by Alex A King
“You can ask.”
“Then I’m asking.”
“Nothing. Less than nothing. He’s law enforcement, and like it not, my family is ...” My voice trailed off as I made a lame attempt to sum them up. “...what they are. I’m not any kind of intelligence agent but I’m smart enough to know when something wouldn’t work.”
“Good,” she said. “Because when Nikos is up out of that bed I have exciting news for him. Wouldn’t want anyone else getting in the way.”
I stood in stunned silence for a moment before recovering. “Bitchy.”
“You have no fucking idea.”
“He said you were nice.”
“I am nice. Ask anyone, bitch.” Then she had the audacity to smile. Where was Marika with her bag of guns when I needed her?
“Katerina?”
Holy cow, I had superpowers. Here was Marika, barreling along the path from Saint Catherine’s, big bag of guns hanging from her shoulder. As she neared us she ripped the submachine gun out and aimed it right at Hera. My fantasies were coming true. Marika was Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and whoever brought Greek children presents.
“Don’t move. Step away from Katerina.” To me she said, “I have been watching this one. She is a problem.”
Didn’t I know it?
Hera laughed. “I’m a problem? You’re the one holding a very nasty weapon. Do you know how to use that thing? It’s more complicated than turning on a washing machine.”
Marika sucked in her breath. “Are you calling me a ... housewife?”
Shrug. “If the apron fits.”
Marika’s eyes widened. Her face was turning pimento red. “Apron? Maybe if you put on an apron you could keep a man, eh?”
“Don’t go thinking an apron will help you,” Hera told me. “Nikos is mine.”
“Well, you’d better tell him that,” I said.
Marika poked the air with the gun’s barrel. “Want me to shoot her?”
“No,” I said. “Don’t waste the bullets. I don’t want your kids growing up without a mother.”
“Good, because I have been trying to fire this thing the whole time and I think”—She swung the submachine gun around and stared into the long, narrow barrel—“this one is defective.”
I hit the deck. “Stop waving that thing around. And don’t point it at yourself, for crying out loud!”
“Never aim a gun at something you don’t intend to shoot,” Hera said. “Like this.” She stuck her hand in her shoulder bag, dug out some kind of kinky sex toy, aimed it at Marika. Two wires shot out of the end and buried themselves in Marika’s floral dress. She yelped and flopped face first on the ground.
“It’s a Taser designed specially for the NIS.” Hera rolled Marika over with her foot, gave her a little nudge. Then she unhooked the barbs and stashed her mega-bitch toy back in her bag. “Or so a little birdie told me.”
“You shot my bodyguard.”
“That’s your bodyguard?” She laughed like a hyena. Not perfect after all. “Baboulas must want you dead if that’s the best she gave you. What happened to the guy from last night?”
“He’s playing backgammon back at the compound.”
“Very professional.” She laughed again and poked Marika with her stupid kitten heeled shoe. “See you around, Katerina. But hopefully nowhere near Nikos.”
“Those shoes give you cankles,” I said.
“Cankles?”
I did my best to explain. She grinned. “Nice try, chubby cheeks.” Then she sashayed out of town. Bitch.
I crouched down beside Marika. “Are you okay?”
She sat up. “Where are all my loved ones?”
“Back at the compound?”
“Shouldn’t they be here to greet me?”
“You know you’re not dead, right?”
She glanced around, shifty-eyed. “I knew that. I was just testing you. What happened to the crazy stick insect? Did she go to vomit up the air she ate for breakfast?”
I helped her up off the ground, smiled at the concerned faces watching us. “She caught the Broomstick Express out of here.”
“I hate her. I remember last time she was sniffing around Detective Melas like a she-dog with two mounis. Wait ...” She looked up at me. “What is she doing here? Are they back together?”
“According to him, no. But she said she has exciting news for him.” The curiosity was overwhelming. So was the green-eyed monster. It was on my shoulder, chanting, Mess up her hair, crush her self-esteem! Most of me liked what it was saying.
“Exciting news, my kolos. She should do the world a favor and jump into a live volcano.”
“Why don’t you like her? I mean, I get it. I just met her and I hate her guts.”
“I do not trust her. She is sneaky like the fox. If she is here she is up to no good—the worst kind of no good: the legal kind.” Her arm threaded through mine. “Do you have any money? It is not payday yet so I have no money, but I am dying for coffee and a little cake. Are you buying?”
“I’m buying.”
“I am glad we are family and you need a bodyguard. I would hang out with you anyway, but it is good to get paid. I am like a new woman.”
“Can I ask you something? Are my cheeks chubby?”
“Only when you lean over. Gravity is not a woman’s friend.”
~ ~ ~
Two frappes and a chunk of baklava the size of her head later, Marika slouched back in her chair and patted her belly. “What were you doing up in Makria, besides getting rescued by me of course.”
“I was looking for you.” I gave her a quick rundown of the current list of missing persons, including how I’d been scared shitless she was one of them.
“That does not sound to me like a coincidence.”
“I don’t think so either. Where were you?”
“Church.”
“All this time?”
“I went back at dawn this morning to pray for my period. It is late.”
“Marika!”
