Outta Crime - A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel

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OUTTA
CRIME
A Kat Makris Novel
ALEX A. KING
Copyright © 2017 by Alex A. King
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
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for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For Bill and Corinne, who make life good
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Also by Alex A. King
Chapter One
W HEN I WAS EIGHTEEN , my mother died. Afterward, when she was in the
ground and our lives as we knew them—especially hers—were over, Dad
turned to me and said, “Now Baboulas will snatch me .”
“Snatch you ?”
My mother was dead. Her death had stunted my verbal prowess.
“Your mother was like the blanket children hide under so the boogeyman
will not rip them out of their beds and gnaw off their heads.”
“You’re saying Mom was bedding?”
“High quality bedding, made with Kevlar.”
Grief-stricken me wasn’t sure where this was going. The Baboulas stories
were a staple of my childhood, strange and terrible fairy tales about Greece’s
version of the boogeyman, who, for reasons I didn’t understand, had it in for
my dad. What the Greek boogeyman wanted with a truck driver was a
mystery. At the time I figured losing Mom at the end of a long battle with
cancer was more than he could take, so he’d seized on mythology from
happier times.
I went along with it; I needed his stories, too .
“I’ll be your Kevlar blankie,” I said .
He put his arm around my shoulder and hugged me gently, like I was
glass.
“You are the best daughter anybody in this world could hope for.
Everyone else, I feel sorry for them because they do not have you .”
We were in the kitchen, and we had coffee, but it was cooling faster than
we could drink it. I remembered thinking it was the emptiest this room had
ever been .
“Tell me a story,” I said .
Dad nodded his head slowly, as though it was encased in concrete. He
lifted his cup to his mouth then sat it back down without drinking. We were a
pair of robots, going through the motions.
“Once upon a time there was a little boy who was a big malakas —I can
use that word now because your mother is not here to yell at me—who ran
away from home— ”
“Was the boy you?” I’d asked him .
“Do I look like a malakas to you ?”
I shook my head. “Where did he go ?”
“You would already know if you had not interrupted me,” he said,
ruffling my hair. “The boy found a cave—a magical cave, he soon
discovered, because not just anybody could come in and out of this cave as
they pleased, especially if they wanted to do bad things to somebody like kill
them execution-style.”
“The USA is the cave, isn’t it ?”
“Sometimes a cave is just a cave, and sometimes a cave is a magical cave.
Creatures like Baboulas cannot get into magical caves, even if they have
regrets and want to become less evil. In this story the boy who was definitely
not me went into this magical cave because he had overheard Baboulas
talking about how the cave had strong magics—magics that could turn a
person into a god .”
“Did it work? Did the boy turn into a god .”
“Eh, beware of caves bearing gifts. The boy became a god but he could
not show off and tell people he was a god. He had to keep his power under
his clothes, like Superman.”
“Did Baboulas discover he was a god ?”
“Of course,” he said. “Where do you think the magic came from ?”
THE NICE THING about my funeral was that no one expected me to go.
They were counting on it, in fact. Which meant, guess who didn’t have to
waste time trying to decide what to wear ?
That would be me, Katerina Makris, the woman whose life ended at
twenty-eight but whose mouth kept working anyway.
Lucky me, I got to watch the shenanigans from the privacy of the bunker
beneath Grandma’s shitty shack. For a fake funeral, Grandma and the rest of
the Makris family (and Family) went all out. Yesterday they’d given me a
wake to remember. Casket open. Everyone I’d ever met in Greece—and
hundreds I hadn’t—traipsed past my fancy death-box and laid a serious
amount of smooches on my cheeks—my scarlet cheeks. Aunt Rita was
responsible for my hair, outfit, and makeup. Grandma petitioned for a more
sedate and somber look, but Aunt Rita insisted that a woman shouldn’t stop
turning heads just because she was dead, so there I was all decked out in a red
bandage dress with matching heels and enough cosmetics plastered on my
skin to qualify for a job on any of the world’s best street corners.
I squinted at the big screen.
This was morbid, but being dead was really working for me. Dead Kat
looked downright svelte. The widest part of Dead Kat was her long, dark
hair. Aunt Rita was a sorceress when it came to makeovers.
Today, Father Harry was presiding over my funeral. All those people
who’d kissed my cheeks in the Makris family compound piled in to Ayia
Aikaterini—Saint Catherine—on this September day, when the sun was still
whacking Greece with its cattle prod. When the formal service was over, the
six pallbearers hoisted me on their shoulders and began the short, slow walk
to the nearby graveyard. Xander and Detective Nikos Melas. Takis, my
cousin’s cousin’s cousin. My cousin Stavros. Aunt Rita in Rita Hayworth’s
black gown from Gilda , with gloves to match. Number Six was—
My eyes bugged out. “Donk? Are you kidding me? Donk is one of my
pallbearers?”
Marika helped herself to the popcorn bowl on my lap. “Takis looks good
in a suit. Do you think he looks good in a suit ?”
Takis, Marika’s husband, had the face and physique of a skinned weasel.
The only thing that would look good on Takis was an extra thirty pounds. He
and Marika were textbook opposites. Marika was built like a comfortable
couch, normally covered in flowery damask. She’s my age, or thereabouts,
and she and Takis have a cage of wild monkeys they made themselves.
They’ve got another one on the way, most likely of the same species.
“Donk?” I squeaked. “Really?” I reached for the popcorn but Marika had
a death grip. Who knew she’d feel so strongly about extra butter ?
“It makes sense,” Marika said. “Donk is your apprentice.”
“Donk isn’t my apprentice! He’s just a kid who follows me around.”
And the reason the misguided teenager followed me around was because
his uncle, Baby Dimitri, a renowned mobster, wanted him to learn the
business. But on the afternoon I died, Donk had proudly announced his
decision to turn to the dark side. After high school was over, he planned to
join the National Intelligence Service—NIS—Greece’s version of the CIA .
Speaking of Baby Dimitri, he was at the gravesite, too, dressed in a pastel
blue seersucker suit. His sidekick Laki was with him, trimming his
fingernails with a paring knife. Laki was explosive fire’s biggest fan. BOOM
was his favorite word .
“Think of this as a dress rehearsal,” Marika said. “When you die for real
you can choose your own pallbearers.”
“Well that’s just great,” I muttered. My gaze skittered to some of the
other, smaller screens. There was a whole bank of them, with eyes and ears in
strategic locations, one of which is the local police department where
Detective Melas works. He’d flip if he knew, so I haven’t let him in on
Grandma’s little secret. You’re wrong if you don’t think I struggle with that .
Poor Melas, he didn’t look happy. Nobody did. Apart from Grandma,
Aunt Rita, Xander, Takis, and Marika, none of them knew I was alive. As far
as they were concerned I was shot down by an assassin, who had, as of yet, to
be apprehended. In reality I was shot in the chest with a heavy tranquilizer,
the doohickey equipped with a blood capsule so that everyone would see a
flash of blood before I was whisked away to die. All I remembered about the
incident was an insane laugh, arms lifting me, and someone whispering, “It’s
going to be okay,” as they crammed me into a body bag .
Why the elaborate hoax ?
Good question.
So far Grandma had been dodging the question. Too busy planning what
had shaped up to be a nice funeral, she insisted. I’d asked her if the police
had launched a manhunt to find my killer, because that’s what police do
when a person is murdered and they’re not in on the joke .
“No,” Grandma had told me. “No manhunt.”
“I don’t get a manhunt?”
“The police have left it to the Family to investigate. They do not have the
budget for manhunts when I can do a better job. They did offer to put up
flyers though.”
“Flyers,” I’d said weakly. “I’m like a missing pet .”
Marika nudged me. “Here comes the good part .”
This wasn’t my first Greek funeral. There’s always a melodramatic
moment graveside where the womenfolk hurl themselves at the coffin and
howl. She who wails and weeps hardest loved the deceased most. It didn’t
matter if that was true or not, only that it looked true. Greeks are big on
appearances. They can hide almost anything underneath a decorative rug—
especially the truth.
Grandma and Aunt Rita stood alongside the coffin. Aunt Rita looked at
Grandma and Grandma looked back. They both knew I was alive, so the
whole grief thing wasn’t exactly coming naturally to them .
Buttery fingers patted my arm. “Do not feel bad, Baboulas never cries.”
“Still,” I said, “you’d think someone would cry .”
Marika gestured at the screen. “Look. Papou is crying.”
Despite his nickname, Papou isn’t anyone’s grandfather—not that I know
of, anyway. Papou is Grandma’s advisor, what the Mafia calls a consigliere.
He’s older than sin and has a face like a billion years of seismic activity. And
he has two things most people don’t: a death wish and an eagle. Lately the
death wish was on hold because his eagle was refusing to do normal eagle
stuff. The bird had a difficult upbringing, and wound up doing hard time
because of the company it kept. Yiorgos the eagle had seen things no bird
should have to see .
Sure enough, Papou was crying, but there were extenuating circumstances
that had nothing to do with my alleged demise.
“He’s not crying,” I muttered, “he’s laughing.”
Marika squinted at the screen. “Oh. My mistake.”
Grandma and Aunt Rita seemed to come to a consensus. Grandma waved
her hand and Xander stepped forward to help Aunt Rita kneel by my coffin. It
was a nice coffin. Shiny. Black. It must have cost a fortune. I hoped Grandma
could get her money back. Unless, of course, she kept coffins around as a
contingency plan. In the Makris family I could see where it would be useful
to buy in bulk and make advance purchases while sales were on .
My father’s mother is Greece’s most notorious crime lord. The reigning
queen of Greek mafia, she rules with an iron fist and delectable baked goods.
Everyone calls her Baboulas—the boogeyman—behind her back, and she is
my only living grandparent. I didn’t know she existed until my father was
kidnapped from our Portland, Oregon home this summer. Then she had her
goons—Takis and Stavros—haul me to Greece. I would have gone kicking
and screaming, but they drugged me .
Marika pointed. “Look at Hera. She is crying.”
Hera. The Barbie doll NIS agent who used to share Melas’s bed. These
days she was banging Melas lookalikes. In his house. In his bed .
“Also laughing.”
“Kyria Mela ?”
Detective Melas’s mother is a helmet-haired bird with the power to
disembowel a grown man with the sheer force of her personality. Apparently
she likes me, just not anywhere near her son. Big problem, because her son
likes being around me .
“Smiling,” I said .
“At least she is not laughing.”
“Probably she only laughs when she’s torturing people.”
“I could see that.” She nudged me. “Look, that one is crying.”
At last—one legitimate weeper. Irini Pappas is married to Detective
Melas’s best friend and fellow cop. She’s also Hera’s sister, although there
seems to be no love between them for reasons that are immediately
understandable when you meet Hera .
Like everyone else, Irini was all decked out in black, and she wore it well.
She looked downright elegant as she flung herself across my coffin, ugly-
crying. She threw back her head and pleaded with God to give me back and
take someone else instead.
“Choose any of these people,” she howled. “Preferably my sister. If You
won’t take my sister, I made a list !”
“It is a good list,” her husband said to no one in particular.
Melas’s eye twitched. Did he have any clue I was a half-kilometer away,
buried underground? Xander knew, for sure. He’s Grandma’s right hand man,
and also her left, and sometimes both legs. Xander is a lot of man, most of it
muscle. He has bronze skin, a Greek god’s cheekbones, and a waterfall of
scars that run the length of his back. I don’t know where they came from, but
I know Melas has the same scars.
Marika drained the rest of the popcorn bowl into her mouth then heaved
herself out of the chair. She was barely pregnant but she was acting like
delivery was days away .
“Going somewhere?”
“The party is starting soon. I want to make sure nobody else eats all
the food .”
I raised my eyebrows. “Party?”
“Funeral party. It is a tradition.”
I’d already been to one Greek funeral. A member of Dad’s childhood
posse had a penchant for faking his own deaths. Eventually life—and a serial
killing ex-cop— caught up with him and put him in the ground for good. His
career as a performance artist came to a damp end in Grandma’s swimming
pool—the same pool that was above my head and to the right somewhere.
The funeral I’d attended was one of the fake ones, and there had been a get-
together afterwards where people ate, drank, and told tales about the not-quite
deceased. But I wouldn’t call it a party, per se. Parties implied fun .
My eyes narrowed. “Will there be fun ?”
“No,” Marika said .
“Are you sure ?”
“Yes. Everybody thinks you are dead. Everyone except those of us who
know you are okay. Now that I think about it, I bet that Hera will have fun.
She looks like the kind of person who enjoys funerals.”
“It’s not fair. She gets to have fun and eat while I’m stuck down here .”
By ‘eat and have fun’ I meant that without me around she’d definitely
forge straight ahead on Operation Bone Melas. She made no secret of the fact
that she intended to bump and grind her way back into his bed .
Not that Nikos and I had a chance anyway. He was on the side of
goodness and light. And me, although my intentions were good my family
tree definitely leaned toward the dark side. The trunk was basically flat on the
ground, and I was the only branch pointing up .
That didn’t mean I couldn’t lust after him. We’d kissed, and he’d
handcuffed me to the fireman’s pole in his house and forced me to watch him
eat moussaka .
“I will keep my eyes on her,” Marika said. “You are dead, yes, but that
does not mean I am not your bodyguard.”
Technically Marika was no longer my bodyguard, on account of how I’d
been shot right in front of her. It was just an excuse because my real
bodyguard Elias hadn’t taken a hit to the paycheck. Takis wanted his wife off
the job now that she was expecting, and I suspected he’d gone to Grandma to
plead his case .
“Okay. Go if you have to.” I eyed her with a hopeful, puppy dog look.
“Do you think you could bring me a plate?”
Confusion shone all over her face. “A plate? What for do you want a
plate? A plate for smashing?”
“A plate of food. It’s an American thing, I guess.”
“What do you want? A bite of everything?”
“I was hoping for more of a feast, and no kokoretsi or taramasalata .”
She gave me a wounded look. “No kokoretsi or taramasalata . Sometimes
it is like you are not Greek.”
“And plenty of bread, please.”
“Okay, maybe you are Greek enough.”
She kissed me on both cheeks, then the blood drained out of her face and
her limbs wobbled.
“Marika?”
I jumped up to steady her, sat her down in my chair. She closed her eyes
tight, stuck her finger in her ear and wiggled it .
“Marika?”
I clicked my fingers in front of her face .
“I am fine, I am fine.” The color came back. “I think the baby just gave
me a message!”
“A message?”
“A psychic message.”
“Has this … happened before?” And was she on any medication, like,
say, anti-psychotics?
Not that I didn’t believe her, but where I come from—Portland, Oregon—
people don’t walk around having visions. If they do there are clinics for that.
There’s one not far from Voodoo Doughnuts, so you can get your sugar and
methadone fix on the same block.
“This is the first. She must be very special.”
“Okay, so what’s the message?”
“It is an important message. Very important.”
“Okay …”
“You do not believe my daughter?”
“She?”
“We are having a girl, at last, I feel it. Finally, one child who will not
want to join the circus.”
“Was that the message, that you’re having a girl ?”
“No. It was for you .”
“Me?”
She patted me on the head. “She says you should break out of this bunker
and sneak away from the compound.”
Technically I wasn’t a prisoner, but Grandma figured it would be best if I
stayed out of sight for the foreseeable future. All my belongings were down
here, stored in one of the bedrooms across the hall. This place was built to
withstand payback from the Trojans.
“Grandma will kill me . ”
“She says Baboulas does not want you dead or you would already be dead
.”
“I can’t,” I said .
Guilt picked up its fork, jabbed me in the side. I was totally planning to
escape Grandma’s underground bunker.
I had a good reason, too .
I was pretty sure I knew where my father had been all this time .
Chapter Two
M ARIKA BUSTLED AWAY , leaving me with a growling stomach and a burning

desire to go full-on Escape From Alcatraz . As far as I know there are two
ways to get in and out of Grandma’s bunker. The first is a cleverly disguised
platform in the front yard of Grandma’s shack. Shack is an overstatement.
Grandma’s position in life comes with a catch, and that catch is that she has
to live in the original Makris family home, located in the opulent courtyard of
the compound. Even after renovations the place is a dump, and that’s being
generous. But when Grandma gave me a choice, I’d opted to stay in the hovel
because Grandma was my last remaining grandparent, and she was suffering
from a deadly combo of old age and cancer.
Cancer had already snatched Mom. Now it was coming for my
grandmother.
The second exit is located in Xander’s apartment. A tunnel leads to a
ladder, which leads to a hatch locked with a passcode. That hatch opens in his
floor, under a rug .
Neither choice was sound for a woman wanting to make a quick, quiet
getaway .
Lucky for me, I was a woman with resources—and by resources I meant
feet and thumbs. The bunker had a third tunnel, which I’d had ample
opportunity to explore while I was sequestered underground these past three
days and nights.
Not that there was much to explore. The tunnel led to a door. Locked.
Steel. Garden-variety lock .
Seeing as how I wasn’t technically a prisoner, Grandma had made sure I
still had the company of my handbag. And in my bag there was treasure: lock
picks—a gift from Aunt Rita—and my phone.
This wouldn’t be my first ride on the lock-picking pony. Once I’d broken
into Melas’s house, harnessing the power of YouTube.
Now was the time. The whole family, right down to Marika, was at my
funeral feast. After Marika left I’d spent a few minutes scanning and panning
to make sure the biggest players were accounted for. Everyone except the
sniper on the roof (cousin) and the daytime guard (also a cousin) who
manned the guardhouse out front was accounted for. Grandma was rolling
around in her wheelchair, thanks to a table dancing accident. At the time she
was high, so I could see where it seemed like a good idea. To help the nausea
from chemotherapy, Grandma prescribes herself pot koulourakia —cookies.
And Grandma being Grandma, she has access to the best weed money can
buy. Aunt Rita was singing an old Tzeni Vanou song on the stage in her
Gilda dress—serenading a life-size picture of me. Holding a spoonful of
taramasalata in one liver-spotted hand, Papou was trying to convince
Yiorgos, his eagle, to eat. When that didn’t work, he pulled a small snake
from his pocket and pitched it into the crowd.
Nobody screamed. Nobody flinched. This crowd was tough; they didn’t
flip out for anything less than gunfire .
Across the courtyard, Melas was ignoring Hera, who appeared to be
purring in his ear and rubbing against his arm. She’d arrived dressed for
battle in a skintight black dress that gave her boobs no place to go except up
and out. Her red lipstick practically screamed ENTRANCE.
Xander was Xander. Black suit. Black tie. Crisp white shirt. Hands
clasped in front. He stayed close to Grandma but his head was always on the
move, hunting for trouble.
Xander is an adopted family member of sorts. Grandma accidentally
slaughtered his whole family when she only meant to murder most of them,
leaving Xander orphaned when he was tiny. He knew all about it, but whether
he harbored a grudge or not, I wasn’t sure. If he cut off all our heads one
night while we were sleeping, I wouldn’t exactly blame the guy .
My cousin Stavros and Elias, my bodyguard, were near the pool, talking.
All the arm waving they were doing, there was a good chance they’d take
flight. Takis was off to the side, glaring at them .
Anyway, they were accounted for. Which meant it was time for me to
hustle.
I worked quickly … for someone who had no serious idea what she were
doing. YouTube’s instructions were clear, but it’s not like this was my day
job. Until recently, when my place of employment not-so-mysteriously
burned down and my boss was shoved down the steps, I was a bill collector.
My Greek family approved of the job but they didn’t understand the part
where I asked for money nicely, with a helping of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’
and ‘would you please let Mr. Whozit know I called if he should
conveniently come back from death?’
Twiddle.
Tweak .
An ominous click … followed by a more promising click.
My tongue poked out of my mouth slightly while fiddling with the lock,
because poking my tongue out made things easier.
Then, finally, the lock yielded. The door, not so much. I gave it some
shoulder.
Nothing. A lot of nothing. The door wasn’t going anywhere, which meant
neither was I. Not unless I wanted to waltz out of one of the other exits, and I
didn’t fancy coming face to face with the people who had orchestrated my
untimely—yet perfectly timed—demise.
I blew out a sigh of pure frustration. “Jesus on a jet ski .”
A voice cut into my thoughts. “You need help? Because you sound like
someone who needs help. And here I thought you were the one smart
Makris.”
Yikes!
Heart lodged in my throat, alongside my equally wimpy lungs, I jumped
back several feet and prepared for war. That meant cowering with my arms
wrapped around my head .
There are moments in life when you come this close to peeing a little.
This was one of those times. Let’s just say it was a good thing I’d gone to the
bathroom one last time before I launched my escape.
My escape, which was going nowhere, by the way .
The voice was thin and distant, mostly because it was traveling through
several inches of metal door. I put my ear to the door and listened.
“Just let me know, okay ?”
Male. No one I recognized.
“Who is this?” I lowered my voice, whispered conspiratorially. “Are you
Abbe Faria? ”
There was a masculine chuckle. Clearly I wasn’t the only one around here
who’d read The Count of Monte Cristo . “If I knew the location of a huge
fortune, do you think I would be here ?”
“That depends. Where is here, and are you going to tell my
grandmother?”
“Tell her what? That we talked through a door? Where is the crime in that
?”
He had a point. He also kept on talking, even though I hadn’t
answered him .
“You want a coffee? Come, I have coffee. You have something sweet,
yes? Something sweet would go well with coffee.”
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that Marika was missing in action
with my promised plate of goodies. She was too busy topside, eating her way
from one end of the catering table to the other. The most dangerous place in
the world right now was between Marika and food .
“Not that it’s not a great idea, but we have a door problem. I unlocked it
but it’s not opening”
Metal scraped metal. Hinges groaned. The door swung open .
Standing there was a face it took me a moment to recognize because I’d
only seen it in pieces before, glimpsed through a letterbox-sized opening in a
door—one of the cell doors in Grandma’s dungeon. (Dungeon was a bit of a
misnomer. The dungeon had an antechamber that was all straw, shackles, and
concrete, but the place where the actual detaining went on had more in
common with a Holiday Inn than it did Gitmo.) The mystery prisoner.
Makria’s only homeless person. Allegedly. He was sporting a monobrow so
thick, so serious, that it would have given Frieda Kahlo an inferiority
complex. Sixty was a cloud of dust behind him. Dirt was his contemporary.
His pants were high waisted, his shirt was folded to the elbow, revealing
faded tattoos. Anchors, mostly, and a pair of boobs that might have been
perky once, but now looked like deflated airbags.
He eyed my empty hands.
“Where are the sweets, eh ?”
“Sweets?”
“To go with the coffee. You promised me rose loukoumia last time, but I
do not have rose loukoumia .”
“Why not ?”
He rapped a knuckle on my head. “Because you did not bring it, so what
is your word worth, eh? A klasimo , that is what .”
A fart. Lovely.
“Stay there,” I said .
“Where is there for me to go? Do not answer, that is one of those
rhetorical questions. Go, go, get the sweets.”
The bunker had a fully stocked pantry off the comfortable kitchen. A
walk-in room stuffed full of culinary supplies, compiled in case war broke
out overhead. Or maybe so Grandma had somewhere to go to get away from
the family and the hovel bequeathed on her .
That hovel, by the way, was destined to be mine someday. Guess how
excited I was about that .
I yanked open the pantry door, began to scan the shelves, and found
loukoumia . Five kinds. I grabbed a box of the pale pink rose cubes and
hoofed it back to the tunnel’s end. Makria’s only homeless person yanked the
box out of my hand and dived right in. Lips powdered, he mumbled, “What
are you waiting for ?”
Through the looking glass I went … and into his cell. White walls. White
marble floor. Bookcase. Desk and chair. Carpenter-made, not assemble-it-
yourself-and-lose-a-finger-and-possibly-your-sanity. Poster of Anna Vissi on
the wa ll. Anna Vissi is Greece’s Madonna, without the dodgy British accent
and the revolving bedroom door. In the corner, the cell had a small bathroom.
“Can you make Greek coffee?”
I looked at him. “On purpose?”
He thumped a fist on his chest. “Greek coffee will put hair on your chest.
Of course you are a Greek girl so probably you already have hair on your
chest.”
“It was one hair, and when I plucked it it never came back .”
“It will,” he said darkly, “and it will bring friends. Okay, I will make the
coffee.”
“Can I pass on the coffee?”
“No.”
Alrighty then. I found a wall to lean on while he whipped out a camping-
sized gas burner, a briki (a 12 oz. long-handled pot for making Greek coffee),
coffee, and sugar. It wasn’t long before the thick mixture began to bubble. He
filled two little cups and gave me one .
“Why are you leaving Katerina’s bunker?”
Grandma and I share a first name, on account of how Greeks pass their
names on to their grandchildren. If you don’t, you may as well cut out their
hearts, you ungrateful kolopetho— butt child. Just because Dad ran away
from Greece to escape his mother, didn’t mean he wanted to disrespect her .
“It’s for a good cause, I promise.”
He made a face. “I already know what your promise is worth, remember?
So save me the disappointment and tell me what skata you have planned.”
“You’re never going to let the loukoumia thing go, are you ?”
“At my age grudges are what keep me alive. That and knowing I have
enemies out there, still breathing. Keep your friends close, keep your enemies
alive, and be angry about many things. That is the secret to long life .”
“You should write motivational book .”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“Maybe.”
“Keep practicing and one day you might be good at it.” With thick
fingers, he dug around in the box, popped another powdered cube in his
mouth. “You should know that I am stalling you .”
Of course he was, because everybody in the area was one of Grandma’s
patsies. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted. “So Grandma can stop me from
leaving, I gather.”
“Yes. But I think it would be more interesting to let you leave. You are
not a prisoner, so what harm can it do, eh ?”
Great. “So how do I get out of here ?”
His hand performed a showman’s flourish “Through the door .”
The dungeon door led to an escalator, which led to a closet on the main
building’s bottom floor.
