by Alex A King
He looked at me like I was out of my tree for asking. Maybe I was, but it mattered.
“I’m going to be sick.”
And I was. I doubled over and unleashed a torrent of regret, disgust, and lamb souvlaki all over Grandma’s gardenias.
~ ~ ~
Back in Grandma’s kitchen:
“I’m sorry I puked in your gardenias.”
Grandma said, “It is a lucky thing gardenias like acid soil.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then I kind of did you a favor?”
“Too far,” she said. Hey, it was worth a shot.
“She was going to kill you.”
“She could have tried, and she would not have been the first. Your father saved me one time—did you know? We were coming out of Ayia Aikaterini in Makria.”
Ayia Aikaterini, or Saint Catherine, was our namesake. Most Greeks had saints’ names. Those who didn’t had worthless, ungrateful parents. Names were heirlooms passed down from paternal grandparents to the firstborn children, from maternal parents to the next two. Any extra children were lucky enough to score their own names, not the hand-me-downs their older siblings were lumped with. I was an only child. Katerina it was, although I didn’t know it was my grandmother’s name until recently. I’d figured it was regular Greek name my parents had agreed on.
“Baby Dimitri told me.”
Her eyebrow rose to a sharp, dangerous angle. “Did he? He always talks too much, that one.”
“He said it was some guy called ... Kefalas, I think it was.”
Grandma nodded. “George Kefalas. It was political, not personal. We Greeks are very passionate about our politics, and if the other guy does not vote the same way ... po-po. Big problem. People have tried before to kill me. That is the business. It happens in so-called respectable business, too, only they dress it up like a suicide or like some random person went crazy with a gun. Yes, Katerina, they have tried before. Maybe one day they will succeed, but not today, eh? Because today you were a fast, clever thinker.”
“I wasn’t really thinking. Mostly I was terrified.”
“And yet somehow you managed, because you have my blood in you.”
And the German woman’s blood all over me. Basically, blood was a bit of an issue right now; I wasn’t a fan.
There was a soft tap on the screen door. Xander was standing on the other side. His white shirt was flecked with red. His black pants looked damp in places. I knew it was blood, not water.
“Go with Xander,” Grandma said. “He will take care of you. And when you come back we will have coffee.”
“I could use a coffee.” My voice wobbled out.
Xander opened the door.
“Then go,” Grandma said.
I went.
~ ~ ~
Xander took me back to his man-cave for a good time. On this occasion, a good time involved a long, hot shower and big, fluffy towels. I leaned my head against the shower wall as the water worked its magic. I kept my eyes shut tight. If I opened them I’d see worms of blood wriggling toward the drain. Not mine, but knowing it was someone else’s—someone who would have killed me—didn’t cheer me up. Mostly I just felt a bone-deep sadness for the dead woman.
Partially boiled, I stepped out of the shower. On the inside of the door Xander had hung a dress—one of my sundresses. It was bright, almost offensively yellow, under the grim circumstances. I toweled off, ran a comb that wasn’t mine through my hair. I snooped through the medicine cabinet and under the sink for signs of life. Apparently Xander shaved, used deodorant, and occasionally suffered from indigestion. So either he was human ... or faking humanity with these human trinkets. I put on the dress Xander had left for me. Then I looked around. Something was missing. Like, my underwear.
I gathered up my bloody clothes and stuffed them into the plastic bag Xander had also left for me. I wasn’t sure who did laundry around here, but my dirty clothes had a way of vanishing, then magically reappearing hours later in pristine condition. Maybe Grandma had some real-life equivalent of house elves. I wouldn’t put it past her, or Greece, to have mystical little creatures that did laundry and other light housework.
Xander was in the kitchen leaning against the counter, tapping periodically on his cellphone. He looked up when I walked in. His face remained expressionless.
“Thanks for the shower and the dress. There’s just one little thing missing. Two, actually.
