by Declan Burke
'One, we're stalled in a tailback. Two, it's humid enough out there to boil eggs. You want me to nod off?'
'Whaddya want me to do? Magic up some fuckin crizz?'
Things a little tense in the van, the cruise gone twenty minutes ago if it was leaving on schedule, traffic log-jammed on the outskirts of Athens. Everyone edgy, the stench of stale puke not helping. 'What I'm getting at,' Sleeps said, 'is Johnny's, y'know.'
'You've a Bob hope. That fucker stays sealed. Johnny said, being specific on it, how the load gets through intact.'
'But only saying that on the presumption you'd be dipping in. Making sure you didn't party it up, just tried a taster.'
'What're we looking at,' Ray said, 'coke?'
'Never you fuckin mind,' Rossi said.
'In the Rangers,' Ray said, 'for night sorties? They'd pass out the speed. Even in training. Guys were volunteering to go out. Queues to sign up, all this.'
'You had any common decency,' Rossi told Ray, 'any sense of fuckin shame, you'd be bringing something to the party, not sponging dabs of coke off us.'
Sleeps glanced at Ray in the rear-view. 'You being in the Rangers, you'll have done some work with machineguns. Right? The heavy shit.'
'Sure.'
Rossi glaring across, not getting it. But then started to see, nodding along, as Sleeps said, 'So you could clue us in if we had, say, an Uzi.'
'Your Uzi's as straightforward as it gets,' Ray says. 'Just point and fire, you can't go wrong.'
'You'd think so,' Sleeps said as Rossi opened the door and got out, 'wouldn't you? Except none of us have any experience, never having been to any war zones or Miami Beach.'
Rossi slammed down the trunk of the car, hustled back into the passenger seat again. Started fumbling with the catches on Mel's suitcase. 'The fuck's with the Fort Knox?' he said.
'There's a combination,' Mel said.
'And what, I'm supposed to guess?'
'It's, erm, double-o seven.'
'Sweet suffering Cheez-Its.' Rossi sprung the locks, opened the case, holding the lid sideways so no passerby could glance in, spot the hardware. Then gave Ray the nod. Ray scooched up so he was peering down over Rossi's shoulder, holding his nose against the waft of puke. 'Nice, yeah. Where'd you pick it up?'
'Under the machinegun tree. So what's the skinny?'
'First off,' Ray said, 'it's not your actual Uzi. It's a copy.'
'A fake?'
'An Uzi rip-off. The stock's wrong, it looks like some kind of local adaptation. The Ingram, maybe?' Ray thinking out loud. 'But it'll do the same damage as an Uzi, don't worry about that.'
'So how's it work?' Rossi said.
'Work? You pull the trigger, bullets come out. How d'you think it works?'
Sleeps put the car in gear, rolled forward a few feet. 'Just presume for a second,' he said, knocking the car out of gear again, 'we're complete morons here, we never handled an Uzi before. Start at the start.'
'I could do that,' Ray said. 'Except, I get you tooled up, you'll point it at me and tell me take you to Karen.'
'I thought you said,' Mel said, 'you don't know where she is.'
'This is my problem.'
'I give you my word,' Rossi said.
'Rossi, no offence, but you've shot me once already.'
'That was a fluke. You said so yourself.'
'Yeah, but from there? With an Uzi? Even you couldn't miss.'
'Hey, Ray?' Sleeps said. 'Take a good look at me, man. I look to you the type that'd do good time in a Greek prison?'
'I don't know,' Ray said, 'if there's actually that type. Greek time, what I'm hearing, it's a tough stretch.'
'This is what I'm saying.'
Ray shrugged. 'See that catch,' he said to Rossi, 'left side, just behind the trigger guard. Pull it back, you'll get the mag out.'
Rossi slipped the magazine out, handed the Uzi back between the seats. Ray hunched over, the gun in his lap. 'Looks like it might be the Ero,' he said. 'The Croatians ran some Uzi knock-offs back in the early '90s, this could be one.'
'Fuck the history,' Rossi said, 'and make with the geography.'
