“Close the door, please,” said the stranger.
Once outside, Kouros closed the door as the stranger had asked, crossed the street to his car, slid his gun back into the holster hidden in the front of his pants, and drove away. Whatever happened next wasn’t his problem. At least not yet.
***
The moment Kouros left the cafenion, Tank lunged at the stranger, but pulled up abruptly when the stranger sprang up from his chair and brought the point of a stiletto snug against Tank’s throat with his left hand.
“You seem to continually underestimate people,” said the stranger. “First that cop and now me.”
“What cop?”
The stranger shook his head. “You’re supposed to be a big-time mobster and yet you can’t spot a cop? Who but a cop would come in here, in a shit hole neighborhood like this, on the lame excuse of looking for directions and sit around having coffee, chatting up your waitress for information?”
“You’re here. Does that mean you’re a cop too? Or just an asshole.”
The stranger pressed the knifepoint hard enough against Tank’s throat to draw blood. “I’m not supposed to kill you, but if you continue to press me, I just may have to make you look as ugly as your manners.”
Tank tried leaning away from the tip of the blade, but the stranger pressed harder and Tank stopped. “What do you want?”
The man shook his head again. “Do you ever listen to what you’re told? I don’t want anything. I’m here to deliver a message, that’s all.”
“What message?”
“One to get your attention, so that you realize it’s not a good idea to betray your teacher.”
“My tea—” Tank froze in mid word. “Teacher sent you?”
“Did you think she’d forgotten about you? Or your promise to cherish, honor, obey, and pay until death do you part?”
Tank’s eyes remained wide. “Okay, I got it. We can work this out, right?”
“Of course we can. Just do as you’ve agreed and all will be forgiven.”
Tank smiled. “Great, terrific.”
“But first I must give you the message.” Without moving the knife point, he drew a .380 semi-automatic out of his pants pocket with his right hand, pointed the gun at Tank’s head, and in the instant before firing shifted his aim to Tank’s sister.
She dropped to the floor, a bullet hole centered in her forehead.
No one moved to stop the stranger as he strolled out of the cafenion to a motorcycle parked in front and drove away.
Message delivered, thought Kharon.
Chapter Eleven
Kouros drove around for about an hour before parking down by the harbor, close by the city’s most famous landmark, a white tower literally called that in Greek, Levkos Pirgos. Thoroughly renovated on the inside, broad steps wound from one level up to the next, offering a mesmerizing exhibition of the history of Thessalonki to the climber. But Kouros never left the car. His thoughts weren’t on touring.
He’d left multiple messages with Andreas and Maggie for Andreas to call him ASAP. Kouros tried making sense out of what he’d just witnessed. Whoever the stranger, the guy had balls. Huge ones. Which likely meant he worked for someone Tank feared. You just don’t walk into a mob place like that and act as if you owned it.
Right. I should listen to my own advice.
Kouros’ mobile rang and he picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Chief.”
“Don’t tell me you were in the middle of that cafenion mess?”
Kouros stared at the phone. “How the hell did you know about that?”
“From Maggie.”
“How did she know?”
“Our beloved boss, the Minister of Public Order, had her pull me out of a department heads meeting to tell me how all hell had broken loose in a cafenion in Thessaloniki. I had her stay on the line to take notes and after Spiros hung up she told me that the address of the place he’d gone on about was the same as she’d given you for Tank.”
“But what was there for him to go on about? Nothing happened.”
“I’ll take that to mean you’re the stranger who left just before another stranger put a bullet hole into the forehead of a beloved female member of one of Greece’s most prominent political families.”
“Tank’s sister?”
“You got it.”
“Holy Mother. I wouldn’t have left if I thought he’d kill her.” Kouros told Andreas all that had happened.
“Sounds to me if you hadn’t left there’d have been two bodies sporting bullet holes in their foreheads. The shooter was a definite pro.”
“He said he had a message to deliver to Tank.”
“As in a bullet to his sister’s head?”
“I’m not sure how he came up with that, but he definitely said he was sent there to deliver a message to Tank.”
“‘Sent?’ By whom?”
“Didn’t say, except it was from someone who felt Tank had ‘betrayed trust.’”
“Well, if that was the goal, it worked,” said Andreas. “According to our minister, who obviously didn’t know the facts you just told me, it got the attention of Tank’s entire family and media all across Greece.”
“I shouldn’t have left.” Kouros’ throat tightened as he paused to compose himself.
Andreas spoke. “The shooter killed her right in front of her brother and a shitload of bad guys with guns, but got away without anyone laying a hand on him. How in the hell could that happen unless the brother knew whoever sent the shooter, and what sort of hell would follow if he went after him?”
“I can’t believe he killed the girl.”
“What’s the matter? Because the victim was a she instead of a he, you think an innocent died? Okay, she flirted with you, but that only meant she was charming. There are a lot of real charmers out there who are deadly characters, both male and female. You know that. And I’ll lay you hundred-to-one odds that Miss Congeniality was the one who told her brother to come by after acting like your snuggle buddy.”
