Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery (10 page)

“Why don’t I just give you the money so you can buy them yourself?”

“No way I could explain how I had the money to do that.”

“It’s that expensive?”

“Of course.”

Teacher smiled. “And you have to live there. I understand your concern.”

“What I want you to do, is buy them in the name of a company ultimately owned by me but not traceable to me.”

“That’s a more sophisticated request than I imagined coming from you.”

“I watch a lot of television.”

She laughed despite herself.

“Anyway,” Kharon went on, “the company will hire me to look after the operation for its supposed absentee owners.”

“Very clever. Just how much will this little subterfuge cost me?”

“They’re asking sixty euros per tree.”

“Per tree?”

“That’s how olives are sold here.”

“How many trees are you looking to buy?”

“Ten thousand.”

Teacher paused. “That’s six hundred thousand euros. I understand the reason for your concern. I also think you place a rather unrealistic value on your services, young man.”

“Plus, another four hundred thousand euros to acquire and modernize the olive-pressing facilities.”

She let her tone turn cold. “There are many who do what you do.”

“Then hire them.”

Teacher bristled. “Perhaps I have.”

“Undoubtedly. But before we cross that bridge, understand the full context of my offer.”

“Please, proceed.”

“Unless I misunderstood your offer of employment, you’re asking that I work for you exclusively until death do us part.”

“Interesting way to put it.”

“But accurate?”

“Go on,” she said.

“The second part of our arrangement is that you never have to pay me anything more than what’s necessary to meet yearly property taxes on the olive trees and production facility. No matter what you ask me to do, you’ll never have to pay me another euro.”

“Your arrogance is not becoming.”

“You’re confusing arrogance with confidence.”

Teacher drew in and let out a breath. “You talk a good game and have a distinguished reputation among those who know you. But frankly, you’ve only performed before local yokels on a very small stage. You’ve done nothing to show me why I should consider such an elaborate request, one I would have a hard time entertaining even if put to me by the very best in your business.”

“Perhaps I should pass along an example of just what you’ll be buying.”

“Meaning?”

“Why don’t you tell the two men in the beat-up black Fiat parked up the road from my place to stop by and say hello.”

“Spotting those two is hardly worth the price you’re asking.”

“For sure. But that’s not the example I’m offering. I have something I want to show them.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t think that will be quite as effective in moving our negotiations along.”

“I think we’ve just about reached the end of any negotiations.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Anger rose in her voice. “But I shall be sending someone around to see you.”

“I’m sure you believe that.”

The anger remained in her voice. “You’ll find he is very good at what he does. Some say he’s the best.”

“Too bad, I wish I’d known that.”

Teacher’s anger faded into a tight smile. “Would that have made you ask for less?”

Kharon sighed. “No, but out of professional courtesy I’d have put a marker on his grave, ‘Here lies the best, Michael C. Dillman.’”

***

Teacher put down the phone and looked at the photograph of the young girl on her desk. She shook her head, laughed, and rubbed at her eyes. She kept laughing as she drew her hands away from her face and scraped her fingers back through her hair to the tight bun holding it in place. She undid the bun. Still laughing, she ran her fingers through her free-falling hair until abruptly clenching fistfuls of it in her hands and pulling wildly.

As quickly as her laughing had begun it stopped, and she dropped her hands onto her lap. She stared at the photo, drew in and let out a deep breath, then spoke aloud. “I can’t believe he spotted Dillman. He’s been with me since the second Bush’s Iraq War. My deadly American chameleon. Just like that. Gone.”

She shook her head again, but this time without laughter. She’d survived and prospered by following her instincts to whatever ruthless extremes they’d led her. Kharon’s demand was preposterous even though the amount he’d asked for was meaningless to her. But, if her instincts were correct, and he was as he appeared, his value to her would be priceless.

She bit at her lower lip. For one who’d once said it was not about the money, he’d set quite a high price. She saw that as a good sign, that he’d recognized the value of aligning his principles with hers.