'It's your basic Uzi,' Ray said. 'Sturdy, safe, reliable, the Israelis make good guns. Doesn't have many working parts, so it's easy to clean. You've got full, semi and single-shot options with the three-way safety. On full you're looking at, I think, sixteen, twenty rounds a second, some shit like that. The mag holding anywhere from 25 to 32 rounds, depending, the ammo nine millimeter, Parabellum, you'll pick it up anywhere. You want panic, just close your eyes and blaze away. You want accuracy you'll need to unfold the stock, tuck it in here,' he patted the hollow just below his shoulder, 'and get yourself set solid. Anything else you need to know?'
'Where's the safety?' Rossi said.
'Right, yeah. This is a feature, why the Uzi's so safe. See here?' he said, picking up the gun, patting the ball of his thumb against the back of the pistol grip. 'You need to be squeezing that while you're pulling the trigger. A bit of practice, you can do it with the first joint of the thumb, you're not even thinking about it.'
'Which one's the single round option?'
'This,' Ray said, making the adjustment. 'Anything else?'
'Nope, that should just about do it.'
'That's what I'm hoping,' Ray said, sitting back, elbow tucked into his side, the Uzi pointed at the back of Rossi's seat. 'Okay, new plan. Sleeps? We're going to Crete.'
'Crete my hairy hoop,' Rossi said. 'Gimme that.'
'Take it.'
'Christ!' Rossi hunched himself up, twisting around to reach into the rear.
'First though, you'll need to be sure it isn't loaded.'
'The fuck're you talking about?' Rossi holding up the Uzi's mag. 'I got the bullets.'
Sleeps hearing it like Jimmy Dean, Jimmy tumbling out of the planetarium, Sal Mineo riddled on the steps.
'Sure you do,' Ray said. 'But now what you're dealing with, the gamble you're taking, is whether the guy left one up the spout. He was drunk, right?'
Karen
Pyle was staying over in Athens so he could sketch up at the Acropolis next day, so Karen left Anna with him in a little public park near the docks and went on down to the quay.
The liner was a horizontal skyscraper all lit up and festooned with balloons and ribbons. Eight, maybe nine stories high. Karen asked at the booking office and was told the cruise was running behind time as per usual but had already boarded, too late for non-passengers to get on. No, there was no message for Karen King. Ringing the ship, yes, that could be arranged.
The operator on board put her through to Margaret Doyle's room but there was no answer and no answering service. Karen in the phone booth watching the floorshow outside, a horde of Albanians busting out of a van stopped by customs, Christ, it was guerilla warfare, heads getting cracked, not all of them cops'. Sirens whining. This on top of bedlam anyway, buses, scooters, delivery vans. Karen couldn't work out how the Greeks, having first dibs on the set-up, hadn't made mayhem an Olympic sport.
She hung up, went back to the desk.
'Would you mind checking,' she asked the guy, portly under a waistcoat and dicky-bow combo, oily hair, 'if there's a spare ticket going under Margaret Doyle's name? For Karen King.'
The guy consulted the computer, found her name. Went to print off her details. 'Hold on,' Karen said, 'I'm hoping to book another place. What's the policy on pets?'
The policy was flexible, depending on the kind of pet. The liner boasted kennel accommodation down in the hold.
'Cool,' Karen said. 'Put me down for one kennel space. Actually, make that two spaces.'
The guy went to say something but was drowned out by the liner's klaxon, this blaring moan. Karen waited for it and wasn't disappointed, Anna's howl echoing faintly through the port as the klaxon died away. The guy telling her she needed to get to the ship fast, it was pulling out in ten minutes, he'd ring ahead and tell them she was coming.
She jogged back through the port, dusk
thickening now. Into the little park, hearing a murmur of conversation even before she got all the way round the shrubbery to the bench facing out over the ornamental lake, the little fountain. Then realised, coming all the way around, it wasn't a conversation as such. A tall guy, skinny, flicking these amber beads and asking Pyle where the wolf's owner was while Pyle spoke in low tones to Anna, one hand on her collar. Anna with a baleful glitter in her one good eye.
Karen breezed by the Greek, saying, 'Hey, you're looking for me?'
The Greek turned, adjusting his stance so he could keep Karen and Pyle in view. Except Karen went straight to Pyle, the bench, patting Anna as she hunkered down at the khaki duffel, unzipped it. She said, over her shoulder to the Greek, 'You mind if I ask you something?'
The guy shrugged, frowning now.
Karen came up holding the .38, aiming it two-handed at the guy's groin. 'What's the worst idea you've ever had?' she said.
'This one, probably.' The guy cool, still flicking his beads.
