Athenian Blues

by Pol Koutsakis

  With Aliki’s husband, little digging was necessary. Vassilis Stathopoulos was one of the most well-known and best-loved men in Greece. The invincible lawyer. The defence attorney who had featured in all the big trials over the last ten years, and succeeded every time in getting people off who seemed to have no chance. He had earned enormous sums in compensation for men and women fired by global corporations. He had proven the innocence of people who everyone believed to be guilty. He had taken the Greek State to the European Court of Human Rights over its treatment of thirty illegal immigrants and won, against a team of the best lawyers in Athens. Then he took the government to the Supreme Administrative Court over the salary cuts of soldiers, police officers and pensioners, and got the law overturned. His clients were often seen to hug, kiss him and hoist him on their shoulders like a football hero. The secret of his success? A bit like mine, as he explained in an interview: he only took on people he felt worthy of his talents.

  Not one bad word had been said about him in any of the newspapers, not even the tabloids. He wasn’t just “the man without enemies”, he was the “guardian of the poor”, the “angel of the underprivileged”. Journalists ran out of superlatives to describe him.

  According to another poll – Teri, again – forty per cent of Greek mothers would choose Vassilis as the ideal partner for their daughters. Forty per cent. Greece’s most desirable bachelor, before he married Aliki. He didn’t get the percentage of popular vote that his wife did, but he had managed something more important. We all like to see a celebrity make an arse of themselves but he remained someone everybody admired. So Aliki had to persuade me that he was, in fact, a monster. That their smiling photographs on the covers of so many magazines were just a lie. That he deserved to be taken out of circulation, for good. Part of me was reluctant to believe her. Part of me wanted to be persuaded. Nobody could be as perfect as Vassilis seemed to be.

  Aliki waved her hand to attract the waiter.

  “I must get something to eat right now – I’m starving! What would you like?”

  I was hungry, but the way food was described on the menu made no sense to me. I recognized the names, but not the way they were served. I was used to the kind of place where the proprietor sized you up, decided what you needed, made a note and all you had to do was wait to be served. Job done.

  “I don’t understand the menu,” I told her.

  “Oh, me neither. I’m not sure anyone does. It’s meant to be international cuisine, recipes from all over the world. Just pick something basic, like chicken; I promise you it’s all delicious.”

  I did as she suggested and sat back while the obviously smitten waiter flapped around Aliki. When he finally got on with his job, I filled her glass and asked an obvious question. The one she still hadn’t answered.

  “Why meet here? If your husband is as violent as you say he is, won’t you having dinner in a place like this only provoke him?”

  “I’ve actually thought of telling him face to face how I feel. Even though he’s often told me that he’d kill me if he thought I was going to leave him.”

  “Are you?”

  “Ready to leave him? Yes.”

  “And as he said he’d kill you, you thought you should be one step ahead.”

  “If I’m not, I know he’ll do it. I know. He’ll kill me. And he’ll find a way to cover it up. He’ll manage it like he did with the other two attempts. That’s how things are; it’s either him or me.”

  “What attempts?”

  “Twice someone’s tried to kill me – supposedly.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “They would have succeeded, if they’d really wanted to. They were trying to intimidate me, not kill me. The first time they tampered with my brakes. The second time I’d just come out of a club and this motorcyclist came roaring straight at me.”

  “That sounds like more than intimidation.”

  “The brakes weren’t completely cut through and I managed to bring the car under control. The motorcyclist swerved to avoid me at the last moment. I’m a very easy target, Mr… sorry, Stratos. Anyone can pick me off. They didn’t want to. The motorcyclist then went into a skid on the wet road and was killed by a lorry. The more complicated things are the more Vassilis likes it.”

  “What made him want to intimidate you?”

  “Both attempts occurred after flaming rows. He has these jealous outbursts – one moment he seems normal, the next you don’t know what he’s going to do. He wanted to terrify me, show me that he could do anything he wanted and then cover it all up – both times the police barely bothered to investigate. And the media didn’t even find out about it; usually all we have to do is sneeze to get on the front page.”

  “Maybe he hushed it up for your sake.”

  “He would have told me. He never does anything for me without giving me a hard time about it later. He doesn’t know how to help someone without some form of payback. That’s why I asked to meet you here. Panos, the owner, is one of Vassilis’ buddies. Vassilis would never believe I’d dare meet a lover in this of all places. Of course Panos will tell him that I came here with someone, but if he asks – when he asks – I can say that you were a producer who wanted to talk about some film. Which is why I asked you to dress for the part. By the way, good clothes suit you. They show off your physique.”

  There was a playful look in her eyes, which promised nothing and everything. I wondered whether Vassilis was justified in his suspicions. I waited for her to drain yet another glass before she continued.

