Target: Tinos (7 page)

Andreas jumped onto the back seat and Kouros spun the wheels on the gravel getting out of the parking lot. “What the hell were you doing back there? Couldn’t you hear us screaming for you to get in?” said Kouros.

Andreas leaned his head back against the seat. His heart was pounding. “As a matter of fact, no.” It was instinctive. His hearing had shut down at the sudden life or death confrontation. All his senses focused on eliminating the threat and nothing else. Andreas shut his eyes, drew in and let out a deep breath. “Anybody following us?”

“Not yet,” said Tassos.

“Yianni, call for backup,” said Andreas.

“I’m a little busy driving at the moment, Chief,” said Kouros.

Andreas opened is eyes, pulled out his cell phone, and hit the code for officer needs assistance. “Let them track us on GPS.”

“Tassos, what the hell did that guy tell you?” said Kouros.

“He said that no matter what he told me I should laugh all the way out the door. He said that the bald guy was a real hothead bad ass and only agreed that nothing would happen to us in the meeting. Once outside we were on our own and Aleksander was certain that by now whatever we’d come in was wired to explode. The Fiat was his final payment on a major favor owed.”

“Which was?” said Andreas.

“Let’s just put it this way, if I told you who he is—or from the way he now looks was—I will have reneged on a promise that just saved our lives.”

Andreas sat quietly for a moment. “Sometimes you are a very difficult man to understand.” He paused again. “But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

On the trip out of Menidi no beggar stepped in front of the Fiat. They were too busy diving out of its way as Kouros swerved, sped, and slid like a drunken tourist on holiday to the Greek islands.

About a half-mile from the National Road, two police cars were waiting on the shoulder, and the cops inside were waving for them to pull over.

“Finally, reinforcements,” said Kouros.

“Don’t stop,” said Tassos. “They may not be friendly.”

“What are you talking about? We sent out a GPS distress call,” said Kouros.

“I know, but we’re no longer in distress and no reason to risk it.” Tassos looked back at Andreas. “The bearded guy in the sunglasses, he’s a cop.”

Andreas opened his eyes. “I thought he might be.”

“I don’t know him but I’m sure I’ve met him before,” said Tassos.

“Son of a bitch, I thought I recognized his voice,” said Kouros. “The beard’s a phony.”

“That’s how bald guy knew the
tsigani
were already dead when they were incinerated,” said Andreas.

Tassos nodded. “He’s owned by the Albanians. They probably had him here to watch out for ‘cop tricks.’”

“Then why didn’t they search us?” said Kouros.

“They were cocky,” said Tassos. “They didn’t care if we had weapons because there was a guy at each table holding a gun on us from the moment we walked in, probably shotguns and that AK-47.”

“That was the reason for the tablecloths,” said Andreas.

“Okay, but why wouldn’t the cop have them check us for a wire?” said Kouros.

“Same cocky,
macho
bullshit,” said Tassos. “They probably had a jammer working in case we were transmitting to someone on the outside and figured any recorder we had on us would go up in the explosion.”

Andreas leaned his head back against the seat. He drew in a breath. By now his pulse had returned to normal and his thoughts to what really counted. Lila and Tassaki foremost.

But something else, too: Punka. Son-of-a-bitch had to know more than he claimed about what was going on. His brothers must have told him something. Punka’s time on the outside was over.

“Yianni, who’s on Punka?”

“Angelo and Christina.”

“Fine, call them and tell them to bring him in
now
.”

Chapter Seven

Angelo was not free of prejudices. He never claimed to be. He just tried to keep his from interfering with his professional responsibilities as a cop. But Punka was making it very difficult. Angelo and his partner, Christina, had been staked out in Syntagma for hours watching Punka orchestrate a petty-crime wave in the heart of their city.

