Doing Crime: A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel

by Alex A King

  “What about this guy?”

  I glanced at Elias. “Friend.”

  “You sure about that? Because he acts like he’s something more.”

  “He’s not.

  “If you was to ask me, I’d say he acts like a bodyguard.”

  I relaxed and tensed up at the same time. “Huh. That’s weird.”

  “And I’d have to ask myself why a girl like you would need a guy who acts like a bodyguard.”

  I turned around in my seat. “I thought you said you were stupid.”

  “Hey, that’s not what I said. Not in those words, anyway. There’s an awful lot of territory between not always the sharpest and the stupidest guy in the room.”

  “He’s not a bodyguard,” I said. “He’s just a weirdo. Can’t you tell by the outfit?”

  “Thanks,” Elias said in Greek.

  “Necessity is the mother of invention and the cool uncle of lies.” To Lopez: “Can we drop you somewhere?”

  “Naw. My ride is back at your place behind a tree.”

  “I hope you marked it. Grandma’s got a lot of trees.”

  He laughed like I was nuts. “Of course I remember. Can’t be a cop without a memory like a bucket of razorblades.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Half an hour later: “Fuck. Fuck me to tears. I know I left it right here.” There was movement in the trees. “Or maybe it was here.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Another half hour later: “Fuck. You know what I like about Greece? Leaving. And I ain’t even fucking done that yet.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ten minutes later: “Okay. Okay. I got it! Thank fuck.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The compound’s courtyard was a place where anything could happen. Animals could leap out at you. Relatives, too. This late at night everyone was working their way towards bed, so there was quiet except for the usual ambient noise: the hum of the pool filter, the babbling fountains, the soft snuffling of dogs as they determined Elias and I were Elias and me—or however the grammar in that sentence was supposed to work.

  Tonight, nothing happened. I was grateful. It was a day where too much had already happened. I didn’t need this much action in my life. Binge-watching Netflix my idea of a perfect night.

  Grandma was in the kitchen nibbling on the edge of a koulouraki when I walked into her hovel. Her pupils were black saucers and it looked like she had a mild case of pinkeye.

  “Be careful when you go into your room, eh? I put something in there for you.”

  “Is it bigger than a breadbox?”

  She looked at me, shook her head sadly. “You are my blood and my only granddaughter, but you can be a strange one. It is bigger than bread. And you can look, but do not touch.”

  “Is it Melas?”

  “Surprise,” she said. She kissed me goodnight and shuffled out to the outhouse. I made a mental note to talk to Aunt Rita about moving Grandma into the main building, where she wouldn’t have to go outside to the bathroom.

  So Melas was here, huh? What did he want?

  Sure enough, the detective was propped up on my bed, enjoying the comfort of my pillows. He crooked his finger at me, patted the bed.

  Yeah, that was going to happen, especially now, when the memory of Hera, living goddess and she of the perfect boobs, was fresh in my head.

  “You might have mentioned Hera is the living embodiment of Aphrodite, and also NIS.”

  “Jealous?” He grinned. Yeah, that grin of his was definitely on the wicked side. He was already enjoying this and I wasn’t even fired up yet.

  “Ha! No.”

  “Because it sounds to me like you’re jealous. You’re even doing the arm thing.”

  “What arm thing?” I looked down. My arms were folded.

  “The arm fold. Your body is screaming, I’m jealous.”

  I scoffed at that. Okay, so I was a teensy bit envious that she was everything I wasn’t, but that didn’t mean I was jealous. They weren’t together anymore and Melas and I weren’t going places anyway. So what was my problem? I didn’t have one. So there. Very mature of me to be so practical about Hera, her boobs, and her goodie-two-shoes secret agent gig.

  I prized my arms apart and dug around in my bag to show him just how not jealous I was. I tossed his phone on the bed. It landed with a soft plop.

  “Just so you know, your mother tried to crack the code.”

  The edges of his lips quirked. “She wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t try.”

