One priest led the service and two others assisted. Lay participants and common worshippers performed their roles perfectly in rituals rehearsed since childhood, with a sort of clockwork-like precision rare to experience in Greece. As the service came to an end, worshippers hurried outside to find places at tables for their families. Some approached a table closest to the sea but were shooed away by a not-so-gentle-looking giant saying, “Sorry, taken.”
Many came to this tiny island with its solitary white church and gentle harbor backdrop to exchange vows, promising to remain as one until death did them part. Some perhaps came wondering whether similar thoughts might have passed between Helen and Paris as they began their own epic journey from this place. While others, like many here today, thought only of the festivities to follow.
A group of six walked toward the taken table. A tall man in black trousers, white shirt, and a dark zippered jacket led them there. He smiled at everyone he passed, exchanging Christmas wishes. A few said “Congratulations,” and he thanked each one.
He sat at the head of the table facing the church, his wife and two grown children to his right, his in-laws to his left.
Head-to-toe black-clad women hurried around distributing bread, wine, and platters of food to the tables. The sounds of toasts, rousing voices, and laughter filled the air. Priests moved from table to table, exchanging Kala Kristougenna greetings with the gathered, and men walked about, finding their friends and wishing Merry Christmas with a quick smack on the back or fast squeeze of the shoulders. Many came to greet the man at the head of the table. He smiled and toasted each one.
All the toasting had given Niko a buzz. No matter, he had much to celebrate. The prosecutor couldn’t prove a thing. Too bad Babis had screwed up and failed to get the vendetta angle to play. The old man hadn’t told anyone about Niko’s carefully scripted threats, rendering pointless the message Niko had Babis put on the back of the old man’s newspaper and the SMS Niko anonymously sent the day before the hit. The messages were supposed to emerge as part of an elaborate but feeble attempt by the Ukrainian to pass off a professional hit as a vendetta killing.
Niko remained convinced that, if the threats had gone public, Calliope so despised the Ukrainian she would have launched her hot-headed brother on a murderous vendetta against the Ukrainian—giving Niko free reign in the Peloponnese as he watched his two competitors kill each other off.
But the father’s death was labeled an accident. Worse still, his cop nephew started poking around. Something Niko hadn’t figured on. That limited Niko’s options. Babis had to go because he was the only one who could have tied Niko into the hit. Maybe the girlfriend still could too, but he’d take care of her personally next week. Niko smiled. On her first New Year’s Eve in Thessaloniki.
Of course there was also Calliope, but who’d ever believe her? The crazy bitch never for a second saw the switch coming. She remained convinced to the end the Ukrainian was the target.
Niko smiled. Probably still does.
The photograph she gave him had made it all possible. All he’d had to do was show it to Babis that afternoon outside the taverna. The rest was easy. He told Babis he’d be forgiven by Niko’s family if he killed the man who’d betrayed them both. In exchange, Babis only had to stick the message in the old man’s newspaper the next morning and use the poison as directed when Niko gave him the word.
Too bad the local cops found the poison. That stuff was hard to come by. Expensive, too. One of their connected Maniot buddies would probably end up with it. Maybe he could buy it from the cops first.
Yeah, and too bad for Babis the threat messages didn’t fly. But just like Calliope, the sucker never saw it coming until given the choice of a few minutes in the sea or days of pain with Urich.
Niko looked up at the church and mumbled to himself, “Thank you, Lord, for sending me two fools.”
WHACK. Niko jerked forward from a hard smack on his back. “Kala Kristougenna, Niko. I hear you’re moving to the Mani.”
It was another forgettable cousin of his wife offering a macho Mani greeting.
“Maybe. I’m thinking of opening a hotel over here. One with a golf course.”
“Good luck with it.”
Black clad ladies started gathering dirty paper plates off the tables. One, dressed in a nun’s veil, reached in between Niko’s in-laws.
“Sorry, sister, we’re not finished yet,” said the mother-in-law.
The woman nodded and moved away from the table.
Niko followed her with his eyes. She never turned around, just began gathering plates from another table.
WHACK. Another smack to the left of his back and a quick pinching squeeze to his neck. He turned quickly, only to see a crowd standing around the next table. It could have been any of them. He turned back to face his family.
“Who was that?” said Niko’s wife.
“I don’t know, I didn’t see him.”
“It wasn’t a ‘him.’ It was a woman dressed in black. Maybe it was the mother of one of your baby girlfriends.”
He raised his hand as if to strike her, but caught himself and forced a smile for everyone at the table. “No idea.” He moved his raised hand to rub his neck. “But whoever she is has a mean pinch.”
Three minutes later he felt a pain in the middle of his back. No wonder, after all the smacks he’d taken. He stretched his back trying to work it out, but it only grew sharper. He rubbed his stomach. Now he felt indigestion. That damn lamb didn’t agree with him. Then came the pain in his jaw, the burning vise-grip on his chest, and the rush of adrenaline as he struggled for breath and realized he was about to die.
Eyes wide open, he stared straight ahead. Two tables away his eyes locked on a priest’s staring right back at him. Next to the priest stood a woman all in black.
The priest nodded, smiled, and took Niko’s photograph.
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Sons of Sparta: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery Page 25