“The door that leads to a broom closet? There’s a funeral party going on
up there. I can’t just walk out into the middle of it .”
“Whose funeral?”
“Mine.”
He laughed. “You Makris … you always make me laugh. Never mind the
front door, there is another way. But you cannot tell anyone about this, okay?
This is the entrance and exit the children use to sneak in and out of here. I
like hearing them play. They are good company for an old man. And that
little one, Tomas, po-po , that one is clever.”
Tomas was five, and he was adorable and savant-level smart.
“Lead me to it . ”
He retrieved a key from his pocket, unlocked his cell door. It swung open
without a protest. From there we went to the metal door that separated the
civilized part of the dungeon from the medieval. Several cells, all bars. No
privacy. Each came with a bucket and a pile of straw that someone must have
replenished regularly because it always looked fresh.
“Here,” he said. He pointed to a wall on the inside of a cell .
“Looks like a wall to me .”
“That is the idea. Touch that stone there.”
I touched the stone.
“Wiggle it .”
I wiggled it. Nothing.
“Wiggle harder. What are you, a girl?” He made a fist and patted his
bicep. “Put some muscle behind it .”
The rock wasn’t going anywhere. A curse danced on the tip of my tongue.
It didn’t involve the common Greek sexual shenanigans between farm
animals, saints, and someone’s mother, but it did involve the man standing
behind me and himself.
Clang.
I spun around in time to see Monobrow turning the key in the lock .
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I am doing?”
“Locking me in here so I don’t make a getaway?”
“Ha! Wrong! I am locking you in here so you can escape. For a clever
person you are not too clever.”
I scratched my head. “I don’t get it .”
“Now that you are motivated to escape, you will work a little harder to
move that rock, eh ?”
He tossed me a wink and vanished back the way we’d come .
Fabulous. Now I really was a prisoner, unless I could get the rock loose.
If Monobrow was telling me the truth to begin with. I flopped down on the
ground cross-legged and considered my options. I had two. Pop the rock
loose and find the exit, or chew my way through. My dentist was good but
she wasn’t that good .
What did I have ?
I went digging in my purse, found a metal nail file and got to work,
digging at the mortar holding the rock in place.
“What are you doing, Thea Katerina?”
I jumped. Little Tomas was standing on the freedom side of the cell.
Awww, he was adorable in his little suit and tie .
“Tomas!” I figured I should probably tell him the truth so he wouldn’t be
scarred for life. “I’m alive, not a ghost.”
He shrugged, completely nonchalant. “I know .”
“You do ?”
“I knew you weren’t really dead .”
“How?”
“I saw you get shot. I knew the bullet wasn’t real. I watch a lot of wildlife
documentaries and I know a dart when I see one. Do you want to see it? I
picked it up.” He went diving in his pocket and pulled out the pointy dart. It
was teeny tiny, not at all like I expected. But then the shooter wasn’t trying to
take down an elephant.
The shooter. Grandma wouldn’t say who pulled the trigger. Probably she
didn’t want me to wring their neck for being an accomplice.
“Do you think anyone else saw ?”
His chin tilted up-down. “They were all too busy going crazy, the way
grownups do. Baboulas made everyone go away, but nobody notices me. I
saw you twitch when Theo Xander put you into the body bag .”
“Xander did ?”
He nodded. “He wouldn’t let anyone else touch you, probably because he
didn’t want anyone to know you were alive. Why were you pretending to
be dead ?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I like stories. I’m smart but I’m still five .”
He gave me one of his adorable little boy smiles and my ovaries ached.
Then something occurred to me .
“Wait. How did you get in here ?”
He pointed to the next cell over. “There’s a tunnel behind the rock .”
Huh. “Thanks,” I called out. “You put me in the wrong cell !”
Monobrow stuck his head out the door. “Sometimes my mind is not as
sharp as it used to be. Do not tell your grandmother, eh? She will never let
me forget it.” He unlocked the cell, patted me on the head as I pushed past.
All that white on his mustache, looked to me like he’d taken to snorting
loukoumi straight out of the box .
“Show me,” I told Tomas.
He zipped into the next cell, pulled a rock out the wall. Behind it there
was a hatch with a handle. One turn of the handle and the hatch revealed a
roomy tunnel.
He gave me a worried look. “You won’t tell anyone?”
I crossed my heart and hoped to die—again.
He crawled into the tunnel. I followed.
“Who built this ?”
“The legend says your baba did .”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Where does it come out ?”
“On the outside of the wall .”
Perfect. Something was finally going my way .
Five minutes of crawling and Tomas stopped. He fiddled around, then
light skulked in, thin and broken. “Here .”
We popped out into a patch of wilderness on the far side of the compound
wall. Nearby, the band was playing. People were talking. A thin finger of
smoke nosed over the top of the wall. Someone was smoking—a big no-no as
far as Grandma was concerned. Apparently she didn’t take it well when
someone smoked on her property, and when Grandma didn’t take things well,
murder happened. She’d probably get Takis to do it. He seemed like he was
her go-to murder guy .
Outside of the compound, I could breathe again. I’d been in a kind of
stasis for days now, my body and brain crackling with unspent energy. Now
that I had an idea where Dad was, I was desperate to get to him .
That’s if I was right.
What now? I needed transportation. Pilfering a vehicle from the family
car pool wasn’t feasible. Only the core family members knew I was alive.
Grandma didn’t even trust Melas enough to let him know I was still kicking.
Takis and Marika. Aunt Rita and Grandma. Xander and now Tomas. Even
Papou wasn’t in the circle of trust because he was as discreet as a bloodstain
on white pants, was how Aunt Rita put it. Aunt Rita had never had a period in
her life, mostly because she used to be a man and—as far as I knew—still
had all her original parts. But I knew about bloodstains on white shorts, so I
figured it was a good thing Papou was left out of the loop. Nobody forgets
that stain. Ever .
I’d been around the compound long enough to know where I was, where
the road was from here, and that if I went north instead of south then the
whole village of Makria would know I was alive.
I hugged Tomas, promised him I’d be fine, and set off south on foot.
Three days underground and the weather had changed. There was sun, yes,
but it packed less punch. And a good thing, too, because these jeans weren’t
made for Greece’s summer days. I settled my sunglasses on my nose and
jammed a hat down over my hair, checked the map on my phone, and veered
toward a thin trail that was less road and more like some guy with a donkey
rode along here once a month. The main road might attract attention,
especially if some of the funeral guests tired of all the fun and zipped past .
Half an hour later I was on the edge of Volos, where the air had its usual
carcinogenic texture and taste. My feet hurt. I was tired. I needed a nap.
Being dead was a real drag. Being dead while being me was doubly a drag.
On every periptero ( the little booths that sold newspapers, candy, drinks, ice
creams, and cigarettes) I passed, I saw myself. Baboulas’s only
granddaughter was dead, so now I was headline news—again. It wasn’t that
long ago that the papers wore my face, with an unflattering headline and
article that said Greece’s crime princess had come home .
Who killed Katerina Makris ?
My death was Greece’s very own Twin Peaks , but with worse coffee and
no pie .
I kept the bill of my hat down low and my sunglasses in place. The rest of
my face I hid behind a paper coffee cup. Then I threaded through the city,
and hopped on a bus bound one of the local villages.
Greek buses have a driver up front and a conductor perched at the rear
doors to collect fares and scowl. I gave the sour conductor my money and
found a seat near the back, between a murder of crows and a wall of glowing
tourists. The tourists’ chatter was as bright as their sunburn. German. The
elderly widows were slowly sucking life from the rest of the bus with their
judgmental gawking and razor sharp tongues. They were busy filleting
someone’s reputation.
I settled back in the seat and tuned out .
Until I heard my name .
“It is a good thing that Katerina Makri girl is dead,” one of the crows said
.
Clearly she didn’t know about the “s” I insisted on keeping. Normally
only Greek men got an “s” at the end of their last names, but I was all about
the equality. Plus giving it up would be like throwing away my nose or
pinkie. That was my “s,” damn it .
“Po-po , what is wrong with you? And you call yourself a Christian.”
“I call myself a Greek, and her death is a good thing for Greece. Now
they will all die out .”
Behind me here was a small, hollow sound that sounded like a fist
tapping on a skull. “What is in that head of yours?” a third voice said.
“Baboulas has other children and grandchildren.”
“I wonder who killed her,” one said. “I bet it was Baboulas herself.”
She didn’t know how right she was .
“I bet it was one of those men .”
The others listened in. I did, too .
“I heard there were ten of them sharing her bed, if you know what I mean
.”
“We know what you mean,” the others said with a mixture of reverence
and horror.
“Nothing good ever happens to putanas .”
Wait—what? Now I was a lady of the night. I don’t think so, bub .
“I would not say that,” one of the other crows said. “They make good
money, and some of them travel a lot. Rich men pay them to dance on yachts.
How is that not good? I thought about doing it myself for a long time. Then I
married Yiannis and he never took me anywhere and never let me have any
money and all he had was an old fishing boat. After seven children my mouni
is more of an outtie than an innie. No rich men would pay me to dance on
their yacht now .”
Desperate to get away from the widows, I vaulted off the bus near Baby
Dimitri’s souvenir and shop. The doors were open. The chairs were in their
usual position out front. It was basically a waterfront strip mall, where the
colors were at all out war with each other. Normally Baby Dimitri, Godfather
of the Night, Flip Flops, and Little Statues with Big Wangs, sat out front with
his favorite gold-toothed henchman Laki. Today they were eating Grandma’s
food, drinking her wine, and arguing about politics with my family. I kept my
eyes on the cluttered sidewalk. No way was I going to peek inside to see who
was manning the cash register.
“Psst!”
I stopped.
Looked.
Damn it, I swore I wasn’t going to look .
Behind the counter was a large Bulgarian woman in clothes made for a
small Bulgarian woman. We were kind of, sort of, friends … ish. Normally
Penka peddled prescription medication from a nearby stoop, directly across
the street from a crowded part of the beach. Most of her clients were the
respectable kind of people who needed something stronger than caffeine to
get them through their decent, well-paying days. But she attracted the beach
crowd too, people who wanted to perk up or slow down … but who wanted
their kicks to come with literature that explained the side effects and let them
know when they should consult their physicians .
“You want to buy some drugs? I have good drugs. Classy drugs, none of
that sisa garbage.” In Penka’s mouth the word changed shape until it sounded
like droogs . “Something to make your concentration like a laser, maybe.”
I raised my glasses.
She squealed and dropped down behind the counter.
I trotted inside. “Penka, are you okay ?”
She was on the floor, rocking back and forth, praying.
“Penka?”
“I’m not crazy,” she whispered. “I’m not crazy.”
I crouched down and patted her knee. “Penka?”
She leaped up. “Begone, demon!”
“What? I’m not a demon!”
“Ghost?”
I shook my head .
Her forehead creased. “Hologram?”
“No …”
She clutched her head. “Oh my God, I have a brain tumor.”
“I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have a brain tumor.”
“But … I can see you .”
“Because I’m not dead .”
The creases fell out of her forehead. “Then you should have opened with
that. Now my outfit is messed up from sitting on this filthy floor.”
As far as outfits went, Penka’s separates didn’t count as one. She was in
scraps of fabric held in place with sweat and hope .
“Baby Dimitri has you working here, huh ?”
She went back to the stool behind the cash register. “Just for today. He
threatened to give my stoop to another dealer if I didn’t agree. He is at
your, uh …”
“Funeral,” I said. “I know. I saw him . ”
“Why are you pretending to be dead ?”
“Not exactly my idea .”
“Baboulas?”
I nodded.
“Say no more. I do not want Baboulas to cut out my tongue for knowing
too much .”
“She wouldn’t do that.” I stopped. “Actually she might. How’s business?”
“I am so bored that my classy drugs look good. You want to buy some ?”
“Can’t. I have somewhere to be .”
“Maybe I should come with you and do your talking for you if you need
to talk to someone, seeing as how you’re supposed to be dead. What if you
give one of these Greeks a fright? They are not as strong as Bulgarians.”
“What about Baby Dimitri?”
“I’ll leave him a note telling him I’ve got woman troubles. Nothing scares
an old Greek man like woman troubles.”
“Huh. You’d think he’d be desensitized to blood.”
“I think he only likes it if it’s coming from a hole he made .”
That made a complicated and misogynistic kind of sense.
She grabbed her bulging tote bag and we left Baby Dimitri’s shop. Down
the road we stopped and Penka ran into a kafenio for two coffees. She came
out with coffee and a white box .
“A snack,” she said. “This is harder work than selling drugs.”
I opened my bag. “Here, let me pay for it .”
“Technically Baby Dimitri paid for it. I swapped all this for a sleeve of
Adderall and a dozen Xanax. Where are we going? Wait—don’t tell me.
Plausible deniability if Baboulas catches us .”
“I’m not a prisoner,” I said .
“Oh, if you say so then it must be true .”
“It is .”
“Then why I do I feel like being with you will make me wade the
onions.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I like onions. Especially if they’re
caramelized.”
“It means you will get me into trouble.”
“You wanted to come .”
We rounded the corner, off the main drag and onto a ragamuffin street
that had never heard of zoning laws. Shops mingled with houses. A couple of
small local olive processing factories pumped brine onto the hot blacktop.
The whole street smelled like Brooklyn mid-afternoon in July. We picked up
the pace until the air dialed the stench down to sweaty feet, then I checked
my phone’s map .
Penka dug into the white box. It was crammed full of loukoumades .
Loukoumades are Greek doughnut holes, but because Greece does everything
better (according to my father … and every other Greek), they take those
doughnut holes, fry them longer, and then drown them in syrup. Greeks
figure when it comes to heart disease, olive oil has got their back .
My target was around the next right turn .
Chapter
Three
Two minutes later I was rattling a six-foot gate. Two panels. Padlocked. I
could have picked the lock, but breaking into a school during school hours
looks bad. The local high school was a one-building, two-story affair that
contained grades seven through twelve. Stark white. No greenery whatsoever
on school grounds, although there was a small forest out back, beyond the
gates. The scenery was entirely concrete, except for deep, wide wooden steps
that led to a lower level in the yard where two courts were set up: one for
basketball, one for volleyball.
“I swore once I left school I would never go back,” Penka said. “And now
look at me. I can feel facts and knowledge trying to poke their fingers
through my skin .”
“That’s probably just the loukoumades ,” I said. “There’s a lot of sugar in
those things.”
That didn’t stop her diving for another syrup-drenched nugget. She
offered me the box. I dug out a sticky doughnut hole and contemplated the
problem.
“How do we get in ?”
“You should just yell . ”
“Yell?”
She shrugged. “That is what Greeks do. They stand at the gate and yell
until someone comes out .”
That could work. She was right: that’s what Greeks did, and by lucky
coincidence we were in Greece. Up until now I figured it only worked
outside people’s houses.
I cupped my hands and hollered, “Yoohoo!”
“Yoohoo?”
“What else am I supposed to say ?”
“That is the principal’s office right there.” She pointed to the nearest
window on the bottom floor.
I shot her a quizzical look. “Really?”
“He is a customer, okay? And one time he asked me to deliver. Normally
I do not run a delivery service, but he is a good customer. His name is
Stamatis. Principal Stamatis”
Worth a shot. I cupped my hands, this time calling the principal’s name .
The window opened. A white-haired raisin stuck his head out. “Come!”
he hollered. Standard Greek phone greeting. He squinted. His eyes skipped
sideways to Penka. “Wait there!”
His head vanished. Several moments passed, then one of the school’s
double doors swung open. Principal Stamatis was a garden gnome with
hyperthyroidism. As he hurried over, heavy keychain swinging from his
hand, he popped two hard candies into his mouth.
I nudged Penka. “What’s his poison?”
“Dexedrine. He buys them by the bucket.”
The principal shoved the key into the lock. His eyes were bright, his
hands shaky. “Penka, Penka, did you bring me something?”
She thrust the white box at me. “Hold my loukoumades .” She went
diving in her bag and pulled out a several cards of Dexedrine. Money
changed hands .
It was then that the principal noticed me. “Who are you ?”
“My apprentice,” Penka said. “She has questions for you .”
The Dexedrine vanished into a pants pocket. He rubbed his hands
together.
“We will see if I have answers.”
“I was wondering if you had any new employees,” I said .
He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s the beginning of the school year and the
school has several new faces. Why do you want to know ?”
“No reason.”
He looked at me like I was several feet of intestines short of good
kokoretsi; although in my mind it it was debatable if there was such a thing as
good kokoretsi.
I was bad at this. Really bad at this .
“Okay, I’m looking for a man,” I said .
“You should ask Penka,” the principal said. “She knows girls in that
business.”
Great. Now he thought I was a wannabe sex worker. “What? No! This is
personal, not professional. Do you have a new janitor maybe? Someone who
isn’t a teacher?”
“No. Our janitor is Kyria Kalliopi. When she is not cleaning the school
she is cleaning the ekklesaki up the street.”
Ekklesaki. The little church.
“Your gym teacher is Kyrios Pantalonis, yes ?”
There was a reason I’d chosen this school. Dad’s group of childhood
buddies were renowned for their shenanigans. They’d given themselves
Anglicized version of their Greek names decades ago, when Anglicizing
everything was considered cool. Dad was Mikey Far. (Makris was a twist on
makria , which means far away.) The others were Jimmy Pants, this school’s
gym teacher; Johnny Deadly, mattress salesman; Fish, an accountant; and
Tony Goats, former dentist. Tony Goats met a deader than normal dead end
in the alleyway behind his clinic. You know what they say: never stick your
dick or money in crazy. Goats did both. Cookie was the final member of their
gang, and he was dead, too .
The reason I was at the school was simple enough. The other day I’d
caught the tail end of a conversation between Dad’s old pals and Grandma.
Those old pals mentioned that wherever Dad was, he’d be in the last place
anyone would expect to find him. There were two places you’d never find
Dad: a school or Grandma’s house. He wasn’t in Grandma’s house, which
left school. Dad hated schools. He always managed to schedule Very
Important Things on parent-teacher nights. When I graduated high school, he
had an explosive case of diarrhea that afternoon.
It was a half-formed idea, predicated on the possibility that Dad had
escaped his captors and gone into a voluntary hiding until the heat died down,
and based on nothing except gut feeling and the knowledge that Dad was an
iceberg and I only knew the part of him the people on the Titanic could see
from their deckchairs.
“Yes—you know him ?”
“Is he here ?”
“No. Today he is at a funeral.”
Interesting. I hadn’t noticed him at the funeral or the after party. None of
Dad’s old buddies had been there—not that I’d seen anyway. Mind you, I had
other things on my mind at the time, like keeping an eye on family.
“Does he live around here ?”
“Two streets away. A white house.”
Interrogations weren’t my thing. Asking people for money was easier .
“So you don’t have any new male staff?”
He popped another candy into his mouth, waggled his finger at me .
“I did not say that. You asked about a janitor.”
I waited. Patiently. Sort of .
“We have a new English teacher,” he went on .
My Spidey senses tingled. “Does he speak good English?”
“Of course. Kyrios Hatzis’ English is excellent. At least I think so. I do
not speak much myself. ‘Hello.’ ‘Goodbye.’ ‘How much for a poor man’s
special?’ ”
My eye twitched. “How old is he ?”
He shrugged. “All these questions …”
Was he going to shoot me down? I could almost feel the “Sorry, I have to
stay home and wash my hair” skipping up his throat.
“… you should come see for yourself, then you can decide if he is your
man, eh ?”
“Not me,” Penka said. “I don’t do school. I will stay here with my
loukoumades .”
Probably a good idea with her current wardrobe. Penka was underdressed
for everything except a rap video. I wasn’t sure a school full of Greek
teenagers could handle all her jelly.
“That would be great, thank you .”
I trotted after him, struggling to keep up. The man was wee and bony, but
Dexedrine and sugar scraped minutes off his mile. I followed him into the
monolithic building, which was as white inside as it was out. Marble floors—
what else? Marble was as affordable as peel-and-stick linoleum around these
parts. The only color was a burst of red from the doors and fire extinguisher.
“Why do you lock the gates? ”
Principal Stamatis didn’t pause. “To keep the refugee children out .”
“I didn’t see any refugee children …”
“Just because you did not see them, does not mean they are not there.
They hide in the bushes, then they rush out and try to go to school with the
Greek children.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“To me? No. But I am from Thessaloniki where the minds are bigger and
they children are welcomed with sweets and smiles. Here they are small—
very small. I let refugee children come in, their parents will string me up from
the flagpole by my archidia .”
“What’s the problem with refugee kids ?”
“Some parents believe they only want to come to school to sexually
assault Greek children and spread disease.”
Sounded a lot like Spring Break in Cancun to me .
He took me upstairs, knocked on the third hollow door from the left,
shoved it open. He stuck his head in, called to the teacher who was out of my
line of sight.
Principal Stamatis turned back to me. “Is this your man ?”
I looked.
The English teacher was in a sports coat with elbow patches and tasseled
loafers. Pleated chinos. High forehead. Glasses that I’d bet five bucks were
window dressing only. He was a real pill, but he wasn’t Dad .
“Hello,” I said in English. “How’s it going?”
He blinked at me .
I turned back to the principal. “There’s no one else ?”
“The other new teachers are women.”
Aunt Rita sprang to mind. “Are you sure they’re women?”
“I know what a woman looks like. You cannot mistake those …” He
drew an hourglass in the air. Again, I thought of Aunt Rita, her God-given
plank-like physique, and the work she put into defying her DNA’s misprint.
I thanked the principal, apologized to the English teacher for the
interruption, and trotted back to Penka, who was picking her teeth with a
fingernail—her own, thankfully.
“Did you find your man ?”
“I found a pretentious phony.”
“There are a lot of those around Greece. Where now ?”
“Don’t you have to get back to Baby Dimitri’s shop ?”
“I still have women’s problems. I could bleed out any minute. Then who
would sell Baby Dimitri’s classy drugs?”
She had a point.
We hoofed it to the next school in town, the local elementary school. The
principal here was a woman who told us that no, they didn’t have any new
men on their staff, and did I know that this school used to contain grades one
through twelve? My eye twitched. The physics didn’t add up. The school
resembled a tiny three-sided strip mall with a mound of dirt slapped in the
middle.
“He wouldn’t be hiding out here,” I said to Penka. “There’s nowhere to
hide, unless he’s buried under all that dirt .”
We both stared at the mound.
“Forget it,” I said. “He’s alive, I can feel it .”
“I said nothing.”
I looked around. The street in front of the school was quiet. Foot traffic
only. A couple of elderly men on WWII era bicycles. Birdcall punctuated the
quiet every so often. You wouldn’t hear a pin drop, but a good cough would
spin every head on its stalk.
“How many schools do you think are in the area? He has to be in one of
them. I think. ”
She gave me the ol’ side eye. “I don’t know who you are talking about
and I would like to keep it that way .”
“Relax, Grandma won’t kill you .”
That side eye turned full-frontal.
“Okay, she might kill you, but probably not .”
“I do not gamble,” Penka said. “The odds are never in anybody’s favor
except the house—and Baboulas is the biggest house there is.” She adjusted
the straps of her strappy thing and somehow managed not to poke an eye out.
“I don’t know how many schools, but I bet that idiot Baby Dimitri has for a
nephew knows.”
“Donk? He’s at my funeral. Also he thinks I’m dead .”
Penka looked at the empty loukoumada box in her hand. “We should keep
walking. I have to get rid of this .”
We took off down the street until we hit the high-dollar part of town. That
meant the houses had cars parked out front and the roads had concrete on top
of the dirt. The houses were freshly whitewashed, maybe even painted.
Penka tossed the empty box into one of the yards. She grabbed my elbow.
“Keep walking. Do not look back .”
“But— ”
“What did I say ?”
“Walk?”
“Walk.”
We picked up the pace. Before long we were back to the dilapidated part
of the village, which was most of it. Dilapidated but still charming. Greece
never let anyone forget it used to be the hot girl on the world stage.
“What was all that about?”
“What was what ?”
“The littering.”
“It is a Bulgarian thing.”
My eyebrows asked the question for me .
“In Bulgaria, you are nobody unless somebody is envious of you. We
have a saying: I do not want to feel good. What I want is for my neighbor to
feel bad .”
“And the litter?”
“That house was nicer than my apartment, so I gave it a little garbage to
even the score.”
“That’s awful.”
She shrugged. “That is Bulgaria.”
We hopped on the first bus out of town. If Dad was lurking around a
school pretending to be someone else he wouldn’t stray too far from the
family compound—at least that’s what I was counting on. For all I knew he
was back home, wondering why he was missing a few thousand bucks from
the safe behind medicine cabinet. I made a mental note to shoot an email to
our overly friendly neighborhood pervert, Reggie Tubbs, former judge,
current next-door neighbor. Reggie wasn’t all bad. He’d pulled some G-
strings to finagle a new passport for me when certain family members who
shall not be named (it was totally Grandma) helped themselves to my old
passport. If Dad or anyone else had been to the house, Reggie would know .
“Why did you come to Greece?” I asked Penka.
“Greece is the land of opportunity.”
“Really?”
“No.”
She didn’t elaborate and I didn’t push. We were in Greece but that didn’t
mean people weren’t entitled to some secrets—especially their own .
I let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I’m not sure where to look next .”
“Why did you go to that school when there are so many ?”
I put some muscle into thinking. “Because that’s where Jimmy Pants
works. I overhead him and his pals talking to Grandma about how school was
the last place anyone would ever find Dad .”
Gears spun. Belts whirred. A bug flew through the bus’s open window
and slammed into my cheek. I tossed a mental fishhook into my memory pool
and reran the conversation from Grandma’s hospital room .
I’d had it wrong. It wasn’t Dad’s friends who mentioned school being the
last place we’d find Dad. That little nugget had come straight from my
uncle’s mouth. My Uncle Kostas who had skipped town—or not—when
things went pear shaped after he’d stolen a counterfeiting program from
Italian mobsters. He’d thrown the words back at me after, too. Said Dad was
the last place I’d expect, and that he’d say hello to him for me .