'Back up,' she said, advancing. 'Keep going,' she said when he came up against the shrubbery. He ducked his head reversing into the loose foliage, pushing back until they emerged into the little clearing, the soil dusty brown. 'Sit down,' she said.
'In this suit?' the Greek said, a dry leaf trapped above his right ear.
Karen cocked the .38. The Greek shrugged, pocketed his beads and folded himself up, the guy like an ironing board going down. 'Grab your ankles,' Karen said, then went around behind, patted him down. Came up with a stubby black automatic he had holstered under his left armpit. 'Heckler & Koch nine millimeter,' she said, 'the P-7.'
'You know your guns,' he said.
'It says it on the side.' Karen tucked the gun into her waistband and patted the guy's breast pocket, found his wallet, worn leather, hefty. 'You shouldn't carry that in your breast pocket,' she told the Greek, backing away. 'Good suit like that, you'll ruin the cut.'
'I'll remember that,' he said.
'Remember I know where you live now. What's your name?'
'Niko.'
'Okay, Niko, the snazzy little holster's telling me you're a cop. Except, this was an official gig, you'd have back-up. How come you're on your own?'
Maybe I'm not.'
'I saw your guys just now,' Karen said, 'when the Albanians made their break. So I'm guessing your Greek cop is about as patient as cops anywhere else, as subtle. You had a partner, he'd have shot me dead by now.'
'I heard a dog howling,' Niko said, 'it sounded like some dog. So I came to take a look.'
'Bullshit.' Karen on an adrenaline buzz, trying to figure the guy's accent. 'Where's Doyle?'
'Doyle?'
Karen, still behind him, placed the muzzle of the .38 against his exposed neck. 'Just so we're clear,' she said. 'Everything in the world I care about is right here. It looks like anyone's taking that away, you won't get to see it happen.' She forced his head forward so it hung down over his chest. 'I won't ask again. Where's Doyle?'
'I don't know.'
'But she's here in Athens, right?'
'She was, yes. Now she's supposed to be on Santorini.'
'Supposed to be?'
'She was there. She's gone now.'
'And you don't know where.'
'No.'
Karen considered. 'I got two options here,' she said. 'One, you promise to behave, I can take you along. Or, it looks like you're going to start causing problems, I can do you now.'
Niko shrugged. 'I was asked to do a friend a favour,' he said. 'That's all I'm in for.'
Karen called, 'Pyle?'
'Uh-huh?'
'There's some pills in the front pocket of the duffel, a bottle of water. Mind bringing me them?'
Karen made it a treble dose, just to be on the safe side. Twenty minutes later, Niko snoring gently, she was tucking the guy's Heckler back into the holster, wiped down, the wallet into his hip pocket. The liner's lights still visible, just about, when she stepped out of the laurel.
'Sorry you got involved,' she said.
Pyle shrugged. 'Looks like you missed your cruise.'
'I'll catch it up.' She consulted the itinerary. 'It gets into Paros tomorrow morning, first stop.'
'You think that's smart?' Pyle said. 'I mean, I don't know what's going on but you just doped a cop, waving a gun around. Think they'll let that slide?'
Karen thought about that. Realising now, with the cruise gone, she hadn't thought much about what'd happen after she hooked up with Madge again.
'What d'you suggest?' she said.
'Skip the cruise, that's first. I was you, I'd go to ground, get Anna here squirreled away safe. Pick an island, any island. Just so long as it's not Paros.'
'Except it doesn't matter if I skip the cruise,' Karen said, 'when I'm booking Anna on board. First thing they'll ask when they're checking the booking offices is where'd the wolf go.'
'So don't book her on.'
'I'm not leaving her behind, Pyle. She's the whole point I'm here.'
Pyle shook his head. 'You're not seeing it. You need to rent a van, something spacious. Then book it on, you and me, Anna's hid away. Although,' he said, 'it'd probably be better if I was the one rented the van, did the booking.'
'You and me?'
'If I'm not sticking in where I'm not wanted.'
'I thought you had to sketch the Acropolis.'
'It's been there thousands of years,' Pyle said. 'Where's it likely to go?'
Rossi
'Two ways we can do this,' Ray said. 'My way or the hard way.'
'There's a hard way now?' Sleeps said.
Ray laying it out, the sneaky fuck admitting, juiced up now holding the cannon on Rossi, he knew where Karen'd gone. 'But how could there be no cops?' Rossi said, hardly daring to believe it.