  “Photographs aren’t allowed in here, so many celebs come to eat in peace… Panos is really strict about it, he wouldn’t even make an exception for Vassilis, and there’s no chance of anyone gatecrashing – you need to have connections to get a table here – so my husband’s detectives won’t know what you look like. And as for anyone I might know here, don’t worry, they’ll keep a polite distance. That way they can make up any story they like. This restaurant lives on speculation and the gossip it arouses. So you see there’s no problem… it’s as if there’s just the two of us here.”

  She smiled again. Two little dimples appeared on either side of her mouth.

  “You seem to have thought of everything,” I said.

  “My dear husband has trained me well, in his own way. I have to think of everything if I want to survive.”

  “Why don’t you go to the police?”

  “Do you know how many friends he’s got – everywhere? Do you know what close connections he’s got with the police and the press? It’s not just that they wouldn’t lay a finger on him, they’d crucify me on TV and in the newspapers before any court hearing.”

  “You could divorce him. And get a bodyguard for a year.”

  “What good would that be? I’ve heard Vassilis talking on the telephone with everyone from the prime minister to the godfather of the Russian Mafia in Athens. Do you think it would be difficult for him to get rid of a bodyguard? Do you know how many dirty cases he undertakes that he’s arranged to keep out of the press? Whatever you think you know about him – his work on behalf of the underdogs – is only what he and his friends allow to be published. When his clients are such big swindlers that the TV channels can’t ignore them, he’ll send one of his associates as a front man, after he’s set everything up intimidating witnesses and jurors. And then, how am I going to pay a bodyguard? Maybe you think I’m loaded, but whatever I have belongs to him.”

  “Your modelling?”

  “Gave it up when I got married. His decision. I’m only on the catwalk for charities – you know, to show how devoted we are to social causes. All those nude and seminude photos are from more than three years ago and the magazines just keep reprinting them.” She paused. “Have you seen them?”

  “I might have caught a glimpse,” I said.

  “And?”

  “They’re not bad.”

  She looked as pleased as a little girl hearing praise for her pigtails. Actually, in one of her photo sh
oots she did have pigtails, having been dressed as a schoolgirl before she stripped. Another short pause. She finished her glass and poured another one, gazing at me all the time.

  “I really loved what was happening then, at the beginning. Everybody – men and women – recognized me from the magazines, they’d turn to get a look at me, wherever it was. I was just eighteen and they chased me like I was the only desirable woman on earth. You can’t imagine how many women have given me their numbers hoping I’ll phone them. Most of them gorgeous.”

  “They must have been disappointed when you didn’t.”

  “I don’t like to disappoint beautiful people. Why should I deny my body the pleasure?”

  “Is that what you think your husband has done to you? Deprived you of pleasure?”

  “If you mean that that’s the reason why I want him killed, no; I’m not some kind of sex fiend who feels tied by monogamy. Anyway, for someone in your… profession you ask a lot of questions.”

  “I told you on the phone. First I have to understand why. Those are my terms.”

  “Punctual, discreet meeting place, understanding why… You’re full of terms. Don’t you ever relax? Maybe you should see my therapist, he’s fantastic.”

  “If you don’t like the terms we can leave whenever you like.”

  “You crazy? I don’t miss a meal for anything.”

  She smiled.

  “The truth is that until I met Vassilis I’d only had one other steady relationship, and that didn’t last long. I lived to make love. If I was in the mood I could sleep with two or three people a day – ever tried it?”

  I made no comment.

  “Hope you don’t disapprove of what I say and rush off.”

  “You crazy?” I said. “I don’t miss a meal for anything.”

  She burst out laughing. It felt like collusion, a particularly nice feeling when the colluder’s eyes remind you of the sea. Eyes that never laugh, even when the mouth does. Dangerous eyes.

  “When I first got to know Vassilis I really fell for him. Well, not him but that public image of his. I bought it completely. I fell for him and cut off my contacts with all the… with the circle of my lovers. I didn’t even suspect then that all the donkey work in his office – the poor, underprivileged stuff – is done by his staff, leaving his time free for the big boys. Most of the big corporations he’s beaten in court are now his best customers.”

  “What does your husband know about your previous relationships?”

  I was careful not to mention him by name. I never mention the name of my targets before a hit. I don’t want to feel any connection.

  “Not much. He couldn’t take it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Recently he came home early and caught me watching a video an old lover and I had made with one of my fans.”

  “You mean…?”

  “In bed, yes. We’d tied up the girl and were… just messing about really, having fun. No violence, though. I can’t stand it. Vassilis went ballistic; he didn’t even know that I’d had a relationship with… this big-shot banker, anyway, no need to mention names. Neither did he know anything about the women in my life. I told him that what he saw was a one-off. He didn’t hit me much, compared with other times, he just kicked my legs and stomach, but afterwards he locked me in the bedroom for two days, without food. When I protested he said: ‘You don’t need it. From what I saw you’ve already eaten well enough.’ The first evening I had my ear glued to the door, trying to find out what he was doing. He’d put on the video and was watching it over and over again. He’s crazy, and he wants me to know it. When he finally opened the door he was all affection. He’d bought me flowers, he promised to take me on a holiday so that we could get away and relax, he’d cooked my favourite dish, he wanted us to make love… no mention at all of the previous two days. Me neither; dangerous waters. I avoided him, saying I had a headache, and went to bed. I was so worn out by the stress and crying of those two days that I went straight to sleep. Next day I awoke at noon, to find that he’d left a novel by my bed, with a bookmark. I opened it and he’d underlined something in red. It said: ‘You will be mine forever. Whatever it takes.’”

