by Alex A King
“What kind of company?”
“You will see.” She reached for my hand, pulled it onto her lap, encased in hers. Her skin felt the way I imagined a dragon’s skin felt: leathery, warm, dry.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I heard the familiar snap, crackle, pop of rubber striking the dirt road. The vehicle was coming on fast—too fast. A white van pulled out of night, into the compound’s pool of light, dragging a dust storm behind it.
Hera and company. She was shaping up to be the human equivalent of a colonoscopy.
This time she was riding up front with the driver. She jumped out, her body a walking advertisement for this season’s government spy collection.
Grandma nodded in the direction of the guardhouse. The gates began to part.
Hera approached, big smile stretched across her face. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she told me. “I hate you but keep the gifts coming, and I adore gifts that save me time.”
Grandma looked her up and down. “What are you meant to be?”
“I’m NIS.”
“Then why are you dressed like a clown? You girls today, you draw a face on top of your face. Who can tell what you look like?”
Hera stared at her, openmouthed.
“Close that mouth before insects make a new home in it.”
Her mouth snapped shut. It took her a moment, but she made a full, snarky recovery. “I’m here for the German. He’s ours.”
Grandma looked at me. “Do we have a German?”
“In a way,” I said.
“In what way?”
“It’s complicated,” I told her. “The NIS won’t get anything out of him.”
Hera’s entire countenance was the definition of smug. “We can make anyone talk.”
“Then yeah ...” I shrugged “... I guess we have a German.”
“Take them,” Grandma said, calling over one of the cousins. Hera and her merry band of undertakers strode through the arch. Boy, were they about to be surprised.
“I sure hope they have a necromancer on staff,” I said to Grandma.
“If anyone has a necromancer it is the NIS. He is dead then?”
I nodded. I couldn’t bring myself to joke about his brains and their sloppy exit strategy. “He was Winkler’s son. All three Germans were Winkler’s kids.”
“Winkler.” She shook her head. “Winkler is becoming a big problem. Winkler tried to come in the front door but we said no. Then the back door ... we said no, even though Greeks have a history of enjoying that sort of thing. Now Winkler is trying to make a trapdoor, like one of those spiders.”
“What does Winkler want?”
“What does anyone want? Everything.”
“I don’t want everything. Just a few things would be nice.”
A big sigh seeped out of her. “That is how it always starts, with a few little things. Then one day you wake up and you are overseeing construction of the Death Star.”
I felt my mouth fall into the slack position.
Footsteps erupted on the stones behind us. Melas came storming out of the courtyard, with a face like Florida during hurricane season. “I called off the paramedics,” he told me, clipping the phone back on his belt. “If she keeps this up we’ll be out of jobs.”
No prizes for guessing who she was. “I’m pretty sure we could have her killed.” I looked at Grandma.
“No,” Grandma said. “No killing law enforcement ... unless it is absolutely necessary.”
“It went badly then?” I asked Melas.
More footsteps. Hera’s laugh was like a handful of glass pitched at a fan. “I just want to talk.”
“So talk,” I told her.
Her lips puckered. “Not to you—at least not yet. Nikos, we have a lot to discuss.”
To his credit, he didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed stuck to my face. “Got to get back to the station,” he said. “Got a long night ahead of us.” He nodded to Grandma, and then strode back to his cop car, leaving me along with Grandma and Hera.
“Did you find your German?” I asked her.
“Wow,” she said, “you’re rough on men.”
“Only when they’re trying to kill me or induct me into a cult.”
Hera flashed her Miss Greece smile. “Dead or not, he’s still useful for our purposes.”
“Oh boy,” I said. “Are you going to bathe in his blood? You’re such a freak.”
The smile dimmed. “If that’s what it takes,” she said cryptically. “We have questions for you, of course. You’ll need to come with us.”
Grandma’s eyebrows jumped into the oh-no-you-didn’t position, high on her forehead. “Katerina is not going anywhere. You want to talk, talk here, with our lawyers present.”
“We are above the law,” Hera said.
Grandma was tiny, but when she was channeling her inner Don Corleone she was dough, expanding to twice her original size. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough room on the planet for her and Hera. I scooted sideways so I wouldn’t get squished.
“You are above nothing. Like your namesake you are petty and vindictive. Take your dead German and your American policemen and go tell your bosses what a good girl you are. The grownups have to talk now.”
Hera refocused on me. “Nikos has goals, you know. He wants to take down the Makris Family. So if you think he’s hanging around you for any other reason, you’re wrong.”
I opened my mouth to deliver what I hoped was an eye-bruising blow, when I was interrupted by a new crunching on the long, dark road through the trees, and the hum of a vehicle in excellent health moving our way. The giant spotlight on the compound’s roof switched on again, flooding the driveway with cool, white light, but the vehicle stopped before the light could reach it. It sat idling, concealed by the trees, as though figuring out what the heck to do next.