She waved a hand like her problem was smoke. “Probably it is stress from flying to America and finding that dead policeman. And now I have a stressful job, too. My body wants to conserve blood. I am using all I have got.”
“Marika!”
“Anyway, when I am pregnant I eat, eat, eat like a wild dog.” She signaled for the waiter. “Can you bring me another baklava? And one to take with me.”
“Marika.”
She looked at me. “What?”
“That baklava is the size of your head.”
“No, it was not that big.”
“Yeah, it was.”
The waiter trotted out with another pastry head-on-a-plate.
“I will hold it up next to my head,” Marika said, relieving the waiter of the dish. “You take a photo.” She held the plate up while I snapped a picture with my cellphone.
I handed it over. “See? As big as your head.”
“Optical illusion. Perspective is everything. That is how they did the special effects in The Lord of the Rings.”
“Marika.”
“I cannot be pregnant.”
I wanted agree that Takis shouldn’t be allowed to breed, but they had a passel of boys already. Boom! Theory shot down.
“Did you take a test?”
“No, I wanted to give God a chance to intervene first.”
I went to stand but she grabbed my arm. “Wait. First I have to eat this, and then I need to convene with the old gods. If that does not work out, I will change religions and find a god who does deals.”
“I don’t think there is one.”
“How about Hindus? They have a god for everything.”
“No ...”
“Islam?”
“You need a god favorable towards women’s rights.”
“You are right. The Egyptian gods it is. Don’t you have something to do in Egypt? Could be they are keeping your father in one of those pyramids.”
“Anything is possible.”<
br />
She clicked her fingers. “That is what I love about you—you are an optimist.”
“And if you are pregnant?”
“Impossible. I have all those boys already. God would not be so cruel.”
Probably it wouldn’t be helpful if I began listing all the times God was cruel in the Bible. We’d be here for days, and eventually Marika would drain the coffee shop’s dessert supply.
“Okay, let’s say you’re not pregnant ... you should still probably go home and put your feet up.”
“Mothers do not put their feet up. Anywhere you can put your feet there are toys and mess.”
“Well, I’m not taking you to do anything potentially dangerous. Not until you know for sure.”
“How is it dangerous to ask a few questions?”
Her logic seemed sound. Also, I was pretty sure it was some kind of discrimination to tell a possibly pregnant woman she couldn’t do the job she was being paid to do. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to ask some questions.”
“Exactly. Where do we start?”’
I gnawed on it a moment.
“First person to vanish was Donk. Let’s try his place.”
“Where does he live?”
~ ~ ~
Baby Dimitri and Laki cackled like a pair of hyenas.
“Missing?” the godfather said. “Ha! My nephew is not missing. The malakas is probably asleep somewhere. Have you checked the strip clubs?”
“Which clubs? A starting point would be useful.”
“All of them. But not mine. He’s barred from my clubs.”
“What did he do?”
“He’s a teenager! They are terrible tippers. He goes there and the girls complain. Last thing I need is my girls complaining when they’re being paid to shut up and dance.”
Probably it’s hard to be generous with strippers when you’re spending your allowance. “How about his address? I need to talk to his mother.”
Baby Dimitri snorted. He hooked a thumb at me and glanced at Laki. “Can you believe this one?” To me: “Give me your phone.” I handed it over and he typed for a moment then tossed it to me. “Good luck. You will need it with my sister. I give her money because she has no husband, no skills, and no ability to keep her legs shut, and what does she do?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” I asked.
“Men. All the men. Ask the boy, she has probably seen his friends naked.”
“She is a putana,” Laki said, flashing his mouthful of gold.
The Godfather of Nights and Thingmabobs shot him a dirty look. “Hey, that’s my sister you’re talking about.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“He’s right,” Baby Dimitri said to me, “she’s a putana. Only she’s too lazy and stupid to make it a job. She gives it away for free.”
“Where’s your friend today?”
“What friend?”
“The guy who was here the other day?”
“Him? Eh, he’s around. Usually when you least expect it. Now go, get out of here. Unless you need some shoes.” He gave me a sly look. “You need shoes?”
I glanced down at my feet. It was hot but I’d shoved my feet into a pair of boots anyway. They looked 90s grunge cute with my dress. Or so I hoped.
“I’m good.”
“What about your friend, she need shoes? She looks like she goes through a lot of shoes.”
Marika shifted straight into defensive mode. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m fat?”
“I’m saying I know who you are and that you’ve got a bunch of boys. Running after boys, shoes wear out fast. What can I say?” He did two palms up. “I know shoes. One of my ancestors was a cobbler.”
“Did he have elves?” I said.
He looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Kindly fairytale creatures who helped him make shoes.”
“This is Greece,” Baby Dimitri said, “no elves. Zeus would have fucked them and sent them home.”
“He is right,” Marika said. “If it moved, Zeus put his sausage in it.”
Everyone knew about Zeus. “You know you’re missing a dealer, too, right?”
“The Bulgarian?” He shrugged. “Maybe she slept in.”
“Last night? Yesterday? The day before? It’s not like Penka. She loves money.”
“If she loves money so much, where is she with my product, eh?”