  “For the record, I didn’t try.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

  “I’m not that curious about you or your life.” Ha-ha. Good joke, Kat.

  “Maybe I’d like you to be.”

  I slouched against the dresser, as far away from him as I could get in this room. “Here we go again. Same old circle.”

  “I like chasing you around the circle. You like it, too. Want to take a break and make out?”

  There was a tap on the shutters. “No kissing or you will get the guillotine.” Grandma was out of the outhouse. A moment later I heard the kitchen’s screen door slap the frame.

  Yes. “No.”

  “Too much temptation?”

  “Too much Grandma with sharp implements and guns. Too much common sense.”

  “There’s nothing common about you, Katerina.”

  He was laying it on thick, but I was too tired to bite. “Does Greece have a missing persons registry?”

  He frowned. “Yeah, we have one. Why? Who’s missing?”

  I told him about Penka and Bishop. That frown hardened. Goodbye lust, hello cop mode.

  “A missing drug dealer isn’t strange around here—or anywhere. Hazard of the job. But the missing cop is weird. We don’t go down without a fight.”

  “You think a professional grabbed him?”

  “Wait—we don’t know that he was, yet. For all we know, him and his partner had a fight and he stormed off. Or maybe he got sick of following you around and went home.”

  “Lopez seemed genuinely concerned. I gave him Pappas’s card and told him to call.”

  Melas nodded. “Pappas is a good man and a good cop. He’ll help if he can—if it’s even necessary. Probably your guy has found himself a working girl. As for Penka, she’s been locked up before and she’s probably in the lockup now. And if she’s not careful she’ll get herself locked up someplace worse.”

  “She only sells prescription drugs. It’s not like they’re drug drugs. There are levels ... or so I’ve heard.”

  “Morally, maybe. But the law doesn’t care. It’s black or it’s white. Drugs are drugs. They’ll lock her up for life. In Penka’s case they’ll probably deport her to save Greece the money.”

  I chewed on my lip. No flavor, zero calories. “Why did you and Hera break up?

  His frowned straightened up its act and sprawled into a lazy, satisfied grin. “Reasons.”

  “Very descriptive.”

  “Why did you and your last boyfriend break up?”

  “Turned out we both liked men.”

  He winced. “Not good.”

  I shrugged off his concern. “Better to find out before than after the wedding.”

  “Things with Hera were complicated,” he said. “We were both working a lot of hours. There wasn’t time to build anything.”

  Oof. “So you’d be together if there was time?”

  He laughed. “No. Look, Hera is gorgeous. She’s nice, too. And my family loved her. But it was never going to work. She wasn’t special to me.”

  “Your mother still loves her.” He shot me a curious look. “Hera was at the hospital today. She was going as I was coming.”

  The frown made a comeback. “She was at the hospital?”

  “When I saw her at the Pappas house she told me she’d been there every day.”

  “She doesn’t know it’s not me in the bed?”

  “If she knows she didn’t say. She acted like it was really you. Why?”

  “I haven’t seen H
era in a couple of years, not since it ended.”

  “Volos isn’t that big a place, you don’t see her around?” And maybe bang her as a friends-with-benefits thing one in a while?

  “She lives and works in Athens, which tells you why there was a time issue. Not exactly a local girl. There’s no reason for her to be here unless it’s family or business—and apart from Irini she doesn’t have family here.”

  “So maybe she was visiting her sister.”

  He laughed. “I said she was nice, not a saint.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with Irini?”

  “She’s a handful.”

  I snorted. “I’d say two. And maybe an industrial strength bucket.”

  “Hera and Irini aren’t close. They tolerate each other.”

  “They seemed fine to me.”

  “Well, maybe things have changed, although I doubt it’s Irini. Anyway, you’ve got nothing to worry about with Hera. Right now she’s here, but soon she’ll be gone again.”

  “I’ll be gone soon, too, as soon as I find Dad.”

  His voice softened. “I’m hoping you’ll change your mind.”

