***
Andreas was away from his office when Kouros and Petro arrived at work the next morning, and by the time they got around to briefing him on their meeting with Aleko it was midafternoon.
When they’d finished, Andreas asked, “So tell me, what parts of his story did you actually believe?”
“That he makes his money selling booze, not blinding his customers with bomba,” said Kouros. “But he’s definitely passing off counterfeit as real. Didn’t even try to hide it.”
Petro nodded. “He’d be wasting his time telling me he didn’t fool around with his booze. Back when we worked together, he was the only bartender in the place, and I caught him adding water to liquor bottles. I’m sure that wasn’t the only time because he offered to cut me in on his action if I gave him a pass on telling the boss.”
“His action?” said Andreas. “How was he making money watering the booze if he wasn’t the owner?”
“Owners estimate receipts based upon a fixed number of drinks per bottle. By adding water, bartenders get to pour extra drinks out of a bottle and pocket the cash by never running the extra sales through the register.”
“Sort of like running your own bar on the owner’s inventory,” said Andreas. “Fair-minded guys, bartenders like that. They cheat the customers and owners equally.”
“That’s why owners like those new plastic pourer inserts Greek law requires in every liquor bottle,” said Petro. “You can’t add water through the insert unless you break it. It eliminates one way for bar staff to rob their owners. But guys like Aleko still steal from their customers by buying counterfeit booze in bottles that come with inserts, or if they tend their own bars, by ripping them out.”
Andreas chuckled. “I’m sure someone will find a way to get around the pourers and stick it to the owners. You almost have to admire the ingenuity of thieves. They always find a way. Sort of like salmon driven to swim upstream, overcoming one obstacle after another.”
“The customer still gets screwed,” said Petro.
“Always has, always will,” said Kouros.
“But it’s not our job to buy into that,” said Andreas. “Look at it this way. If Aleko’s supplier shows up on Thursday and you follow him around for a week, even if you never get any farther up the supply chain than the guy you’re following, you’ll still end up with a list of places dealing in untaxed liquor to pass on to the tax boys.”
“Yippee,” said Kouros.
“Hey, be happy with whatever little fishes you catch. You could starve waiting for a big one to bite.”
Kouros gave Andreas a puzzled look. “What’s with you and all these fish references?”
“Like I said, Lila has me on a diet. So I’m thinking fish. Would you prefer, ‘A bird in the hand is worth more than trampling through a field full of bullshit chasing ghosts’?”
Petro wrinkled his brow. “Am I missing something?”
Kouros nodded. “Yeah, a twisted sense of humor. But don’t worry there’s no known vaccine against it for cops. It will come to you, too, in time.”
“Why don’t you guys come over for dinner tonight? Lila would love to have you.”
“What’s the matter, you hoping if we come to dinner Lila might relent and let you eat our kind of food?” said Kouros.
“Hope springs eternal, but I doubt she’d fall for that. I just thought it would be nice to introduce Petro to Lila and Tassaki.”
“Thank you, Chief, I’d love to come,” said Petro.
Kouros turned and stared at Petro. “I’m going to have to teach you how to handle these situations. Rule one. Don’t rush in. We could have held out for the right to bring our own chocolate cake. Now we’re at diet man’s mercy.”
“Out of here, both of you.” Kouros and Petro headed for the door. “And no chocolate cake. You’ve got to be subtle if you want any chance at getting by the pastry-detector. Go with chocolate chip cookies. See you at nine.”
***
Petro craned his neck up and out the car window. “The chief lives here?”
“Yep.” Kouros eased the police car over a curb onto the cobblestones separating the roadway from the sidewalk running alongside the National Gardens toward the old Olympic Stadium at the end of the street. “That’s why I drove a blue and white. We couldn’t park here otherwise. With November 17-like terrorist crazies back in business, internal security won’t let just anyone park so close to the Presidential Palace.”
“Close? He lives right next door.”
“At 30 Irodou Atikou, to be precise.”
It was arguably the most exclusive street in Athens. Only a few blocks long and filled with money.
“Wow.”
“I had the same reaction the first time I came here. Chief’s wife comes from one of Greece’s oldest, most prominent families.”
“Isn’t her last name Vardi? I didn’t know that was a big-time Greek family name.”
“It isn’t. That was her late husband’s name. He made his money in shipping.”
Petro shook his head. “The rich always seem to marry the rich.”
Kouros smiled. “Though some do manage to marry a second-generation cop and find true happiness.”
“I guess there’s hope for us working class stiffs.”
“Not here, my friend. I already asked. She has no sisters.” Kouros opened the car door. “Don’t forget the cookies. You carry them. Lila doesn’t know you, and she’s too much of a lady to tear you a new asshole for bringing them. But if I brought them…” Kouros waved his hand in the air as he got out of the car. “Don’t worry, man. She’s not what you might expect.”
They walked across the street into the immaculately maintained lobby of a six-story, pre-World War II Athens apartment building. The doorman directed them to an elevator, and the operator took them to the sixth floor.
