This one was just off the National Road in a rundown area where you’d expect to find a skiladika but not a tsigani. It wasn’t their sort of neighborhood, or for that matter, neither was a skiladika their kind of place. Tassos figured that’s why Stefan picked it: he wanted to be anonymous, a hard thing for man of Stefan’s girth to achieve. Tassos pulled into the parking lot and sat for a few minutes watching the people heading inside. He wanted to get an idea of the crowd before going in. It looked much as he expected. Mostly working class types dressed up for a night out, and a mix of twenty-somethings slumming it from some of Athens’ wealthier parts.
Tassos trailed a group of kids up to the front door. They walked right in and he started to follow in behind them when a bouncer held up his hand. “Twenty euros to get in.”
Tassos pointed in the direction of the group in front of him. “You didn’t ask them to pay.”
“They’re regulars. Twenty euros or find another place.”
Tassos was tempted to use his badge, a guaranteed get-in-anywhere-for-free card, but that meant a surefire loss of anonymity for Stefan. Cops drew attention in these places. He pulled a twenty out of his pocket and handed it over. He thought to ask for a receipt but knew that request would likely target him as a taxman, an even less welcome visitor.
Directly inside the front door was a large bar area separated from the rest of the room by a ledge lined with bar stools. A six-foot wide break in the ledge was the only visible access to a main floor lined with long tables aimed directly at the stage. The tables were filling up fast. A man and several young women stood by the opening directing people to their tables, or at least their share of a table. No one was singing at the moment, which probably was why Tassos heard his name being called from the far end of the bar by the tsigani equivalent of Sydney Greenstreet’s “Fat Man” character in The Maltese Falcon.
“Tassos, over here.”
It was Stefan and he looked as if he’d been saving a barstool for Tassos by sitting on two, but when Tassos reached him he found Stefan place-holding a third stool with his foot. “Here, I saved you a seat.”
It was rare that Tassos felt slim, but as he adjusted to fit on one barstool this was just such an occasion. “Thanks, Stefan.”
Stefan gestured for the bartender to come over. “What would you like?”
“My twenty euros back from the gorilla at the front door.”
Stefan smiled. “Done. What else?”
“What do you mean ‘done’?” Tassos looked at the bartender. “I’ll have a beer.”
“I have an interest in this place.”
“You do?”
“You seemed surprised that a rom would be in this business?” Rom was the name tsigani preferred to be called.
“I am,” said Tassos.
“If you think about it, this sort of place is a natural fit for a lot of what I do.”
“I’d rather not.”
Stefan laughed. “Well, just so that I don’t ruin all your notions, I own only a very small part. What you might call a ‘rooting interest’ in its success courtesy of the other, more traditional owners.”
In other words, a payoff for God knows what he contributed. “Frankly, Stefan, unless you’re about to start naming your partners in this undoubtedly squeaky-clean taxpaying enterprise, do you mind if we get on to another subject?”
Stefan laughed. “This is why I always enjoy doing business with you. No pretenses, no courtesy.” Stefan’s laid-back, professorial style was beguiling to many, but Tassos knew it for what it was: elaborate camouflage for hustles and scams as ruthless and cunning as any run by the stereotypical worst of his kind.
“And no bullshit please. I need your help finding someone for me.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know, but somebody who knows something about those murders on Tinos.”
“The two rom from Menidi?”
Tassos nodded yes. It didn’t surprise him that Stefan knew so much about the victims. Knowing things about tsigani was his business. That was why Tassos was here. “What do you know about them?”
“Only that their rom name was Carausii.”
Tsigani had at least two names, one for the outside world and another for use among themselves.
“And that there’s an older brother, Punka. He runs a crew of beggars around Syntagma.” Syntagma was Athens’ central square, directly across from Parliament. “Last I heard they were living in that cardboard, plastic sheeting, and scrap wood piece of shit camp just off the highway on the road to the airport.”
“Venizelos International?”
Stefan nodded. “By marker forty-five. But he could be long gone by now.”
“What’s he doing living out there? I thought his clan was from Menidi.”
“It is, but he had a falling out with them.”
“Just how serious ‘a falling out’?”
“If you’re asking me if it was serious enough for Punka to roast his brothers, I have no idea. But it was serious enough for him to break off from his clan and go out on his own.”
“Do you think you could find him for me?”
“I should be able to. That is, if he’s still in Greece. What do you want me to tell him?”
“Just find out where he is. And try not to tip him off that I’m looking for him. Make it so that I find him somewhere he wouldn’t expect.”
“I assume that means he has reason to be worried about the police. No problem, many of us do. I shall be discreet.”
“Which is why I called you,” said Tassos.
“And because I owe you several, rather large favors.”
Tassos picked up the beer from the bar. “That too. And with your life style I expect you’ll be needing more.”
“I’ve reformed.”
“And Greece’s financial crisis is all a bad dream.”