“Get out there,” Grandma barked. Takis, Stavros, and couple of others jogged through the gates and vanished into the trees, avoiding the road.
The rest of us waited.
There was low clunk out of my line of sight, followed by a swoosh! The NIS van exploded. The hood shot up into the air, spun a few times like a drunk ballerina, and landed on what was left of the van’s roof. The cicada’s mating calls were drowned out by the fire’s hissing and popping. What had started out as a fragrant late-summer night now smelled like a deadly accident at a rubber factory. We all looked at the flaming van. It was pretty, until you considered that someone had fired a freakin’ missile at the thing.
An engine roared. Tires squealed as the hidden vehicle shot backwards, rocketing toward the main road. Whoever they were they were gone, and Grandma didn’t look committed to chasing them.
Something occurred to me. “Were ... Lopez and Bishop still in the van?”
“Yes,” Hera said, her pretty face all marked up with a frown.
I winced. My stomach was rolling.
“Gamo tis mana’s sou mouni,” Hera swore. “How am I supposed to find Winkler now?”
I hoped that first part wasn’t aimed at me. Mind you, you just never know about people. Maybe she really was a lesbian necrophiliac who wanted to scissor with my dead mother.
“Winkler. Ha!” Grandma said. “Winkler is smoke, a name, a phantom. You can’t find Winkler because Winkler is nobody.
“Who is he then?”
“Who knows? Not me. I am just an old woman who enjoys gardening and baking.”
Hera went into petulant child mode, hands on hips. “You know, and you have to tell me.”
“Who says?”
“The law.”
“I am flattered that you think I know so much, but you are naive and also too skinny. You should probably eat something.” She glanced around. “Somebody go to my kitchen, bring this one some food before she faints.”
Takis, Stavros, and the others jogged back. Cousins passed them midstream, dragging hoses from outside the garage to the burning van. The gate guard was wrestling the fire extinguisher off the wa
ll.
“Didn’t see him,” Takis said. His companions had the same amount of nothing to tell. His head was turned towards Grandma, but his gaze flicked sideways to Hera then back to Grandma. “Couldn’t see the make of the vehicle either.”
“Really?” Hera said dryly.
“It was dark,” Takis said.
“It is dark,” Grandma said. “It is no surprise you could not see.”
“Probably they were just hunters and they took a wrong turn,” I said.
Hera looked at me, repulsion on her pretty face. The feeling was mutual. “Who takes a missile launcher hunting?”
Takis shrugged. “I do—doesn’t everyone?”
“American hunters always do,” I said.
“See?” Takis said. “Nothing strange to see here.”
Hera made a disgusted noise and stomped off—prettily, damn her. I bet she was one of those women who glowed when she wept. Not like me. I had a natural gift for the ugly cry. She planted herself near the fire, pulled out her phone and stuck a finger in one ear while her mouth moved a mile a minute.
With Hera out of the way, Grandma turned her attention to Takis. “Well?”
“Opel Astra Dream. Silver.”
“Whose?”
Takis shrugged. “Could be a rental.”
“Somebody is watching the watchers,” Grandma said.
“If it was me, I would say look for somebody who likes fire.” He looked at me. “Know anybody like that?”
Yeah, I did. We all did.
“You knew someone was coming,” I said to Grandma.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Instinct. The NIS took two people who were not theirs to take, and then they came for a third, for one of Winkler’s children. Winkler is not the kind to sit back under those circumstances. I respect that and understand. Business is business, but law enforcement is not business.”
“Won’t Winkler come for us now? Two of his children died here on Makris property.”
“No. They died doing Winkler’s bidding.”
“And the third ...”
Melas. That’s why he’d been in hiding. He’d killed one of Winkler’s children and knew Winkler would come for him. Grandma had just said law enforcement was not business to Winkler.
“Nikos, yes. That is why I had him hiding in the dungeon, so he would safe from Winkler’s revenge.”
“But now Winkler has to know he’s not in critical condition.”
She held up a hand, low enough that it couldn’t be considered an insult. “Melas is safe from Winkler.” The hand shook as she lowered it.
I felt like I’d swallowed a mouthful of chunky milk. “Grandma, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Okay, maybe we made a deal.”
“But three of Winkler’s children are dead.”
“I told you: business is business. Nikos Melas is safe, even though he is police.”
When she wanted to be—or maybe when she needed to be—Grandma could be colder than a polar bear’s privates.
“I understand the words coming out of your mouth,” I said, “but the concept is flying way over my head. See? Whoosh! Are you saying if Dad’s kidnappers offer you a decent enough deal you’ll ... let it go?”
“That is very different.”
My eyebrows rose. The gesture was probably wasted, what with all the dim lighting and all. “What was the deal?”
“Eh, what does it matter now? The boy is dead.”
“Grandma ...”
“What?”
“Who was I supposed to meet the other night?”
“Maybe Winkler’s son.”
“You tried to marry me off to Winkler’s son? Are you crazy? That was the deal, wasn’t it? I marry Winkler’s kid and Melas gets to live.”