“Yeah, but….”
“Think about it. The sister had options. Thanks to her family’s money and influence she could have made any kind of life for herself that she wanted. But she chose to get her kicks out of being part of her brother’s mobster lifestyle. Those sorts of decisions come at a price, and she paid the ultimate one.”
“That’s still not a reason to kill her. I should have stayed. At least identified myself as a cop.”
“Of course it’s not a reason to kill her. But stop beating yourself up over this. The shooter was a pro. He never said or did anything to indicate he was going to harm anyone. In fact, he stepped in to stop you from harming Tank. At best you’d have delayed him from killing her until after you’d left. At worst he’d have killed you on the spot for being a cop who could identify him. You went with your instincts and they saved your life. The only coincidences I believe in are the nasty ones that get cops killed. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and only by the grace of God didn’t end up with a bullet in your brain. Be thankful and move on. Period.”
“End of story?”
“No, not quite. The minister wants us to get to the bottom of this, yesterday. ‘We can’t tolerate foreign mobsters intimidating legitimate Greek business owners,’ were his precise words.”
“Where did the minister get the idea foreigners were involved? The shooter was Greek.”
“From Tank I assume. Tank described the killer, and get this. According to him, you have a twin brother out there somewhere. But Balkan.”
“The killer looks nothing like me. He’s tall and wiry and one hundred percent Greek.”
“Well, Tank obviously needed a description to run with his story, but didn’t dare point at the guy who actually did it.”
“Not so sure that’s a bingo card I’m
happy to win once the local cops pull my prints off the crime scene.”
“I doubt that will happen. You’re Tank’s mystery man cover story for a big mess. Not just to the press, but his family. I doubt he’ll want you appearing as a witness to tell what really happened, and if he finds out you’re a cop in Special Crimes, for sure he won’t want to draw you in and ruin his little fantasy explanation for his family. My guess is he’ll bury any connections to you.”
“As long as he doesn’t decide to bury me along with them.”
“Don’t see any reason for him doing that. But if he does, I can assure you I’ll find some pretext for arresting him.”
“That makes me feel all better.”
“Since you raised the point, though, just to be on the safe side, I want you back in Athens ASAP.”
“What about my tailing the guys connected to Tank’s counterfeit booze operation?”
“After this episode, I think you best forget about tailing anyone tied to Tank around Thessaloniki. I’ll get Petro to pick up on that. You have to focus on identifying the shooter. If you do, it might give us an idea of who sent him. Maybe even a link to whoever’s behind this multinational counterfeit booze empire.”
“You really think so?”
“One can hope. But just identifying the shooter will give us a real angle on Tank. We already know he’s afraid enough of our shooter’s connections to let him walk away from murdering his sister. A police ID of the killer should scare him shitless. Maybe get him to do something stupid.”
“I can’t imagine Tank and his people backing me up, even if I identified the killer.”
“But think of the glorious possibilities. I, being duty bound, will of course pass your match along to our minister who, being the ass-kissing, favor cultivator he is, will undoubtedly race to the dead girl’s family with his record time, Sherlock Holmes-like solution of the mystery. Tank will then have to decide between denying or agreeing with what he’ll know we know is the correct identification of his sister’s killer. If he denies your pick and it comes out that he’s lying, he risks ostracism from his family’s power and fortune. And if he agrees with you, he knows he’s face-to-face with whatever nightmare is lurking out there behind the killer.”
“Both wonderful choices,” said Kouros. “The kind that might drive a fellow like Tank into striking a deal with us that doesn’t require him to choose.”
“Precisely. And it all begins with little old you coming back here to go through mug shots until you find our guy.”
“Funny, you say that. Now that I think about it, something about that guy’s face struck me as familiar. I didn’t have much of a chance to study him in the cafenion, but definitely something about him made me think I’d seen him before.”
“That’s why the good Lord invented mug shots. They give you the chance to reconnect with old friends.”
“Sort of like Facebook for felons,” said Kouros. “All right, I’d better run. Got a plane to catch.”
“Later.”
***
Teacher sat smiling at the photo on her desk. “We chose wisely.”
She’d not wanted Tank as her collaborator in Greece. She preferred a Balkan foreigner, same as in her other Western European operations. Balkan mobsters were far easier to control than those native to their countries. Not because they were less dangerous. To the contrary, Balkan mobsters were among the most ruthless on earth. No, the key difference was the manner in which they operated and stayed in power. As foreigners, they maintained their influence with bribes to corrupt local police and government officials. If a lesson needed to be taught to one of her Balkan collaborators, Teacher could out-bribe them with the authorities, destroying their operations if necessary.
Local mobsters, however, had family and friends to protect them, presenting far more complicated ties to overcome than those based on corruption. As Teacher saw it, working with local mobsters put her at a distinct disadvantage should they misbehave, especially in a country like Greece with its historically entrenched, narrow-minded attitudes toward foreigners doing business on Greek soil.
