“So, what would you like to know, Detective Kouros?” smiled Alexander.
“Nothing more than you want to tell me.”
Panos smiled. “He’s a better politician than you, Alexander.”
“And could probably get elected honestly, too,” said Stelios.
Laughter.
“I’ll miss him,” said Alexander. “We all will. I wouldn’t be where I am in government today without him.”
“And I’d still have union troubles at my hotel without his help,” said Panos.
“On more occasions than I can remember he helped me out of jams with the coast guard over my style of fishing,” said Konstantin.
Kouros almost said, “dynamiting?” but caught himself. That undoubtedly was what he meant, and calling Konstantin on it wasn’t likely to keep him and the others talking. He wondered if by referring to it as a “style” of fishing meant that at some level he was ashamed to be among those responsible for helping to ruin fishing in Greece. Hopefully not forever.
“He brought peace to my family,” said Stelios. “Make that our families.”
Kouros gave him a puzzled look.
“I’m sure you know of the vendetta started by your great-grandfather. The boy he ordered your grandfather to kill was my father’s brother. It was my family who killed some of your own father’s siblings. It was your uncle who brought peace to our families.”
Alone, Stelios drank a toast to Uncle.
“Did Uncle ever talk of that vendetta?” asked Kouros.
“Not in decades,” said Stelios.
“At least not with us,” said Mihalis.
The others nodded.
“Would he have if it were on his mind?”
“I’d think so,” said Panos.
“We were the unofficial council of elders for the community,” said Stelios.
Panos said, “We started meeting decades ago for the purpose of making money. Helping each other make our businesses more profitable. But none of us work anymore, so…”
“I still do,” said Alexander.
“You’re a politician, you never worked, only took,” said Konstantin.
All but Alexander laughed.
“As I was saying, in recent years instead of talking business we’d meet each morning to talk about problems facing our community and try to find solutions.”
“What sorts of problems?”
“The kind people told us about or we learned from the news.”
“Including newspapers?”
“That was your Uncle’s specialty. Every morning he’d have the paper waiting for him at the table, and while we told stories he’d read it. After he finished we’d talk about whatever there was for us to worry about.”
“Did my uncle have anything to ‘worry about’?”
“Only with what to do with all the money he expected to get from his hotel project,” said Panos.
“You knew about that?”
“Of course we did,” said Alexander. “Like Panos said, we helped each other. And kept whatever we talked about to ourselves. I promised to set him up with whatever permits he needed, and Panos gave him advice on how to get the best hotel deal.”
Kouros looked at Panos. “You weren’t worried about the competition?”
“Competition? My son helps runs the hotel now, and we’d love some competition. It would bring in more tourists. Besides, my place is on the sea, your uncle’s was in the middle of rocks. I still don’t know what was on the mind of the fool who had planned on leasing the place.”
“Had planned?”
“Yes, your uncle hadn’t signed the papers yet. He died the day before the scheduled signing. Rotten luck for the family.”
“But don’t worry,” said Alexander. “I’ll make sure the deal still goes through.”
“Assuming the goddamned Ukrainian still wants to do the deal,” said Konstantin.
And that my uncle’s sons and daughters are willing, thought Kouros. “Ukrainian?”
“Yeah, your uncle said the buyer came from the Ukraine. Though he might be Russian,” said Konstantin.
“Why wouldn’t he want to go through with the deal?” said Alexander.
Konstantin’s nose was pulsing. “Because the bastard will probably see some advantage to renegotiating. To drive the price down. Those types are ruthless when it comes to business. Especially the Russians. I’ve seen them fishing.”
“Uh, yeah, but let’s not forget who he’s dealing with. Mangas ain’t exactly an Athenian pansy.” Mihalis caught himself. “Sorry, Yianni. No offense intended.”
Kouros shook his head. “None taken.”
“After all, you and I are both cops. At least I used to be, and I was a childhood friend of your father.”
“Mihalis used to be chief of police in these parts,” said Alexander.
“I see,” said Kouros. “Weren’t any of you worried that with so many powerful people meeting every morning in the same place you might be a target?”
“You mean for someone wanting to take out the competition?” smiled Alexander.
“Or just to settle a grudge,” said Kouros.
“Is that what you think happened? That someone settled an old grudge with your uncle?” Panos nodded. “It’s good to think like that. We were just talking about that same possibility.”
The others at the table nodded.
“And?” said Kouros.
“There’s absolutely no one out there we can think of with any sensible reason for going after your uncle at this point in his life.”
“No one?”
“No one,” repeated Panos.
They all nodded.
“What about someone with a nonsensible reason?”
“Good luck on finding that one,” said Mihalis.
A light-coffee skinned girl no more than twenty years old came over to their table and said in accented Greek, “Are you okay? Do you need anything else?”
“Just more of your loving,” said Konstantin.
The girl laughed and smacked him lightly on the back of his head.
“After all, with our great friend gone, who will there be to pinch your butt?” asked Mihalis slowly extending his hand in the direction of the girl’s rear. She smiled as she scooted away from his hand. Her face turned sad. “Yes, I shall miss him.”
She turned and walked away, giving Kouros a clear vision of the recent topic of discussion.
“Ah, if I were only twenty years younger,” said Konstantin.
“Forty, you mean,” said Mihalis.
“Who is she?” said Kouros.
“She works here,” said Panos. “She’s the girlfriend of the guy who runs the place. He’s a Greek from a town in the northwest Peloponnese. Pirgos,” said Mihalis.
“She’s an Arab. Probably illegal. He brought her here about a year ago. Damn fine addition too,” said Konstantin.
“Someone from immigration actually had the balls to walk in here one morning while we were here and ask for her papers,” said Mihalis.
“That was quite a morning,” laughed Panos. “The poor girl was scared to death and your uncle just sat at our table-we always sit in the front room-and motioned with his index finger for the idiot to come over to our table.”
“The stupid son of a bitch didn’t even know who your uncle was. He stormed over and demanded your uncle’s ID.” Alexander burst out laughing.
Panos said, “Your uncle calmly pulled out his wallet and handed him his identity card. The expression on the asshole’s face when he realized who he’d just called out was priceless.”
Stelios said, “Your uncle calmly said, ‘Now leave here and never, ever come back.’”
“I never saw anyone move so fast,” said Konstatin. He raised his glass. “To your uncle. There never was and shall never be another like him.”
“Theos singhorese ton.”
By the time Kouros left the taverna he was as drunk as the rest of the men in the place. How he got back to his uncle’s house was a miracle.
If he remembered in the morning all that he’d heard in the taverna it would be an even greater one.
Chapter Eight
Dinner was called for nine at the Kaldises’ home. A bit early by Athens standards, but it helped Lila convince Maggie that eating there rather than in a restaurant would not be a bother to her. “I’m not cooking, Marietta is,” had Maggie wavering but it took Lila saying “It will give you and Tassos a chance to see Tassaki,” to close the deal.