“That’s what I’m saying. She’s missing. And maybe you’ll find this interesting, but she and your nephew aren’t the only people who’ve gone missing lately.”
“Maybe your grandmother took them.” He tossed the words out casually; even he didn’t believe that.
“Maybe your German buddy did.”
“Who said he was German?” He looked at Laki. “Did I say he was German?”
“No, boss.”
I pressed on. “Does he have something to do with the counterfeit money floating around town?”
“How would I know? Nobody tells me anything.”
“And yet you know everything,” I said, stroking his ego a tiny bit.
He shrugged. “Eh ... I am a good listener, that is all.”
“You told me not to come back for a while. Why not?”
“Katerina Makris-with-an-S, do I look like an information booth? Because last time I looked I was successful businessman. I am somebody around here, not a little man in a funny hat who gives directions to every pretty girl who wiggles her kolos at me.”
“I never wiggled.”
“Maybe not at me, but you wiggle. I will give you some free information. This is the last bit you will get from me. I do not shit where I eat. It’s not hygienic. I could catch a disease, shit, vomit, like people in third world countries.”
“Cholera,” Laki said.
“Cholera,” Baby Dimitri agreed. “If I shit where I eat, I get the cholera. I don’t want the cholera. I like being a businessman, being alive, watching the girls from my shop. It’s a nice life. You see what I’m saying? Your eyes fourteen, Katerina. Keep your eyes and ears open. Be smart. Do some math in your head, eh? Don’t make me shit where I eat. And when you find my nephew, kick his kolos.”
“And Penka?”
“You kick her kolos it will take all day,” Laki said.
~ ~ ~
Somehow—I blamed the gods—between Baby Dimitri’s shop and Donk’s house we picked up a leech.
“Would it hurt you to drive slower?” Lopez demanded when we stopped. “This piece of shit can’t keep up.”
“If I go any slower they’ll run me off the road.” I eyed the moped. “Why don’t you trade that for a skateboard? It’ll move faster.”
“You got a smart mouth, anyone ever told you that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What’s this place anyway, and how’s it gonna help me find Gene?”
“It’s a starting place,” I said.
Donk and his mother lived in a configuration of white boxes on boxes next to boxes, in a style real estate agents back home called modern. To me it looked like the kind of place they filmed porn. The driveway was cluttered with vehicles. The only life forms around were cacti and succulents, plant life that thrived on neglect.
Trudging up the gravel driveway, I felt overdressed. Too much underwear, not enough glitter. Marika and Lopez slouched silently along behind me. I wondered if they were feeling overdressed, too. Ask me, you couldn’t cover Lopez up enough. We crowded onto the smooth cement porch at the foot of a sleek metal door.
The doorbell bing-bonged.
“You need any help asking the right questions, you let me know,” Lopez said. “I’m experienced.”
“So am I,” I said. “I’m a bill collector.”
Truthfully, as bill collectors went I was on the toothless side and not a fan of trickery, lies, or threats. Mostly I relied on good manners. Somehow I’d managed to get results.
There was movement inside. Eventually, the door opened and a bleary eyed woman shoved her face to the slit. Her ski
n said mid-thirties. Her hair stuck out at unnatural angles. It was a glossy shade of Elvira black. Last night’s smoky makeup was this morning’s domestic violence.
“You three look like a joke,” her pack-a-day voice said. “We’re trying to make a movies here—what do you want?”
Cheap sports cars in the driveway. A souvlaki delivery moped. I could guess what kind of movies they were making.
“Is Donk home?” I asked her.
“Donk?” She laughed. “Fuck the Virgin Mary, the things that boy calls himself. I gave him a good name—my father’s name, because who knows where his father is—and what does he do? Makes up a new one.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want with Yiorgos?”
“I’m kind of his mentor. He didn’t show up today.”
Her eyes slid from me, to Marika, to Lopez, and landed back on me again. “Who are you? Is my boy mixed up in some weird sex thing?”
This from the woman running a porn set in her house. Hell, for all I knew she was the star. It’s not like porn has standards.
“Katerina Makris. Probably you’ve heard of my grandmother.”
Her lipstick-smudged mouth sagged an inch before snapping back into position. Then she gave a slow, lazy smile and looked me up and down. She held the door open. “You want to come in? You could make yourself some serious money with your name and that face and body.”
Lopez said, “What’s she saying?”
“American, eh?” Donk’s mother said in English. “You want to be in a movie, too?”
“Sure,” he said. “I like movies. What kind of movies?”
“Fun movies. Lots of sex and adventure.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “You get paid double if you don’t mind taking it up the—” Her gaze traveled to his butt.
Lopez let out a whimper.
“He’s an American policeman,” I said. “Vice.”
The vulpine smile widened. “Perfect. We could remake The Godfather. Do you mind dominating men? Beating them? Stomping on their balls in high heels? We could call it Katerina’s Way. Or, Scarballs.”
“Snatch?” I said.
“You're good at this,” she said. Her gaze slid to Marika, who was wide-eyed. “I suppose we could use a new fluffer,” she said. “Our old one is getting carpal tunnel surgery.”