My brain wasn’t what it used to be. Not after the whole shooting thing
and several days stuck underground. Throw in the skull-rattling way I’d hit
the ground and things were definitely soft, squishy, and malformed.
So what now? The school was a bust. Dad wasn’t there, and I had
absolutely no idea where to find my missing uncle.
But maybe Dad’s friends did. They all went back—way back .
As a shadowy figure with big glasses, a decent hat, a barely visible facial
features, I was perfect spy material—except for the part where I didn’t know
anything about spying on people. Binoculars. Probably I needed binoculars.
Which meant I needed more money than I had in my bag .
The bus rolled into Volos and coughed most of its passengers, including
Penka and me, onto the side grubby sidewalk. After a short battle through the
wall of tourists who didn’t realize it was September and therefore time to go
home, I found an ATM, shoved my card inside, and waited.
Nothing. No PIN request.
I pushed CANCEL.
More nothing. The machine ate my card without so much as mechanical
belch.
Jesus Christ in a crater. This I needed.
Out came my phone. I dialed my bank and waited for the American
institution to connect me to a call center in Mumbai. Five minutes later, a
customer care specialist was available to help me. She asked for my account
number, my name, my social security number, my mother’s maiden name,
my address, my phone number, my security answer, my other security
answer, my third security answer.
Then she said, “I cannot help you because Katerina Makris-with-an-s is
deceased. I am very, very, very sorry for your loss .”
I yelped. “This is Katerina Makris, and I’m very much not dead !”
“But the computer says Katerina is dead .”
“And I’m telling you I’m not.” I tried out some common sense and logic.
“If I’m dead, how am I talking to you ?”
“Maybe you are an identity thief.”
“And maybe I’m standing in front of an ATM in Greece, wondering why
my card has just been eaten by the stupid machine!”
“The bank gave the order to keep the card because Katerina Makris is
dead and one using her card would not be her .”
“I’m her! I mean, I’m me !”
“You say that, but I do not know. How am I supposed to know if you are
you or not? You could be anyone. There are a lot of people in the world. ”
Rage and frustration flowed over me. I was turning green—and fast .
“I could be, but I’m not. Let me talk to your supervisor, please.”
Her voice had a shrug in it. “Okay .”
Time passed. I died for real of old age. My bones yellowed, withered,
turned to dust. Civilization fell and rose again. Aliens came and, finding us
terminally stupid, left. Oceans swallowed the land, then spat it back up .
Finally, the supervisor seized the reins.
“Katerina Makris is deceased,” he said .
He couldn’t see me but I raised my hand. “Not dead .”
“Dead.”
“Still not dead .”
“Okay, smarty pants prove it .”
“How?”
“First you will have to get a lawyer, then get that lawyer to file an
amended death certificate saying that you are not dead. Then you will have
go to your bank with the death certificate and photo identification. If you are
who you say you are .”
“I am .”
“Next you need to ask yourself who would make up this story and tell
people you are dead. That person is not a friend.”
“I’m pretty sure it was my grandmother,” I said .
He clucked. “Ooooooh, she must hate you very much. If I were you, I
would take her to a remote place and leave her to die in the cold .”
“Thanks for nothing.”
My sarcasm went unnoticed. “You are very welcome. Please call again.”
I ended the call. “The bank thinks I’m dead . ”
“Everybody thinks you are dead,” Penka said. “That was the idea, no ?”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect it to affect my finances. It was supposed to be a
superficial death, a theatrical death.”
“Faking death is never a good idea. Look at Romeo and Juliet. One of
them pretended to be dead, and then they both ended up dead. And they call it
a love story when it is really a story about two very stupid children.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “I need money but I can’t go back to Grandma
and beg her to undo this mess. She’ll lock me up again, someplace I can’t
break out of .”
Penka made a face. “Maybe I know a place where you can get some
money.”
“Where?”
She made a different, happier face. A face with a bad idea in it .
“No,” I said. “No way. Baby Dimitri will kill me .”
“How can he kill you if you are already dead ?”
“Then he’ll kill you .”
“He wouldn’t.”
“We’re talking about the same Baby Dimitri, right? They say he killed all
his siblings except for Donk’s mother, and she’s a half-sister.”
“We will leave him a note .”
“I can’t sign it .”
Penka patted me on the arm. “Do not worry, I’m having an idea .”
Baby Dimitri had money. Cash. Wads of colorful notes bound with rubber
bands, stashed in a hole in his floor. I’d discovered this when Penka whipped
a bobby pin out of nowhere (her cleavage, I suspected; she had a whole
mountainous continent) and stuck it in a marble tile. The tile popped up,
revealing a hidey-hole filled with European moola.
“We can’t take this .”
“We are not taking this. You are.” She opened her handbag, pulled out a
fistful of zip ties, slapped them into my hand. “Take the money and tie me
up. I will tell Baby Dimitri there was a robbery.”
Holy cannoli! She wanted me—us—to fake a robbery. It was almost
sweet of her. Almost.
“I can’t do this !”
“Of course you can. This kind of thing is in your DNA .”
“Hey, I’m half not-criminal.”
“Are you sure? Criminals are often drawn to other criminals.”
“What about you ?”
Penka raised her brows at me. “I am not a criminal.”
“You’re a drug dealer.”
“Prescription drugs. I am like a pharmacist, but I do not care about your
prescription, only your money.”
The law didn’t see it that way, I knew. The first time I met Penka she was
all cuffed up in the police station, waiting on a lawyer with a technicality in
his briefcase to spring her free .
I eyed the money and the zip ties. “This won’t work .”
“Of course it will work. Baby Dimitri is a smart man, but he is not as
smart as a stupid woman. And I am not a stupid woman.” She held up her
wrists. “Tie me up. I will tell Baby Dimitri that you were a big Greek man
with a very big gun and one of those mustaches from 80’s porn .”
Chapter Four
Binoculars. Snacks. Everything I needed for a casual stakeout. What I needed

next were addresses for Dad’s old buddies. Two of them were dead and the
rest of them hated my uncle for reasons I didn’t understand. For all I knew
their beef was rooted in their childhood together. I didn’t hate my uncle, but
if someone shoved him into a cannon and fired him into the sun I wouldn’t
cry. At best I’d go, “Huh. How about that .”
When I first met Uncle Kostas he was an Armani-wearing homeless guy
who bathed in eau de urine, so I kept giving panhandlers a hard look on my
way back to the village where the phone book in the post office said Jimmy
Pants lived, just in case my uncle was hiding out in one of Greece’s grubbier
seams. Like Principal Stamatis had told me, Jimmy Pants had a house a
couple of roughly cut blocks away from the high school. White. Small yard
with a metal fence. No plant life. No human life. It reminded me of Dina’s
place, but then most around here did. Dina was my father’s old girlfriend, the
one he forgot to dump before leaping across the ocean. Her home was a
shrine to his memory. His face was everywhere, even places I wanted to
scrub from my memory. The woman had problems.
What now ?
Forget what Jesus would do; I wanted to know what Melas would do in
my shoes—besides squeal and limp, because my feet are considerably
smaller. Probably he’d use a rooftop with a clear view of the yard. I kept on
walking up the street, trying to blend in. Not easy when you’re the only body
around. It was creeping toward afternoon, which meant everyone had taken to
their houses to sleep off summer’s last puff of heat, so at least the odds were
in my favor for now. I tried to glance around without looking like I was
casing the joint, which I kind of was. The trees were too small and too treeish
to take seriously. Plus Greece had snakes, some of them the murdering
variety, and I didn’t want to risk bumping into a forked tongue between the
branches. Only one house in the narrow street was a perfect fit. Three stories.
Top unfinished. The washing lines were strung across the front yard, so
nobody would be taking to the roof with their laundry any time soon .
Breath trapped in my throat, I employed my best stealth skills and
moseyed over to the yard, inching my way through the gate. If someone
caught me my big plan was to fake being a Jehovah’s Witness.
Nobody yelled.
Nothing moved, except me and the few bees ambling over the flowers in
the potted garden. Another yard in the area had chickens, but their clucks
were low and disinterested. I wasn’t a fox, bug, or a corncob, so to them I
was dust. Slowly, quietly, I crept up the stairs, wondering how stalkers did all
the subterfuge. Sneaking around wasn’t my idea of fun. My idea of fun was
Netflix and chips. Greece had chips but it didn’t have Netflix. Not that I
knew of anyway. Grandma and Greece had kept me too busy to look .
Hopefully I was stealthier than I felt, because climbing all those steps to
the roof I felt like Bigfoot in concrete boots. On the roof at last, I flopped
down in a patch of shade, cast by a tangle of television antennas and a
satellite dish. The roof had a foot-tall lip, so anyone on the ground wouldn’t
be able to spot me up here. This house was the tallest on this hill, so nobody
could look down on me, unless they were in a helicopter.
In the depths of my bag, my phone buzzed.
Marika.
Baby says you should stay on the roof for now .
How did you know I was on a roof ?
Baby knows everything. She says Jimmy Pants will be home soon .
Does Grandma know I’m gone ?
What do you think?
I think yes .
She messaged back a series of emojis, including a pile of poop .
Almost immediately my phone began to buzz again. Grandma calling. I
sent her to voicemail.
Grandma.
“Where are you? What are you doing? Who are you with? Are you
wearing shoes? If you do not come home right now I will send Xander and
Takis to find you .”
Interesting. Grandma didn’t know where I was? All this time I figured
that my phone was bugged in every way possible, including a GPS locator.
Even Marika’s baby knew where I was. Calling back didn’t seem smart,
given that I was being all stealthy on this roof and felt chitchat would be a
dead giveaway that I was up here, so I texted her back .
I’m fine. Don’t come looking for me. I’ll be back soon. There’s something
I have to do .
What is so important, eh ?
I think I know where Dad is. Maybe.
Maybe?
It’s just an idea .
Oh, an idea. So you are saying you do not know ?
This conversation was going on too long and it was taking a turn I didn’t
like—basically a turn that indicated Grandma wasn’t seeing things my way .
I have to go now .
Katerina …
Thanks for the funeral. I’ll be in touch .
I powered down my phone, just in case Grandma was fibbing about not
being able to find me. Then I stuffed it back in my bag and crawled over to
the roof’s lip .
Quiet afternoon in the ‘hood. Warm but not sweltering. And here I was on
a roof, just me and my shadow. I was dead, broke—Baby Dimitri’s money
didn’t count—but at least I still cast a shadow. My eyes cut sideways to the
roof’s corner. You’d think a roof would be bare, except for usual roof stuff.
This one wasn’t. In the corner garbage huddled together, waiting on a stiff
breeze to flip it over the edge. An EPSA lemonade bottle, half full. A box of
tsokofretas —chocolate wafer candy. Wadded foil, possibly from a gyro or
souvlaki.
Someone else had been hiding out on this roof. Someone who wasn’t me .
I felt mildly miffed that someone had been me to the surveillance punch.
But maybe they weren’t surveilling. Could be the lemonade and wafer fan
was a regular stalker. Probably that was it. No one sane enjoyed wafers. The
chocolate part was fine, but the rest tasted like sweet dust. Who’d eat sugary
dust when there were other choices ?
There was movement at the end of the street.
I bobbed down, peeked over the edge. Shoulders slumped, hands in the
pants pocket of his black suit, Jimmy Pants was slouching up the street.
Alone. None of his pals for company. No wife, no girlfriend. His head was
bowed, a man deep in thought. I watched as he shrugged off his suit jacket
and slung it over one shoulder. It hung there his finger. He pushed into his
yard, tapped the gate shut with his foot, and vanished inside.
The neighborhood went silent again. I hunkered back down .
No—there was a new noise. Small. Stealthy.
Someone was coming up the steps.
There was nowhere for me to go. Not that I wanted to go anywhere. As
far as surveillance went, this place was perfect. I didn’t want to give it up to
… to … an interloper.
But what if it was the homeowner? How could I possibly play this off as
anything other than me being a creep?
I couldn’t.
So, I wouldn’t.
I sat, bag on lap, and waited.
Black hair appeared first, then a face, followed by a body that was part
bombshell, part garden gnome. I knew that hair, that face, those drawn-on
black eyebrows.
“Dina?” I squeaked.
She stumbled backwards, hand over her mouth, eyes bugged.
I held my finger to my lips and waited for her to recover. “What are you
doing here ?”
“What are you doing here ?”
“You first.”
“No—you first. I was here before you. See?” Her eyes cut to the supplies
in the corner. Of course someone like Dina went for the tsokofreta . It all
made so much sense. What didn’t make sense was what she was doing
skulking around this rooftop.
“Just hanging out,” I said .
“On this rooftop?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“So was I .”
We stared at each other. Hard .
Dina cracked first. “You look good for a dead person. Not for a living
person, but a dead one, yes .”
We kept our voices low. We didn’t like each other much but neither of us
was stupid.
“Death is only the beginning,” I said .
“What?”
“You didn’t see that movie?”
“No.”
I explained the plot of 1999’s The Mummy to her. She wiped her eye with
the back of her hand. “Very romantic. I believe Michail and I will be together
in the afterlife.”
Michail, the man I knew as Dad .
If there was an afterlife, and I wasn’t convinced there was, Dad would
probably be there with the woman he’d actually loved—my mom. Although I
wanted to pop off at the mouth and deliver that baseless opinion, I wasn’t a
stone-cold bitch. Dina was a nut with serious issues, but she was still a
human being. A certain kind of cruelty was in my DNA but it wasn’t in me .
“Well, hopefully it’ll be a long time before you find out,” I said .
“Are you always this negative?”
“Only when I’m supposed to be dead .”
I went over to the roof’s lip, peered over. The street and Jimmy Pants’
yard were still quiet and empty.
“You are watching Pants.” Dina crouched beside me in stretchy black
separates, plunging me into a cloud of Love’s Baby Soft layered over sweat,
fresh and old .
“So are you. The question is: why?” I covered my nose. “And how long
have you been up here ?”
“He knows where Michail is, I can feel it in here.” She pointed to the
body part in question, which was mostly boobs.
I felt it in the same place, but with a modest B cup. More like a B-minus,
really.
“Did you ask him ?”
“Ha! He would never tell me skata .”
“I thought you were all school friends.”
“Pants and the others, they never liked me. All they ever did was try to
turn Michail against me. After all I did for them …”
“What exactly did you do for them ?”
She looked at me. “Never mind. Pretend I said nothing.”
“Was it the same something you did for Aunt Rita, before she was
Aunt Rita ?”
“I cannot understand what Michail saw in your mother. Looking at your
behavior she must have been skoupidia .”
The anger her words invoked in me was sudden and violent. Insulting me
was one thing; calling my mom garbage is another. I grabbed a handful of her
hair, yanked it hard. The whole confection tore away from her head. Which
of us was more surprised I couldn’t say .
Dad’s old flame squeaked. She snatched the wig out of my hand and
jammed it back on her scalp, but not before I notice that underneath the hair
was gray and looked like something with raging PMS had been gnawing on
her noggin.
It took a lot of restraint, but I didn’t say anything .
“The dye,” she said. “I am allergic to it .”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“It would be good for your health if you tell no one .”
“I’m dead, remember?”
“Only pretend dead. I could make it real .”
“What would my father say if he knew you killed his only child?”
“You are terrible like that skeela who raised you, so he would probably
be glad .”
My hand snapped out, seized the wig again. This time I hurled it off the
roof like a Frisbee. We watch it spin. It came down lightly at first, then
landed hard in Jimmy Pants’s yard .
Dina made a small, horrified sound. “My hair !”
She snatched the hat off my head, helped herself to a big handful of
ponytail, and twisted until I was hunched over, screeching. My foot shot out,
connected with her knee. Dina went down and I went down with her, on
account of how my hair was tightly wound in her hand .
I was vaguely aware that the street was coming back to noisy, curious
life, and someone was coming up the steps.
That someone had a broom. A little old lady, about four-feet-tall, black
kerchief tied under her chin .
“Burglars!” she howled. “Get off my roof, burglars!”
Dina detached herself from my hair. She lunged over to the corner and
grabbed the half-full bottle of lemonade. She flung it at the old woman.
“Lemonade?” I went rifling in my bag for a second hat, pulled out a wool
beanie. I tugged it down over my hair. With the dark glasses I probably
looked like an armed robbery about to happen, but at least no one would
know I was me .
The old woman swung her broom at Dina. “Skeela ! Vromoskelo ! Gamo
tin Panayia sou ! ”
Bitch. Dirty dog. Fuck the Virgin Mary. Wow, she really didn’t like Dina.
I had a feeling she was just getting warmed up .
Then the broom swung in my direction. “Skeela !”
Yikes! I snatched up my snacks, my binoculars, shoved them into my bag
.
“I have amnesia,” I said. “I’m lost. Where am I? Who am I ?”
The broom handle caught me around the shins. Tears flooded my eyes.
Merciless, these Greeks.
On the ground below, neighbors gravitated to their yards to see what the
hubbub was all about. I bolted down the steps, the sharp wind of a swinging
broom on my heels. On the way, I grabbed Dina’s wrist. Never leave a man
behind, even if that man is a woman and your father’s crazy ex girlfriend.
We stumbled out into the yard. Dina slapped me with her bag. “Why did
you make her so angry?”
“Me? You threw lemonade at her !”
“That was not lemonade!”
I looked at her, head tilted.
“I was up on that roof a long time, okay ?”
The clever parts of my brain went off to do some math. When they came
back my mouth went, “Ewww.” I was working on a more eloquent insult
when we were interrupted—again.
“Are you two finished?”
Jimmy Pants was standing there at his front gate. He looked disappointed,
tired. In his hands was Dina’s wig .
“You had better come in,” he said. “Both of you .”
Chapter Five
“You are not dead .”

“No.”
We were in Jimmy Pants’s living room and Dina was stuffing her wig
back on her head without a mirror. It wasn’t going well. Jimmy’s place was
shaped like an L. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms, from what
I could see. Good furniture. Sturdy. Plain. Lots of art. Famous and not. Most
of it looked original.
Jimmy Pants caught me looking. “You like ?”
“Forgeries?”
“It is only a forgery when you try to sell the painting to someone else for
profit. I make these for me. I like art. I was supposed to go to art school, but
instead I became a teacher.”
Dina snorted.
“You are not the only one whose dreams were destroyed, you old goat,”
Jimmy Pants told her. His attention flicked back to me. “Baboulas’s idea ?”
“My fake death? Yes .”
“A forgery,” he said. “She sold it to people and they believed it was real
.”
“She told me it had to be done .”
“Why?”
“She didn’t really say. To stop people from trying to kidnap or kill me, I
presume.” She needed something foolproof, I figured. Can’t kill or abduct
somebody who is already dead, so she took me off the playing field by
staging my death.
“Baboulas.” Jimmy Pants shook his head. “She always has to be the one
in control. Does she know you’re gone ?”
“She knows.”
He laughed. “I bet she did kaka in her pants. You and Mikey are the two
things in this world she cannot control."
“I don’t know about that,” I muttered. “Seems to me like Aunt Rita and
Uncle Kostas do their own thing.”
“Kostas.” His face twisted. “That malakas .”
Dina went into the hands-on-hips position. Her wig lurched sideways.
Gray wisps danced on her forehead. “If he is such a malakas then why is he
staying with you, eh ?”
Jimmy Pants looked confused. “What are you talking about, you crazy
woman?”
My expression felt like it matched his .
“I see him all the time, coming and going while you are at work .”
“From my house?” He snorted. “You are queen of the idiots. If that
malakas was in my house I would know .”
Normally. But this was Uncle Kostas we were talking about. The man
had slouched about in Italian alleyways, eating out of dumpsters and peeing
on walls. He wasn’t a guy who needed to spend his days and nights in a
Holiday Inn. Not when there was a perfectly good, probably mouse-infested
crawlspace around.
“What if he’s not in your house?” I said .
Silence wandered in and planted its big butt on the conversation.
We all looked up .
Jimmy Pants lifted a finger to his lips in the mostly international gesture
of “Shhhhhh!”
Dina said, “What?” in her inside voice, which was an awful lot like her
outside voice.
Dad’s old pal rolled his eyes. “Wait there,” he said to us. He vanished
down the hall. When he came back a split second later he was back with a
handgun and a baseball bat. The bat he gave to me. He kept the gun for
himself. The gun was outfitted with a suppressor. Getting a handgun in
Greece wasn’t easy. Jimmy Pants must have connections.
“What about me?” Dina asked.
“Your personality will repel anything with a pulse,” he said .
“I hate you .”
“To hate you I would have to think about you, and I don’t think about
you.” He pointed to the end of the hallway and up. Sure enough, there was a
hatch leading to the crawlspace.
“Ladder?” I asked.
He yanked on the hatch’s loop. It swung down, and a suit-clad body fell
out and hit the ground. It yelped, oofed , and then the pile of shiny fabric
scrambled. Jimmy Pants hauled my uncle to his feet. Uncle Kostas’s face
cycled through the stages of grief, until it reached acceptance. Then he
grinned and opened his arms .
“Katerina! You are alive! It is good to see you.” He tried to lunge forward
to perform the continental kiss routine, but Jimmy Pants held him in place.
The gym teacher gig had paid off .
“What are you doing in my ceiling, malaka ? ”
“Nothing!”
Jimmy Pants shook him by the scruff of the neck .
Uncle Kostas raised his hands, bordering on a moutsa . Showing a Greek
all five fingers and an open palm has a dual meaning. It means you think
they’re a malaka (someone who spanks the monkey so often their brain is
soft), and it means you’re rubbing poop in their face. Greeks dish up a lot of
moutsas . It’s their favorite gesture.
“Okay, okay,” my uncle said, “I needed somewhere to stay .”
“Why didn’t you go skulking back to Germany?” I said .
Until recently, my uncle worked for a German mobster called Winkler.
He was this close to breaking out and going solo as the head of his own crime
family when Winkler sent him to Italy to hunt down the industry’s most
accurate counterfeiting application. The asking price was a hundred million
euros, until my uncle decided he wanted a serious five-finger discount.
“I cannot go back .”
My raised eyebrow asked a million questions. He picked one .
“Could be maybe Winkler is angry with me .”
“What did you do ?”
“Nothing. Okay, maybe something. Could be Winkler was not happy I
took an unscheduled visit back to Greece. Winkler is very paranoid. Visiting
Baboulas was not on the itinerary, but I had to meet my only niece.”
“You threatened me !”
“I warned you! I saved your life, remember?”
The truth was not strong with this one. Being morally flexible was
probably a marketable skill in the organized crime business, though.
Jimmy Pants flicked him on the ear. “Why my ceiling?”
“Because I have no money and no place to go. Baboulas wants to make
me eat wood, but with Mama there is a good chance the wood is metal and
comes out of a gun, so I cannot go home. And here you are with a perfectly
good crawlspace and no other wanted man living in it .”
“This is what happens when you have no friends,” Jimmy Pants said .
“I have friends,” Uncle Kostas said glumly. “But they all work for
Winkler.”
“What about the new organization you were starting?” I asked.
“Without money and with two of Europe’s biggest crime lords angry at
me, they picked a different team .”
“Winkler’s?”
He pointed a finger gun at me. “And here I thought you were stupid.”
Why, that twerp! “You thought I was stupid?”
He laughed—and not in a good way. “You could not even kill a bad man
.”
“That doesn’t make me stupid. It makes me not-evil !”
My phone shuddered.
Marika again.
My unborn child says you will find a man in a ceiling.
Already happened, I texted back .
She gave me the message fifteen minutes ago but I had to stop to eat.
These messages really make the baby hungry.
“You still haven’t said why you picked Jimmy Pants’s ceiling,” I said,
trying not to freak out about Marika’s unborn child’s abilities. I’d watched
The Omen and a hundred other horror movies. This kind of thing never
went well .
Uncle Kostas folded his arms. He put his smug face on. I didn’t like his
smug face much because it meant he was happy. To me, my uncle was kind
of a villain. No one wants to see a villain smile except their minions, and
they’re only happy about it because it means they won’t get an ass whooping.
“Because he will lead us to your father.”
“Wait a minute.” I wagged a finger under his nose. “You told me you
knew where my father was the other night at the old factory.”
Dina gasped. She crossed herself. Then she punched Uncle Kostas in the
face. He went down like a sack of potatoes and came back up purple with a
red leak .
Jimmy Pants grinned. “I always wanted to do that .”
“What did I do?” Uncle Kostas wailed.
“I think you were just being you,” I said. “Winning friends with your
personality.”
“He knows.” Uncle Kostas went diving into his pocket and pulled out a
tie. He used that to mop up the blood. “Ask him. Pants—tell her .”
We looked at Jimmy Pants. He still had the gun, but it was hanging
slackly at his side .
“I know nothing,” he said in his own defense. His own lame defense.
Uncle Kostas chuckled. “Liar, liar, Jimmy Pants on fire,” he said in
English. He looked at me. “Does your next door neighbor ever wear
underwear?”
“Reggie Tubbs? You know Reggie?”
“You should call him on the telephone.”
He winked, shoved his hands into his pockets, and sauntered out the
front door .
“You’re just going to let him go?” I said .
Jimmy Pants reclaimed the baseball bat in my hand. “What do you want
me to do—shoot him ?”
“I was thinking take out a knee .”
“Katerina, Katerina, I am a teacher not a mobster.”
Dina snorted .
I ignored her. “Where is my father?”
“I can’t tell you, Katerina, because I don’t know. I wish I could help you
but I can’t.” His phone played a few bars of a song I didn’t recognize, which
was most Greek songs. He glanced at the screen then pocketed his phone.
“You can stay here if you want—not you, Dina, just Katerina—but I have to
go to work .”