The elevator opened directly into a large entry foyer. Kouros stepped out and led the way toward a pair of French doors at the far end. He pointed, “There’s a bell to the right.”
Before either had the chance to press the bell, the doors opened and a young woman dressed in a black maid’s uniform and starched white apron stood smiling at them. “Good evening, Detective Kouros. The doorman said you were on your way up.”
“Hi, Marietta. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“This is Officer Petro. He works with us.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Officer.” She pointed at the box in Petro’s hand. “I’ll take that, thank you.”
“No need to,” said Kouros.
Marietta smiled. “Missus Vardi told me to tell you that under no circumstances was I to allow you, or whoever you were with, to smuggle pastries into the house.”
“She actually said that?”
“She also said to tell you, ‘Nice try.’”
Kouros looked at Petro. “Like I said, not what you might expect. It’s all right. Turn over the cookies.”
Marietta led them through a series of rooms filled with antiques and paintings. Andreas and Lila stood in a room lined with windows offering an unobstructed view of the Acropolis lit up at night.
Petro stared out the windows as Kouros kissed Lila on both cheeks and turned to introduce him.
“Petro, this is Lila.”
Lila stepped toward Petro and put out her hand. “I know how you feel. I can’t believe this view is real either, and I see it every day.”
Petro blushed. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Vardi.”
“Please, call me Lila.” She stood about a head shorter than her six-foot, two-inch husband and wore her dark hair simply, at shoulder length.
“Sorry about the cookies.”
She smiled, “Cookies? I’d have thought Yianni would have gone for a chocolate cake. I suspect there was a broader conspiracy at play than I imagined.” She glan
ced at Andreas.
He shrugged. “I know nothing about any chocolate chip cookies.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “Then how did you know the cookies were choco—”
At that instant a brown and white puppy came racing into the room followed by a charging four-year-old.
“Perfectly timed entrance, my son,” said Andreas scooping the boy up from his pursuit of the puppy. “You know how to rescue your daddy.”
The boy twisted about in his father’s arms trying to free himself. “Easy, Tassaki, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine.” The boy stopped fidgeting as Andreas carried him over to Petro.
“Tassaki, this is Officer Petro.”
Tassaki held out his hand, “Pleased to meet you, Officer Petro.”
Petro shook Tassaki’s hand. “And a pleasure to meet you.”
Andreas pointed at Kouros.
“Nice to see you again, Detective Yianni.”
Kouros smiled and waved. “You, too, Tassaki.”
Andreas kissed Tassaki’s cheek. “Well done, son,” and put him back down on the floor to resume the chase.
“What a well-mannered kid,” said Petro.
Andreas nodded toward Lila. “It’s all his mother’s doing.”
Lila smiled. “But he gets his puppy-chasing nature from his father. Would you like something to drink? Wine, beer, whiskey.”
“Wine please,” said Petro.
“Red or white?”
“Red.”
“And you, Yianni?”
“Whatever.”
Andreas walked over and patted him on the back. “Just as long as it isn’t bomba.”
“Bomba?” said Lila.
“Counterfeit alcohol,” said Kouros.
“I can’t believe it. I was just talking about that very thing today with Alexandra.”
“Bomba?” said Andreas.
“Counterfeiters. Her husband is a wine producer and he was complaining to her about wine counterfeiters jeopardizing his business. I assumed she was trying to get me to raise it with you.”
Andreas nodded. “One of the perks of being the wife of a cop. Friends asking you to get your husband to fix their tickets.”
Lila gestured at her husband. “Especially when he’s a notorious super cop.”
“Did she say how big a problem it was for his business?” asked Kouros.
“No, but according to his wife, Greek wines are gaining exponentially in popularity outside of Greece and someone is counterfeiting top Greek wine labels for EU markets. The stuff in the bottles is bad, but the counterfeit packaging’s so good, he’s worried new customers who have a bad experience with the phony stuff will give up on Greek wines entirely. He thinks it’s a serious threat to the country’s fragile foothold in world markets.”
Andreas looked at Kouros. “Sound familiar?”
“It’s starting to sound like this counterfeit operation is a lot bigger than we suspected. Or we have a mega-coincidence.”
“I’m not big on coincidences,” said Andreas.
“Who is Alexandra?” said Petro.
“She’s a friend and the sister of a Greek government minister,” said Lila.
“Do you think she called you before or after she called her brother?” said Andreas.
“After, would be my guess.”
“Then I’m surprised she didn’t ask her brother to call Spiros to get me involved.” Spiros was Greece’s minister of public order and Andreas’ boss.
“Probably because her brother told her you were more likely to listen to Lila than to Spiros,” chuckled Kouros.
Lila smiled.
Andreas waved his hand in the air. “No matter. I’ll call Alexandra’s husband tomorrow and see what he has to say. If it’s as big as it sounds, we’ll likely have to take it to the next level.”
“Europol?” said Kouros.