Stefan laughed. “Funny you should say that. Each night I sit here watching people come and go. Almost all are miserable about their prospects and some are in actual fear, but that kind over there,” he pointed to a table, “they are the children of the rich, each coddled and protected by mommy and daddy. Most will never work except in family businesses. They come here much like dancers on the edge of a volcano poised to erupt. They see the smoke, smell the sulfur, but still don’t get it. And when everything goes boom…” Stefan let his voice trail off.
“Are you trying to convince me you actually care what happens to them?”
“Me? No, I’m trying to figure out how I can work an angle on separating them from whatever the eruption misses.” He slapped Tassos on the back and laughed.
Tassos put his beer down on the bar. “On that bit of wisdom, my friend, I’m out of here. When do you think you’d be able to hook me up with Punka?”
“I assume it’s urgent, so I’ll start working on it right away. With any luck, I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow, or the next day at the outside. That’s assuming the rom is still around.”
“Thank you. Night, Stefan.”
Stefan reached over and shook Tassos’ hand. There was something in it.
“Your money. I’m a man of my word.”
Tassos nodded as he thought, at least where only twenty euros was involved.
***
At breakfast the next morning Andreas announced to Lila that he’d be staying home to help her prepare for the wedding.
“Not on your life,” was her reply. Which was why Andreas ended up back in his office to the surprise of everyone but Maggie.
“I didn’t think she’d want you hanging around. Future husbands have a habit of getting brides nervous by trying too sincerely to act as if they really cared about more than their buddies getting a good table at the reception.”
He stared at her. “And don’t forget the right brand of beer.”
“You get the idea.”
“Okay, hold my calls. No one expects me to be here, so let’s act as if I’m not.”
“Will do.”
Ab
out an hour later Maggie stuck her head in the doorway. “It’s Tassos.”
Andreas picked up the phone. “Morning.”
“I think we have a line on the brother of the two murdered tsigani. An informant just told me where we could find him.” Tassos repeated the substance of his conversation with Stefan the night before. “The brother is supposed to be in a taverna out by the airport at three this afternoon and he’s not supposed to know we’re showing up.”
“Do I sense you’re not totally comfortable with your informant?”
“He’s reliable when it comes to information. That’s how he earns his living. But he’d also sell out his mother if he thought it in his perceived self-interest to do so. So, just to be safe, let’s assume Punka is expecting us.”
“Meaning?” said Andreas.
“Carry heavy and wear a vest. It would be a shame to lose a groom so close to his wedding day. I’ll pick you up downstairs at two.”
***
If Andreas didn’t know better he’d have thought the taverna was an abandoned shack in the middle of long ago exhausted farmland. A few cars about as beat up and ancient as the place were parked outside. You could hear traffic buzzing by on the highway between Athens and the airport. Though built for the 2004 Olympics, it was still known as the “new road.”
Tassos parked the unmarked car away from the building where it gave them a view of the perimeter.
“Keep the engine running, I’ll be out in a minute.”
“And just what do you have in mind?” said Tassos.
“I’ll let you know once I figure it out. Let’s just hope if it’s an ambush it’s not supposed to start until we’re both inside.” Andreas got out and headed toward the taverna.
He focused on the windows and edges of the building as he walked, and his hand touched his crotch as if adjusting his family jewels, but he was just reassuring himself that the pistol in the holster covering those parts was still in place. The front door to the taverna was open and as he drew closer he saw three occupied tables, one with six men, another with two, and the last with a customer alone. All of them looked to be tsigani. A young girl was serving coffee to the table of six. She smiled at Andreas as he came through the door.
Andreas walked in as if he knew exactly where he was headed. He stopped in front of the lone customer, a dark, thin man in his late-twenties. “Punka?”
The man looked up. “Who’s asking?” His upper lip curled as he talked. Like an angry little dog.
“Are you Punka or am I wasting my time?”
The man stared at Andreas. “I’m Punka.”
“And your last name?” This wasn’t the time to be hooking up with the wrong Punka.
He kept staring at Andreas. “Carausii.”
“Good, let’s go.”
“Go? What do you mean ‘go’?” Punka sounded frightened and looked toward the table of six.
“I’m a cop and I’m not going to have a conversation with you about what we have to talk about in a place like this.”
Punka looked again at the table of six. Two of the men stood up.
Andreas raised his left hand toward the six without looking at their table. “Don’t even think about it. Sit down and nobody gets hurt. Move and everybody does.”
The two men paused. Andreas turned his head slightly and stared at them. They sat down. “Good,” he said.
He turned back to Punka. “Now, let’s take a walk.”
“Fuck you.”
Andreas smiled. “Perhaps you misunderstood me, I’m the cop in charge of investigating the murder of your brothers. Test me and I’ll toss you down a shit hole like—” Andreas snapped his fingers. “And you’ll never be seen again. Now, do you want to take that chance or do you want to take a walk and talk about things of mutual interest?”
Punka looked nervously at the six.
“Your friends are smart enough to know better. Are you?”
Punka pushed himself back from the table, stood up, and walked toward the door. Andreas followed, nodding to the six as he walked by their table.
Outside, Andreas led him to the car. “Get in.”
“I thought we were taking a walk?”
“We did. To the car.” Andreas opened the rear door.
Punka hesitated.