She looked at her phone. Greeks were notorious for picking asking prices out of thin air. With the right local lawyer and connections, she should be able to get the trees and business Kharon wanted at a much better price.

She smiled as she reached out and touched the photo. “I think we have found us a bargain in this man from Delphi.”

***

Kharon had taken a gamble, but he’d seen no other play. Teacher either would own him outright or see him dead. His only leverage was if she needed him badly enough to give him what he wanted in exchange. So, he told her about Dillman, betting that her urge for revenge couldn’t compete with her thirst for someone with the skills he’d demonstrated in dealing with Dillman. Kharon had detected and anonymously eliminated a professional killer sent to target him by a person he neither knew nor had any reason to know might want him dead.

Twice he’d seen Dillman’s car in the vicinity of his home before Dillman offered him a ride. And when the ride came it was in a very out-of-the-way place, almost as if Dillman had been following him. The coincidence struck him as too great. But he wasn’t about to kill a man based on that alone. He’d need a sign; something to show him that Dillman was a professional setting him up for an unexpected hit at another time.

That sign had come in the form of Dillman’s hand on Kharon’s thigh. Sexual intimacy would be Dillman’s pretext for their next and final assignation. Kharon knew that ploy. He’d used it himself. Most pros had. Which meant someone like Dillman would be suspicious of another pro succumbing so quickly to the bait. That left Kharon with no choice but to do all that he did on that plot of grass out beyond the cypress trees to get Dillman to drop his guard.

It wasn’t until his bracing motorcycle ride back from Athens that Kharon had realized Teacher had sent Dillman. She’d arranged to have someone killed she’d not yet met, on the chance he might turn down an offer she’d not yet made. He admired her style, and hoped she’d admire his too.

His mind played through the final moments of their negotiations.

There’d been a decided pause on Teacher’s end of the phone following Kharon’s mention of Dillman’s death, and he’d held his breath until she said, “Complete your first assignment, young man, and the property is yours.”

“Terrific,” he’d shot back, “but I’ll need to own everything free and clear. I want you to have an investment in me, one that makes my living more important to you than my dying.”

“That’s acceptable, provided everything reverts to me should you die.”

“Yeah, right, that would make me feel real comfortable,” led to laughter on her part and an agreement: In exchange for no strings attached to his property, his life now stood as hers to control.

Kharon shut his eyes. He’d struck his deal with the devil.

Now to live with it.

Chapter Ten

Thessaloniki came to be 2,400 years ago, named for a half-sister of Alexander the Great. From the first years of the Byzantine Eastern Roman Empire until the early fifteenth century, Salonika, as it’s also called, ranked next to Constantinople as the Empire’s second city in terms of wealth and population. A leading trading, manufacturing, and shipping center in the days of the Empire, today Thessaloniki served as a major trade and business hub, with the largest number of students in Greece, a municipal population of 320,000, and more than a million in its metropolitan area. Though it was second in size to Athens and two hundred miles north, Thessaloniki residents proudly boasted of their city as Greece’s cultural capital.

Kouros wasn’t familiar with Thessaloniki and on his morning flight up from Athens toyed with the idea of a quick bit of sightseeing before heading off to find Tank, but settled on “maybe later.” He’d ignored customary procedures calling for visiting cops on official business to inform local police of their presence, thinking if he had, for sure someone would have spread the word about a Special Crimes Division cop snooping around Thessaloniki.

He rented a car from an agency that emblazoned its name across its cars, making his tiny white hatchback as nondescript as the tens of thousands of other identical-looking Hyundais, Fiats, Peugeots, Nissans, Volkswagens, and Chevys driven around Greece by wandering tourists.

GPS got him to the address Maggie had found for Tank’s
cafenion
. It was a nondescript coffee shop in what looked to be the sort of area every city allowed to exist in order for really bad guys to have a place to play, away from the nice folks. Omonia Square served that purpose in Athens. In Thessaloniki you went to Vardaris Square on the northwest edge of the city limits.