I didn’t need to look at the time to know he was lying. Greek school
knocked off at 1:15 PM so the kiddies could go home for lunch … and stay
there the rest of the day .
“School is out .”
“Staff meeting. I have to be there. But I will be back in an hour or so and
we will talk, eh ?”
“Mr. Pants, wait a second …”
He turned around. “What ?”
I snapped his picture with my phone. “For posterity.”
“I hope I look good.” He winked, then Jimmy Pants was gone, too .
Which left me with a phone call to make .
Somewhere along the way I’d scored Reggie Tubbs’s number as one of those
good neighbor things, in case of emergencies. It was morning in Portland, but
I knew for a fact that Reggie planted himself on the porch at the crack of
dawn so he could get an early start on flashing the neighborhood.
I dialed and waited for Reggie to pick up. It didn’t take more than two
rings.
“Kat,” he said. “My second-favorite neighbor.”
“Who’s your first?”
“The new woman, Karen something. She moved in across the street and
two down.” His voice dropped to a low conspiratorial whisper. “She leaves
the curtains open when she gets dressed. Got a good rack on her for a woman
her age. What can I do you for ?”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off .
“Wait. Hang on. Check your text messages.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear. Sure enough, I had a message from
Reggie.
I tapped.
A horrifying specter filled the screen. The ghost of penises past. Pubes
like scrub after an ice storm. I twitched. Probably I’d need therapy.
Dina looked over my shoulder. “That guy really needs a nose job .”
I put the phone back up to my ear .
“You like it?” Reggie said. “It’s called a dick pic. All the guys are doing
it these days. Is that a woman with you? Show her .”
Ugh. “Maybe later.”
I fired the picture of Jimmy Pants at him. “Ever see this guy before?”
There was a pause, then: “Yeah, I know that face. Some other guy
showed me a picture a few days ago. You know him? Said his name was
Kostas and that he was your uncle. I didn’t know you had an uncle. The way
Mike used to paint it he didn’t have any family. Of course then you showed
up with all those folks the other week and proved me wrong.”
“What about the guy in the picture?”
“I’m getting to that. Like I told the guy who said he was your uncle—is
he your uncle?”
“DNA tests say yes .”
“Well, like I told your uncle, that guy in the picture looks a whole lot to
me like one of the crooked noses who dragged Mikey away . ”
My heart clenched. “Are you sure ?”
“I wouldn’t swear to it—people who swear to things often end up in a
sticky situation, and I should know—but yeah, I’d say that’s one of the guys.
Who is he ?”
“A gym teacher.”
“You don’t say? I guess being a hood doesn’t pay as much as it used to,
not if he had to up and get another job to pay the bills.”
“I don't suppose you can describe the second man .”
“Like that one, but fatter.”
Fish. Had to be. Fish’s gut was a balcony overlooking his feet .
“Thanks,” I said. “You’ve been a lot of help .”
My phone blipped. Incoming message from Reggie again. Another dick
pic, this time from a more horrifying angle. It looked like something you’d
see at a Grateful Dead concert.
“There is something wrong with that man,” Dina said. “My Michail
would never send pictures like that to a woman.”
I rolled my eyes and gathered my things. Jimmy Pants said he’d be back
but I figured I’d go to him. Some things couldn’t wait. I wanted to know why
the hell he and Fish had marched Dad out of our home, and why the hell they
hadn’t told me this. Friends don’t let friends’ daughters think they’re
kidnapped or dead .
Five minutes later I was at the high school gates again. This time they were
unlocked.
“They are always unlocked when school is out,” Dina told me. “The
children come here to play basketball. Everybody wants to be the next Galis.
”
Even I knew who Galis was. The New Jersey-born Greek basketball
player almost singlehandedly inspired basketball fever across Greece. And
the guy was only a six-footer, practically a little person when it comes to
b-ball .
Today there was nobody at the courts. But it was late afternoon and
people were still in summer’s thrall. I wasn’t sure if the siesta was a thing
they did all year, but Greeks seemed to me like they’d be hard pressed to give
up their naps just because the weather cooled down .
The school was unlocked. Inside it was cool and quiet. No—silent.
Nothing moved. The air was unstirred.
I looked back at Dina, who was breathing garlic down my neck. Someone
really needed to brush their teeth.
“You don’t have to come .”
“I am not leaving your side. Not when you are this close to finding
Michail.”
“People want to kill me .”
“Who can blame them ?”
That wasn’t where I was going with that, and when I pointed out that
people wanted to kill me, therefore she might wind up as collateral damage,
she said, “I am much smarter than you. I know when to move out of the way
.”
“You were abducted by a serial killer.”
“Only because I thought he wanted to date me .”
“I thought you were faithful to my father!”
“Look!” She pointed to a distant spot beyond my shoulder. “It is a thing.
A big thing.” Then she took off in the other direction, hustling toward the
school’s offices. She rounded the corner, and then she screamed.
Old, pre-Greece me would have run the other way. The primal mammal
brain knows the only screaming you should run toward is a screaming child,
because usually you can dull the screaming with ice cream and Band-Aids.
New, Post-Greece me was warped. New me didn’t run toward Dina’s scream,
but new me did stand still, wondering if I should call out and ask if she
was okay .
Dina strolled back around the corner. Calm. Composed. She hooked a
thumb over her shoulder.
“Dead man,” she said .
“Who?”
“Jimmy Pants.”
Cold, rancid oil sloshed through my veins. Jimmy couldn’t be dead. He
was just here .
I stepped around her to see for myself and stifled a gasp. Jimmy Pants’s
purple, bloated tongue lolled out of his mouth. His hands were clawed up
around his neck. Someone had strangled him, maybe garroted. I wasn’t fluent
in the nuances of murder.
“Jesus,” I said. My heart scrambled to evacuate. My bladder had the same
idea. It wanted to eject its cargo and run. When I pulled out my phone, the
screen was blurred. I wiped and wiped but it wasn’t the phone, it was me.
“Jesus,” I said. “Who do I call ?”
Being dead had its downsides. I couldn’t call Melas because he thought I
was dead. Calling Greece’s version of 911 then cutting and running wasn’t
my style. This wasn’t some stranger; this was Jimmy Pants. Dad’s friend. A
guy who had gone to my funeral and mourned for his old buddy’s kid .
Dina shrugged. “I would tell you to call the police but they are idiots.”
Dina’s lack of love for the police was legendary. She’d recently delivered
a tray of bombonieres to the police station that serviced Makria and the
surrounding area. The bundles of white tulle handed out at weddings and
baptisms were usually filled with Jordan almonds. Dina’s were filled with
poop. They were a thank-you gift for the cops’ complete and total failure to
locate her one true love: Dad .
I couldn’t call the cops and I couldn’t bail on Jimmy Pants, so my choices
dwindled to one. I called Grandma.
“Jimmy Pants is dead .”
There was a moment of silence.
“Where are you?” Grandma said. “Someone will come .”
Chapter Six
At 4:30 I was at the school’s front gate, waiting on Grandma’s emissary to

show. Ten bucks said it would be Xander and Takis. It wasn’t a stretch. They
were her most trusted clean-up crew and both knew I was still in the land of
the living. The sunny day now had a malevolent cast. Everything was too
quiet.
Except Dina .
“You should have gone with him to the meeting instead of making phone
calls,” she said. “I would have. Nobody loves Michail like I do .”
She was right about that. Her love was the kind that boiled bunnies.
“I didn’t know what he knew, and I didn’t know he’d get murdered, did I
?”
“I bet it was Kostas.”
“Why?”
“Who else ?”
“Have you ever been in a work meeting? There’s always that one
malakas who asks questions just as the meeting is about to end. Maybe
Jimmy Pants was that person. Everyone wants to kill that person. I’ve wanted
to kill that person.” I looked at Dina. “Why are you here? Don’t you have a
job to go to ?”
“I have a job but I work at night.”
“What do you do ?”
She made a face. “I do this and that .”
I looked at her. “Does this and that pay ?”
“I have a house, don’t I? Do you have a house? I don’t think so .”
Dina was right, I didn’t have a house. I still lived with my parent. Not in
the basement, but in my childhood room, so at least I wasn’t a total loser.
Recently I’d leased an apartment and had my move planned, but then Dad
vanished and the apartment complex burned down, mysteriously. The Hand
of Grandma had reached out and touched it—with matches. That burning
building was a metaphor for my whole life these days .
“No, really, what do you do ?”
“I give comfort and advice to people like me, who are heartbroken.
People pay good money for comfort and advice.”
“What kind of people?”
“Men.”
I looked at her. “What kind of comfort?”
“The comforting kind .”
“So you’re a prostitute?”
“You kiss your father’s cheek with that mouth?”
“You want to kiss him with yours? Who knows where it’s been ?”
“I know,” she said. “I keep very good records for tax purposes.”
If that was true, I was pretty sure that made Dina the only person in
Greece who paid taxes. Tax evasion was the national sport .
The hum of an impending vehicle interrupted the eerie silence. Black van.
Dark windows. Definitely one of Grandma’s fleet. Grandma would have
liked Henry Ford. Every vehicle in the compound’s garage was black, except
for the canary yellow VW Beetle she’d bought for me to tootle around in.
Back home in Portland I had a Jeep. I loved my Jeep. I’d scraped and saved
for it myself. We’d gone a lot of places together, my Jeep and me. To work
and the supermarket mostly, but we went there a lot .
The van stopped at the gate, several feet from where we were standing.
The window rolled down and a gaunt, grinning face stuck its face out. “You
look good for a corpse,” Takis said .
He jumped out, swaggered to the gate. Behind him, the van’s sliding door
opened and Xander appeared. Both men were in black T-shirts, black cargo
pants, black boots. One of them looked like a little kid dressing up in his
dad’s clothes, and it wasn’t Xander. Xander was the walking, talking
definition of beefcake. He rifled around in the back of the van and slung
something over his shoulder.
A body bag .
Suddenly I felt woozy.
“Where is he?” Takis rubbed his hands together. “Did you kill him ?”
“No.”
His eyes slid to Dina. “You,” he snorted. “This one probably killed him.
What did he do, tell you he knew where Theo Michail was then refuse to take
you there?”
She chopped her hands at her groin. A very classy Greek gesture that
meant she wanted him to suck the appendage she didn’t have .
Takis laughed. “Can you believe this one, re malaka ?”
He was talking to Xander, who slapped him on the shoulder on the way
past. He didn’t make eye contact, which was strange for Xander. Normally he
liked to roll his eyes at me and shoot unreadable looks in my direction
because I enjoyed being a pain in his ass .
A figurative pain, not a literal one. Because this was Greece I felt like I
had to make the distinction. Xander took off toward the front doors at a fast
clip, eating the distance. For a bronze statue the man could really move. I
knew firsthand that he did stealth like he was part panther.
“What’s Xander’s problem?” I asked Takis. Marika’s husband, and my
cousin’s cousin’s cousin, shrugged.
“Nothing. He does not want to stand here and while you women nag him
.”
“I wasn’t going to nag him,” I said .
Takis nodded at Dina. “That one was .”
“He is right, for once,” Dina said. “We are going to die of old age while
we stand around waiting for these two to do their job. Katerina has to find
Michail, and I have to follow her while she looks for him. I do not have time
for malakies .”
Takis took off after Xander, head shaking. “Baboulas is going to hezo her
pants,” he said over his shoulder.
What to do ?
The person I needed to talk to—again—was lying dead inside the school.
Uncle Kostas had fled Jimmy Pants’s house, and the gods only knew what
hole he’d crawl into now. Once again my choices were dwindling. Now I had
two: go back to the compound with Grandma, or trot off in search of the
remaining two members of Dad’s old gang. Three were dead and Dad was
missing. What were the odds that their deaths and Dad’s disappearance were
somehow connected? I should have paid more attention in math class. Takis
was the family bookie, so I could ask him, but I didn’t want to stick around.
Grandma wanted me back at the compound, and what Grandma wanted,
Grandma got. Xander would stuff me into the van and sit on me if it meant
granting Grandma her wish .
“Let’s bounce,” I said, then winced. It didn’t have the same jaunty impact
in Greek. “Let’s go—quick, before they come out .”
Dina grabbed my arm. “Wait—this would be easier if we had a car.” Her
eyes cut to the open van with its keys swinging from the ignition.
“We can’t just take the van !”
“Why not ?”
“Dead body in the school.”
“Baboulas has a lot of cars. She can send another one for her henchmen.”
Greece was giving my morals a workout. Scratch that—my family was
twisting my morals like a crazy straw. Up until Takis and Stavros knocked
me out and flew me to Greece, I’d never committed a crime or anything like
one. I’d never had a parking ticket or an overdue library book. Not that I was
a goody-two-shoes. I was just normal. My Greek family was the polar
opposite of normal, and their wildly abnormal was slowly resetting my
compass.
“Well …”
Tempting. Wheels would be useful. In no time I could be grilling Fish
and Deadly.
“Do it,” Dina said slyly. “You know you want to .”
I so wanted to. But … corpse.
“What if the police come? What if Grandma won’t send another van? It’s
not summer but it’s still hot. How long before dead people start to smell?”
“Okay.” Dina flounced over to the van and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Never send a girl to do a woman’s job. Get in or I am leaving without you .”
My morals stepped back onto firm land. Stealing the van wasn’t cool—
not under the circumstances, anyway—but riding in a stolen vehicle struck
my morals as kosher enough. It was a good cause, I told myself. With three
down, what if Fish and Deadly’s lives were in danger? Goats, Cookie, and
Pants’s deaths didn’t appear to be connected, but there was way too much
coincidence swirling around for my liking.
I clambered into the passenger side and buckled up .
Dina adjusted the mirrors. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be .”
“Okay.”
We sat there. The van went nowhere, and it went there fast .
“You have to turn the key,” I said .
“Okay.”
“And give it some gas .”
“Stop telling me what to do .”
A light bulb flickered in my head. “Can you drive?”
“Any idiot can drive. I see them on the streets all the time .”
So that was a ‘no’ then .
“You want me to drive?”
“Yes.”
We jumped out, swapped places. A twist of the wrist later we were off
and away, rolling down the hill in a stolen vehicle. But was it really stolen if
it belonged to Grandma and she wanted me to take over the family business
anyway? My logic swiveled its hips in a vain attempt to keep the hula-hoop
going.
In the rearview mirror I watched Takis and Xander emerge from the
school, holding the body bag between them. Takis yelped, then he dropped
his end and ran for the gates.
Too late. We were already gone .
“Takis will kill me,” I said .
“Better you than me .”
My phone rang .
“I will change your lights!” Takis screamed on the other end .
“This is Katerina,” I said. “I’m busy being dead right now, but leave a
message and I won’t get back to you .”
I stuffed my phone back in my bag, signaled left, rounded the corner and
aimed the van’s blunt nose at the waterfront road. “I don’t suppose you know
where Fish and Deadly live ?”
“Johnny Deadly has a mattress shop in Volos. Drive. I will tell you where
to go .”
I drove. Before long the air thickened and the traffic solidified.
Jaywalkers stepped off the sidewalk and onto the street. A homeless man—or
a millionaire; sometimes it was hard to tell—hocked a loogie on the van’s
windshield. I watched, horrified, as the gelatinous oyster slid down the
window.
Holy cow. What was wrong with people around here ?
Grandma called. “Did you take something that does not belong to you ?”
I searched for the doohickey to squirt soap on the windshield. “Can you
be more specific?”
“Takis is not happy.”
“He’ll get over it,” I said, striking gold. Soap sprayed across the
windshield. The loogie washed away .
The phone rang a third time. “Did you steal a car?” Marika wanted
to know .
“Maybe. Did the baby tell you ?”
“Takis called me. Now I have to have tiganites ready for him when he
gets home. Do you know what the smell of tiganites does to me right now ?”
“Makes you hungrier? ”
“Exactly. Now my children are going to go hungry because I will have
eaten all the food in the house.”
“Are there leftovers from the party?”
There was a small, embarrassed patch of silence. “I ate them already.”
Beside me, Dina snorted.
Marika perked up. “Who is with you? Did you steal a car with
someone else ?”
“It’s nobody.”
“No, no, no. Nobody sounds like silence. That sounds like a voice. Trust
me, I am a mother, I know these things.”
“It’s Dina .”
“Oh, okay,” Marika said. “It really is nobody.”
“I heard that,” Dina said .
“Baby says to tell you probably it is best to knock on closed doors first.
Come and get me if you want real company,” Marika said, then ended
the call .
The light changed. Traffic began to move again. Dina pointed and I
jumped two lanes to get to a narrow side street that was one way—that one
way being whichever way traffic was flowing at any given moment. The only
obstacle was a man trundling along on his donkey. I slowed the van to match
the beast of burden’s pace. Lucky for me he was going my way .
Dina said, “Stop here .”
There were no storefronts here , only back entrances, metal garbage cans,
and the occasional rash of laundry strung overhead, between buildings.
“That one.” She pointed to a metal door with flaking dark green paint.
I nudged the van sideways so we weren’t blocking traffic and cut the
engine. There was no room for Dina to get out, so she slid across to the
driver’s side. We hoofed it around the corner and approached from the front.
Deadly’ s store was called Stromata 4 U , or Mattresses 4 U if someone
wanted to be all English-speaking about it. A sign on the door said they were
closed, but they’d be reopening at 4:30. It was almost 5:00. I tried the handle.
It turned easily.
Dust motes Zorba-danced into the sunlight. The air was warm, as though
the shop had been shut tight since morning. But I didn’t smell the bright
copper scent of freshly butchered Greeks, and I didn’t get slapped in the face
with the heavy stink of decomposition, so I was feeling mostly okay about
wandering through the mattress salesroom. The area was filled with neatly
made beds. Space was tight and rents were higher in the city, so Johnny
Deadly hadn’t gone all out and splurged on elaborate displays, unless I
counted the one bed smothered in crochet doilies. The woman in Deadly’s
life must be a crochet fiend. Dozens of mattresses were lined up against one
wall, big, squishy books resting on marble.
Nothing stirred.
Then I heard something creak, followed by a mournful noise from a male
throat.
Someone was hurt .
I snapped my fingers to catch Dina’s attention, then pointed to the door in
the far wall. She shook her head, and I made a face because what was her
problem anyway?
I made a disgusted sound and went marching over to the door and flung it
open. Someone on the other side of that door needed help, and although my
family was in the crime business, I still believed in lending my fellow woman
or man a helping hand .
Bright light hit my eyes. I recoiled for a moment, then stuck my head
back in the room when my pupils adjusted. I was about to ask if someone
needed help when—
I stepped back out of the room .
Shut the door behind me .
Marika’s baby was right: I should have knocked first.
Dina was there, hands on hips. Her face was doing an obnoxious thing
that I think was meant to be smiling.
“Johnny Deadly is busy,” I said .
“And Fish ?”
I shook my head, made a face. “Also busy.” I thought about it. “They’ll
be busy for a few more seconds, then they’ll probably need a nap .”
“You did not know ?”
I made a sound that might have been, “ Newp .”
As a fan of equal right for everyone, LGBT folks get a hearty thumbs-up
from me. I’m pro-love, pro-consenting adults doing what makes them happy.
Rock on with your not-even-remotely-bad selves. But witnessing two men
my father’s age in the act made me twitchy. A few years ago I’d caught my
then-fiancé Todd playing hide-and-seek with his mouth and someone else’s
penis. Todd was long gone but the emotional bruises lived on. Wherever
Todd was these days I bet he wasn’t single; he was really good at hiding
things in his mouth.
I plonked my backside down on the doily bed, a mama bear’s bed with
enough flounces and pillows to satisfy a team of Olympic scrapbookers. My
butt instantly sank several inches. The guest bed in Grandma’s shack was
decent enough, but this was a slab of heaven. Give me a television and a bag
of chips and I could live here .
“Have they always been …”
“Yes,” Dina said .
“Does my father know ?”
“He knows but he does not a approve. It is unnatural. Sex is supposed to
be between one man, one woman, and maybe some other people, but only if
they are paying.”
I didn’t bother with a rebuttal. Dina had more hang- ups than a closet.
And I knew Dad wasn’t the least bit fazed by homosexuality. Greece
invented that too , he declared every year during Pride Week .
Dina tapped her foot, checked her watch.
“What time is it?” I could have looked at my phone but the bed was too
comfortable. Moving seemed impossible and improbable.
She flashed the face at me. A miniature Dad grinned up at me. His
moving hands told me it was after five .
What a nutcase.
“Do you think they’ll ever be finished?”
“Johnny Deadly always takes a long time .”
I didn’t want to know how she knew. But just as I was considering the
possibility that I’d die of old age in this bed—a prospect I wasn’t totally
unhappy about—Johnny Deadly came swinging into the showroom. He
looked happy, relaxed, ready to sell mattresses to the sleepless. He stopped
when he saw us. His face went all confused.
“Katerina? You are alive,” he whispered. Then he clutched his left arm
and fell to his knees. From there it was a short tumble to the floor.
“Johnny!”
Fish came rushing out, grabbed his lover by the shoulders. “Johnny!
Don’t leave me.” He looked up, gasped. “Katerina? You’re supposed to be
dead, and now you’ve killed Johnny! He was the love of my life .”
“I’m not dead yet,” Johnny Deadly croaked.
I rolled off the bed and hurried to Deadly’s side .
“I didn’t kill him! Look, he’s talking. Dead people don’t talk !”
“You are,” Fish said .
He had a point.
I pulled out my phone, dialed Grandma, told her about the medical
emergency .
“Stay right there,” she said, then hung up .
The mattress salesman closed his eyes. “She called Baboulas. Now I am
really going to die .”
“You’re not going to die,” I said .
“He might die,” Dina said .
Fish looked up at the ceiling. “Virgin Mary, take Dina instead of Johnny.”
“Nobody is dying here today, okay?” An image of Jimmy Pants inert on
the school floor swam into my head. “Nobody is dying,” I muttered. Mentally
I urged Dina to keep her big yap shut. If my being alive triggered Deadly’s
heart attack, then hearing about his friend’s murder might finish him off .
I wasn’t that lucky.
“Especially not Jimmy Pants, because he is already dead,” Dina said .
Johnny Deadly gurgled.
Fish lost all color in his face. “Dead ?”
“Dina,” I snapped.
Two palms up. “What ?”
I gestured to the prone figure of Johnny Deadly. “Do you want to kill him
?”
“I have fantasized about this moment,” she said. “But Michail was here
with me and we were wearing fewer clothes.”
“You’re a sick woman,” I told her. She shrugged. Apparently she was at
ease with her brand of crazy.
Sirens cut through the city noise. They were moving closer.
Holy crap—Grandma called an ambulance?
I dialed her number, threw my question at her .
Her voice had a shrug in it. “An ambulance is the best thing for a heart
attack. Bodies, gunshot wounds, suspicious stabbings, for those I call family.
”
“There are non-suspicious stabbings?” Where I came from those weren’t
a thing.
“You had better run. The last thing I want is for the authorities to know
you are alive. They are leakier than a man with bullet wounds.” Then she
giggled.
Suspicion opened an eye. “Grandma, have you been eating your special
koulourakia again?”
“Maybe one or two .”
“Or ten,” Aunt Rita called out in the background. “Could be more .”
Jesus, Virgin Mary, and a dozen random saints, Grandma was high .
I couldn’t complain about her calling an ambulance—no way did I want
Johnny Deadly to die—but this whole thing really put a crimp in my whole
investigation.
“I’ll swing by the hospital and check on him later,” I told Fish, who was
holding his sweetheart close. “Are you coming?” I asked Dina .
“Are you still looking for Michail?”
I nodded. My next move wasn’t clear yet, but there would be one. As
soon as Johnny Deadly was stable I’d toss him on the grill. Fish would be
worthless until Deadly was stabilized.
She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “Okay .”
We hurried out the back way, via the room that had been the scene of
what Russia considered a crime. The van was exactly where I’d left it. Dina
scrambled in first. I jumped into the driver’s side and turned the key .
Rembetika music exploded out of the stereo system. I jumped, smacked
my head on the van’s ceiling. Holding my head, my eyes cut to the rearview
mirror, where a set of crooked teeth was grinning at me .
“Surprise,” Takis said .
I groaned. The van’s sliding door opened and Xander climbed out. He
yanked open the driver’s door, waited for me to give up my seat .
“Rembetika music stinks,” I muttered on the way past him. Xander and I
have a thing—a music thing. He loves Greek folk music, and I would rather
fill my ears with cement than listen to five consecutive seconds of such hits
as I am a Bird Without Feathers , My Egg, My Egg, My Egg , and My
Mother’s Father is My Wife . Ever since we’d had a minor tussle over the
stereo controls, I’d been relegated to the back seat any time Xander was
driving.
Xander didn’t make eye contract. Again. Seriously, what was his
problem?
“Did I do something wrong?” I said .
Takis barked, “Both of you skirts in the back.” He got out. We got in. He
ran back to a tiny black bullet snugged up behind the van. In my haste to get
back to the van I hadn’t spotted it until now .
“Why do we have to ride in the back?” Dina asked.
I looked up at the rearview mirror as I settled on the bench seat. “It’s so
they can get me back into the compound without alerting the whole family.”
Xander’s eyes flicked to the mirror then away again, so I knew I was
right.
“I want to ride in the front. Why do I have to stay back here with him ?”
She meant Jimmy Pants. Xander and Takis had transferred the body bag
to the van while I was inside giving Johnny Deadly a heart attack. He was
resting in temporary peace on the floor of the van .
“Because I have to sit back here with him .”
“But you’re dead .”
I stared at her. She stared back .
“Dina, you know I’m not really dead, right?”
“In my mind you are . ”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me .”