The bastard smirked. Not a greasy, creepy smirk, but one of those sexy smirks only seriously delicious guys are capable of pulling off. The animal part of my brain was suddenly glad he’d forgotten the underwear. My animal brain could be a real idiot. Thankfully, the woman part was still in control of this vessel.
Xander didn’t exactly launch himself at me, but one second he was over there, then next second he was directly in front of me. I was getting a good whiff of the cologne I’d sniffed in his bathroom. It smelled like broken hearts and missing underwear. He inched closer until I was stuck between a wall and a hard man. His hand moved between us. He grabbed the bag of bloody clothes. His eyes went darker, as though he could read exactly what was happening in my head—lots of sweaty, naked imagery, mostly—then he backed off, taking my laundry with him. He vanished into the bathroom. I heard the hiss of the shower starting back up again.
A sigh slipped out of my lungs as the pressure eased. No robot lovin’ for me today. That was good and bad, but mostly good.
Greece was making me man-crazy. And also the regular kind of crazy.
~ ~ ~
I was back in courtyard at the scene of the crime, underwear comfortably in place. The paramedics were putting a human puzzle back together. There were cops around of every stripe. Guns were one thing; bombs were another. Bombs were potential terrorism territory, and the world was twitchy. Most of the questions were aimed at me, seeing as how I’d been the only one to speak with her. I went over and over it again, until my tongue was numb and my brain was Swiss cheese. When they realized the story wasn’t going to change no matter how many times I told it, they moved on to the other guests and family members—although a good number of the guests had long fled. Cops had a way of making career criminals jumpy.
Finally the bigger guns left, leaving me with Police Sergeant Pappas.
“Melas isn’t going to be happy about this.” He stood there wagging his head, like an oversized, mournful dog. “He really wanted to find her.”
“He can still find her, only she’ll be in the morgue and in pieces. Have you seen him?”
He jerked his chin up. “He’ll surface when it’s safe.”
“He should be safe now that she’s dead—right?”
His eye twitched. “You didn’t hear? The third German broke out. Or someone broke him out. Either way ... gone.”
Oh boy. So much for security. “When?”
“This morning. Early. We don’t know what time exactly.”
“You don’t have security cameras? They have timestamps.”
“We have cameras, but they're there for show.” He looked depressed. “It costs money to run those things. Our boss made us choose between working security cameras and toilet paper. I voted for the cameras because I have bathroom anxiety and can’t go anywhere except at home.”
That was way too much information.
“So now we’ve got two dead Germans and one on the loose?”
“He will show up,” Pappas said with confidence.
That’s what I was afraid of. I didn’t want him to show up anywhere near me or anywhere near anyone I liked. “What happened to the guard who was supposed to be watching him?”
“He had to go to the bathroom. He was watching TV on his phone with headphones on.”
Of course he was. I wanted to thunk my head on the nearest wall. Unfortunately the nearest wall was still covered in blood spatter and bits of leather.
Pappas stood there for a moment, arms dangling, face uncertain. He opened his mouth and
closed it a time or two before committing to speaking. “Irini, my wife, she wants you to come for drinks this evening.”
Irini. Adorable Irini. Whose sister was Melas’s former lover.
“Melas told me about her sister,” I said uncomfortably.
“That is between them. I just nod my head when my wife and her sister yell at me. Life is easier that way.” He wandered away, leaving me at the mercy of Takis, who was gravitating toward my side.
Takis made an unimpressed face at the wall. “I give her six out of ten. Her head was still attached.”
“Ugh,” I said, horrified. “What’s wrong with you?”
“If you do not laugh at these things they make you crazy.”
“Is that what happened to you?
Just then, Lopez and Bishop swung back into the courtyard, flashing their badges. People actually moved aside—the idiots.
“They have no jurisdiction in this country,” I yelled. “Ignore them.”
The paramedics shrugged and got back to work, shutting the Oregonian cops out.
“It was worth a shot,” Lopez said, all loose and easygoing for a guy built like a slab of Kobe beef.