  That was Melas, trying to transform something complicated into something easy, just for the sake of sex. “My life is there. My—” Job? Family? Home? I was temporarily unemployed after the collection agency I worked for burned down and its owner broke his legs. The only family I had in the states was Dad, and he was missing. As for my home, the home I knew was my parents’ house. I had no roots of my own—just an apartment I hadn’t moved into yet, and that had also not-so-mysteriously burst into flames.

  I stifled a sniffle. I was in dire need of a time machine and I didn’t know any mad scientists.

  Melas looked mildly alarmed. “Are you ... crying?”

  “Allergies.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “What are you allergic to?”

  “Greece. You. Everything. Pick one.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Time wandered onwards. Melas bailed, and eventually the sandman flicked a handful of dust in my face. When I woke, I was surprised that I’d fallen asleep at all. I slouched into the kitchen to find Grandma picking at the tablecloth.

  “So how did it go with the guy you wanted me to meet?”

  “You were not here,” she said sourly.

  “Yeah, I had somewhere to be. I did tell you.”

  “You could have cancelled.”

  “Would you have?”

  “No. It is rude to cancel.”

  I raised my brows. “Oh really?”

  “That is different,” she said. “I am your grandmother. I want what is best for you.”

  “No. You want what is best for you and the Family, and if that turns out to be what’s best for me ... bonus. If not, you think I’ll get over it. Am I close?”

  She made a non-committal sound that bore a distinct lean towards, Yes.

  “I’m here because I want to be,” I went on. “I’m here because from here I have a better shot at finding Dad. And when I’ve found him, I’m going home. I’m not here to hunt for husbands—especially not husbands chosen by someone else. This is all about Dad. I’m my own person, no matter who you are, no matter how powerful you are, no matter if you’ve got long squiggly arms that stretch all over the world, like Mr. Tickle.”

  “Who?”

  I waved my hand. “He’s a character in a children’s book.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s annoying.”

  “Like me, eh?”

  Despite myself, I smiled. “Maybe a bit.”

  Pick, pick at the tablecloth. What she needed was a set of koboloi—worry beads. Although maybe that was a men-only thing; I wasn’t sure.

  “I was not always this way, Katerina. Once, I was a girl. A fool of a girl, with dreams of love and free will. Then my parents arranged for me to marry your grandfather.”

  Whoa! Who knew? Not me. “You could have turned him down.”

  “Different times, my girl. Different times. In those days you could stay and marry the wrong man, or run away.”

  “So you married the wrong man?”

  “Who is to say? Then ... I thought so. Now ... who can say? Either way, it does not matter.”

  “Was there a right man?”

  She scoffed at that. “Get out of here, Katerina. Go breathe fresh air. Swim. Relax a little, eh? You are wound tight.”

  “Who me?” I never thought of myself as a tense person before. Probably because ... oh ... I been pretty chilled before Grandma and Greece. This place and these circumstances were making me crazy.

  “Who else? Maybe you should eat more of my special koulourakia, eh?” She winked.

  Ha! Just what I needed. Greece was dangerous enough to navigate with all my faculties in order. Load me up with grass and booze and I’d wind up in the sack with Melas ... or in one of the tidy cells in the police building. It wouldn’t be the first time. Melas had recently stuffed me into a cell for the crime of being annoying while being loud. I’d jumped on his desk and kicked stuff.

  “Uh, no thanks,” I said. “And you better not overdo it either. You were getting pretty friendly with the dogs and cats yesterday.”

  “I was not.”

  “There are pictures. Possibly even video.”

  “That was my evil twin.” Her eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say evil. That Grandma was kind of funny. You’re interesting without a filter.”

  She slapped the air. “Get out before I grab my broom. Then you will be sorry.”

  “Before I go, who was he? The guy, I mean. The one you wanted me to meet.”