The Athens that Angelo remembered as a child had changed dramatically. Its innocence was gone. Residents no longer dared leave their front doors open, or any door or window for that matter. His mother and everyone else’s mother now rode the metro clutching their purses. That included immigrant mothers, for they were among the most preyed upon. Many feared that with Greece in economic decline for the first time in decades, there was worse crime to come, and all prayed that whatever came would not get out of hand.

To Angelo, Punka already was way out of hand. Cute, innocent-looking three-year-olds, five-year-olds, seven-year-olds, eleven-year-olds and every age in between raced around smiling and touching as they begged tourists and locals alike for money, and cursing those who did not give. Then there were the babies sleeping in the laps of older girls begging, but not really sleeping: drugged, so they couldn’t move or cry. And into this mix dropped the pickpockets, the opportunists. All run by Punka from a park bench and all watched as closely as a distrusting casino pit boss would his dealers.

“I really can’t take much more of this,” said Angelo into his transmitter. “What do you say, Christina, want to help me kick his ass?” He glanced across the square toward his partner.

“I can do it myself, thank you.”

“I bet you could.” He looked at his watch. He despised Punka even though he’d never met him. It wasn’t a matter of race or the notorious
tsigani
crimes and hustles that played out every day almost everywhere in Europe that bothered him. After all, separating suckers from their money was a time-honored tradition practiced by many groups, including businessmen and politicians. What drove his anger were the children, their exploitation.

He looked at his watch again. “Twenty minutes until our relief gets here,” said Angelo.

“Thank God,” said Christina. “This is worse than boring. Having to watch that bastard—”

“Christina. Someone’s heading toward Punka. Male, late twenties, five-six, thin, dark blue zippered jacket…”

“I see him,” said Christina.

“Hold off until contact is made then you follow the new guy. I’ll stay with Punka in case it’s a diversion.”

The new guy walked over to Punka and smiled. They didn’t shake hands, but talked for minute. He offered Punka a cigarette. Punka stood up, stretched, and took it. New guy reached into his right jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter. Punka leaned in for a light and new guy transferred the lighter to his left hand and…

Angelo thought, left hand? Why would he switch it to his left hand to light the cigarette? “
Move in now, something’s wrong
.”

The stiletto was out of new guy’s right jacket sleeve and in Punka’s heart before Punka could draw a puff. It was a smooth, quick thrust with just enough twisting force to ensure Punka would not survive. He eased Punka back onto the bench and turned to walk away, the stiletto no longer in sight.

It was Christina who reached new guy first, her gun drawn. “
Stop
, police. Drop the knife.”

He nodded, and let the stiletto fall from inside his right sleeve.

“On the ground, hands behind your head.” It was Angelo coming up behind him.

New guy dropped to his knees.

That was when the shot came. It entered dead center into new guy’s forehead.

The cops scrambled for cover.

The shot had to come from a building across the square, down by Ermou Street. But which building?

“Christina, call for assistance and stay with the bodies.”

Angelo ran toward Ermou, looking for something, anything. He ran into buildings, tried doors, grabbed anyone who looked suspicious, and did whatever else he could think of to make himself believe he had a snowball’s chance in hell of catching the shooter. But he knew it was a waste of time.

Just then his phone rang. It was Kouros.

***

“Busy night.” Andreas’ elbows were on his desk, his head in his hands, and his fingers rubbing his forehead. He dropped his hands and stared at Kouros and Tassos sitting across the desk from him. The three of them had just spent two hours with Angelo and Christina going over what happened in Syntagma.

“That was no mugging,” said Tassos. “No matter what the guy with the stiletto might have hoped to make it look like.”

“And not a sign anywhere that a shooter was ever there, except for the bullet through stiletto guy’s forehead,” said Andreas.

“Can’t wait to see how the papers play this one,” said Kouros. “‘Today in Syntagma a target under surveillance by the Greek police was the victim of a professional hit and, although the killer was immediately apprehended on the scene without a fight by police, in a matter of seconds after his capture he was taken out by an unknown sniper.’”

“So far, the only good news tonight was that we didn’t get whacked,” said Tassos.