He parked, went inside, found a scruffy wooden table along the faded, pale green rear wall that abutted an open kitchen area, and sat facing into the room. He nodded at a man sitting at a similar square table next to him on his left. The man nodded back and continued reading his paper, taking his time eating his breakfast.

Kouros looked around the room. Eleven in the morning and still half the eight small tables crammed together closest to the front door sat packed with what looked to be locals, all of them men. In Athens, locals with jobs would be at work by now. Some of the men made no attempt to hide their curiosity about him, a proverbial Greek trait toward strangers.

“What would you like?” said a perky, very red-haired, thirtyish woman bounding toward him with a pad in her hand.

Kouros smiled, “Just coffee,
metrio
.”

She ticked her stylus along a small, touch-screen pad. “One Greek coffee, medium sweet. Got it.” She put away the stylus.

Kouros nodded. “Thank you.”

As she scurried off the men looked away, their curiosity apparently satisfied. He took out a map and studied it as if he were a tourist. The waitress returned with a glass of water, as always accompanies Greek coffee.

“Can I help you find something?”

“Thank you. I have no idea where I am. I’m trying to get here.” He pointed at the map.

“Man, you should invest in a GPS. That’s almost twenty miles from here.” She looked at him. “You’re way lost. That’s down by the jail.”

Kouros smiled. “I have to visit my mother.”

“Your mother’s in jail?”

Kouros reached out and patted her arm. “Shhh, someone might overhear you. It’s embarrassing.”

“Come on, you’re putting me on. Besides, most of these guys call that place home.” She jerked her head back toward the tables by the front door.

He smiled. “Yeah, I’m kidding about the part about my mother. But if the crowd’s so bad, why are you working here?”

“You’re really not from around here, are you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Otherwise you’d know jobs are scarce, and you take whatever you can find.”

A bell rang in the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

This time when she left, some of the men who’d looked away now stared at him. Kouros ignored them and looked at his map.

She returned and slipped the coffee onto the table between the map and his chest. “Sure you don’t want something else?”

“How about a toast?”

“With ham and cheese?”

He nodded and she left. Now most of the men in the room stared at him openly. Kouros felt like the proverbial pair of brown shoes at a black-tie affair: he was in a place he didn’t belong.

Which made it the right place. He just hoped he wasn’t making an indelible impression on guys he might soon be following. That would really piss off the chief.

The waitress strolled over, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Do you mind if I tell the assholes in here that you’re my cousin?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because they’re just what I said. They don’t like strangers here. This is their place of business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Nothing you want to know about. Trust me. It’s all bad. Do yourself a favor and leave now to visit your mother or let me tell them you’re my cousin, because I can tell they’re about to bust your head.”

Kouros smiled. “But they won’t believe you. You didn’t kiss me hello.”

She jumped out of her chair ran around and began kissing and hugging him. He started to laugh and she smacked the back of his head. Then she kissed him some more.

With her arms around Kouros’ neck she turned to the room and yelled, “This
malaka
is my long lost cousin I haven’t seen in twenty years! He came all the way up to Salonika, just to surprise me.” She kissed him again.

Kouros offered a sheepish smile and wave to the room. The men nodded and went back to ignoring him.

“Thanks,” said Kouros. “But why’d you do that for me?”

“Because you’re cute and I’m horny.”

Kouros blinked and she laughed. “Only kidding. But around guys like this you have to be willing to give as good as you get.” She smacked him on the arm. “You stumbled in here and gave them no reason to give you trouble. They’re just bored. All they do these days is sit around and wait for their boss to give them something to do.”

Kouros nodded, trying not to look at the men.” I guess you’re not the only one having trouble finding work.”

“Yeah, their boss hasn’t given his men much to do. Everything’s been calm and peaceful.”

Twice she’d mentioned a “boss.” As if pressing Kouros to ask about him.

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“Why are you really here?”

“To meet you, cuz.” Kouros smiled.

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Would coffee and toast be an acceptable answer?”

“No, but that reminds me,” she hurried off to the kitchen and returned with the toasted ham and cheese sandwich.