In the front, Xander turned the music up, drowning the sound of the
impending ambulance. Someone was sick of our bickering. Rembetika
blasting from the speakers, he rolled the van out of the dim, dingy street and
back into faster moving traffic. I had no doubt Takis was right behind us,
forming a convoy of two. Like it or not, I was precious Family cargo, and if it
came down to it, both men would kill to protect me, maybe even die for me.
Nothing about that made me comfortable. How Grandma lived like this I
didn’t know. Maybe she’d been doing it so long, cradling other lives in the
soft, wrinkled palm of her hand that it came as naturally as baking to her .
I pulled up the Crooked Noses Forum, a site dedicated to the world’s
organized crime families. Greece had its own sub-forum, most of it about
Grandma and the Makris family. Since my faux-death, the sub-forum had
been updating almost constantly. Everyone had a theory about who killed me
and why. The possibilities were disturbing and hilarious. There were those
Grandma had faked my death and sent me to live in South America with a
new face. Others thought she’d had me killed herself, which was trueish.
Someone even thought I’d been abducted by aliens, and that I was currently
enjoying a pleasant anal probing on ET’s spaceship. Ugh. Something told me
the guy with that theory was typing one-handed; he was way too enthusiastic.
My phone vibrated. Without thinking (I was still stuck on the guy who
thought I was having a cool sex party with Martians) I answered.
“Yes?”
Silence. Or maybe it was too much Rembetika drowning out the sound .
I tried again. “Hello?”
Inside the sound system, the man with the thin, warbling voice was
whining about how women should be more like sheep and less like donkeys.
A quick glanced at my screen revealed the caller as anonymous. I ended
the call and slid the phone inside its cozy handbag pocket.
Xander stopped at a traffic light. He turned around, stuck his hand out in
my direction.
“What?”
He jiggled his hand, so I low-fived him. Were we making eye contact? It
was hard to tell with both of us behind dark glasses. The rest of his face
didn’t look impressed. Mind you, that was Xander’s default expression. He
didn’t take crap from anybody, whether that crap was a punch or ice cream.
His cheek twitched. He seized my bag then threw it back to me, minus my
phone.
“Hey! Now how am I supposed to read about my own death?”
The light turned green and we were on the move again. I slumped back in
the seat and tried to ignore the body bag that jumped closer with every bump.
It was stop-and-go-out of Volos, back to the mountain road. Then it was
all stop .
“Sheep or goats?” I unbuckled my seatbelt, scooted over so I could squint
through the windshield.
No sheep. No goats. No rustic Greek dude with a crook. Standing in the
middle of the road were two men. Both elderly. One was dressed in a
seersucker suit. The other was carrying a shoulder-fired rocket launcher. It
was pointing right at us .
Baby Dimitri and Laki .
“Baby Dimitri. Jesus, what does he want?” I thought about it, then
groaned. “Never mind, I know what he wants.”
Death wasn’t working out for me. Grandma had a good idea—scratch
that, she’d had an idea, but my death was taking over my life .
Dina crossed herself. “What did you do ?”
“I borrowed some money.”
She crossed herself, jumped out of the van, ran for the guardrail and
vaulted over .
Sheesh. What was her problem?
Xander held his ground. Takis zipped around in the little black compact,
stopping alongside the van. He swaggered over to the Godfather of the Night
and Souvenirs Made in China. Lots of hand waving happened. Nothing
strange about that. Something as benign as talking about the weather made
Greeks fling their hands around like they were landing planes.
“Katerina Makris-with-an-s,” Baby Dimitri called out. “I think you are in
there.”
I went to slide the door but Xander grabbed my wrist.
“Obviously he knows I’m alive,” I said .
Xander didn’t let go .
“I’ll just explain what happened and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
His hand didn’t move. He had a grip like hot steel. The warmth moved up
my arm .
“Jiffy is an American word. It means ‘a moment’, in case you were
wondering.” I squinted at him. “Were you wondering? I was just trying to be
helpful, but you don’t really look like a guy who ever needs help. Couldn’t
you just nod or smile or show some kind of life signs? Maybe take off your
sunglasses and make eye contact?” Through the windshield I saw Takis and
Baby Dimitri continue their conversation, loudly and with extra hand waving.
Thing were getting theatrical. I looked Xander in the eye—or at least where I
thought his eyes were; it was hard to tell with those black lenses hiding part
of his face. “Let me go. Now .”
The man with the iron grip didn’t ease up .
His foot wasn’t within stomping distance, so I used the only tool I had left
in my arsenal, seeing as how begging wasn’t working out. I launched myself
forward and kissed him square on the lips .
Xander jerked backwards, his hand unclenched, and I hurled myself out
of the van, bag in hand, and rushed toward Baby Dimitri.
Laki startled. His fingers squeezed the trigger. We all watched as a rocket
shot up into the sky. It came down on the far side of the guardrail, ending its
elegant performance in a fireball.
“Dina is down there,” I yelped.
Takis grinned. “Not anymore she isn’t.”
Baby Dimitri slapped his pal on the chest with the back of his hand.
“Watch where you are firing that thing, malaka .”
Dina’s voice floated up. “I am okay !”
“No one cares,” Takis called out. He slapped the van on the nose.
“Xander, get her out of there.”
While Xander went in search of Dina, I faced off with Baby Dimitri. He
had a powder blue seersucker suit that had fallen through a time portal
connecting 1960s Miami to present day Greece, and I had my hands on my
hips in the don’t-eff-with-me position, so we were evenly matched, in
my mind .
He beamed. It was all teeth. “I knew you were alive.”
“No you didn’t.”
He did two palms up. “Okay, maybe I believed Katerina’s ruse at first.
Then I went back to my shop and do you know what I found? An empty safe
and a Bulgarian drug dealer tied up when she was supposed to be watching
my shop .”
I tilted my head. “Can we really call Penka a drug dealer? She sells
prescription medication. She told me she’s more like a pharmacist.”
Baby Dimitri tipped back his head. Laughter roared out of him, straight
from the gut. “I like you, Katerina Makris-with-an-s, which is why I will be a
little bit sad if I have to kill you .”
I rolled my eyes, opened my bag, dumped the notes in his hand. “Fine.
Here’s your money. I bought binoculars and snacks, but I’ll reimburse you as
soon as I can convince my bank I’m not really dead .”
He looked at his hand. “Where is the rest ?”
“I just told you .”
“And here I am, a man with an empty safe .”
Hands back on hips. “You’re lying. I didn’t take that much .”
He laughed, pulled me to him in the world’s most awkward hug. “I am
just fucking with you. You are an honest woman, maybe the only one I have
ever met.” He released me. “Get out of here, go back to your hiding place. I
will not tell anyone your secret.” Baby Dimitri winked. “But do not stay dead
for too long, eh? My stupid nephew will not shut up about your murder. He is
determined to avenge your death.”
Takis grabbed my arm, slow walked me backwards. He wasn’t about to
take his eyes off Baby Dimitri yet .
“One more thing, Katerina Makris-with-an-s. Why did you need my
money? Why not ask your Grandmother or one of her pet idiots?”
“It’s a long story. ”
“Okay. As soon as you are not dead, come to my shop and tell me your
story.”
“Would you really have fired a rocket at me ?”
“I like you, Katerina, but I like my money more. Never forget that, eh?
Your grandmother and me, we are business people. Money will always win
over blood.”
I believed him. I knew he was all tangled up with the counterfeit cash
business, some way, some how. He’d been trying to buy the very program
my uncle stole, before Uncle Kostas had helped himself to the hundred-
million-dollar prize. Honestly, you’d think one of these bozos would figure
out how to make a copy of the application. They were counterfeiters, for
crying out loud .
I climbed back into the van. Dina was back inside and ready for an
evaluation at a horror movie mental institution. She was rocking a crooked
wig and crispy skin .
“Your family is crazy,” she said. “All of you, except Michail. As soon as
I find him I am taking him to a deserted island, where we will have hot
monkey sex and forget about all of you. Especially you.” She looked at me as
she said it .
Xander hit the gas. Whether his eyes flicked to the mirror I couldn’t say. I
was too busy staring through the dark glass, trying to figure out my next
move. Going back to Grandma’s place was inevitable. We were already
bumping along the long, winding dirt road that lead to the compound. The
orchard that ran along both sides contained a mix of olives and other fruits
that the family farm maintained. The farm sat further back from the road than
the compound, and the farmers were their close-knit unit that would be right
at home in a Greek remake of Deliverance .
Anyway, back to my immediate problem. I figured I’d go along with
whatever Grandma wanted—for now. At least until Johnny Deadly and Fish
were in a state of mind and health to talk. Then I’d take my act on the road
again, to the hospital this time .
Long before we reached the gate we did a body swap. Takis took Dina
home. Xander took me and Jimmy Pants around the back in the van. When
we got there he slid the door open and pointed to the air beneath my seat .
“My table is up and my seat is in the upright position,” I said .
The parts of his face that I could see gave me The Look .
“Fine, fine .”
I grabbed at the air beneath my seat and touched plastic. My brain
twigged immediately.
“A body bag ?”
Xander was still giving me The Look. The very pointed Look .
“No. Are you crazy? I am not getting in a body bag again.” Not that I
remembered my last ride in a giant Ziploc bag, seeing as how I was too busy
being fake dead .
Xander grabbed the bag and then he grabbed me and began stuffing me
inside. For a big, rough guy he was a gentle grabber and stuffer.
“I hate you,” I said. “And I hate that I don’t know the Greek word for
‘loathe,’ because what I’m feeling right now? So much stronger than hate .”
He began zipping. My protests turned into muffled angry sounds. He sat
me back in my seat and drove us through the front gates, to the garage. My
indignation ratcheted up a notch as he slung me over his shoulder.
To his credit Xander didn’t sag under my weight. Probably he could curl
two of me. When he set me down and unzipped me plastic coating I was
standing inside Grandma’s shack. My father’s mother is a squashy sphere
with bird legs and boobs that are a testament to the power of gravity. Her hair
is steel gray and she keeps it prisoner in a bun at the base of her skull. Today
she had a wooden spoon in her hand and a mixing bowl in her lap. She was
creaming butter and sugar. She arched an eyebrow in my direction.
Xander folded up the body bag and made a quick, purposeful exit .
“Well, well, look who it is,” Grandma said. “My one and only
granddaughter, who escaped death and protective custody.”
I pulled up a chair, eyed the two clear Tupperware containers on the
kitchen table. Koulourakia . One with Grandma’s little helper, one without. I
helped myself to the container without the green bits. Grandma’s reach was
long and her slap was hard—mostly because she was using a wooden spoon.
“No koulourakia for you. Not until you tell me what you were doing.”
I eyed the cookies sadly. “It’s easier to tell a story on a full stomach.”
“You want to eat? There are bamia in the refrigerator.”
Bamia, also known as okra. Or, as I thought of them, hairy, slimy beans.
I’d rather take my chances with kokoretsi .
She rolled backwards and reached into the pantry, her hand emerging
with yet another container. She pulled the lid off and waved it under my nose.
Grandma had cancer and she was also high, but that didn’t mean she’d lost
her vicious edge .
My nose followed the open container back and forth. It twitched, dog-like
.
“Finikia ,” she said .
I drooled a little. Finikia resemble turds sprinkled with chopped nuts, but
that’s where the resemblance ends. They’re a type of Greek cookie with a
hint of orange and soaked in syrup. Every bite is an argument for the
existence of God. Given my issues with religion, I’d have to eat a lot to be
convinced. But that’s okay; I would be a willing and enthusiastic test subject.
“Give me .”
Grandma nudged the container with the wooden spoon.
“Tell me what is going on and you can eat as many as you like. Why is
Jimmy Pants dead, and why is Johnny Deadly in the hospital?”
I gave it to her straight—except the bit with Deadly and Fish in the back
room of Deadly’s mattress store. And because Grandma had wolf-like senses,
she seized on the part I didn’t want to discuss.
“Why were they in the back room ?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they were reading each other’s coffee cups .”
She raised an eyebrow. She was good at it .
“With their penises,” I mumbled.
“That is no way to read a cup .”
She lifted a plate out of the cupboard, one of the fancy crystal dishes for
good company, and dumped one finiki on it, followed by a second. A small
whimper left my throat. Those turd lookalike cookies were so close to
being mine .
“And your father?”
“It’s possible Deadly and Fish know something, so I need to talk to them.
Someone needs to protect them before they’re whacked, too .”
Up went the eyebrows again. “Oh? The other deaths were not accidents?”
I didn’t think accident meant what she thought it meant. “Cookie and
Goats were murdered. ”
“Or, you could say they stepped in front of killers at the wrong time.
Accidents.”
“Or not .”
Grandma slid the plate in front of me. “Bring your grandfather here .”
Her finger pointed to the olive oil can that lived on the windowsill. That
can was my grandfather’s final resting place, and the picture taped over the
brand name was of my father’s father in a suit—the suit he was burned in.
The suit he was burned in not too long after that picture was taken, seeing as
how the cameraman snapped him dead. Yes, it was weird. Yes, I tried not to
think too hard about the ick factor. In the old days it was common to artfully
arrange the dead and take their pictures, possibly because it took so long to
take a photo that they were the only subjects guaranteed to not move .
But this wasn’t the old days, and to me, a woman raised by the internet
and MTV after its M fell off and it became the no-reality-in-this-reality
station, pictures of dead people in formal clothing were creepy and weird.
Not for the first time I wondered what my grandfather had done to wind
up doing time in a bottle. To the Greek Orthodox Church cremating the dead
was a sin, which was a tragic kind of funny, because Greece’s cities had a
space problem when it came to burying the dead. These days in the bigger
cities, your dead family members were guaranteed three years in a grave
before being evicted, unless you paid for more time. Some families faked a
memory lapse and left the cities to deal with their dead relatives when their
three years was up. Others moved their loved ones’ remains to crypts, if they
could afford it. Greece wasn’t a country flush with money, so not many
could. Cremation was a viable—and only recently legalized—alternative, but
the Church still said, “Oxi !” My grandfather died years ago, so his cremation
was a sin and a crime.
Mouth crammed with cookie, I did as she asked and set the can on the
table in front of her .
She made a satisfied sound, then adjusted the tall, rectangular can so that
she was looking straight at my grandfather’s death face. He was a skinny man
in a suit, with lots of mustache going on. If he had lips and a pie-hole they
were well hidden behind the curtain of wiry hair. His hair was black and lush
and fake. Someone had stuck it on his head so he’d look hirsute for his death
shot. Maybe it was like the Egyptian thing, and he believed you could take
your wig to the afterlife. I’d never known the man, but even a gangster
couldn’t be worse than my maternal grandfather, a man so obnoxious he’d
finally popped his aorta screaming at a neighbor’s dog. Granted the dog was
using his lawn as a toilet at the time, but Mom’s father was the kind of person
who yelled at others for living.
“Do you want to be alone?”
Grandma did the ol’ up-down chin tilt. “Someone or something is killing
our son’s friends.” She spoke directly to the can. “They are down by
three now .”
I swallowed another bite of cookie. Heaven was on Earth and it was in
my mouth. “I have to check on Johnny Deadly.”
“He is stable. Your aunt checked.”
“Where is Aunt Rita ?”
She made a face. “Having dinner with a man .”
“She’s on a date ?”
“How can she be on a date? We are a family in mourning.”
“Fake mourning.”
“Nobody else knows that. She is eating dinner with a man from the
newspaper, and the reason she is eating dinner with a man from the
newspaper and violating mourning etiquette is because a man with big ears
and eyes saw something today that he should not have seen .”
“What did he see ?”
“My dead granddaughter hugging Baby Dimitri.”
“Technically he hugged me. I was just standing there, minding my own
business.”
“And that man with big ears, big eyes, and a big mouth has a cousin with
a job at a national newspaper. When the big-eared man saw you, do you
know what he did ?”
I opened my mouth but she cut me off .
“The big-eared man, who was herding goats, called his cousin and said, ‘I
think I saw a ghost, but it could not be a ghost because I am a rational man.’
That is what he said .”
“And you know this … how ?”
“Because I have the newspaper man’s phone tapped.”
Of course she did. “If he was on this mountain, herding goats, why would
he talk to his cousin? Isn’t he one of yours?”
Grandma owned Makria and the surrounding area. She paid for their
loyalty with her own loyalty, genuinely caring for them when the country
turned to crap. During the Regime of the Colonels she hid local dissidents,
protected them, saved their lives and the lives and livelihoods of their
families. She did it because Grandma is a criminal, but she’s not evil all the
way through.
“You cannot own people.”
American history books said there was a time when people believed
otherwise, and they weren’t the only ones. Dig up a few inches of Greek dirt
—of any European soil—and it was filled with the bones of slaves.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Did you try to buy him, Grandma? You can
tell me .”
“He is new to the area,” she said with a hefty amount of finality. “Rita
will take care of it. In the meantime, I have a task for you .”
“Go to the hospital and talk to Deadly and Fish? Find out what they know
about Dad’s disappearance?”
“I want you to go to Germany and visit with Winkler.”
“Ha-ha.” The fake laugh came out damp and limp. “Ha-ha-ha .”
“Am I laughing?”
She wasn’t. That bothered me—a lot .
“Winkler isn’t our family’s number one fan,” I said. “Even Uncle Kostas
is in the doghouse.”
“Kostas is an idiot. After everything I taught him he is still an idiot. Now
he is paying the price of trying to screw Winkler the dishonorable way .”
What had my feckless uncle done to Winkler?
“There’s an honorable way ?”
There was a sound at the door—the scratching of a big nosed Greek,
determined to uncover a nugget of gossip. Normally Grandma kept the door
open, but on this evening it was closed tight so no one wandering past would
see me inside.
Grandma wheeled over and yanked the door open. Sitting on the other
side in his wheelchair was Papou.
He pointed at me. “I knew it. I knew you were not dead !”
“You old malakas ,” Grandma said, “you knew nothing.”
“Did too. I had a good feel when it was my turn to kiss Katerina’s cheek.
At her age her body should not be so firm. Are you going to let me in ?”
“That thing is not coming into my house.”
Papou looked past her to me. “House, she calls this place. You know
what I call it? A chicken coop .”
“You should see the dump where Papou was raised,” Grandma told me.
“Compared to that, this place is a palace.”
He gave Grandma a one-handed moutsa . “Skata na fas .”
Eat shit. Or, if you wanted to be all grammar police about it, shit to eat .
Not many people could tell Grandma to eat shit and walk away with their
lives, but Papou was special. He was in a wheelchair, for starters, so he
wasn’t walking anywhere.
Papou rolled closer. He pressed his face potato to the screen door .
“Come, Katerina, let me in .”
Grandma rolled back to the table. “You can come in. Alone.”
Papou had brought his usual plus one to the party. Yiorgos the eagle was
on his shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. The bird had issues, since his
original owner, a whack job known as Periphas Dogas went back to prison.
Nobody talked about it but Dogas was Papou’s nephew.
“Forget it. Where I go my eagle goes. I will wait here.” He eyed my plate.
“Give me some of those finikia , eh ?”
I did the legwork so Grandma wouldn’t have to. When I passed the plate
and fork out to Papou, I yelped. He and Yiorgos weren’t alone. His other
shoulder, normally bird-free, was occupied.
“What is that?” I said .
He gave me a sly look. “What does it look like ?”
Sleek feathers. Sharp beak. Long, liver-excising talons.
“A second eagle.”
“Po-po ,” Grandma said, rolling her eyes. “Another bird. Just what
we need .”
Papou held up one finger. “This one is special. Go on, touch it .”
“I don’t think so,” I said .
“Touch my bird. You know you want to . ”
“I really don’t.”
“Touch it or I will kill you in your sleep.”
Grandma made a face. “Enough already, eh?” she said. “Katerina, touch
the bird. I do not want to have to endure Papou’s whining. He is like a
little girl .”
“I do like sweets and playing with dolls,” he admitted.
Creeping Christ, he was swerving into Too Much Information territory.
One hand covering my face, I eased the door open a second time and touched
the second eagle’s feathers with a fingertip.
No movement. Its gaze was black and glossy but it didn’t swivel in my
direction.
“I hate to tell you this,” I said, “but I think this eagle is broken, too .”
Papou cackled. “Broken. Ha! I bought it this way. Do you like him?
Maybe I will leave him to you after I die .”
My eyebrows rose. “You bought a dead bird ?”
“Not just dead—dead and stuffed. His name is Poutsa.”
I closed the screen door, shut the wood door, and sat back down at the
table to enjoy what was left of my turd cookie.
“You do not like my Poutsa?” Papou called out. “What did my Poutsa
ever do to you ?”
“I should go back to America,” I said to no one in particular. “America is
nice. Almost nobody back there names their stuffed eagles Penis. Nobody
walks around with their Penis on their shoulders.” I thought about it a
moment. “Well maybe Florida Man, but not normal people.”
“See what I have to put up with,” Grandma told my dead grandfather.
“Skata , skata , and more skata . While you do what? Read books and eat
loukoumia in Hades. Open the door, Katerina. ”
With a sigh that came all the way up from my feet I opened the door, but
I wasn’t happy about it .
Papou was still grinning. “Hey Katerina, my Poutsa wants to say
something to you .”
“What do you want?” Grandma asked him .
“Nothing. I wanted to show off my Poutsa. I was thinking Yiorgos would
feel better if he had a friend.”
“Wouldn’t a live friend be better?” I said ,
“Sometimes the best friend is a dead one. Ask your grandmother.”
“Katerina and I have business to discuss,” Grandma said .
“Oooh, business. What kind of business? Are you sending her to kill
someone?”
“No. I am sending her to Germany.”
Papou nodded. “Winkler. You are sending her to see Winkler. Do you
think that is a good idea ?”
“All I have are bad ideas. Sending Katerina to Germany is the best
of them .”
“About that,” I said. “I can’t go. What about Dad ?”
“Your father can wait .”
Something told me she was wrong, that Dad couldn’t wait .
“I’m not going to Germany. Dad is here somewhere, and I intend to
find him .”
Grandma’s eyes turned hard and dark like tiny pebbles. I couldn’t
imagine her killing someone, but I could definitely picture her throwing a
slipper at my head .
“Yes, you are .”
“No.”
“Why me ?”
“Because I think Winkler will talk to you .”
“But I’m dead .”
“Exactly. Perhaps a good haunting will scare the old goat. Tomorrow
morning you leave for Germany. For now, go and rest. You will need it .”
“Not going to Germany,” I said .
I stomped out to the yard and pressed the invisible button that powered
the concrete pad. Two shakes of a goat’s tail later, I stepped off into
Grandma’s underground bunker. After my death she’d moved my belongings
down here. It wasn’t so bad. At least there was a decent bathroom that didn’t
require performing the Sneak of Shame to reach. This one even had a lock on
the door—and a bathtub. And down here I had all those screens with their
24/7 feeds.
I peeled off my grubby clothes, showered, shimmied into clean jeans and
a T-shirt that read Runs With Scissors. I poured a glass of water and helped
myself to the captain’s chair in the control room, directly in front of the
screens. Technically the seat was Grandma’s, but she wasn’t here. She was
aboveground, trying to control my life. Our priorities weren’t the same. She
was playing her own twisted war game, while I was just trying to get my
father back. He was my first and only priority. I wasn’t sure if Dad was even
on Grandma’s list. He didn’t seem to be .
I texted Aunt Rita, asked if she’d heard anything more about Johnny
Deadly’s status, then I sat back and scanned the screens. The police station
had gone mostly dark for the night. The day crew had clocked out, and their
nocturnal replacements were drinking coffee and digging through a box of
cakes. Father Harry was in his church, dusting. The streets of Makria were
filled with tourists and locals, headed for the village square. Dinners were in
progress. Cameras flashed. Everyone wanted to rub their Facebook friends’
faces in Greece. My heart hurt when I spotted Melas at a table in the village
square with his mother and pot roast with feet. I hated that he thought I was
dead. The pot roast had to be Melas Senior, his father. Which struck me as
weird because the man was Makria’s baker in residence. He should be
doughy, not protein pumped. Maybe slinging bread was a good workout. Not
for me it wouldn’t be, because I’d eat more than I sold .
Melas looked downright droopy. He was in the slacks part of his suit,
sleeves of his button-down rolled to his elbows, black armband circling his
bicep. His fingers were breaking bread but none of it was traveling to his
mouth. Every so often he’d reach for his glass, sip, and then go back to his
bread. Kyria Mela’s mouth was puckered up like the back end of a
constipated cat. It tightened and released as her son raised and lowered the
glass.
Other feeds were places I didn’t recognize. Law enforcement offices,
businesses, the compound itself. No private rooms or apartments, but the
common places were well monitored, as were the grounds.
A text came back. He’s going to be fine , Aunt Rita wrote. She’d added a
bunch of kisses and hearts.
Time to hustle.
I had to talk to Deadly and Fish, and the sooner the better. I raided the
pantry, dug up a box of loukoumia and bar of ION almond chocolate, and
made my way to the door separating the bunker from the dungeon. I knocked.
The door swung open. Monobrow didn’t look surprised to see me .
“Back so soon ?”
I presented him with his favorite sweets. “I need to get back out .”
He grinned. “And you brought me a gift. You’re a good girl, Katerina.
Not like those other Makris dogs .”
“What do you have against the family?” I thought about what my family
did to earn a crust. “Okay, besides everything. ”
He laughed. “That is a story for another time. Go—do what you need to
do. This time don’t get caught, eh ?”
“It’s just a short trip, not an escape. Although Grandma really wants to
send me on a road trip .”
“To where?”
“Germany.”
A fast-moving weather pattern flitted across his face, from jovial to
grumpy in under a second. “Germany. So, she thinks to send you to Winkler?
Gamo tin Panayia mou . She needs to slow down on those koulourakia she is
always eating.”
Secrets, secrets everywhere. “I thought you were just Makria’s only
homeless person.”
“Nobody in this world is just one thing, Katerina.” He shoved me through
the dungeon door, locking himself back in his cushy cell .