“What are you two doing back here?” I demanded.
“We’re not back. We never left. We’ve been taking a look around, asking questions.”
Uh oh ... “Get any answers?”
“Naw. Funny how suddenly nobody speaks English after you told us they did.”
“They speak English,” I said. “They just don’t speak nosy-cop-with-no- jurisdiction-in-Greece. Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying?”
“All the time. That’s the idea. Bug someone enough and they spit up out of sheer frustration.”
“Yo, it’s psychology,” Bishop said.
“I don’t even know what goods you want!”
Lopez said, “We want to know about our buddy.”
“The cop? I told you—I don’t know!”
“Then we’re sticking around until your father shows up. We’re thinking he knows how a dead cop wound up in the captain’s trunk.”
Heh. About that ... I couldn’t exactly say that was nothing to do with Dad and everything to do with Takis and a godfather’s teenage nephew. Like it not, Takis was family. I wasn’t about to dump him in the poop, even if these two clowns had no jurisdiction here.
“Wow, that’s some bad luck.” Hands on hips, I shook my head. “In your captain’s trunk, huh? I don’t suppose he did it?”
“The Captain is a good guy.”
“Wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Bishop said.
Lopez rocked back on his heels. “Unless that fly was digging around in his pocket, acting like he was about to pull out a gun. Then he’d shoot the shit out of that fucker.”
“What if it turned out to not be a gun?”
Lopez shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Nobody is right all the time.”
“Well, you guys are going to be bored if you follow me around.”
“I don’t know, your life here looks exciting to us.” Lopez pointed a finger gun at me. “Be seeing ya. You remember anything or see your old man, just look over your shoulder. We’ll be there. We’ll be everywhere.”
~ ~ ~
I needed air and I needed it fresh, without a hint of blood, guts, or explosives. Also, I wanted it alone, but that wasn’t happening. Before I reached the arch, Marika leaped out from behind the fountain, in what she considered her new bodyguard uniform.
“Where are we going?” she said, breathless with anticipation and excitement.
“First I have to look at mug shots, then I was thinking I’d do some spying.”
“I like spying, especially on Takis. Are we spying on Takis?”
“Baby Dimitri’s shop.”
“What are we spying for? Secrets?”
I told her and she adjusted her grip on her shoulder bag. “Good thing I brought the supplies.”
I eyed the bag. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a great camera in there?”
“No, just guns, snacks, tissues, and servietas, in case someone gets shot. After that Rigas shooting I want to be prepared.”
“A maxi pad wouldn’t have helped Rigas. His brother shot him in the head.”
“The servieta is for me. Last time I spilled my coffee.”
I looked at her, brows raised.
“What? It was good coffee. I hate to waste good coffee when someone else is making it. Nobody ever makes me coffee.”
That didn’t seem right. “What about Mother’s Day?”
“Mother’s Day. Ha! I tell you about Mother’s Day ...” She leveraged herself into the Beetle’s passenger seat, dumped her bag of goodies on the floor between her feet. “On the Mother’s Day, Takis and the boys tell me what they want for breakfast, just like every other day. No card. No present. No nothing. Not even 'Thank you for having pity sex with our worthless father and not swallowing', that is what.”
Yowza. Poor Marika. No wonder she’d rather tag along and hurl herself into harm’s way. “I used to make Mom pancakes.”
“No pancakes for me—only nagging. Let us go before I kill my husband for fun.”
I turned the key and the Beetle came alive. Behind us, Elias was wedging himself behind the wheel of something small, sporty, and black. Most of the Family’s cars were black. Mobsters didn’t seem like they were into colors, unless it was blood red or blood.
A face appeared in the rearview mirror. “Where are we going, bitches?”
I screamed. It had already been that kind of day, and it was barely halfway over. In the same moment, twenty guns appeared, all of them aimed at Donk, and held by various family members stationed around the property.
“What’s aaaaap?” Donk said.