  Wonderful people, wonderful world. My contribution is to select some of them for liquidation. I’m a kind of social worker, except I get properly paid. I remembered a line from The Two Jakes, one of my favourite films: “Hell, everybody makes mistakes. But if you marry one, they expect you to pay for it for the rest of your life.”

  “Any other reasons why you want to leave him?” I asked.

  “Are any more needed?”

  “Just because there aren’t doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  Her mobile rang. Irritably, she snapped open her bag, took out the phone, checked the screen, and switched it off.

  “I never answer when I see a hidden caller ID.”

  “Fans?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t want to. Look, since you’re asking me about other reasons… if you’re thinking that I’m doing this for money, forget it. Some of my exes, among the richest men in the country, have proposed to me. Some of them persisted in proposing even after I married Vassilis. I don’t have to kill anybody to get money, Stratos. You’ve seen my photos… I want my life back, that’s all. I just want my life back.”

  It sounded like a good enough reason to me.

  “Since you mentioned money…” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not cheap.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be.”

  “And with this particular target… I might have to disappear for a while.”

  “I understand.”

  “Which means…”

  I grabbed a napkin, took a pen from my jacket pocket and wrote two numbers, one the down payment, the other the total. I never say how much I want; I write it down for the client to read and agree to. That becomes my contract.

  “It’s a lot, but I’ll find it,” she said.

  “How?”

  “You need to know that, too?”

  “You said your husband controls your money. And even if I manage to make it seem like an accident, the cops will investigate all possibilities.”

  “I can imagine, but…”

  “The wife is always the prime suspect. They’ll visit the banks. They’ll ask to check your accounts, both joint and personal. If they see that you’ve withdrawn a large sum they’ll be on to you. That could lead them to me. Which I can’t allow to happen.”

  “You mean that…”

  She pointed to herself, asking if I meant that I’d rub her out, if necessary. Fear could be a useful lever. I nodded.

  I suspected that she’d get the cash from one of her loaded ex-lovers who was itching to be back with her. If she confirmed that was her intention, I’d wash my hands of her.

  “The money won’t come from my account,” she said. “My friend Lena will lend it to me. You know, the one who spoke with your… lady friend and put us in touch.”

  I nodded. Second time she hesitated when referring to Teri. At least she got the sex right.

  “Lena’s the only one who knows everything about me – we’ve been best friends ever since we met at university – she finished, I dropped out. She got married last year to a tycoon, who’s really mad about her, lets her spend as much as she likes. Whatever I ask her for she’ll give me. Is that OK?”

  Before I answered her question I had one more of my own.

  “Why are you so sure you can trust me? You just said that whatever you’ve got belongs to your husband. What’s to stop me telling him the whole story in return for a stack of dough?”

  Bitter smile. A gulp of wine. “Because you were recommended by Lena, who loves me. Because talking to you makes me feel confident. And, mainly, because I don’t have any alternative. I trust you because I have to.”

  That seemed convincing enough. I nodded.

  “OK, check with your friend about the money and we’ll arrange the
deposit. In the meantime, I need to know your husband’s daily routine. Have you written it down?”

  She took out a piece of paper from her bag and slipped it to me just as our starters arrived. The waiter was looking at her, while trying to pretend that he noticed my existence.

  I don’t generally get on with clients. One reason is that most of them are not the types you have a good time with. Usually I’m impatient for the meeting to end. I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure. Which is why I was surprised when the rest of the evening passed quicker than any other I could remember for a while. We ate, drank, told stories – her mostly, I just mentioned a couple of things that happened to Teri and me when we were at school. We were like two strangers who meet in the middle of nowhere and discover that they think the same way and have the same sense of humour.

  As her husband was waiting for her at home – not for much longer, if I did my job – Aliki asked for the bill.

  “How will I get in touch with you?” she said.

  “When necessary, I’ll phone you. Like yesterday,” I said.

  “I’d feel better if there was some way of contacting you.”

  “In an emergency, call Teri.”

  “I mean direct.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Another condition?”

  She gave me a disapproving smile. She had a whole armoury of smiles at her disposal. She offered me her hand, to say goodbye. It smelt of jasmine.

  “I’ll expect your call,” she said.

  I nodded.

  I watched as she walked away. Allowing her time to leave, I went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and stared at it in the mirror. I remembered a line from another film, Double Indemnity. “I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn’t get the money. And I didn’t get the woman.”