There wasn’t time to waste. I hurried through the door that connected the
nice dungeon to the dark ages, located the magic rock, then scurried along the
tunnel, trying not to compare myself to a rodent.
My phone chirped in my bag .
Baby says you need to go to Germany.
How do you know about that ?
Baby told me just now .
Why? What’s in Germany?
She did not say. She says she will give me another message to give to you
when you get there. Do you need company? Because I have never seen
Germany and I have always wanted to see Germany.
Grandma wants me to go alone.
Marika couldn’t be serious, yet somehow she knew about Germany. If her
baby was sending her psychic messages, then I was a purple pony. Still, what
if it was real ?
Slightly freaked out, I called Grandma .
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to Germany.”
“Of course you will .”
“But only if you ask nicely.”
Grandma hung up. She didn’t kill me, so I guess that was nice .
Chapter
Seven
Finally, I burst out into the night. The air was crisp. Not cold, but the promise
of winter was there. I snapped a square off the chocolate bar and slowly
sucked the chocolate off the almond pieces. The nuts crunched between my
teeth.
There was a small movement behind me, then someone whistled, soft and
low. I whipped around to see Xander leaning against the wall in his usual
black, peeling an apple with a pocketknife. The skin was a perfect spiral.
Xander was good. While I was busy being impressed with his peeling skills,
he sliced into the flesh and offered me a piece. He couldn’t be serious.
“Really? You expect me to downgrade from chocolate to apple?”
He shrugged and stuck the piece in his own mouth. It figured that he was
a healthy eater. That body wasn’t carved out of sugar and fats, although his
prejudice toward junk food didn’t expand to ice cream.
“Nice night for a walk,” I said. “Being dead is cramping my style. ”
He ate another slice. No eye contact, just chewing.
“I need to talk to Johnny Deadly. The sooner I get there the sooner I can
be back to do Grandma’s bidding. Can you take me to the hospital? I could
walk but driving would be faster.”
He bit into what was left of the apple, holding it between his teeth while
he pocketed the knife. Then he walked away .
“You’re almost as annoying as a mime !”
He stopped. Slowly turned around. He didn’t look happy. His face was a
sheet of stone—very attractive stone, but still stone. His eyes stayed in the
averted position.
“What’s your problem?” I asked him. “You’ve been weird since I fake-
died. You won’t even look at me. Usually you get your kicks glaring at me
and rolling your eyes in my direction. Look, if you hate me so much forget I
asked for a ride. I can find my way there.” I flashed my phone at him. “I have
GPS. It knows where everything is. Well, almost everything. I’m sure it can’t
pinpoint Atlantis or Narnia, but it knows how to get to the Volos hospital.
Also I’m really sorry about kissing you earlier, but I didn’t have a Taser
handy and I didn’t want to beat you with my handbag. That’s too Zsa Zsa
Gabor for me. I’m just not that dramatic.”
My turn to pivot. I broke off another piece of chocolate, shoved it into my
mouth. I took two steps and stopped. Not a natural stopping—more of a
physical obstacle problem. Xander’s arm curled around my waist, stopping
me in my tracks. Slowly, the distance between us vanished. His front was hot
and hard against my back. Hard and getting harder.
Oh boy .
The chocolate in my mouth melted. It wasn’t the only thing. My
everything was starting to burn .
“Does this mean you’ll drive me to the hospital?”
His arm moved away. He took me by shoulders and turned me to face
him. A bit of a misnomer, really, because all I could see was an acre of
cotton-covered chest. He tilted my chin up and angled his mouth down on
mine. My hormones lost their minds. They began zinging all over my body,
urging me to do crazy things like rip off all these stupid clothes that were in
my way. The kiss deepened. My whole world was filled with Xander, the
taste of him, the clean, spicy smell that was all his own. He grabbed my butt
with both hands and pulled me harder against him. Things were moving fast
—too fast—but my hormones were driving and they knew the way. This
wasn’t their first train wreck.
Then cool air rushed me. It was like being dumped under a cold shower.
“Wha— ?”
I wasn’t standing on the ground anymore. I was on the back of a
motorcycle and Xander was unbuckling a helmet. He jammed it down on my
head, buckled the strap, then he put a second one on his own head .
“You were planning to take me all along, weren’t you ?”
He didn’t speak.
Helmet fastened, Xander grabbed my leg and swung it over his big, black
bike. He curled my arms around his waist. I tried not to notice how flat and
hard his abs were under his shirt, so I thought about Xander’s previous
motorcycle and its untimely demise. Our first motorcycle ride ended badly
and prematurely outside Baby Dimitri’s shop when Laki decided to freshen
up his Molotov cocktail-tossing skills. Xander’s motorcycle went BOOM and
we’d had to walk back to the family compound.
Xander fired up the black beast. We bumped between the trees until the
wheels hit the dirt road, then Xander gave it some serious gas. I looked back
in time to see dust shoot up into the air. The sensation of freedom rolled over
me. So what if I was between a death machine and a hot chunk of metal? Out
here, on the back of Xander’s motorcycle, I could fly .
Within minutes we were rolling to a stop outside the hospital. Xander
parked around back because I was still dead and he wanted to minimize my
contact with the living.
“So if I’m dead but I’m walking and talking, does that make me undead?”
Xander snorted. He lifted me down, then waited while I shoved my hat
and glasses into the incognito position. We snuck through one of the Staff
Only doors. Well, I snuck. Xander walked in like he belonged. My mind
flicked back to the NIS identification card he kept in his wallet. It was still to
be determined if he was one of Grandma’s or a pivotal cog in a bigger,
governmental plot .
We found Johnny Deadly in a room with five other beds, all of which
were occupied. Skin olive with pallid undertones. Eyes closed. Fish was
hunched over in a chair bedside; gaze glued to Deadly, face pinched. I knew
that look; it was mine when Mom was dying. Fish glanced up. Heart hurting
for him, I flipped a tiny wave. He nodded and rose from his sweetheart’s side
.
“In the waiting room,” he said. “I do not want to upset him more .”
He didn’t look at me as he said it but I knew I was in the doghouse. It
wasn’t entirely my fault, but I understood and accepted my part in Deadly’s
condition.
Fish led us to the waiting room, a spacious and empty area that was
basically a large landing at the top of the stairs. Another set of stairs raced up
to another, higher floor. Naugahyde bench seats ran along the two closed
sides. An elderly man was taking his IV stand for walkies. He glanced at us
but lost interest fast. Fish sat and ushered me to do the same .
Not Xander. He stood, arms folded, at a vantage point where he could see
all foot traffic, coming and going.
Fish shook his head. “He will not sit. Baboulas has him too well trained.”
Xander didn’t flinch but I did. On the one hand everyone had to make a
living, but working for Grandma seemed like it was more of a calling for
Xander.
Or a ruse .
“How is he?” I asked.
Fish knew who I meant. “As okay as he can be, under the circumstances.
He believed you were dead. He cried for you—we both did. Seeing you gave
him a fright. Johnny has issues with ghosts.”
“That’s most people, I think.”
“With Johnny it is more.” His cheeks pinkened. “When we were boys,
there was an abandoned church on the mountain that we liked to explore—
not Johnny though. He thought the church was haunted, so we decided it
would be funny to fake a haunting. We scared the skata out of him. He was
never the same after that, always jumping at shadows. Boys are terrible
creatures. I should know because I was one.” A wry smile came and went .
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know .”
“How could you? I do not blame you. I blame Baboulas.” He looked up at
Xander. “Yes, I call her Baboulas. I have known her since long before you
were born.” His attention slid back to me. “Why did she stage your death?”
“To keep me safe. Too many people trying to kill me .”
He nodded slowly. There was a short, thoughtful pause, then: “Are
you sure ? ”
“No.”
“Good. Good. You are not her fool. We were worried you would be, but
hopeful that you were not .”
“You mean your old gang ?”
He closed his eyes briefly, paired it with a downward nod. “Me, Johnny,
Tony, Jimmy, Cookie, and Mikey. When we heard you were dead we thought
we had failed.”
“Failed?”
The old man with the IV stand was back again, slippers making soft
scuffing sounds on the linoleum. His partner’s wheels whined, low and
rhythmic.
“We have been looking out for you for a long time—your whole family.
It was our job to be an extra set of ears and eyes for your father. When he was
away, working, we were there. You never saw us but we were always
close by .”
“Did you take my father?”
“No! I mean yes, we took him but because it was part of the contingency
plan. Your father’s safety was compromised.”
My head swam. It was this close to drowning.
“I don’t understand any of this .”
“Your father wore many pants— ”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Our safe back home was crammed
full of alternate identities, money, and a gun .
“Okay. Your father is working for the government.”
The memory came back. Hera throwing Dad’s involvement with the NIS
in my face. I figured it was Hera being a bitch, because being a bitch was
what she did best. But then her boss Orestis Papadimitriou confirmed Dad’s
position.
“The NIS ?”
“The NIS .”
“Hera wasn’t lying.”
He raised his eyebrows. “She told you ? ”
“You know her ?”
“We are in a business where it would be safer if everybody did not know
everybody, yet somehow everybody knows everybody. Probably it is the
Greek DNA. We don’t like secrets unless they are our secrets.”
“Wait—you work for the government, too ?”
He made a face. “We all did. But now we are retired. Technically.”
If Jimmy Pants was NIS, no wonder he’d had access to a gun. He didn’t
have a connection—he was the connection.
“Un-technically?”
“We keep our eyes fourteen.”
That was the Greek way of saying they were always on the lookout.
Questions swirled around my mind. It was Fantasia up in there, with the
dancing hippos, the spinning flowers, and the devil Chernabog waving his
arms, being Greek and melodramatic. The Chernabog in my head wore his
hair in a bun, ala Grandma. Also he had her cheekbones, and a koulouraki in
each hand .
“Why take Dad ?”
“We were extracting him .”
“From?”
“We believed Baboulas was coming to fetch him .”
I hadn’t realized, until now, how little time there was between Dad
disappearing and Takis and Stavros rocking up on my doorstep. Doing the
math in my head now, I realized they had to have been already airborne when
Jimmy Pants arrived on the doorstep.
“And what about me ?”
“When we came back for you, Baboulas already had you .”
“And you left me with her ? ”
“She was treating you well, yes ?”
“Oh yeah, great. Unless you count the fact that she burned down my
workplace, my apartment, and put me in the crosshairs of every crazy with a
vendetta.”
“Relax, we have been following you .”
“Where were you when the Baptist had me ?”
“Goats had to kaka . He ate some bad gyro meat .”
“And when Dogas tried to force me to be his wife ?”
“That was Pants. He also had a bad gyro .”
“From the same place? You guys need to get your gyros from someplace
else.” I sighed. “So where is Dad, and why does Grandma want him? I want
to talk to him. I want to hear all of this—and more—from him.” Not that I
was sure I’d believe it. We were talking lies piled up on lies here. Hills of
lies. Mountains. And not these piddly little Greek mountains. Everest and
Chimborazo.
“Around.” His eyes darted sideways as he said it, then back to me .
Light bulb moment.
“You don’t know where he is, do you ?”
“Mikey is taking care of important business. He will contact you when
the time is right.”
Sounded to me like a lot of horse hooey, but then all of this did .
“So he’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“And he knows three of his best buddies are dead ?”
Blood drained out of Fish’s face, leaving him looking like one of his
namesakes’ bellies. “I forgot about Jimmy, with everything happening.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how ?”
“Strangled. Maybe garroted. Something like that .”
“You found him ? ”
I nodded.
“Alone?”
“Dina was with me ?”
“Dina? Why was she with you ?”
She’s been watching you all. She’s convinced you knows something
about my father’s disappearance.”
“Has she.” It wasn’t a question.
The old man was back for his third trip. Same scuffle. Same whine. Same
disinterest in what we were doing. Xander didn’t like it. He quit imitating an
immovable force and tilted his head toward the stairs.
“One more thing before we go. Uncle Kostas. Do you have any idea
where he might be? Some childhood hideout maybe?”
“That malakas has never had an original thought in his life. He followed
us everywhere, always whining, always threatening to tell Baboulas what we
were doing. My guess is that he went slithering back to Germany.”
“If he’s not in Germany?”
“Did you look in Baboulas’s dungeon?”
He definitely wasn’t in the dungeon. Apart from Monobrow the joint was
currently empty.
Xander left his post .
“For what it’s worth, I hope Johnny Deadly makes a fast recovery,” I said
quickly. “I’m sorry I gave him a fright, and I’m sorry about Jimmy Pants.”
Fish shrugged. “Eh. You are sorry, I am sorry, we are all sorry.”
I touched his shoulder but he went in for the Greek kill: kiss on each
cheeks and a warm hug. Whoever Dad’s friends really were, I felt like they
genuinely cared about me .
We were halfway back to the compound when it struck, the feeling that
I’d missed something. As Xander cut the engine outside the apparently not-
so-secret entrance to the dungeon, it came to me. Fish had given me a lot of
information without being specific. Most of it was enough to give Grandma a
reason to come down on several heads with a hammer.
And every word he’d spoken he’d spoken freely in front of Xander.
Xander dismounted the bike. He went to lift me down but I was already
off. I tugged off the helmet and slapped it into his hands. Then I went into the
narrowed eyes, hands on hips position. I made my demand.
“Are you NIS? Are you really NIS? Don’t lie to me .”
For a moment there was nothing.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
Chapter
Eight
I grabbed my hair, closed my eyes .

“Jesus H. Christ on a cactus. Is anyone who they say they are?” I opened
one eye long enough to see Xander nod. “That was a rhetorical question,” I
said between gritted teeth. “My father is a spook, his friends are spooks, and
you’re a spook.”
He looked confused.
“A spy. A spook is a spy. Are you going to explain yourself? Why are
you pretending to work for Grandma? Are you trying to destroy the Family?
Does Grandma know? No, you’d be dead if she knew.” Still clutching my
hair, I paced. My eyes were open so I could watch out for sticks and stones.
“Unless she knows and she’s using you. Is she using you? No. If she were
using you you’d never know it. Grandma is good, that’s why you’re all
scurrying around, trying to bring her down. Feel free to discover your powers
of speech at any time.” I stopped. “Sorry, that was insensitive. I wasn’t trying
to make fun of your disability, if it’s a disability. If it’s not a disability and
you just don’t like talking, I guess I get that, too. I’m not the world’s biggest
fan of people-ing either.”
Xander held open the curtain of greenery for me. I took the hint and
climbed into the tunnel.
“I’m not done with you yet,” I told him. “Wait—are you a double agent?
I bet you are. Is that a tough gig? Did you sell your soul, or are you a
sociopath who doesn’t feel much of anything?”
He pointed. Very good with the pointy finger, that one, because I started
to scramble forward on my hands and knees. He got in behind me and
followed.
A blush spread itself all over my face. I hadn’t forgotten our kiss, and
now he was getting a close-up look at my butt. There was no way to avoid it
really, on account of how it took up a lot of space. It’s not big but it’s there,
and the tunnel is narrow. It wasn’t designed with adults in mind. How Xander
was navigating the space was beyond me. With those shoulders he shouldn’t
have been able to fit .
We popped out into the grimy cell. Xander replaced the rock and let us in
to the swankier part of the dungeon complex. Monobrow was waiting for us,
door open, slowly feeding another piece of loukoumi into his mouth. White
powder covered his mustache, his shirt, his nose. He grinned when he saw us
.
“Thanks,” I said .
He pulled me into an unexpected hug. “Be careful in Germany, eh ?”
Within minutes we were in Xander’s apartment. Xander’s surprisingly
tasteful apartment. At first I’d assumed he’d be either a bare minimum kind
of guy, or the type who collected chrome, glass, and other cold things. It was
spare but it was also comfortable and inviting.
Not that he was inviting me to be comfortable. He jammed my hat back
down on my head then led me the roundabout way back to Grandma’s yard,
keeping me hidden behind him. His hand was warm and large, and for a
moment I felt genuinely safe, even though I was legally dead .
We entered the yard carefully, quietly. Xander stopped just outside the
closed door. He looked back at me, finger on his lips, then he touched his ear
.
What was wrong?
We scampered into the bushes.
“My window is open,” I mouthed. “We can go in that way .”
He tilted his chin up-down, and kept me down low with him. I was almost
on his lap. I could smell his cologne, feel his heat. One of his hands rested on
my waist, keeping me steady in the crouch. If I closed my eyes I could feel
his warm breath on the back of my neck. Or maybe it was summer’s last
zephyr.
I listened. A voice filtered out through the open windows. You couldn’t
swing a dead cat (what kind of monster does that, anyway?) in Grandma’s
house, so the smallest sound traveled. Grandma had company. Male.
Familiar.
Detective Melas.
A metal band fastened itself around my chest. Squeezed. My ankle
wobbled and I would have fallen forward, splat, into Grandma’s
bougainvillea, if Xander hadn’t held me fast .
Melas sounded exasperated but in control. “Do I want to know why you
removed a body from a crime scene?” he was saying.
“It was the best course of action at the time,” Grandma said .
“That is debatable,” he muttered. “Where was he ?”
“The high school. ”
They were talking about Jimmy Pants. Grandma must have decided to
turn his remains over to the authorities, and Melas was her favorite law
enforcement officer.
“Who found him ?”
Grandma’s lie was baby butt smooth. “One of my people went there to
discuss enrolling their child in school.”
“Who?”
“Takis. He and Marika want to separate the boys. Right now they are like
a tribe of monkeys at school.”
“And he went after school hours?”
“He was running late. His wife is pregnant, you know .”
“So why not call for an ambulance?”
“The man was already dead. What can an ambulance do for a dead man?
Nothing, that is what .”
“And the police?”
“I called the police, and look, here you are .”
“Not for hours, and you took the body .”
“You were busy, and I do not trust anyone else .”
Melas sighed. “I like you, Kyria Katerina. You have done good things for
my family and for the village. But the time is coming fast when I will have to
pick a side .”
“And you were hoping I would die and my granddaughter would steer the
family in a different direction before that happened, yes ?”
“Am I that transparent?”
My breath caught.
“To me, yes. I cannot speak for other people.”
“That time has passed, Kyria Katerina. You failed to protect Katerina, and
now she’s gone .”
“I am more sorry than you can imagine.”
“Are you ?”
“She was my only granddaughter and my heir . ”
I could picture Melas rubbing his forehead out of sheer frustration. “I am
not going to lie for you .”
“I am not asking you to, Nikos.”
“Okay. Okay. Let me take care of this. There will be questions.”
“And my people and I will answer them .”
There was a long, pregnant pause. Not the human kind; more like an
elephant or a giraffe.
“I am sure you will,” Melas finally said. “Kalinykta , Kyria Katerina.”
Grandma wished him a goodnight, too. Then she said, “You are a good
boy, Nikos.”
“I haven’t been a boy in a long time .”
There was an edge to Grandma’s voice. A sharp one. The kind of edge
that could cut off a man’s head, and probably had. “You will always be a boy
to me, Nikos. Remember that .”
There was another pause—more like a woman’s nine-month gestational
odyssey this time—and then the squeak of the kitchen and screen doors.
Melas’s boots hit the concrete. I heard him hold his breath then let it out in a
long, exasperated stream. His back was to us. His hands were on his hips. He
was making serious eye contact with the sky .
I wanted to leap up out of the bushes and yell, “Surprise! I’m not dead,”
but given that Grandma intended to kick me over Germany’s border and into
Winkler’s court, my death might soon be fact instead of fiction.
Then he was gone. The gate opened and the night gulped him down. I let
out a sigh and slowly unraveled my body off the ground … and instantly
began hopping around, foot in hand. Stupid foot, falling asleep on the job .
Xander laughed, soft and low .
“Laugh it up, beefcake,” I said through gritted teeth .
The front door swung open. Grandma peered out .
“Get in here, you pair of touvla .”
Even in Greece calling someone a brick was an insult.
I hopped up the stairs on one foot. Xander watched. There was a smile
trying to happen on his face .
“I have skills,” I said. “Not marketable skills, but skills.”
“Everyone in this family is a comedian,” Grandma said dryly.
“Not everyone,” I told her. “You’re not even a little bit funny unless
you’re high .”
Internally, I winced. I hadn’t forgotten my conversation with Fish.
Grandma was, most definitely, the bad guy. Every law enforcement agency in
the world wanted her locked up. And yet … there were pieces that didn’t fit
the Grandma puzzle. Her direct portal to the Powers That Be in Makria’s
church, Ayia Ekaterini (Saint Catherine’s) for one. It’s name was no mistake.
Makria was Grandma’s village, including the church.
Whatever. I was this close to finding Dad, or to him finding me, so it
didn’t matter much. Once I could see he was okay with my own eyes, and
once I was done beating him with a big stick for scaring the bejeezus out of
me, I’d be on the next plane home. Greece could keep its monkeys and its
circus.
If I made it through the Winkler gauntlet.
“Is there going to be a gauntlet?” I asked Grandma.
“Gauntlet?”
“It’s a deadly obstacle course, with spinning knives and other jabbing,
twirling things designed to kill or maim .”
“I know what a gauntlet is. Your mind is a very strange place, Katerina.”
“Okay, so will there be one in Germany?”
“No,” she said dryly. “No gauntlet. Although you have given me an idea .
”
Yikes! “Bad idea. A lot of my ideas are bad. In fact, you shouldn’t listen
to me at all .”
Grandma gave me a look that said I should sit. When I didn’t jump to it
she said it with her mouth. My butt hit the chair. Xander took up the lookout
position in the front yard .
“Did you speak with Jimmy?”
I told her that I’d spoken with Fish but I left out the incriminating parts.
Everyone’s multiple allegiances were turning me in to the AC/DC agent.
What I needed was an app for keeping my stories straight, for keeping track
of who knew what, of who was what. I did tell her that Dad was no one’s
prisoner, and that he was fine and he’d be in touch with me when it was safe .
Grandma didn’t say anything—not anything pertinent, anyway. She
reached across the table for her weed cookies and bit in to one .
“Do you know why I eat these?”
“Because they’re delicious and also fun ?”
She brushed off my answer. “Not just for the cancer. I eat them because
there is a giant pain in my kolos .”
“I’m not a proctologist, and I don’t play one on TV, but I think you
should get that looked at .”
Grandma didn’t look amused. She ate the koulouraki until it was little
more than crumbs on a napkin, then she reached for another.
“Go with Xander,” she said. “He will brief you on the way to Germany.”
“Xander is going with me?” My voice might have squeaked out. “Why is
Xander going with me?” If she was sending him to Germany with me then
she definitely didn’t know he was a spy. “And he doesn’t speak, so how can
he brief me ? ”
“There is a thing people make called paper. Maybe you have heard of it.
Greeks invented paper.”
“Actually, the Chinese invented paper.”
Grandma giggled. “The Chinese invented paper,” she said in a sing-song
voice. Boy, that cookie was working fast. “Go with Xander. He will protect
you. But no kissy-kissy.”
Too late for that .
“And no …” She made a circle with the fingers of one hand and used a
finger on the other hand to poke the circle. I knew what it meant, but given
that we were in Greece it wasn’t clear if I was supposed to be the circle or not
.
“I promise.”
“Go. Bring your grandfather to me before you leave.”
I carried the can to her and placed it on the table. Then I got down to the
business of leaving. At the doorway I paused and looked back. Other people
were terrified of Grandma, but right now, in this moment, she was a little old
lady, the only grandparent I had left .
I went back to the table and kissed her on both cheeks.
Then I left .
Chapter Nine
Five hours later we touched down on the outskirts of Frankfurt and my

phone’s clock jumped back an hour. Xander parked the plane. The airfield
was as small as Grandma’s private strip outside Volos, with a one-plane
hangar and a garage that housed a shiny black SUV .
“Is this Grandma’s?”
Xander nodded. He yanked open one of the SUV’s back doors and stuffed
me inside.
“Even in Germany I have to sit in the back? You monster.”
He patted me on the head and slammed the door, then got busy retrieving
luggage from the plane. Some of the luggage didn’t look like luggage. It was
in suspicious looking cases that movie-going me suspected contained
weapons. Xander climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The
stereo came to life. It wasn’t playing Rembetika or anything like it .
I couldn’t help cackling as he jumped from station to station .
“Keep looking. I bet you’ll find something almost as shitty if you try .”
Exhaustion reached for me. I closed my eyes, leaned my head the
headrest. There was a small smile on my face .
It didn’t last .
Some guy with a voice that had been dragged over gravel, set on fire, and
doused with the roughest, cheapest ouzo money could buy began warbling
about how he paid for a goat but got a wife .
I jerked back into the upright position. “Are you kidding me ?”
Xander held up his phone, pointed to the Bluetooth.
Thanks a freakin’ bunch, technology.
An hour into our trip, Xander pulled over. The time was stupid o’clock. At
stupid o-clock, on the outskirts of Frankfurt, Germany was black with blobby
patches of darker and lesser blacks. Wherever our final destination was it
wasn’t the inner city .
“Are we there?”
He opened the door, got out .
I rolled down the window. Beneath the active melanin he was sheet
white.
“Are you okay? Want me to drive?”
Chin up-down. So that was a no then. He braced his hands on the hood,
stared down at his boots. Then he yakked.
Oh boy .
I jumped out, rummaging through my cross-body bag for a mini pack of
tissues. I pulled a couple out, unfolded them, and stiffly held them out to him.
With a nod, he took them and wiped his mouth. Then his shoulders heaved
and he puked again.
Vomiting didn’t faze me much. Mom threw up a lot when she was on
chemo, and by the time she died I could clean it in my sleep and have the
area deodorized in minutes. I went diving in my bag again, this time for a
bottle of water. It was part of the supplies I’d bought for my rooftop hiding
place in Jimmy Pants’ street. I unscrewed the lid, sat it on the SUV’s hood,
within easy grabbing distance.
