Toni took it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he said.
“No.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Not as curious as you.”
“Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen, leaving his coffee cup and burning cigarette on the table.
Toni opened the envelope. As she’d suspected, it was the daughter’s schedule. It had her starting work at eleven that morning at a bike- and car-rental kiosk just off the harbor at the intersection by the entrance to town. The father described Adina’s job as attracting tourists onto the lot so her boss could close rental deals.
Toni made it to the kiosk fifteen minutes early. She bought a cup of coffee from the mini-mart behind the kiosk and found an empty bench across the intersection. The bench had been installed by the town to accommodate those waiting for municipal buses, but when the town decided to move the bus stop, it had neglected to bring along the bench.
Toni leaned back to sip her coffee and watch the procession of cruise-ship visitors shuffling off to sightsee or shop in town, tourists looking for transportation to the beaches, and stragglers wandering home after a hard night of partying. She was surrounded by a sea of barely coordinated blouses, tank tops, and tee-shirts, shorts and swimsuits, rubber flip-flops and sneakers, topped by all manner of unappealing sun hats and ball caps cocked every which way. She felt trapped in a fashion parade made up of marchers outfitted from the laundry baskets of the world’s most unsuccessful secondhand thrift shops.
The eclectic array of body types in this world had always amazed her, but not nearly as much as how utterly oblivious the possessors of many of those bodies were to the images they conjured up in dressing as they did. Then again, her night job had accustomed Toni to club crowds, which tended to dress better and took pains to ensure they showcased their bodies in the most attractive possible manner. But those folks were likely in some bed somewhere at this hour, still sleeping off their night on the town.
The whining roar of an engine jerked Toni out of her trance long before she saw the motorcycle. It swerved off the road without slowing down, aimed straight for the kiosk, and abruptly stopped just short of four college-aged female tourists engaged in animated rental negotiations with the owner. Their backs were to the road, so they never saw how close the driver came to hitting them. The owner did, though, and Toni braced for the inevitable demonstration of the many glorious uses of the word malaka.
But the owner said nothing. He simply nodded to the driver and kept talking to the girls.
The helmet-less driver fit the island’s muscled private-security image perfectly, and his young female passenger possessed the sort of buxom, hard-bodied physique that her neon-green and black second-skin Lycra body suit was created for.
Adina swung off the bike, and the driver immediately sped away, leaving her standing at the kiosk. The owner waved for her to move to the edge of the road, close to the flow of tourists passing by the kiosk. She lowered her head and walked to where he’d pointed.
Toni watched her smile as she engaged passersby, mostly groups of young men, steering them toward the kiosk. She targeted the testosterone-driven types, who matched perfectly the rental agency’s macho dirt bikes, quads, beach buggies, and other exotic toys.
Toni doubted the girl’s customers had any idea how young she was, or would care if they did. For sure, the owner wasn’t bothered. She wondered if he paid her on commission or an hourly rate, or for that matter, if he paid her at all. The likely scenario was that he paid her boss directly.
After watching for a half-hour, Toni decided there was no reason to sit on the bench any longer. She wouldn’t learn more than she already had. The daughter was an attractive young woman with a charming way about her, caught up with some bad guys. So far, nothing she’d seen suggested the girl’s virtue had been compromised, though she’d definitely developed advanced skills as a tease.
Toni headed off to the harbor to surprise Stella with a prompt arrival at her friend’s usual coffee time. She’d resume with Adina at five, when her father’s schedule had her moving on to her next job, at Karavakis’ club.
It wasn’t yet noon when Toni came looking for Stella, but she wasn’t there, and on seeing Toni, the owner feigned a heart attack. The waiter playfully delivered a champagne flute and ice bucket to the table, which held a bottle of water instead of bubbly.
He followed it up with a pot of coffee.
The harbor had come alive with tourists crowding into tavernas and cafés from three giant cruise boats. Many of those she’d watched walk by her at the kiosk had now joined in the island’s most popular pastime, people-watching.
That got her to thinking of a conversation she’d had in this very taverna with a former mayor shortly after she’d come to the island. She’d asked him about the sort of tourists the island liked to attract. The first words out of his mouth came with a smile: “Fashion victims.”
Toni’d thought for sure that she’d misunderstood what he said, so she explained what fashion victim meant and that he must have meant something different.
His reply was the first of many lessons she’d learned from islanders, all running to the same proof: when it came to knowing their customers, island locals were anything but yokels. “We want fashion victims on our island. People love to sit in our tavernas and cafenions, laughing and pointing as they watch the fashion victims walk by. It makes them feel good, thinking how superior they are to the masses. Even if they’re not.”
That’s when it hit Toni that her stroll along the harbor from the kiosk, dressed as the proverbial example of “what the cat dragged in,” must have put a lot of smiles on a lot of gawking faces. Folks she’d been poking fun at just a few moments before. Payback’s a bitch.