“At least. If it’s a multi-country operation we’ll have to involve the foreign ministry. Hard to fight this sort of thing effectively without international cooperation.”
“And if China’s involved, forget about it,” said Lila.
“We’ll have to find a common motivation strong enough to overcome all the cross-border corruption and bribery that goes along with this sort of thing,” said Kouros.
“That’s a bridge we’ll cross once we know who’s on the other side.”
“Nice,” Kouros told Andreas. “At least you’re off the fish analogies.”
“Sorry I raised the subject, gentlemen,” said Lila. “I should have stuck to a less controversial one, like what’s for dinner?” She pointed toward a doorway leading into the dining room.
“Dare I ask?” said Andreas.
Lila took his arm and led him toward the dining room. “Fish, salad, and vegetables.”
Andreas’ face showed no joy.
“And chocolate chip cookies.”
His face lit up.
“But only one for you.”
Chapter Five
Kharon always loved his days in the olive covered hills and valleys surrounding Delphi caring for the trees and holiday cottages of wealthy Athenians. His court-ordered education had given him great skills in agriculture and the building trades, and he practiced them with devotion that drew praise from his clients and provided him with all that he needed to maintain his simple life.
But he was a child of hard times and knew they could return, as they had for so many in his country. Even the gods only helped those who helped themselves, and so he took the other work. He tucked that money safely away, but not in bank accounts in his name. A sizable bank account in a small village for someone doing his kind of manual labor spawned rumors. The type of rumors that attracted police attention. His first encounter with local police scrutiny led Kharon to ensure he would never again be the target of such suspicions.
Burglaries were the accepted price one paid for the privilege of owning a vacation home in Greece, and break-ins brought knee-jerk police attention to those who cared for the victims’ homes. Attention that inevitably led to interrogations, background checks, and bank account analyses.
One of Kharon’s clients, a well-known Athens jeweler, arrived one morning to find his home in the village of Chrisso plundered of a fortune. The police immediately accused Kharon. The owner said that was not possible as Kharon had been with him in Athens doing work on the jeweler’s primary residence. Having lost that suspect, the police claimed they knew the local ring of thieves who’d likely done it, but could not prove it. The jeweler would simply have to accept his loss.
Two days later, all the stolen jewelry miraculously reappeared in a suitcase at the jeweler’s front door. The police had no explanation. Nor could they explain what they later called the “coincidental disappearance” of the alleged leader of the ring, as well as a local police sergeant, neither heard from again. From that day on, none of Kharon’s clients ever saw so much as an olive stolen from a tree.
Bzzzzz, bzzzzzz, bzzzzz. Kharon felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket. He put down the rake and reached for the phone. He recognized the number. It was the secure landline Kharon insisted Jacobi use to reach him.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” said Jacobi.
“You’re up early.”
“Not been to bed yet.”
Kharon smiled. “What’s up?”
“I think I have a project for you.”
“You mean a job?”
“No, a project. Something with long term possibilities.”
“You know I like what I do. I’m not looking for full-time employment.”
“My friend, I don’t know what sort of arrangements you can work out with the people involved here, but I don’t think this is the sort of thing you should just walk away from before knowing what it is. This could set you f
or life.”
Kharon thought to say “I already am,” but Jacobi wouldn’t understand. And his friend was right. Don’t turn down a job you haven’t been offered was good advice. “So, tell me about it.”
“All I know is that someone from up north stopped in my place last night to tell me that a big-time international operation is in need of a specialist to assure that all aspects of its business follow company rules.”
To Kharon, “up north” meant the Balkans, and some very nasty work if their local bad guys couldn’t handle it themselves. “And you recommended me?”
“Never had the chance. He already knew about you. Said you were the perfect guy. Freaked me out when he said that he knew you did your business through me. He said to tell you if you’re interested to stop by my place tonight and he’d make it worth your while. All I know is that the job interview includes an all-expenses-paid round-trip to Rome.”
Kharon had a lot of work to do here, but he could get people to cover for him. His clients wouldn’t be back until the weekend. “Okay, I’ll be there tonight.”
“Great. And don’t forget your toothbrush and a change of underwear.”
“Why?”
“He said if you agree to the interview it’ll be tomorrow morning.”
“In Rome?”
“Yep, the guy has a private jet. This is a whole different sort of folk than you’re used to, my friend.”
Kharon stared at the cloudless sky above Delphi. As I undoubtedly shall be to them.
***
Andreas thought about telling Kouros to make the call to the government minister’s brother-in-law in the wine business. After all, the counterfeit booze investigation was Kouros’ case, but Greek sensibilities being what they were, it would likely subject Kouros to an unnecessary barrage of questions over why he, not his boss, had called. It might even lead to unpleasant words between Lila and her friend Alexandra as to why, after she’d impressed upon Lila the urgency of the matter, Andreas had been too busy to personally call her husband. So, he placed the call himself.
The phone rang twice. “Hello,” answered a brusque voice.
Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery Page 4