But that wasn’t Teacher’s only concern with Tank. She saw him as a self-absorbed egotist, the worst example of a spoiled child of a connected family. He thought he could do anything, and no matter how many times he failed, his family would be there to bail him out.
When Tank had learned of Teacher’s interest in entering the counterfeit booze business in Greece, he’d claimed his involvement in the legitimate side of the business made him perfect for her and pressed hard to work with her there. So hard that potential non-Greek competitors for the position who didn’t withdraw found their residency permits unexpectedly revoked and their families deported.
Reluctantly, Teacher took the risk of going with Tank. It was a mistake she would not have made back when she relied upon her instincts in building her empire, instead of presuming that all who now chose to work with her knew to fear her iron fist. At first, it all worked smoothly, but having been insulated by his family all his life from any fear of consequences, within six months Tank was cheapening the formulas and skimming money.
I must send Tank a thank you note, she thought. After all, it was his misbehavior that prompted my finding Kharon.
Her instructions to Kharon had been simple: “Don’t kill him. All I want is for my other collaborators to get the message that if I am willing to do this in Greece to a member of a powerful Greek family who defies me, imagine what I’m prepared to do to those of you who are strangers in foreign lands.”
She’d left it to Kharon to decide how best to get that message across.
Teacher sat in front of her computer, waiting for the first international news report on what Kharon had called to tell her he’d achieved. As if summoned by her will, a headline popped onto her screen: ASSASSIN MURDERS DAUGHTER OF GREEK POLITICAL GIANT IN FRONT OF BROTHER.
Well done, young man, well done.
***
Five minutes after leaving the cafenion, Kharon abandoned the stolen motorcycle he’d used to get there, stole another to take him to where he’d parked the one he’d borrowed from Jacobi, and called Teacher with a brief, cryptic description of what had happened. He kept below the speed limit all the way back to Delphi and wore a helmet, though he doubted any cop would stop him if he hadn’t. Still, he saw no reason to take chances. One coincidental meeting with a cop today was enough.
From what he’d overheard of the cop’s conversation with the sister, he hadn’t been able to make out what was on the cop’s mind, but he guessed the man’s purpose for being there had something to do with her brother.
Kharon couldn’t believe his good luck when Tank walked into the place and decided to play Rambo with a cop cool enough to handle him. That gave Kharon the dramatic opportunity he’d needed to focus everyone in the room on his purpose for being there, and inspiration for a new ending to the scene. Let the cop walk, and drop the sister.
Not many who knew of Tank’s sister’s role in his operations would mourn her. According to Kharon’s connections in Thessaloniki, she was Tank’s “black widow,” using her sweetness-and-light act as an innocent waitress act to set up many a man for the wrath of her brother’s macho temper. Watching her perform her routine with the cop was what had inspired Kharon to rethink his big finish.
One must always be open to improvisation.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s your favorite minister, Chief,” came through the speakerphone on Andreas’ desk.
“Thanks, Maggie.” Andreas picked up the phone. “Kaldis here.”
“One moment please for Minister Renatis.”
Andreas looked at his watch. How long it took for his boss to pick up generally proved a reliable inverse indicator of his agitation level. The shorter the wait, the greater the likely explosion.
Spiros jumped on in less than five
seconds. “We’ve got a catastrophe on our hands. We’ve got the prime minister, and every media outlet in Greece breathing down our necks to capture the killer of that poor woman in Thessaloniki.”
“You mean that hardworking Pakistani mother of three dragged off the street on her way home from work, sexually abused, beaten to death, and carved up with swastikas by homegrown Nazi skinheads?”
Andreas listened to his boss draw in and release a deep breath.
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I guessed as much, but it does make me curious.”
“Curious?”
“That Pakistani mother died less than a month ago, and when I suggested we look into it you said, ‘We have more important things to do’ and that ‘local cops handle those sorts of cases far better than we do.’ I’m just curious about what’s changed your mind.”
“Stop busting my balls, Andreas. You know as well as I do they’re two very different situations.”
“Yeah, one involves a member of a poor immigrant family of color offering little of continuing interest to the press, while the other has rich, connected Greek parents and hordes of reporters falling all over themselves in a twenty-four/seven media feeding frenzy.”
“It’s the world we live in, Andreas. You might think you can change it, but I have no such delusions I can. One thing I do know, though, is that if we don’t pull out all stops at solving this, what will change is our employment status.”
Andreas smiled. “I can’t believe you’re actually trying logic to convince me that your thinking is right, and not just screaming into the phone when I disagree.”
“I’ve decided reason may be a better way to deal with you. But don’t get too carried away, the bottom line’s the same. We have to find the foreign bastard who killed her in front of her brother.”
“Why do you say he’s ‘foreign?’”
Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery Page 11