Toni tried calling Stella, but her phone was off. With nothing of importance to do that morning, Toni hung around the taverna, chatting with locals while she waited for Stella to call back. By the time Stella did, it was a little after one. She said she was in Athens, having left early that morning to accompany her mother-in-law to a doctor’s appointment. She’d be back on Mykonos tomorrow. Toni asked why she hadn’t mentioned the appointment to her earlier. Was everything okay? Stella said her husband was supposed to take his mother, but out of the blue that morning he’d said he couldn’t, leaving Stella to deal with her.
That sounded like Stella’s husband.
“Besides, I knew you wouldn’t be awake until two,” Stella added.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been here waiting for you since before noon.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Honest.”
“Got to run, the doctor just called us in. Bye.”
Toni stared at her phone. How did she come to develop this reputation that she couldn’t function before mid-afternoon? That’s when she remembered Lila’s invitation to join her at her house for lunch. She’d forgotten all about it.
“Damn,” she muttered as she slammed her hand on the table.
“My, oh my, having a fit of temper, are we?” said Christos, lowering his bejeweled and bangled body into the chair across from her.
“I just remembered an appointment I forgot.”
“Don’t worry, what I have to say won’t keep you long. It will only take a minute.”
“Always with the drama?”
“It comes with the lifestyle.” Christos looked around to see who might be listening, then leaned in. “I suggest you keep your nose out of Karavakis’ business.”
“What makes you think I’m interested in him?”
“Okay, maybe not him, but his son.”
“Same question.”
Christos smiled. “Perhaps you forget that you asked me the other day about trusting the virtue of a girl to Karavakis’ son. But aside from that, do you think you don’t get noticed sitting for almo
st an hour on a deserted bench across from one of the places where Karavakis’ girls work on hustling tricks?”
Toni hoped he didn’t see her blanch. “Tricks?”
“Tricks, johns, clients, whatever you want to call them, they don’t turn them there, but part of the girl’s hustle for enticing guys into renting bikes and quads is to send them over to party with her and her friends at Karavakis’ club.”
Toni couldn’t believe she’d been so naive as to have missed that angle.
“Just take my advice and don’t get involved. It isn’t worth it.” He paused. “She isn’t worth it.”
Tell that to the girl’s father.
Christos sighed dramatically. “Be realistic, Toni. Times are different. It used to be that strong-arm tactics were rare on the island, but life’s different here today.” He shook his head. “You might think you’re close to the police chief, but do you think for a moment you’ll get more than his sincerest sympathies if anything bad happens to you at the hands of Karavakis? Cops and city hall don’t give a damn what private muscle does, as long as it doesn’t embarrass them. The deal is simple. They protect private security, so private security can protect the money-making businesses that make all of them rich.”
Toni glanced in the direction of city hall. She hadn’t directly said or done anything to stir up Karavakis, and Christos had no reason to spread a rumor about her that would. Up until now she’d thought she’d remained under the radar on this, but if anyone other than Christos had suspicions, she didn’t dare do anything that might turn them into opinions. That meant no more hanging out around the kiosk where the daughter worked. That also meant no trip to Karavakis’ club. At least not today.
Christos stood. “Toni, did you hear what I just said?”
She struggled to maintain an innocent expression. “Yes, but I’m not doing any of the things you’re suggesting.”
“Good, then stop acting in a way that might get people who could do you harm thinking that you are.” He patted her shoulder and walked away.
Toni watched Christos strut off along the harbor. The day had developed a pattern. First, she unintentionally blew off lunch with Lila. Now, she learned she’d spent her morning unwittingly putting a target on her back. Since tradition had bad things coming in threes, all she could think of doing next was heading straight home to bed for a nap.
And pulling the covers up over her head.
The afternoon had drifted lazily along, with Tassaki and Anna playing in the pool, Andreas and Yianni spearfishing in the cove, and Lila reading a book in the shade while Sofia slept peacefully next to her in a stroller. Toni’s apologetic call canceling their lunch date had disappointed Lila, but not nearly as much as she sensed it would Yianni. Lila had never seen Yianni so drawn to a woman. Then again, everyone seemed drawn to Toni, including Lila.
Andreas and Yianni came up onto the terrace each waving their fishing bags in one hand and an octopus in the other.
“We’re going to feast today,” said Andreas, feining a toss of his octopus into the pool. The maneuver got a giggle out of Tassaki and a scream out of Anna.
“Stop that this instant!” shouted Lila.
“You’re no fun,” grinned Andreas.
“Take them straight into the kitchen so Dama can prepare them.”
“No way. We caught them, we prepare them. Right, Yianni?”
Yianni looked around the terrace as he answered. “Yeah, anything you say, Chief.” He looked at Lila. “Where’s Toni? Shouldn’t she be here by now?”
“She called to cancel. Something about a meeting with a client she’d forgotten about.”
Yianni bit at his lip. “Oh.”
“That leaves more fish for us,” quipped Andreas.
“Just take it into the kitchen, please.”
The sound of a phone went off inside the house. “Sounds like my ring,” said Andreas.