Andreas rubbed his eyes. “Don’t forget the call I got from our distinguished minister screaming about doing something to stop ‘foreign criminal elements’ from ‘slaughtering’ each other in ‘the heart of our beloved Athens.’”

“Is that supposed to be more good news or bad?” said Kouros.

“I wasn’t quite sure if he was upset about the ‘slaughtering’ or the fact it was done in Syntagma instead of somewhere else,” said Tassos.

“That may be a bit harsh,” said Andreas. “I think that’s just Spiros’ way of spinning things to minimize heat from the press. Bad guys killing bad guys always seem to work. The good news was that he didn’t make the connection to the Tinos murders. And with any luck nor will the press.”

“Yeah, dead
tsigani
are all alike,” said Tassos.

Andreas starred at Tassos. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Thank you,” said Tassos. “As a matter of fact, a member of Parliament once told me that if you wanted to understand the Greeks, think one word. ‘Incorrigible.’”

Tassos stretched his arms out over his head and yawned. “Whoever arranged this had to know we were interested in Punka. It’s just too much of a coincidence. He was never in hiding, so if he were a threat to someone before we were on to him, he’d have been taken out long ago.”

“Where’s our leak?” said Andreas.

“Maybe it was Tassos’
tsigani
contact, the one who hooked you up with Punka?” said Kouros.

“Stefan is capable of anything. But that would be a very risky play for him. He knows that if I even thought he double-crossed me…” Tassos waved a hand in the air.

“Maybe when the boys from our meeting tonight realized we were pressing the investigation into Punka’s murdered brothers they decided to take him out, too?” said Kouros.

“And us along with him,” said Tassos.

“Or it could be that Punka said something about the two of you busting his balls and it got back to someone who decided he was better off dead,” said Kouros.

Andreas leaned across the desk and stared at Kouros. “You just gave me another candidate. When I was playing hardball with Punka in that taverna, if someone overheard me telling him I was a cop who wanted to talk to him about his brothers’ murders it would have made headlines on the
tsigani
gossip network.” Andreas slammed his right hand on the desk. “
Damnit.
”

“That might mean whoever whacked Punka knows who you are,” said Tassos.

“I never said my name.”

“Punka might have told someone who you were after we dropped him at the taverna,” said Tassos.

“Or with the way your face keeps popping up in gossip columns about the wedding, someone might have recognized you,” said Kouros.

“I doubt if the
tsigani
in that taverna read
Espresso
,” said Andreas. “But I get your point. Send Christina and Angelo out there to see if they can locate anyone Punka might have talked to after we dropped him off. Tell them to get the names of everyone inside when I was there and, when they’re told no one remembers, to get the names of all the regulars.” Andreas paused. “And have them find out if that young girl working there yesterday is into gossip magazines.”

“Any ideas on who might be behind this?” said Tassos.

“The Albanians are high on my list,” said Kouros.

“They’re high on everyone’s list all the time,” said Tassos.

Andreas ran his fingers though his hair. “If what the Menidi crew said tonight about something major going down on Tinos ties in to what happened in Syntagma, and I can’t imagine it doesn’t, that church on Tinos is facing some very serious trouble.”

“Uhh, speaking of ‘serious trouble’ could we focus for a minute on a rather immediate, personal problem?” said Kouros.

“What are you talking about?” said Andreas.

“We just pissed off some of the meanest motherfuckers in Greece. They’re not going to just walk away from this. How do you suggest we deal with them?”

“Aleksander wasn’t happy about what happened tonight,” said Tassos. “Going after us disrespected him in a very public way. Worse yet, the ones who disrespected him failed. Don’t worry, Yianni, they’ll ‘work things out among themselves.’” Tassos emphasized his last words with finger quotes morphed into the universal thumb and forefinger sign for a gun.

“Let’s hope so,” said Kouros. “After all, I’d prefer attending a wedding to a funeral this weekend.”