He barfed a third time, then pushed away from the hood, staggering
around the back of the SUV. He sat on the ground, elbows on knees, head
hanging mournfully.
We were on one of those dark roads that didn’t see a lot of traffic, but
why take chances? I reached into the SUV and flicked on the hazard lights,
just in case. Then I went back to Xander, with a side trip to grab the water,
and sat cross-legged on the ground beside him. I didn’t say a word, just let
him be .
He got up to barf in the bushes—twice—then sat back down .
Before long, the sun poked its head up over the horizon. The night
quickly thinned out, showing off a bunch of trees, a pristine road, and a lot
of sky .
Xander groaned. His skin was ashen. He was in the perfect condition to
slump over the wheel and steer us into a semi trailer. I stood up, dusted off
my hands, and held them out to him .
“I’m guessing we’ve got to keep moving. If Winkler is anything like
Grandma and Don Corleone, he probably isn’t a fan of lateness.”
He took my hand. It was like hauling a bag of cement—if the bag of
cement was the size of a brick outhouse. Xander staggered to the driver’s side
.
I snorted. “Forget it. There is no way you can drive.”
Pale and drawn, he stared at me for the longest time, then he nodded. He
moved toward the passenger’s side .
“No, no, no.” I wagged my finger at him. “You have to sit in the back .”
He looked resigned, pathetic, not at all Xander-like. I opened the back
door for him and he got in .
I climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusted everything to fit, and then took
care of the most important piece of business. After pushing a few buttons,
pop music filled the SUV .
Payback was boppy.
Germany wasn't gray. Germany was supposed to be gray, that’s what people
had always told me. Everything around me was green: trees, other trees,
grass, friendly puffball bushes, hedges cut into animal shapes. Winkler’s
estate had that old money feel, not a drop of it bloody or counterfeit. The
driveway was pale, sturdy brick, arranged to form a circle three-quarters of
the distance between the house and road. At the center of the circle, a
fountain featuring a serene bathing beauty, hugging a pair of deer. The haus
was a mansion, because criminals like to have lots of hiding places when the
authorities come calling. Classicism style. Cream paint. Smooth columns. A
dozen stone steps leading to an imposing, yet friendly, entrance. If there was
security—and there had to be—it was invisible and somehow more
frightening.
“This is Winkler’s place? Really?”
In the rearview mirror, Xander nodded slowly. Probably he didn’t want to
make himself dizzier .
“I expected something tackier. Lots of marble and gold like a warlord or a
dictator.”
He snorted. His skin didn’t have that lovin’ feeling back yet. His face was
drawn. We’d stopped three more times so he could wring the water out of his
stomach. Now he was sad and pathetic and very un-Xander.
“Have you been here before?”
Nod.
“What is Winkler like? Scary? I bet he’s scary. He sounds scary. But
Grandma is scary to a lot of people, too, and she and I get along just fine.
Well, mostly fine—when she’s not ruining my life .”
Xander looked pained.
“Sorry.” I wiped my damp hands on my jeans. “I’m nervous. I hope I
don’t get us killed. Grandma should have sent a real diplomat.”
According to the single line of text Xander had given me to read on the
plane, we were here on a diplomatic mission. I was to make nice with
Winkler and iron out any kinks between the Makris Family and Winkler with
my winning personality, natural charm, and complete naivety about the
organized crime business.
All was peaceful at the Winkler residence. A gardener was briskly
dragging his rake across a dewy section of lawn. Birds sang drinking songs
about getting the worm. A passing breeze patted the trees on their heads.
It looked like a beautiful day to get myself killed again.
My phone pinged. Marika.
Baby says you are to drive up to the house.
How? Never mind …
Alrighty then .
I eased the SUV around to the front steps, then I swiveled around in
my seat .
“What now? Do I go up and knock? Never mind, I’ll knock. If no one
answers I’ll go around and back and give them a good ol’ American ‘yoo-hoo
’.”
Xander leaned back in the seat and groaned. Poor guy. There was no
telling if he’d eaten bad oysters or if he was the unfortunate victim of a
stomach bug. Personally I was hoping for the former, but all the women’s
magazines I’d ever read kept reminding me that I was two good stomach
viruses away from my goal weight, so it was a tough call .
I jogged up the stairs, well aware that Winkler’s hausfrau or butler would
mistake me for a panhandler. There hadn’t been time for showers, clean
clothes, and enough makeup to elevate me from corpse to barely human. I
was worried about the surprise angle. Knowing the kind of company
Grandma kept, Winkler might mistake me for a bad surprise and shoot me on
the spot .
I knocked. Waited. Only a few seconds passed before the front door flew
open, revealing a little old lady in a lavender twinset and tweed skirt. Her
blond-tinted hair was captured in a French twist so tight that it shaved ten
years off her face and stashed it behind her ears. The wrinkles left behind
were downy and powdered.
She smiled, warm and welcoming. I wasn't buying it .
Okay, yes I was .
“Katerina,” she said. “I would know your lovely face anywhere. You look
like your father but also you have a lot of your mother in you, yes ?”
Her words were English with a strong German edge .
“Yes?” I stammered. No one had ever commented on my resemblance to
my mother before. Mostly they focused on the Greek bits. No surprise really,
not with this nose .
“Yes! Come, come. Is Xander with you? Where is that beautiful boy?”
She peered past me and made a tutting sound when she saw him staggering
out of the SUV. “ What happened to my little pumpernickel?” She held out
her arms to him. “Come, my boy .”
Xander made it to the top of the steps without passing out. The little old
lady put one around his waist, one arm around mine, and ushered us through
the fancy doorway and into a foyer straight out of Good Taste magazine.
Twin wooden staircases that curved up to a second level and a third.
Gleaming wood. Cream walls. A one-legged, three-footed table that held an
impossibly large rustic arrangement of fresh flowers. Ornate, high ceiling.
The word that came to mind was grand .
“He must trust you if he left you drive,” the woman went on. She reached
for a tiny bell that was sitting on the edge of that round table and gave it a
couple of tinkles. Almost immediately a human rhino appeared. Pale skin.
Blond hair shaved close to the hide. No innie where his neck was supposed to
be. He was dressed in what I could only call livery. He held his hand out in a
“this way, please” gesture that Xander was apparently supposed to follow.
Xander glanced at me, then he shuffled off after the uniformed zoo
animal.
“Do not worry, Johann will take good care of him.” She gave me a little
side hug. “You like him ?”
“Johann?”
“Xander.”
“He’s okay for someone with appalling taste in music.”
The little old German lady laughed merrily. She sounded like sugar
plums, whatever those were .
“Ah, the Rembetika?”
“How did you know ?”
She leaned close. “I don’t like Rembetika either. Give me a good, robust
German opera, and maybe a little pop music. I like that Pitbull boy. He has a
nice bottom. Come, Katerina, you must be hungry and thirsty, yes ? ”
“Both, actually.”
Her arm looped through mine, she steered me down one of the long
hallways, to a kitchen the size of Mom and Dad’s (and now just Dad’s) living
room. Marble counters for miles. An island I could sleep on comfortably. Big
steel frame with copper pots and pans hanging. Windows overlooking rose
gardens. Wide ovens and twelve burners. It was made for someone who took
cooking seriously—deadly seriously.
“Mr. Winkler must entertain a lot,” I said .
“Not as much as he used to now that he’s dead .”
My emotions instantly tripped over and tangled. If Winkler was dead,
why did Grandma send me here ?
“Oh—I’m sorry.”
She laughed. “I’m not. My husband was a real motherfucker. I shot him
twenty times, just to make sure he was really dead. Then I had him burned, in
case he was secretly undead.”
My mouth fell open. It hit my chest, then my knees, then the floor. That’s
how it felt, anyway.
“I am the only Winkler who matters around here,” she went on, “and you
are right, I love to entertain. In fact I have something interesting planned for
tomorrow night. Perhaps you will stay for it, yes ?”
Moisture fled my mouth, leaving me with a floppy ribbon of rubber for a
tongue. “You’re Winkler.”
She beamed. “Theano Winkler.”
Theano. A Greek name .
“You’re Greek?” I stammered.
“My husband—the devil take his fucking soul and use it to wipe his ass—
was German. We met when he abducted me from Greece. My sister refused
to pay the ransom, so we spent a lot of time together and eventually fell
in love . ”
“He kidnapped you ?”
She patted my arm kindly. “I told you, he was a motherfucker. A big one
.”
My head was spinning. Winkler was a woman and she was Greek.
While my head spun, Theano Winkler bustled around the roomy kitchen.
Bowls appeared, wooden spoons, and ingredients—some familiar, some not .
“Tell me, Katerina, do you like waffles?”
Who didn’t like waffles?
“I love waffles.”
“There are German waffles. Almond flavored, with blackberry cream.
How does that sound?”
“Like the best idea anyone on the planet ever had .”
She laughed gaily. “Good, because I am craving waffles this morning.
Today is a good day. Every day is a good day. But today is especially good
because here you are and you are alive. She pointed a wooden spoon at me. “I
knew you were. That old bat is a good liar, but good enough to fool me .”
My hackles rose up and nosed about before lying back down again. “That
old bat is my grandmother.”
“Katerina convinced the world that you are dead, but I bet she did not
consider the consequences. Tell me, have you tried to use your bank since
you were shot? I bet you have, and I bet you discovered that being dead is not
a surface thing. Death goes all the way down .”
“The machine ate my card, then I had a heck of a time convincing a
couple of clowns in India that I’m me .”
She cracked eggs, poured milk. “That is Katerina, using a hammer when
she would do better to use a scalpel.” She looked up. “Have you seen that
worthless uncle of yours?”
“Uncle Kostas? ”
“That’s the one .”
To lie or not to lie, that was the question. On the one hand, Uncle Kostas
was family. On the other, this nice lady was making waffles. Mmm …
waffles. On a third hand I’d have to borrow from someone else, this nice old
lady murderer was pissed at my uncle, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t
express her anger with a time-out or a good talking-to. There could be torture
involved. Pain. Blood. Possibly man tears.
“The last time I saw my uncle he insulted me. He’s not exactly my
favorite person at the moment, or possibly ever .”
“And your father?”
“Still missing.”
She lightly whisked the waffle mixture. “The trick is to not overwork the
batter. If you mix too much, they become tough.” Using a stainless steel
ladle, she poured scoops of fragrant batter into a well-oiled waffle iron. Soft
clouds of steam billowed out the sides. “Do you know why your grandmother
sent you here ?”
“A peacekeeping mission, she said .”
“Peace is for the young. Old women need conflict to keep us interested in
life. We are sharks, your grandmother and I, swimming, swimming, because
if we stop we will die .”
The waffle iron stopped steaming. Winkler stacked two waffles on two
dinner plates with a pretty flowered edge. Spring blooms. Daffodils and
tulips. Then she poured purple cream from a ceramic pitcher, smothering the
lightly toasted squares.
“Let’s eat in the kitchen, just us two girls,” she said cheerfully. “I want to
know everything about you .”
“Are you going to kill me ? ”
She looked horrified. “No, of course not. Why would I kill you ?”
“Just checking.”
Winkler’s waffles were heaven on a plate. They ruined me for all other
waffles. It was difficult to tear my mouth away from them long enough to
talk, so mostly I ate in between mumblings about my dull, definitely not
criminal life back home. When I finished talking, ending with the part about
me wanting to move out of my childhood home, she stopped me to check her
phone, then beamed.
“Xander is better. Johann took him to the infirmary and administered a
treatment. He will be fine. Good thing he is a big healthy man. Tell me about
you two .”
I gave her a confused look. “There’s nothing to tell .”
“He likes you. He is comfortable with you or he would not have let you
drive.”
“He was sick, so he didn’t have a choice. And I think you’re wrong, he
doesn’t like me. He’s been blowing warmish and cold since I pretend-died .”
Her fork paused on the plate’s flowery edge .
“What do you know about Xander’s past ?”
I told her what I knew, which wasn’t much but it was bloody.
“Then you understand.”
“No …”
“Once again, someone he cares about was shot in front of him, and died .”
“It was a fake shooting and a fake death.”
“Logically, yes. But emotions are not always logical, especially when
they are tied to a past trauma.” She patted my cheek. “Don’t be too hard on
Xander. Yes, he works for Baboulas, but he is a good man .”
Did she know Xander was NIS ?
I stood up with my plate and cutlery, looked around for a dishwasher. The
kitchen had three, so I carried my plate to the sink .
“Oh, my dear girl, no house work for you, not while you are under my
roof. Just leave it in the sink. Come, let us check on Xander.”
We found Xander outside, poking around in the back of the SUV. Skin
almost back to bronze. Standing strong without swaying. Whatever Winker’s
German flunky had given him had worked fast .
He passed our luggage off to Johann, then lifted the mysterious—and
possibly deadly—containers out. I followed him all the way back to the
kitchen, where he sat them on the table, one by one. They couldn’t be
weapons if they were in the kitchen, right?
Winkler clapped her hands like a little girl at the fair. “Open them, my
boy. I can’t wait to see what you’ve brought me .”
Xander popped the lids. The containers were filled with treasure of the
baked kind .
My jaw sagged. It’s possible my eyes bugged.
“Really?” My eyebrows hiked to higher ground. “Koulourakia ? You
brought koulourakia all the way from Greece?”
Xander shrugged.
“Katerina makes the best koulourakia ,” Winkler said. “There are none
like hers in all of Europe.”
“But … but … you’re enemies!”
“Adversaries.”
“That’s the same thing!”
“Not at all. Have a koulouraki , Katerina.”
“No, thanks, I’m full of waffles.” I eyed the cookies. They did look good.
“Okay, maybe one .”
Chapter Ten
Five hours later, I woke in a vaguely familiar room. Canopy bed. Big
windows with floor length sheers. Parquet floors so polished I was almost
afraid to step on them. I didn’t want to be responsible for dulling their shine.
A dead animal skin on the floor that used to be a polar bear. There was a hag
across the room—the very roomy room—gawking at me from her picture
frame. She was wearing my clothes.
I waved my hand. She waved back .
I bounced on the bed. So did she .
Christ on a crouching cat, the hag was me !
Taking my chances, I clambered out of the big bed, traversed a mile of
flooring, and twitched the sheer curtains, all without stepping on the former
bear. Winkler’s estate was located in paradise. The back was all vineyards
and winding paths, flowering gardens, clusters of thick, secretive greenery,
and a hedge maze that had to be at least a couple of acres in size. Maybe the
maze was Winkler’s secret gauntlet.
My room came with a bathroom. I went digging in my bag and pulled out
jeans. But jeans seemed all wrong, so I went hunting again until my fingers
found a dress. It had a few wrinkles but if I hung it in the bathroom while I
showered it would be fine .
And it was .
Thirty minutes later I bounced into a wide hallway, decorated with art
that looked original and old. Earlier, when Johann had shown me to my
room, I’d been three-quarters asleep. The trip and the waffles caught up to me
—and hard. The artwork—and the house—had been a blur. Now I took the
time to check out the oil painted canvases. There seemed to be a theme.
Death.
Every frame portrayed the demise of a human being, often in some horrid
way. As if there was a nice way. I stopped by an oil painting of a man in a
tuxedo, kneeling in front of a guillotine. His head was a foot away, in the
next painting.
“Do you like it ?”
I jumped.
Johann was there in his stern livery.
“I never would have thought to put his body and head in separate
paintings, so that’s kind of … artistic.”
The human rhino gave a terse nod. “Every piece of art you see on these
valls is by Vinkler, herself. She luffs to paint.”
“She painted these?”
“From real life .”
I stifled a whimper. It was too easy to forget that Grandma and Winkler
were, in their own way, mass murderers.
“Who was he ?”
Johann sniffed. “A disappointment.”
Yikes. I shuffled along to the next painting, which could best be
described as Woman in Ballgown Without Arms. The gown had arms; the
woman not so much. Also she didn’t have a head. That was probably the fatal
part, but then my murder skills were nonexistent.
“This vun is new.” Johann directed me to a painting several feet down the
wall. “Maybe you recognize it .”
Portrait of a Man on a Bed .
A man on a bed with a hole in his head. I recognized the man, the room,
the bed. I’d been sleeping on the bed for weeks now, and the man had tried to
kill me .
“It’s hard to tell with that, uh …” I pointed to my forehead. “Hole .”
Johann directed me further down the row. “And this one ?”
I recognized the high heels and the trench coat. The woman was all over
the place—literally. She’d showed up at one of Grandma’s parties wearing
those nice shoes and a bomb .
“Abstract art isn’t really my thing.”
“Vinkler also prefers her subject in just a few pieces.”
Yikes.
“Vould you like to see the late Mr. Vinkler?”
“The one she shot twenty times?”
“Ja.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass .”
“Very well. I will tell Vinkler you did not vant to see all her art .”
Johann turned away. His livery came with tails.
“Wait! Let’s not be too hasty,” I told his back .
“You vish to see it ?”
“Yes, I vish to see it .”
“Are you mocking me ?”
I shook my head. “I vant to see it. I vould luff to . ”
His eyes narrowed. They were teeny, tiny piggy eyes in a watermelon.
“Come this vay .”
Five minutes later we were underground in a wine cellar. We didn’t stop
for drinks. Winkler had a lot of wine though. Probably she had to drink a lot
so she could sleep at night.
Johann opened a heavy door with flowers carved in its wood .
“Cornflowers,” he said .
“Oh.”
We stepped into a space the size of Versailles’ ballroom. The cornflower
motif continued on the wooden floors. Some natural light filtered in through
transom windows, illuminating walls the same flattering cream as the rest of
the house. The massive space was set up like an art gallery, with bench seats
around the edges for quietly contemplating the paintings. In the center, two
elegant sofas, separated by a glass top coffee table and a rug embroidered
with cornflowers.
Johann flipped a switch, kicking several chandeliers into action. Along
with the chandeliers, each painting had its own personal light to show off the
subject. Johann led me to the far end of the cavernous room .
“This is Vinkler’s private collection,” he said. “This is Mr. Vinkler.”
Tiny canvas. Lots of red. The former Mr. Winkler was more holes
than man .
“Vat do you think?”
“Artistic.”
“Vat else ?”
“It’s … uh … colorful.”
He was watching me .
“I like red,” I went on .
“Vinkler also luffs red . ”
Apparently.
I rubbed my hands together. “Okay. Great. I could really use a glass of
water.”
“First you must look at the other paintings.”
Did I have to? Rhetorical question; of course I had to. Not looking at the
paintings would likely lead to certain death. As opposed to looking at them,
which could lead to uncertain death, no matter what Winkler had said about
my chances of survival.
“Say, where is Xander?”
“He has already seen Vinkler’s paintings,” he said darkly.
“Oh.”
“And he enjoyed them very much .”
“Okay.”
“Very much .”
Worried about the imminent and inevitable arrival of extra verys, I went
on my own tour, without Johann. Johann followed anyway. For a well-
marbled slab he could move fast. I wandered from painting to painting, trying
not to focus too hard on the death. After all, I wanted to sleep again sometime
in the near future.
“This is Vinkler’s vish list,” he said, pointing to the far corner.
“Vish list ?”
“Are you mocking me again?”
“I wasn’t mocking you before.”
An indignant sniff. “The people Winkler vishes were dead .”
Yipes. “Who are they ?”
“Bad people.”
“Oh.”
“Good people.” He sounded way too cheerful for this conversation .
“Oh.”
“There are some people you might know .”
I couldn’t help myself. Not only was I half Greek, but I was also sure
somewhere in our DNA there was a cat hair. I went. I looked. I came back to
Johann.
“Huh. How about that .”
“You like ?”
“Who vouldn’t?”
“Nope. Can I get that water now, please?”
“Of course. This way .”
Images danced behind my eyes. Paintings of death. Not just death but
people I knew better with each passing day. Grandma carrying her own head.
Papou without his wheelchair, his legs, or his arms, his eyes pecked out by
chickens. Winkler had painted Aunt Rita as a man, strangled with a sequined
evening dress—and not even a pretty one. Uncle Kostas, disemboweled with
a weed whacker. Dad wasn’t there. Neither was I. Maybe she’d had Johann
hide them in a closet when she saw Grandma’s car rolling up the driveway.
Johann took me back to the kitchen. Xander was there, playing with his
phone.
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Let me guess: Candy Crush?”
He showed me the screen. Sudoku. Because of course.
I dropped into one of the other chairs. There was no sign of Winkler, just
Johann, who seized this opportunity to hone the kitchen knives.
“I thought you vanted vater,” Johann said .
“I vould love vater,” I said .
“She is mocking me,” he said, eyes on the gleaming blade. “I just know it
.”
“It’s not you, it’s Inga . ”
“Inga. Inga is dead .”
“Inga from Young Frankenstein is dead ?”
He looked confused, which made two of us. “No—Inga.” He reached
inside his coat, whipped out a photograph, waved it under my nose. “Inga,
my true luff .”
Definitely not Young Frankenstein’s Inga, this Inga was in her twenties.
I’d say she was vaguely familiar but that would be a lie. I knew this woman.
We’d talked shoes before she blew up in my face. She was immortalized
upstairs in oils on canvas.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am. One of these days I vill haff my vengeance.” He
stowed the photo then poured bubbly water into a glass. He deposited it in
front of me. “For now, here is your vater.”
Ruh-roh .
“I didn’t kill your Inga, I swear.”
He sniffed. “So you say .”
“She had a bomb. Bombs have a way of going boom .”
“Johann, enough. What happened to Inga was her own doing.” Winkler
appeared, still in her neat twinset, perfectly composed. She reminded me of
an elderly Eve Marie Saint. “We have company.”
Johann shoved the stick deeper up his butt. “I will see to them .”
“They are out the front. The driver is performing laps of the fountain.”
“Laps?” Johann said .
I drew circles in the air for the slow person in the room. “Round and
round, like a racing car driver.”
“They are racing?”
Winkler turned to me. “You might want to go with him. I think they are
yours.”
“Mine? ”
“Valk this vay,” Johann said .
I followed him. In my head, Aerosmith and Run DMC duked it out until
Aerosmith punched through a wall .
We walked and walked. Winker’s house was one that came with a lot of
walking—even more walking than the Makris compound. My mind turned to
Grandma. How was she coping? What was happening back in Greece while I
was trailing after a guy who looked like someone in his family dug bestiality
with exotic animals?
Out front there was a slow commotion in progress. Sure enough, a vehicle
was doing laps of the fountain. A silver sedan with smoked windows and a
drunk at the wheel.
“Maybe the driver had a stroke and he’s leaning on the steering wheel.”
Johann looked down at me. “Can that happen?”
“If there’s anything I learned from the internet it’s that anything can
happen, and then they make porn of it .”
On the next circuit, the car broke its pattern and began trundling toward
us. It was moving slow and it would have to climb a dozen steps to get to us
so I wasn’t too worried.
Not Johann. Out of nowhere he produced a pistol. I whistled low .
“Is that one of those guns with a little red light?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever use the laser sight to play with your cat?” I nudged him
with my elbow. “You can tell me. I won’t tell Winkler.”
“I don’t haff a cat .”
“I don’t haff a cat either,” I admitted. “But I kind of have a goat .”
“A goat?” He aimed at the car, shook his head. “Greeks …”
“Best pet I ever had. Only pet I’ve ever had. He doesn’t have a name yet,
but I’m thinking about calling him Johann.”
“Mein Gott ,” he muttered.
As the car puttered to a stop in front of us, the rear door flew open.
Marika stumbled out, that big shoulder bag of hers clutched in her arms .
“Katerina! You are alive!” She bowled toward us. Johann stepped aside
like he was trying to dodge a boulder. The big doofus. Marika was a lot of
woman, but Johann was several men and maybe a woman. In a Marika versus
Johann collision, Johann would walk away with a bruised ego, at worst.
What the heck was going on ?
While I was busy hugging Marika—she was hanging on for dear life—
another familiar face emerged from the silver sedan. I was too surprised to
roll my eyes .
“Donk?” I squeaked.
Marika pulled back, hands tightening around my biceps. “He kidnapped
me. Can you believe it? That little boy kidnapped me—a bodyguard.”
“Marika is one of my bodyguards,” I told Johann.
Johann was slowly and quietly choking beside me. “Bodyguard?”
Winkler’s flunky was speaking English, and Marika, like most
Europeans, spoke enough English to find her way to a bathroom, a fast food
joint, and possibly a massage parlor.
Marika slung her bag over one shoulder and moved into the hands-on-
hips position. “What is he saying about a bodyguard?”
“Nothing,” I told her. “He can’t seem to move past that one word .”
She gave him the stink-eye. “Maybe he thinks a woman cannot be a
bodyguard. ”
“He works for Winkler. I’m pretty sure he knows what women are
capable of .”
Marika gasped and crossed herself frantically. She was dialing God,
and fast .
“Winkler,” she whispered. “We are in the arms of the devil.”
“Who is this magnificent creature?” Johann wanted to know .
I did a double take. “Say what now ?”
“She is a valkyrie. A very short valkyrie, and a very Greek valkyrie, but a
valkyrie.”
Marika looked at me. “What is he saying? Whatever he is saying he is
saying too much of it .”
“He thinks you’re a valkyrie.”
“Valkyrie, my kolos . I am an Amazon, but with two vizia, not one. And
also I have never used a bow and arrow, but I bet I would be as good at it as I
am at shooting guns .”
Donk swaggered over. He looked me up, down, and grinned. “I knew you
were not dead. You are looking good .”
I rolled my eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
“Not at first, but then I figured it out .”
“How?”
“My uncle would not give me a ride home, so I hid in the trunk of his car
after your funeral and fell asleep. I was in the trunk when he stopped you .”
“And he had no idea you were there?
“None.” He squinted at my chest. “Are you breasts bigger?”
“Ugh,” I said .
Marika slapped the back of his head .
Johann sighed happily. “Valkyrie,” he said .
“Married woman,” I told him .
“That can be fixed,” he said .