'Not all over,' Ray said. 'I mean, there's cops, Crete's a big island. But down on the south coast, the south-west? People basically look out for themselves.'
'Man, that's beautiful. I mean, it's a thing of fuckin beauty.'
'And makes it all the more likely,' Ray said, 'Karen'll talk a three-way split. I mean, who's she squawking to?'
'Three ways,' Sleeps said.
'Karen gets some,' Ray said, 'I get some, you get some.'
'There's three of us,' Sleeps said, 'including Mel.'
'So you're splitting your split.'
'Which is how much?' Rossi said.
'About forty grand.'
'Each?'
Ray shook his head.
'Shit,' Rossi said.
'By the time this is over,' Sleeps said, 'we're going to wind up owing money.'
The rear door swung open and Melody climbed in. She distributed the tickets, sullen, still pissed at Ray for ratting out Karen.
'So what time do we leave?' Ray said.
'Half past midnight,' she said. 'Getting into Heraklion at eleven-forty tomorrow.'
'When can we board?'
'Any time.'
'Okay,' Ray said. 'Sleeps?'
'Where to?'
'Dock seven,' Mel said. Sleeps eased along the quay, turned in at dock seven, waving back at the guy guiding him up the ramp.
'You don't think Karen has enough grief in her life?' Mel asked Ray.
'Karen thrives on grief,' Ray said, as Sleeps drove up to the end of the orange-lit parking area. 'Grief's what keeps her going. Anyway, in the long run? She'll be better off knowing she can relax, Rossi won't turn up some day she's not expecting him.'
'She didn't rip me off in the first place,' Rossi said, 'I wouldn't be chasing her nowhere.'
'That's a point,' Ray said. 'Gary? You want to get tight against the wall, man. Last thing we want is someone clipping the car, insurance details being asked for, drawing down heat.'
Rossi, grudging it, had to admit Ray had style. Real cool, this one-armed bandit holding a cannon on Rossi but still thinking ahead, worrying about insurance details. Now using, Rossi couldn't help but notice, his busted arm to unzip the hold-all.
'Hey,' Rossi said. 'I thought your arm was broke.'
'Arm's busted,' Ray agreed. 'The hand's fine, though.' He pulled the strap of the hold-all over his head, placed the Uzi inside. Then opened the door and stepped out of the car. 'See y'all up on deck,' he drawled, closing the door.
'The fuck's he going?' Rossi said, shoving his door open. Then heard it clang against the metal wall.
By the time he got Sleeps out of the driver's seat and crawled across, chased up the steep metal steps, found his way out onto the top deck, Ray was already at the rail with the hold-all dangling from his shoulder at waist height and pointed at Rossi.
'She isn't on Crete,' Rossi said, 'is she?'
'I told you, she ran out. She could be anywhere. And that's far enough.'
Ray raising the Uzi out of the hold-all a little, so Rossi could see his finger on the trigger. Except Rossi'd taken grief all his life, about Italian tanks, how they had fifteen reverse gears, all this. And up here, in full view of the quays? Ray was shooting no one.
He kept going. 'You know I'm right, Ray. Be honest now. I'm owed.'
'Karen tells it different.'
'Karen who ran out on you.'
'Don't do it, Rossi.'
They'd carve it on his headstone. Don't do it, Rossi.
'Do what?' he said. 'All we're doing's talking, right?'
Ray backing off now. The space behind him narrowing, the decks squeezed between the rail and the big black funnel. Rossi giving away fifty, maybe sixty pounds, three or four inches in height. But Ray had that busted arm.
'Something you should know, Rossi.'
'What's that?' Rossi measuring the distance. Another two, three steps ...
'This isn't Sicily.'
'Fuck're you talking about?'
'You're in Greece.'
Rossi felt a rumbling beneath his feet and made up his mind, fake left, dive right. He put his hands up, palms out, said, 'We can sort this, Ray. One pro to another. We can do a deal here.'
'What kind of deal?'
'Fifty-fifty split. She's fucked you, she's fucked me. So we fuck her back.'
'I'm retired,' Ray said but Rossi was already lunging. This as the klaxon blared, the funnel juddering. Rossi aiming for the hold-all, the Uzi and Ray's bogey arm, the one he'd have trouble swinging up fast enough to …