“Sometimes we have to do terrible things to ensure the safety of those we care for.”
She had me there. I did care about Melas. But marrying me off to a criminal? Not cool.
“He tried to kill me!”
“But he didn’t.”
“Yeah, because we killed him first! Enough,” I told her. “No more setups. Especially not to known criminals and other people who want to kill me. The only person who gets to choose my future husband is me. Nod if you understand.”
She blinked. “Get some rest. We will talk tomorrow.”
I yawned. My deferred exhaustion was doubling back for me. “One more thing before I hit the hay—”
Grandma chuckled. “Your American expressions are amusing. Now I am picturing you punching a horse’s food.”
I couldn’t help smiling. But it was a small one, I swear. “How did the third German get into the compound? I thought you tightened up security after the whole Baptist thing?”
“We were to have a meeting your marriage. But I was called away on other business, and that is when he took a detour to the grave via your bedroom,” she said sourly.
“What business?”
“The American government wanted to know why I let the NIS take two of their police officers into custody.”
I didn’t bother asking how they knew. Saint Catherine’s was wired for sound. Only Grandma knew how many government agencies were listening in. The NIS was one of them, guaranteed. Greece was Oscar the Grouch’s garbage can. Everything was rotten and messy and tangled.
“Lopez and Bishop were working for Winkler. Winkler was using them to pump me for information about Dad’s whereabouts. Which means Winkler isn’t involved in Dad’s kidnapping.”
Grandma’s nod was slow. “Another name I can cross off the list.”
“There’s a list?”
“Longer than Santa’s. And even I am not certain who is naughty and who is nice.”
Chapter 20
The cleanup crew was good—too good. All this death and no evidence that someone had been shot in my room. When it came down to it, I was the only evidence. The night was clobbering me like a sack of bricks. My hands shook as I worked the zipper on my jeans down. My teeth were clacking as stress loosened my joints. A man had died in here, and I had crisp new bedding and a new rug to show for it. Didn’t seem right. Logically I knew he would have killed me, but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead.
I crawled into bed, pulled the sheet up to my chin, reached for my phone. I checked the usual suspects: email, Facebook, email again. Then I figured I’d check out the Crooked Noses. The envelope in the top corner was still red, only this time the number of unread messages was two. Both were from BangBang. Heart in my throat, I clicked on the newest message.
A photograph began to slowly load. I really hoped it wasn’t a dick pic.
It wasn’t.
I was staring at the third man from Baby Dimitri’s shop. He had a name. He had a job description.
~ ~ ~
Three chairs. Two men. An aquamarine sky. The sea was a shade between emerald and sapphire. When it wanted to be, Greece was a fine jewelry store.
Laki grinned. “Katerina Makris-with-an-S.”
Without returning the grin I sat myself down between them in the vacant chair. “The NIS,” I said.
Baby Dimitri stared straight ahead, arms folded. “Fucking NIS.”
“I know your buddy works for them.”
That day when the godfather had been all twitchy about the Germans, I assumed it was because the third man was one of them. But he wasn’t. The third man was an NIS agent. Baby Dimitri’s sudden silence had been an act of self-preservation.
“A person can be many things. Only boring people are one thing.”
“How many things are you?”
He chuckled. “What do you want, Katerina?”
“Nothing. Just making conversation.” I watched the beach, envying the beach-goers their ignorance, their obliviousness to this land’s other personalities. “Somebody blew up an NIS van in Grandma’s driveway.”
He leaned forward, looked at Laki. “Did you hear that? Somebody blew up a van in the old woman's driveway.”
&nbs
p; Laki’s face broke out in a broad grin. “I heard.”
“A couple of American cops were killed,” I said.
“That’s too bad,” Baby Dimitri said. “The world has changed. Used to be people were safe in Greece.”
“Unless they were shit,” Laki said.
“Unless they were shit,” Baby Dimitri agreed.
“You blew up in the NIS van—why?”
“My nephew is a moron, but he is my blood. Nobody takes what is mine. Now I have made a new enemy, thanks to those American malakes.” He looked to me for ... I don’t know what. Confirmation, I think.
“Nobody saw anything,” I said. “Especially not the car.”
Baby Dimitri grunted. “There was nothing to see.”
“Which would be why we didn’t see it.”
“Maybe you are not so stupid.”
I looked down at my feet. The sandals were fine, but I was in the mood for footwear that made me feel like I was in love with Greece. Something I could wear as I wandered across the hot pebbles, bodyguards following at a discreet distance.
“Come to think of it,” I said, “I do want something ...”
The End
Thank you for reading Doing Crime, the third of Kat Makris’ adventures! Want to be notified when my next book is released? Sign up for my mailing list: http://eepurl.com/ZSeuL. Or like my Facebook page at: https:// www.facebook.com/alexkingbooks. Want to say hello? Come on over to alexkingbooks.com or send me an email at [email protected].
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Alex A. King