“Give me a second,” Marika said, rifling through her bag. “My gun is caught on the strap.”
“It’s just Donk.” I shot daggers at him with my eyes. “Don’t waste the bullet, I want to kill him by hand.”
“You look angry,” he said. “Is it that time of the month?”
“Get out,” I said. “Now.”
He slouched back in the seat, arms behind his head. “Where are we going?”
“We aren’t going anywhere. Marika and I are going shopping.”
“Good idea. Is that supposed to be fashion? Your clothes stink—both of you.” He tapped Marika on the shoulder. “But especially yours. I don’t think they make clothes in your size, though. Good news, there’s a camping store in Volos.”
Marika was still struggling with her gun and the handbag’s strap. She gave it a yank and it popped free, the barrel sailing past my head as I ducked. It smacked Donk directly in the forehead. He let out a small, “Oof,” and collapsed in the seat.
Marika got a grip on her gun. “I think I killed him, and I did not even have to shoot. That is pretty clever. I wonder if Takis can beat that?”
I was pretty sure when it came to killing, everything she could do Takis could do better. Takis was a moron but he wasn’t stupid.
“He’s not dead, but maybe we should run him by the hospital ...”
Donk groaned and sat up. “Where are we going, bitches? What’s aaaaaap?”
Marika sniffed. “Seems fine to me.”
I eased the Beetle up to the gates and waited for them to swing open. While I was waiting I delivered the bad news about our second destination.
“Okay,” Donk said. “You can let me out now.”
“Fat chance. You got in my car—you’re stuck with us now, until we say so.”
~ ~ ~
Police Sergeant Pappas had me flip through an entire nation of criminals, but none of the faces belonged to the third man from Baby Dimitri's shop. The trip wasn't entirely wasted: Pappas pointed out a couple of cousins I hadn't met yet, seeing as how they were doing life.
Afterward, the three of us cruised along the waterfront. Penka’s usual stoop adjacent the beach was empty—unusual for her. She liked this spot because refreshments were close by and it attrac
ted a classier clientele, people who could afford to pay cash for things like Adderall and whatever Ambien was called in this dry, jagged part of the world. Even drug dealers needed time off to be people, I supposed. Penka stretched her clothes to their limits, so maybe she was out shopping for something more resilient.
The Beetle didn’t blend well with traffic, so I parked it down the street and round the corner, outside a video store not too far from Baby Dimitri’s shop. A quick glance in the video store’s window said that in this part of Greece it was still 1990. VHS was not only relevant, but still king of home movies. Donk gawked as I tried to describe VCRs and the pain in the ass that was waiting for the tapes to rewind when some jackass returned it to the store without rewinding.
“How did you fit something that big in your iPhone?”
“Kid,” I said. “There were no iPhones. There were no cellphones, except big clunky bricks that could snap your arm like a twig.”
“Fack you,” he said, “I lift.”
“Lift what? Feathers?”
“I lift, too,” Marika said. She picked him up by the waist and dumped him back in the car. “Sit. Stay. Good doggie. Maybe we will bring you a bone, eh?”
Elias had parked not far from us. He hung back as we walked, the theory being he would see danger coming if he was at a distance. The whole ‘bigger picture’ angle. We wandered along the beach far enough that I could see Baby Dimitri’s shop but he couldn’t see us unless he was paying attention. It was a risk I was willing to take. Given that my boobs were fully covered and not nearly as big as my head, I figured he wouldn’t notice unremarkable me. Marika ... she was hard to miss, but she did nonchalance well. She’d hidden most of her face behind big glasses, the rest of it concealed by a sun-blotting ice cream cone.
“I never get to eat all my ice cream,” she said between licks. She was making up for lost dessert.
We parked ourselves on a vacant bench, swooping in as a family of red-skinned tourists ambled away, dazed by the sun and heat. I’d brought a book so I had something to peek over.
“Say something funny,” Marika said.
“Like what?”
“It won’t be funny if I tell you what to say. I want to be surprised.”