Andreas tapped a pencil against his forehead. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to put the Menidi boys away. At least the ones from the meeting until after the wedding. Give them a chance to cool down. After all, we don’t want them getting so worked up over what we might have in mind for them that they decide to come after us first.”

Tassos nodded. “Yeah, I’d rather see you dodging rice than Molotov cocktails.”

***

Among the hardest things to find in Athens when you’re looking for one is a big time mobster to arrest. They seemed to sense when it was time to disappear. Or perhaps it was a service included with their monthly envelopes stuffed with euros to Athens’ not so finest: the “it’s time to get out of town” call.

But after the debacle in Menidi no one at that meeting had to be told to disappear. There’d be no way to find any of them unless you knew where to look. That’s why Tassos called Aleksander in the middle of the night with a simple proposition: “Tell me where your colleagues from the meeting are hiding, and I’ll put them away until things calm down.”

Tassos wasn’t surprised when Aleksander agreed. Tassos’ suggestion temporarily ridded Aleksander of his rivals, giving him breathing room and time to regroup. What surprised him was the list Aleksander rattled off. He named twice the number of bad guys at the meeting. Tassos didn’t bother to ask what Aleksander had in mind. It was the price of the deal. Besides, Tassos never cared what garbage did to garbage.

By noon every mobster on the list was in custody. Not a shot had been fired. It wasn’t worth it to them. They all had lawyers. The lawyers were lined up outside Andreas’ office in what looked to be a bakery line. He’d worked out an informal procedure with the prosecutor. The lawyers came in one by one and ranted for a while about “discrimination by the police against hard working immigrants” until finally getting around to asking about the charges.

That was Andreas’ favorite part. Watching the expressions on the faces of the lawyers while he listed the charges. Not one carried a risk of more than thirty days jail time at most.

“What the hell’s going on?” was the most common response, followed closely by “You must be kidding!” The sharp lawyers knew there was a reason, there had to be, and they patiently waited for the other shoe to drop. Only the inexperienced suggested Andreas did not know what he was doing and threatened what would happened to him if the client wasn’t released “at once.”

Those moments gave Andreas great joy.

“Counselor, you’re absolutely right. Your client does not deserve to be in jail on these charges. So let me make a proposal to you. I will withdraw them and bring these instead.” Andreas slid a document across the table charging the client with the attempted, pre-meditated murder of three police officers, and a plethora of related crimes.

“As you’ve no doubt noticed, the crimes charged took place less than forty-eight hours ago, which means your client stays in jail until trial, no bail.” That wasn’t quite true in all situations, but it was a risk the lawyer knew he must tell his client.

That brought on a volley of protests, claiming “trumped up charges” and the like.

Andreas raised his hand for the lawyer to stop. “Counselor, the situation is simple. Tell your client to relax, spend a few days with old friends in a place that’s like home to him, just until things ‘cool down.’ He’ll know what I mean. Or, if he wants to test me, to see if I’m serious about bringing the new charges, tell him about the risks he faces if he doesn’t take my deal, and I’m not just talking about the new charges. Remind him I’m one of the cops your client and his buddies tried to murder last night.”

Each lawyer’s client chose the short vacation option.

That was fine with Andreas. He wasn’t ready to arrest any of them yet for what happened in that parking lot. With their connections and money none was likely to be denied bail. Not for just the attempted murder of a cop. Great system.

At least the worst were off the streets for now. All but one. The crooked, bearded cop. No way to arrest him.

But the fates were Greek and once more they stepped in and took a hand. Well, actually broke a hand, two legs, three ribs, and a jaw. The bearded cop was mugged coming out of a whorehouse just before dawn. He was found and taken to a hospital next to GADA where he was under twenty-four-hour police protection, on Andreas’ orders. Rumor had it he decided to accept early retirement. Miraculously, his unbroken hand was the one he needed to sign the necessary papers, scheduled for that afternoon in his hospital room.