“Do I have to make another speech?”
Punka got in and Andreas slid in next to him. “Drive,” he said to Tassos.
Punka started asking questions the moment the car moved, but Andreas and Tassos ignored him. Tassos drove around for about twenty minutes until it was clear no one was following them. He pulled off onto a dirt road and parked amid a grove of olive trees hidden from the road.
The first words Punka heard were, “Get out,” delivered by Andreas after Tassos had opened the rear door on Punka’s side. Andreas slid out behind him.
Andreas held out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
Punka took a cigarette and waited for Andreas to light it.
“Light your own,” said Andreas handing him a lighter.
Punka’s hands were shaking as he lit the cigarette. “You guys really are cops, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we’re cops,” said Andreas.
Punka seemed to relax.
Why does that make him feel better? He must be really frightened of someone.
“I want to see some identification. I should have asked for it before.”
“Yes, you should have.” Andreas smiled, but reached into his shirt and pulled out his credentials.
Punka’s lips moved as he struggled to read. “Jesus, you’re Chief of Special Crimes.”
“And you don’t think he’s here just to talk about your two pieces of shit dead brothers, do you?” said Tassos.
Punka glared at Tassos. “Don’t talk about my brothers that way.”
“Stop blowing smoke up my ass,” said Tassos. “You’re the reason they’re dead. You know it and we know it.”
“I had nothing to do with what happened to them.” His left eye was twitching.
“Convince me,” said Andreas.
“Fuck off. I have the right to a lawyer.”
“Yeah, right,” said Tassos.
“We’re going to bury you in Kordydallos as an accessory to the murder of your brothers,” said Andreas.
Kordydallos Prison Complex was Greece’s main prison, housing maximum security and other prisoners in the suburbs of Piraeus, the southwest port city of greater Athens. It was repeatedly cited as one of the worst prisons in Europe for overcrowding and alleged inhumane treatment of detainees.
“You can’t prove that,” said Punka.
Tassos laughed. “Who cares? How long do you think you’ll stay alive inside once those friends of yours that you’re so afraid of find out why you’re in there? What do you think the odds are that they’ll let you live a week with what you know?”
“You’re dead meat the moment you step inside those ugly gray walls,” said Andreas.
Punka was shaking. “I told them not to get involved.”
“Yeah, sure, you did,” said Tassos.
“I told them I didn’t care how much our clan stood to make on the deal, it was pure suicide. But they wouldn’t listen. I said, ‘stay out of it’ don’t get involved. You don’t live very long crossing the Albanians.”
Greeks had a habit of referring to any group that controlled an industry, legal or illegal, or a government of any sort as “mafia.” But they didn’t mean the cinematic Godfather kind who broke legs and chopped off heads—equine and other—to make their point. At least not until recently. Now, they had the real kind to worry about. And of all the organized crime finding its way into Greece, by far the most feared and dangerous hailed from Albania. Virtually every aspect of Greece’s organized crime activity somehow fell within the Albanian gangs’ spheres of influence and bore their violent imprint. They might partner with tsigani, Russians, Greeks, or others, but they came from a land of blood feuds and possessed of a view on the value of li
fe far different from the Greeks.
They did not represent all Albanians, of course, no more so than Italian, Russian, or Irish mobsters were indicative of their cultures. But on any list of mean mother-fucking European gangsters, Albanians ranked numero uno.
“What deal?” said Andreas.
“I don’t know, but it was something big on Tinos.”
“Stop fucking with us, Punka. Don’t tell me you ‘don’t know.’” Tassos stepped toward Punka.
Andreas put out his arm to stop him. “Like the man said, ‘Stop fucking with us.’”
“Honest, not even our clan leader knew. He got paid to move the camp to Tinos with the promise there’d be a lot more if we ‘behaved’ and did as we were told.”
“What do you mean ‘behaved’?” said Tassos.
“Not get in any trouble on Tinos.”
“Who made the deal with your clan?” said Andreas.
“No idea. But I heard he wasn’t rom.”
Tassos said, “You expect us to believe your clan made that kind of deal with a total stranger?”
“It’s like our leader said, ‘the money’s real, so who cares who’s paying?’ Besides, times are tough and it wasn’t as if we were giving up anything.”
“How about living? Remember, you said you were crossing the Albanians,” said Andreas.
“The deal to move to Tinos was made before I knew anything about the Albanians. It wasn’t until I heard about metanastes crews making similar deals that I realized Albanians weren’t included.”
“Similar deals?” said Andreas.
“Yes, to move to Tinos.”
“And behave?” said Tassos.
Punka nodded. “Yes.”
“And that’s why the clan booted you out?” said Tassos.
“Yes, because once I realized the Albanians were cut out of whatever was going to happen on Tinos, I tried getting my brothers to stay out of it, not get involved.”
“Who killed your brothers?” said Andreas.
“No idea.”
“Who do you think might have wanted them dead?” said Andreas.
“No idea.”
“For someone supposedly so upset about the murder of his brothers you don’t seem to care much about finding their killers,” said Andreas.
Target: Tinos Page 4