“It’s been going off like that for over an hour.”
“And you never answered it?”
“I figured if you’d wanted to be disturbed you’d have taken it with you, or at least told me to answer it. Absent that, I had no intention of disturbing this perfect afternoon of domestic bliss.”
Andreas shook his head, exhaled deeply, and moved into the house. He dropped his fish on the kitchen counter and headed for his phone. Yianni followed, leaving his fish next to Andreas’ catch.
“What am I supposed to do with all that?” said Dama, nodding at the fish as she carried two twelve-liter jugs of water into the kitchen, one under each arm.
Yianni hurried toward her. “Here, let me help you with those.”
“No need, Mr. Yianni. I’m very strong. I just need a man for other things.” Dama grinned.
Dama was Lila’s parents’ cook, and had been with the family since immigrating to Greece in her teens. During the summer, she lived on Mykonos, keeping an eye on the house. Filipino, fortyish, wiry, and not quite five feet tall, her presence reminded Yianni of his tough, no-nonsense Navy SEAL buddies.
“There’s no man good enough for you,” he said.
Dama put the water down next to a refrigerator. “What about the fish?”
Yianni glanced to see where Andreas had gone in search of his phone, then whispered, “Just prepare them the way you usually do.” He pointed in the direction of Andreas. “But let’s not tell him I said that.”
“For you, Mr. Yianni, anything.” Dama smiled.
Yianni hurried off.
Andreas found his mobile sitting on his bedroom nightstand. He studied it for a moment before turning to Yianni standing in the doorway. “There’s a load of calls from a number I don’t recognize. But no message. As if someone doesn’t want a voice record.” He pressed the screen to call the number and waited for an answer.
“Hello?”
“This is Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis returning your call. Who’s this?”
“I’ve been calling you for over an hour from the hospital.”
Andreas’ heart skipped a beat, as his mind flashed to thoughts of possible bad news about family or friends. “Who is this and what are you calling about?”
“I’m Sergeant Rallis, in charge of the detail assigned to keep an eye on the prisoner who attacked you and your detective on Mykonos.”
Somewhat relieved, Andreas braced for a different sort of bad news. “And?”
“We’ve been keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn’t escape, and—”
“You’re not going to tell me the prisoner escaped, are you?”
“No.”
“Good,” said Andreas.
“He died.”
Andreas blinked, looked at the phone, and hit the speaker button. “Would you please repeat that, Sergeant, for Detective Kouros?”
A noticeable swallow could be heard on the other end of the phone. “The prisoner’s dead.”
“What?” said Yianni. “I spoke to his doctor this morning and he told me everything was fine. What the hell happened?”
“We won’t know for sure until after the autopsy.”
“Sergeant—did you say your name’s Rallis?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Sergeant Rallis, I don’t have time for officialese answers. All I want to know is this: What the hell happened to the prisoner you were supposed to be guarding?”
“W-w-we thought we were here to make sure he didn’t escape. No one ever told us someone might try to kill him.”
“Is that what happened? Someone killed him?”
“We’re not sure.”
“But you think that’s what happened, don’t you?”
Pause.
Andreas spoke in a calm, level voice. “Sergeant, I want answers, and I can assure you that you do not want to aggravate me any more than you already have.”
“It wasn’t
on my watch. I got called in after all hell broke loose. My chief told me to keep a lid on things and speak to no one, but your number was on the file as the arresting officer, so I figured you’d want to know.”
“Okay, Sergeant, I get it, and you’re slowly crawling back into my good graces. Now tell me what you know.”
“According to the officer on duty, twenty minutes or so before alarms started ringing on the medical equipment, a nurse was in to adjust his IV.”
“Did the guard on duty recognize her?” asked Yianni.
“No. But he said she was very friendly.”
“And pretty too, I bet,” said Yianni.
They heard another swallow. “Yes. And before you ask, we have video of her on the security cameras, but no one on the hospital staff can identify her; they never saw her on the prisoner’s floor. The video shows her coming onto and leaving the floor through a stairwell between the nurses’ station and the prisoner’s room. That’s how she avoided being noticed by the other nurses.”
Yianni and Andreas locked eyes. “Sergeant, I want to see everything any camera caught of her, inside or outside the hospital, and every other piece of information you have on this cluster-fuck. And I want it now. Send it to my email address in the case file.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anything else you think you should tell me?”
“Honest, we had no idea the prisoner might be a target.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“If anyone thought it was a possibility, I can’t imagine my chief assigning that rookie to my detail.”
“What rookie?”
“The one on duty when that nurse showed up in the prisoner’s room. My chief got a sick call-in at the last minute from the cop scheduled for the next shift. So, he sent the rookie over to cover the shift. The kid was fresh out of the academy and hadn’t been to the hospital before today. He had no idea who worked there and who didn’t. All the other guys assigned to my detail were vets and knew the nursing staff. A new face, no matter how pretty, would have set off alarms.”
“So, why the rookie?” said Yianni.
The Mykonos Mob Page 19