. “Twenty euros to get in.”

  Tassos pointed in the direction of the group in front of him. “You didn’t ask them to pay.”

  “They’re regulars. Twenty euros or find another place.”

  Tassos was tempted to use his badge, a guaranteed get-in-anywhere-for-free card, but that meant a surefire loss of anonymity for Stefan. Cops drew attention in these places.
He pulled a twenty out of his pocket and handed it over. He thought to ask for a receipt but knew that request would likely target him as a taxman, an even less welcome visitor.

  Directly inside the front door was a large bar area separated from the rest of the room by a ledge lined with bar stools. A six-foot wide break in the ledge was the only visible access to a main floor lined with long tables aimed directly at the stage. The tables were filling up fast. A man and several young women stood by the opening directing people to their tables, or at least their share of a table. No one was singing at the moment, which probably was why Tassos heard his name being called from the far end of the bar by the tsigani equivalent of Sydney Greenstreet’s “Fat Man” character in The Maltese Falcon.

  “Tassos, over here.”

  It was Stefan and he looked as if he’d been saving a barstool for Tassos by sitting on two, but when Tassos reached him he found Stefan place-holding a third stool with his foot. “Here, I saved you a seat.”

  It was rare that Tassos felt slim, but as he adjusted to fit on one barstool this was just such an occasion. “Thanks, Stefan.”

  Stefan gestured for the bartender to come over. “What would you like?”

  “My twenty euros back from the gorilla at the front door.”

  Stefan smiled. “Done. What else?”

  “What do you mean ‘done’?” Tassos looked at the bartender. “I’ll have a beer.”

  “I have an interest in this place.”

  “You do?”

  “You seemed surprised that a rom would be in this business?” Rom was the name tsigani preferred to be called.

  “I am,” said Tassos.

  “If you think about it, this sort of place is a natural fit for a lot of what I do.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Stefan laughed. “Well, just so that I don’t ruin all your notions, I own only a very small part. What you might call a ‘rooting interest’ in its success courtesy of the other, more traditional owners.”

  In other words, a payoff for God knows what he contributed. “Frankly, Stefan, unless you’re about to start naming your partners in this undoubtedly squeaky-clean taxpaying enterprise, do you mind if we get on to another subject?”