  Mona Lisa hijacked her face for a moment to deliver one of those mysterious smiles. “You should have been here, Katerina. Maybe you will find out another time, eh?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Hoping Marika had settled back into sidekick mode, I knocked. Takis yanked the door open. Someone had shoved his wiener in a socket, judging from the state of his hair. He had the wild-eyed, desperate look of a stay-at-home mom after a week of being snowed-in with her five children under ten.

  “Where is Marika?” he demanded.

  I peered past him. It was a jungle in there. Their kids had multiplied; now they were a horde. Mysterious stains had appeared on the walls. An unnatural stench hovered in the air, waiting to pounce and smother anyone who entered. I stepped back. The odor followed me out.

  “She’s not here?”

  “Does it look like my wife is here, where she belongs?”

  I thought about it. “Is this one of those trick questions?”

  He slammed the door in my face. “When you see my wife, tell her to get her fat kolos home,” he yelled.

  My next stop was Stavros’s apartment. He opened the door just a slit, bleary-eyed.

  “If you were Marika, where would you be?” I asked him.

  “Shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “I like shopping.”

  I liked shopping, too, except when I had to do it. Then it was drudgery. But I didn’t think Marika would be shopping, not without me. My heart fluttered with mild panic. Missing people all around me—Donk, Penka, Bishop—people no one would miss, except I was missing them, wasn’t I?

  But Marika ... People would miss her. She was Family.

  I fired a text message at her phone and waited in the courtyard for a few minutes, hoping she’d reply. Zip. The last I’d heard she was headed to church to pray for her sons’ souls and futures. That was yesterday evening. For sure she’d go to Saint Catherine’s in Makria. It was the closest church; the priest was practically Family. Makria was a short jaunt away, so I jumped into my car and came this close to fleeing without a bodyguard.

  “Katerina!”

  It was Elias. He was hanging out with the cousins in charge of the family fleet of cars, playing backgammon.

  “I’m just going up to Makria. Enjoy your game,” I said. “Makria is Grandma’s town. I’ll be fine.”

  Weren
’t those famous last words or something?

  Chapter 15

  Makria was one of those bucolic villages put on earth so that people could send postcards home and rave about how perfect Greece is. The tiny village had two main streets that met at perfectly crossed roads. To my knowledge, which was admittedly limited, nobody had sold their soul to the devil there. It was nothing more than a spot where you had four choices: go visiting, go celebrate and buy souvenirs at the village square, go to church, or get out of town.

  When I reached Makria’s crossroads Hera was standing there, looking cool in a white linen sheath and kitten heels. I hated kitten heels. They couldn’t commit to being flats or heels, so they fell awkwardly somewhere in between, waiting to snap my ankle. That she made them seem comfortable, practical, and beautiful made me want to shove her off the mountain and watch her body hit every rock on the way down.

  I ducked behind a spinning rack of postcards but it was too late—she’d spotted me and she was walking my way.

  “Katerina? Buying postcards?”

  “I collect them. Some people collect stamps, I collect postcards.”

  “Really? How many have you got?”

  “Oh ...” I tried to sound vague and not at all like a lying ass. “About three hundred.”

  “Impressive. I collect men who won’t commit.” She laughed and touched a hand to her perfectly sleek French twist. Her hair was yellow, like a banana. “And men who complain that I won’t commit.”

  “There’s someone for everyone.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “My grandmother believes so.”

  Her face settled into an interested expression. “What’s it like being Baboulas’s only granddaughter? I’ve always wondered.”

  “Not sure yet. I’m new to the position. Wait ...” I looked at her. “Always wondered? I didn’t know until a few weeks ago.”

  “As an alleged agent for the NIS, it’s my job to know everything. Or it would be, if I worked for them. We—they—have the one of the biggest criminal databases in the world. What they don’t know about Baboulas would fit on the head of a pin.”

  “That much, huh?”

  She shrugged. I didn’t know about launching ships, but I wanted to unleash a catapult at her face.

  “Do you—they—know where my father is?”

  “No.” She glanced at the gold watch coiled around her wrist. “Look, Katerina, can I ask what you think you’ve got going on with Nikos?”