She sat at the table and slid the plate across the table. “Now, tell me, why are you here?”

A motorcycle screamed to a stop by the front door and a barrel chested, clean-shaven, dark-haired man in his late thirties stepped off the bike and walked through the door. He wore blue-mirror aviator sunglasses, a blue oxford cloth dress shirt, and khakis.

“A bit preppy for this neighborhood,” said Kouros.

“Be careful what you say,” she whispered.

She didn’t say why to be careful but Kouros already knew. He’d recognized Tank from his photo.

Tank looked at Kouros and gestured with his head to the waitress. She leaped out of the chair and over to his side.

So much for being inconspicuous.
Andreas would be pissed.

Tank spoke to the waitress and walked over to Kouros. “So, you came to visit your cousin.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“In this place I ask the questions.”

Kouros smiled. “Any particular answers you’d like?”

Tank sat down. “You’re a wiseass, huh?” The men behind him stood up.

“No, just a customer who foolishly thought the sign outside reading CAFENION meant a place to get a coffee.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kouros shrugged, picked up his toast and took a bite. “Food’s not bad.”

“My sister doesn’t trust you.”

“You mean the waitress? She has a lot of relatives, that one.” He took another bite of toast, followed by a sip of water.

“She said you’re looking for the jail.”

“I never said that, she did.”

“Are you calling my sister a liar?”

Kouros smiled and put his hands in his lap. “Oh, so that’s where this is headed?”

“I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you.” He took off his sunglasses, showing tiny, mouselike eyes, and motioned for the men at the tables to step forward. Eight did.

“Impressive. One problem.”

“What’s that?”

Kouros smiled again. “They take one more step forward and you’re dead.”

“Tough talk, asshole.” He waved for the men to step forward.

Kouros lifted his right hand from his lap and pointed a nine-millimeter semi-automatic at the middle of Tank’s chest.

“
Stop,”
shouted Tank.

The men stopped.

“And back up, please,” said Kouros.

They moved without waiting for Tank to tell them.

“As I was saying, sir,” keeping the gun firmly pointed at Tank’s heart, “I have no idea what the problem is with your sister, but I just came in here for a coffee and directions. So why don’t you leave me in peace?”

The man at the next table cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, sir,” he said looking at Tank, “but I’ve been here the whole time and this gentlemen is telling the truth.”

“Who the fuck are you?” said Tank, aiming his bravado at the man without the gun.

“Just another customer who happened to be the primary subject of curiosity on the part of your friends before this gentleman with his gun pointed at your chest entered your establishment.”

“Are you guys together?”

The man said, “Never saw him before in my life. But he does present a small problem for me, one that I hope we can resolve.”

Kouros glanced at the man’s hands, not moving the aim of his gun.

“You see, I was sent here to deliver a message to you.” His eyes remained fixed on Tank as he folded his newspaper and put it down on the table. “It’s a very personal message. One from someone who feels you betrayed trust. And trust is a very important thing to maintain. It is a very firm message, but one not intended to bring physical harm to you.”

The man turned to face Kouros. “I hope, sir, that you appreciate the meaning I’m trying to get across.”

“You don’t want me to kill him.”

The man nodded. “Yes.”

“Fine with me. My only reason for pulling the gun was to stop him from having his friends rearrange my dental work.”

“A wise decision that I fully understand. But perhaps now you’d be best leaving.”

“Good idea,” said Kouros.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay your bill.” The man nodded toward the waitress. “And I’ll tip her appropriately.”

Kouros had no idea what was going down, but things looked guaranteed to end badly if he stayed around. Besides, this was a room filled with bad guys pissed off at each other, not some place where he had to jump into a fight to save a law-abiding citizen.

Deciding discretion would be the better part of valor, Kouros stood. He kept his gun focused on Tank and gestured for everyone else in the room to move to his left, toward the stranger’s table. Kouros kept his eyes on the crowd and gun on Tank as he backed toward the door opening onto the street.

“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.