“Pregnant woman, with a whole passel of boys at home .”
“Nobody is perfect, but she is as close as it gets .”
“What about Inga ?”
He shrugged. “As you said, Inga is dead .”
Clearly a guy who moved on fast .
“Hey now, maybe I said that, but that’s not how I said it .”
“I never thought I voud fall in luff again,” he said dreamily.
Maybe he’d reconsider his plans for vengeance and give me a finder’s fee
instead.
I turned back to Marika and Donk .
“What are you guys doing here, and how ?”
“Car, plane, car,” Donk said .
Marika told a different story. “Car, kidnapping, plane, car. And he would
not let me drive.”
“You cannot drive!”
“I can drive,” Marika said .
Donk snorted.
She arched a vicious eyebrow in his direction. “How difficult can it be if
a poulaki can do it ?”
“Aww, you called him a little bird,” I said .
“Poulaki is a little bird and a little poutsa ,” Marika explained. “Guess
which one I meant.”
Donk opened his mouth to let an insult fly. I stopped it by jumping
between them .
“Back to your corners,” I said. “What are you doing here ?”
“You owe my uncle money,” Donk said. “I came to get it back .”
I gawked at him. “You came to Germany to get fewer than fifty euros?”
“It’s not the amount that matters. It’s the principal. ”
“So you’re working for Baby Dimitri now? I thought you wanted to join
the NIS .”
“I did. Then I found out how much they make. How can I impress women
with a handful of skata ?”
Marika slapped the back of his head. “Language.”
“If you’re a spy you don’t need money,” I told him. “Women dig the
spy part .”
“Are you saying they will give me sex ?”
“It works for James Bond .”
“Now I am confused,” Donk said. “I don’t know what to do. But until
then I will do this job for my uncle.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Does he know you’re here on his behalf?”
“What is the definition of ‘know’ anyway? It is just a word, and I’m
the Donk .”
Jesus Christ on a coyote. Here we were again, with me having to watch
out for Marika and Donk’s butts as well as my own. Winkler said she wasn’t
going to kill me, but what about them ?
I turned to Marika. “How did you get mixed up in this, and how did you
find us ?”
“Us?” she said .
“Xander came with me .”
“Oh-la-la.” She fanned her face. “Are you two …”
“No!”
Johann raised an eyebrow in my direction. “You und Xander?”
“No! No me and Xander. No me and anyone.”
Marika beamed. In her heart of hearts she wanted everyone to be paired
off and knocked up. “So you say …” Then she jumped tracks and whacked
Donk again. “This one kidnapped me !”
Donk pointed to himself then to Marika. “Look at us. Do you think I
could kidnap someone that size? She’s like a very fat donkey.”
“Only pity is stopping me from killing you,” Marika said. “Your uncle is
a gangster and your mother makes movies.”
Donk’s mother made the kind of movies that almost always featured a
souvlaki delivery guy .
Donk turned red. “Maybe I kidnapped her, but it was for a good reason.”
“He told me if I didn’t come with him then he would tell everyone your
death was a lie, so I had to go with him .”
It was a lie, but that was beside the point. “And you found me … how ?”
She looked up at the sky. “Maybe I let the boy kidnap me, okay? My
baby told me you were in Germany and that I should come here with this
child.”
We all looked at her .
“Vat did my valkyrie say ?”
I translated.
“Vat baby?” Johann glanced around. “You haff no baby here, my
valkyrie.”
“Marika’s unborn baby gives her messages.”
The German rhinoceros sighed happily. “She is a goddess.”
I rolled my eyes on the inside and turned back to Marika. “The baby
told you ?”
“She is like a little GPS. She even knows where the public bathrooms are.
In fact I need one right now .”
“Bathroom?” I asked Johann.
He leaped into action, taking Marika by the elbow. “I vill take care of
you, my flower.”
Marika threw words over her shoulder. “I do not know what he is saying,
but he is very polite.”
Now it was just me and Donk .
Donk grinned at me. He rocked on his heels. “Where is my uncle’s
money?”
“Go home .”
“I don’t have any money or a plane ticket. Marika paid for the plane and
the car. She is my sugar mama .”
“I wouldn’t say that within earshot, if I were you .”
Marika’s voice wafted out the tall double doors. “I heard that .”
“She has ears like a dog,” Donk said, “and a kolos like an elephant.”
A piece of hard candy stuck him in the middle of the forehead.
Chapter
Eleven
I took Donk to the kitchen. Xander was still at the table, sticking numbers in
a sudoku grid like it was fun. Winkler was busy cooking up a feast for a
dozen people, by the looks of it. She was dunking thin, almost see-through,
pork strips in beaten egg, then covering them in breadcrumbs.
“Schnitzel,” she said. She shifted to Greek. “One of my favorite German
foods.” She glanced over at Donk. “Who is this handsome young man ?”
That was all the encouragement Donk needed. He puffed out his chest,
channeled the Fonz. “Heeey. I’m Donk, like Snoop Donky Donk.” He looked
at me. “Who’s the old lady ?”
“Winkler,” I said. “Or is it Kyria Winkler?”
“Just Winkler,” Winkler said. “What is a Donk ?”
“He’s Baby Dimitri’s nephew.”
She snorted. “Baby Dimitri. I could tell you stories. He is not half the
motherfucker he pretends to be .”
Donk perked up. “Stories?”
She nodded to the kitchen island, to the stools lined up like good soldiers.
“Grab a stool, come keep me company, and I will tell you some good stories,
okay? Maybe they will be useful to you someday.” She winked at him .
While Donk was soaking up tales of Baby Dimitri’s misspent youth, I sat
beside Xander, close but not too close.
“How are you feeling?”
Without looking at me he gave me a thumbs up .
“Have you heard from Grandma?”
Nod.
“I haven’t. Is she okay ?”
Nod.
Just then, my phone shuddered. Grandma.
“That’s creepy,” I told Xander. He didn’t look up .
“What are you doing?” Grandma demanded.
“Sitting in Winkler’s kitchen while she cooks Schnitzel.”
Winkler glanced over. “Is that the bitch?”
“Tell that old mouni to gamo herself,” Grandma said .
“I can’t say that !”
“Then give her your phone and let me tell her myself.”
“I can’t do that !”
“Do it or I will cook your goat .”
“You really are a monster,” I told Grandma.
“She really is,” Winkler said. “Hold the phone to my ear. My hands are
full.” I did as she asked. “Thank you for sending me your adorable
granddaughter,” she said into the phone. “I am thinking of keeping her. As
you know, I am also without an heir.” She listened, then laughed. She cut her
eyes to me. “Your grandmother told me to choke on a dead donkey’s rotting
poutsa .” She blew a kiss into my phone. “May worms infect that mouni on
your face you call a mouth.”
I shoved the phone against my ear. “There is something seriously wrong
with you two . ”
“Nothing her dropping dead would not fix,” Grandma said oh-so casually.
“Now listen carefully. Takis has instructions for you. Do not react. Just
listen.”
There was a whisper as she palmed the phone off on Takis.
“Katerina!” he crowed. “You have to kill Winkler.”
My face went cold. My hands, feet, and heart followed. My lungs seized
up. The roof of my mouth was stuck to my tongue. Somehow (possibly
sorcery) I managed to unstick it and dredge up a sassy tone .
“Takis!” Grandma barked in the background.
“Just fucking with you,” he said. “You need to check out the security
there. Number of guards. Defenses. That kind of thing. Tell Xander.”
That I could do, but I still figured I owed him one for almost giving me a
heart attack.
“Any idea where Marika is?” I said oh-so casually.
“At home with our children, where she belongs?”
We’d had this conversation before, or one just like it .
“Guess again.”
“At the supermarket where she also belongs?”
“Again.”
“Drinking coffee with friends? It is not where she belongs, but I hope she
is there or I will hezo your donkey.”
“Beep. Wrong answer.”
Pooping a donkey was never the answer.
Takis exploded in a cloud of obscenities. There were goats, ancient
deities, and fruits involved. They performed acts that were unnatural and
illegal, although possibly not in Greece.
“Are you telling me she is in Germany?”
“She’s upstairs right now, with a man called Johann.”
“Big man. Looks like a rhinoceros without the horn ?”
“You know him ? ”
Takis unleashed a fresh string of unholy insults and ended the call .
“That went well,” I said brightly, pocketing my phone. Scope out
Winkler’s security? As Ralph Wiggum said: unpossible! The nice old lady
who’d made waffles for me didn’t seem to have any security apart from
Johann and her colorful language. There was security, I was sure, but it was
invisible.
Why would Grandma want know about Winkler’s security? And why
would she want me snooping around? She had legitimate snoopers on the
payroll, including the chunk of beefcake sitting at this very table.
Oh hell, this wasn’t some kind of test, was it? Tests weren’t my thing.
Especially not crime-related tests. Before I realized he was my uncle, Uncle
Kostas ordered me to kill a member of Italy’s Camorra. I’d shot the man in
the toe—by accident. The only thing I had murdered was his ability to count
to twenty.
“What is Katerina’s problem? Did she order you to kill me? Of course she
didn’t,” Winkler went on. “She had one of her men give the order. The little
one who looks like a pipe cleaner. What is his name? Malakas? Something
like that .”
I looked at her, agog. Now I was going to die, for sure .
“Takis?
“That’s the one. His wife is using the bathroom upstairs.” She gave me a
kind smile. “You don’t have to say anything. I did the same thing when I sent
my children to Greece. I had Johann give them orders to kill Katerina, should
the opportunity arise. The constant possibility of murder keeps us on our toes,
your grandmother and me .”
“I can say, without a doubt, that nobody told me to kill you or anybody
else. I suck at murder,” I said. I felt good about not having to lie .
Winkler studied my face for a moment. “Either you are a good liar or you
are honest. I haven’t decided yet which.”
She went back to her cooking, her stories, the rapt audience that
was Donk .
Not me. I fired up Candy Crush and almost immediately lost all my lives.
After dinner, Winkler entertained us with stories about various mobsters,

none of whom I’d never met. By ten o’clock I was nodding off at the kitchen
table, glad I’d chosen a dress instead of jeans. If stuffing us full of good food
was the way Winkler was going to kill us, I approved.
I excused myself and hauled my carcass back to my room, but once I
swapped my dress for summer pajamas, sleep decided to avoid me .
Marika had her own room, located directly across the hall. Winkler had
put Xander in the room adjoining mine. Earlier I hadn’t noticed the door
between our rooms. I was noticing it now because someone was knocking
on it .
I pressed my ear against the door. “Who is it ?”
Nobody answered, so I figured it was either Xander or someone out to
kill me. I cautiously opened the door to find Xander standing there, looking
exasperated.
“Relax,” I said, “I was just messing with you. Nobody else wouldn’t
answer.”
His hands weren’t empty. He was holding bundle of bedding and a
pillow. His bottom half was in comfortable sweats. No shirt. Lots of muscular
chest that looked like he hauled ploughs for a living.
“Are we having an unscheduled pajama party? Should I call Marika?”
Now he looked pained .
“Is there something wrong with your room? Because I’m sure Winkler
would happily give her dear boy another room .”
He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time since Grandma
had me fake-murdered. His eyes were dark, serious. But there was light in
them, deep down .
“How are you feeling now?” I asked softly. His big shoulders shrugged.
His cheeks were back to their normal bronze, which made me happy. There
were times Xander felt almost mythological to me, like one of Greece’s old
gods. And there were other times where he was an annoying jerk, like when
he was killing me with his music.
I glanced over at the floor, at the couch, at the bed, which was king sized.
“You don’t trust Winkler, do you? Even though she adores you .”
He tilted his chin up then down. No .
I opened the door wider. “The bed is huge. You’re welcome to half.” My
gaze flitted to his shoulders. “Or more if you need it .”
He patted me on the head—patted me!—and dropped his bedding on the
couch. Then he went back to his room. I heard his door open and close.
Where was he going? I flopped down on the bed, streaming the day’s events
in my mind, rewinding certain parts, flushing over the memories of lousy
comebacks.
Fifteen minutes later, Xander was back, curls of chocolate-scented steam
rising from a pair of mugs. The smell of chocolate made my nose twitch. This
wasn’t the first time Xander had brought me hot chocolate.
We both sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, sipping hot chocolate that
wasn’t made out of a packet. Xander was silent but he gave great
companionship. I hardly even noticed how perfect he was from the waist up .
Then someone knocked on my door .
“Who is it?” I called out .
“Me—Marika, your bodyguard.”
I jumped up to answer the door, while Xander hustled back to his room.
Marika rushed in, barely contained in a tiny nightgown. There was an
abundance of Marika and not nearly enough ruffles to go around.
“Pajama party!” she said, more excited than a grown woman should be .
“Pajama party?”
“That is what America women do, yes? Sleepovers and pajama parties.”
“Mostly sleepovers are for kids .”
She homed in on the mug in my hand .
“Is that hot chocolate? I did not get any hot chocolate. No wonder they
say Winkle is evil if she does not offer all her houseguests hot chocolate.
Does this place have room service? Because I would like some hot
chocolate.”
I didn't think Winkler had room service, but I bet Johann would leap into
action and bring Marika anything she asked for. When I mentioned that, she
beamed.
“He is a very nice man. He offered to sleep outside my room to protect
me. Takis never does that. Takis gets into bed with me and snores and farts
all night long. And when he farts he giggles in his sleep, like a child.”
That was more than I ever wanted to know about Takis. I thrust the mug
at her .
“Here, you can have mine .”
Before I could answer she whipped it out of my hand and began
chugging. While she was draining my mug her gaze slid all over the room .
Her eyes narrowed over the ceramic rim .
“Why is there a second mug on the dresser? ”
Crap. In his haste to escape, Xander had left his hot chocolate sitting on
the dresser.
“Backup. I have a lot of trouble sleeping without buckets of hot
chocolate.”
“Since when did you have trouble sleeping?”
“Since I got yanked out of my time zone by your husband and Stavros.”
She set the drained mug carefully on the occasional table beside the sofa.
“Hmm … I think there is a mystery here .”
“No. No mystery.”
“Then why is there bedding sitting on the sofa ?”
“Extra, in case I get cold. I get cold easily, especially in strange places.”
“You slept on a door stoop in Italy.”
“Italy in summer. This is Germany, in autumn.”
She walked around the room, body parts shimmying under the silky
nightgown. On her feet, shoes. Greeks never go anywhere without footwear,
except bed and the shower. Even then they walk to the bathroom with shoes
and scoot them off at the shower’s edge .
“Why do you have a nightgown? I thought Donk kidnapped you .”
“I carry one with me everywhere I go, in case of emergencies.” She
pointed. “There is a door in your wall that is not the bathroom.”
“Your room doesn’t have one ?”
“No. Who is in the other room ?”
“I don’t know .”
She touched a finger to her nose. “I have been watching Sherlock, and
there is definitely a mystery here, I can smell it.” Then she leaned over and
whispered in my ear. “I think maybe we are not alone in this room. There is
someone else. We should call for help. Normally I would take care of this
myself, seeing as I am your bodyguard, but all I have for a weapon is this
mug and bad language.”
“Wait— ”
Too late .
Marika raised her mug, opened her mouth, and unleashed a paint-peeling
scream.
The door between rooms flew open and Xander flew in, gun raised. In the
same moment my door slammed open and Johann barged into the room,
machine gun at the ready.
Marika screamed some more .
Johann lowered the death machine when he realized we weren’t in any
danger. “What is wrong, my flower? Did someone try to violate you ?”
Marika quit screaming. “What did he say ?”
Xander rolled his eyes and went back to his room. Then he came back in,
grabbed his hot chocolate, and left .
Marika wheeled around. “Xander just stole your hot chocolate.”
I looped my arm through Marika’s. “There’s more in the kitchen, I bet .”
“And I bet there are sweets to go with it, too .”
She caught on fast .
Chapter
Twelve
I woke up at seven. Marika was hogging the covers and snoring loud enough
to wake the dead. Xander had collected his bedding during the night and the
door between rooms was closed. In the bathroom I wiggled into jeans, pulled
a shirt down over my head, and showed my hair a brush.
Coffee time .
I ignored the art on the way down to the kitchen. It seemed like bad juju
to focus on all that death on the walls when Dad was alive out there
somewhere and it was shaping up to be a sunny day. Winkler’s home was
beautiful. I admired it all over again as I trotted down the stairs. Organized
crime definitely paid big if you were halfway good at it .
Winkler was already in the kitchen doing needlepoint at the table, with a
cup of coffee close at hand. Johann was scrolling through his phone, reading
snippets of news aloud to his boss in German. Her face lit up when she
saw me .
“Katerina! Johann, fix the woman a coffee, eh? What will you have?
Cappuccino? Frappe? Johann can make anything you wish for .”
“A latte?” I asked hopefully. Greece’s frappes were frothy and refreshing,
but Starbucks’ lattes were my usual caffeine delivery mode of choice. The
baristas always spelled my name wrong but I didn’t care about much before
coffee.
“Johann, a latte.”
“With extra foam, please,” I said .
Johann got to work. Every so often he glanced at the kitchen door with a
hangdog expression.
“She’s asleep,” I said. “And she’s also married.”
“Still?”
Uh, okay .
“Johann forms inappropriate attachments easily and quickly,” Winkler
said in Greek, “but he is dependable and loyal. What would you like to do
this morning?”
“Be diplomatic, I guess,” I said. “That’s why Grandma sent me here. But
first I think I’d like to check out your gardens. They’re beautiful.”
Winkler laughed merrily. “I don’t think that is why she sent you here, but
I am glad to have you all the same. And look, your coffee is ready.”
Johann handed me a travel mug, filled to the top with manna from
heaven. I sniffed first, then sipped.
Perfection.
Xander was waiting for me by the doors that lead to the back of
Winkler’s property. He had coffee. He also had Donk .
“Heeey,” Donk said. “It is a party!”
“He’s way too cheerful for this time of the morning,” I said to Xander.
“Can we kill him ?”
Donk elbowed Xander. “Someone is bleeding.”
Xander picked him up by the back of the shirt and turfed him outside,
then he went out ahead of me, taking in our surroundings.
Coffee in hand, I followed them out onto … could I really call it a patio?
Probably a patio had a different name if it was almost as many square feet as
the house itself. Courtyard. Megapatio. Something like that. Fit for a
Cinderella type in a hooped ballgown and definitely too nice for Xander,
Donk, and me in our casual clothes and coffee mugs. Stone. Groupings of
tables and chairs here and there. A porch swing. Wrought iron railings, with
curling metal flowers. Stone steps led to the first section of garden, beds of
domesticated wildflowers, planters stuffed with herbs, followed by a rose
garden. Paths ran off in different directions, cobblestones, interrupted
occasionally by a decorative metal square. In the distance, I could see pieces
of the vineyard. To my right, the hedge maze I’d spotted from my window.
From the ground it was downright spooky.
Donk zeroed in on the maze and suddenly remembered he was a kid.
“Facking cool,” he said in mangled English. “It’s like The Maze Runner .”
Pants sagging, he took off .
I nibbled on the edge of my lip. “Should we stop him? That maze is
creeping me out .”
Xander didn’t stop moving. He was on a mission to drink his coffee
without petty distractions, like me and my mouth. Probably he felt like Mom
did on those mornings when I got up as she was taking that first sip of the day
.
“Okay, so that’s a no. I guess we should do what we’re here to do. Takis
said we have to scope out the security. I’m not seeing any security, unless
Winkler tells her enemies to walk to the end of her property and back, while
waiting for them to die of exhaustion .
Xander continued walking. With his long legs it was costing me serious
lung capacity to keep up .
“Do you see anything?”
Nothing.
“You know it’s rude ignore people, right?”
More nothing.
“I guess I could ask Winkler what defenses and security her castle has .”
He stopped.
“That was a joke,” I said .
He pointed to the ground. He was standing on one of the decorative metal
tiles. Like the others it was two feet by two feet. It concealed, I assumed,
sprinklers.
“What is it? A sprinkler? What’s she going to do—shoot water at them ?”
Xander did some quick one-handed typing on his phone while sipping
coffee with his spare hand. He handed me his phone.
Definitely not sprinklers.
SAMs. Surface-to-air-missiles, the pocket edition. Every flowery square
could raise its head and shoot down an incoming aircraft.
“Yowza!” I gulped as a thought struck me. “Does Grandma have these?”
He held up two fingers.
“Two? Where?”
He resumed walking.
“So if you already know this, why does Grandma need us here, gathering
intel?”
I fell behind. Xander took long steps and I wanted to enjoy the garden.
We’d reached a section of garden where I had to make choices. Head toward
the vineyards or the animal garden.
Easy choice .
“What’s an animal garden?”
Xander pivoted on one boot heel and marched back to grab me. I jumped
out of the way at the last moment.
“Forget it. I want to see the animal garden. Did you ever read The
Shining? I wonder if the animals are hedges. You probably saw the movie,
which didn’t have the animals—not as hedges anyway.”
I picked up the pace. This time Xander was following me. Winkler’s
garden wasn’t a regular garden by any stretch of the imagination. It was more
like the world’s biggest botanical gardens. Lots of trees. Green everywhere. I
rounded a leafy corner, looked, and then turned around and collided with
Xander’s chest.
“Animals,” I said .
His chest shook. Laughing. Xander was laughing.
At me .
Inconceivable!
Okay, totally conceivable. Xander laughed at me a lot, when he wasn’t
frustrated to the point of man-tears with me .
“You knew, didn’t you? Of course you did. You’re Winkler’s dear boy .”
I poked my head around the corner. Winkler’s animal garden had real
animals. It was like a safari park in there. Big animals. Lots of teeth. On the
third glance I noticed the animals were separated from us by a tall wire fence.
As well as a fence, the each beast was caged in a habitat as close to natural as
it got while still being thousands of miles away from home. The area was set
up like a wagon wheel, with paths radiating outward like spokes. The spoke
directly opposite my position lead to a vine-covered pyramid with a strange,
metal door .
“Do you like my precious babies?” Winkler called out. She and her
twinset and tweed were strolling toward us. She’d swapped sensible heels for
hunter green rain boots, even though the day was sunny, in a sensible,
German kind of way .
“Babies?” I croaked.
Her precious babies were man-eaters. Lions, tigers, and bears—oh crap .
“It’s their feeding time. Would you like to help ?”
“Only if they eat waffles.”
“Waffles. Where do you get these ideas?” For a moment she sounded like
Grandma. “Come on, they are very friendly.”
The tiger didn’t look friendly. It looked like it wanted to eat my face and
poop it out on the grass in its enclosure.
“I think I’ll stay here .”
Not Xander. He handed me his travel mug and opened the gate. The guy
didn’t miss a beat as he started hoisting slabs of meat off a wagon, rolled in
by a bundle of muscles encased in a tank top and ripped jeans. He had no
neck and a flat top. Meathead was the first person I’d seen on the property
who wasn’t Johann. He and Xander worked quickly, throwing meat to the
animals. Winkler came over to the gate .
“Are you sure you do not want to feed my babies?”
“Where did they come from ?”
“Someone who could no longer care for them .”
“Why not ?”
“Because I killed him .”
“That would do it .”
“Every single time. It’s like people just give up once they are dead.” She
kissed me on the cheek and went back to the wagon in time to grab what
looked like a human liver. She tossed it to the lion .
“What kind of meat do you feed them ? ”
She looked at Meathead. “I think this was the Austrian drug dealer who
tried to fuck me, yes ?”
“The Austrian is for later. This vun vas the Moroccan with the big teeth.”
Winkler said, “That was not all that was big. I added him to my
collection.”
“You have a collection?” My voice sounded faint, distant, and this close
to passing out .
“I collect the noses of my enemies,” she said .
My shoulders slumped with relief, which was all kinds of messed up
because collecting noses was batshit crazy. Even Grandma wasn’t that nuts
… that I knew of. I needed to change the subject—and fast, so I pointed to
the pyramid with its weird metal door .
“Where does that door go ?”
If you’ve ever seen Return of the Jedi you’ve seen one like it when Luke
Skywalker is at Jabba’s place, doing battle with the Rancor. This door was
just like that door, except newer, cleaner, and more German.
She patted me on the arm. “Nowhere, dear girl. Now come, would you
like to see my nose collection?”
How could I say no ?
After lunch, Winkler suggested we go sightseeing without her. “You don’t

want to visit Germany to stay in an old woman’s house the whole time,
do you ?”
“I’m not really here for a vacation,” I told her .
Apart from ground-to-air missiles hidden under pretty metal tiles, the
deadly zoo, a human rhino, and German Vanilla Ice, security and defenses
seemed to be non existent. I couldn’t take off sightseeing; Grandma might get
Takis to lop off my head .
Marika bustled into the kitchen, bag on her shoulder, Johann on her heels.
“We have to go to the mall,” she announced.
Winkler beamed over the top of her glasses. She was jabbing a needle
into an open weave canvas. Red silk thread. I couldn’t make out the picture
and really I didn’t want to know .
“See?”
“The mall?” I said. “Really?”
“The mall,” Marika said pointedly.
“The mall is a wonderful idea,” Winkler said, shaking out the canvas.
“This is for you, Katerina. Do you like it ?”
What was I looking at? Pornography? A still from a snuff flick captured
in silk ?
“It’s commemorative,” Winkler said proudly. “To remind you of your
first severed penis. Every woman in organized crime should remember her
first fondly.”
“We should have brought that nice man,” Marika said. “I bet he would have
been a good tour guide.”
She meant Johann.
“We’re at the mall. Who needs a tour guide at the mall ?”
Johann had watched longingly from the front steps as our Winkler-
appointed driver carried us away from the house. Xander stayed behind, too.
His idea. At least one of us was on the job .
“How will we know which shop is which?” Marika said. “We do not
speak German.”
I glanced around. We were close to a Guess store, a Hollister store, and
an Adidas store. I’d come to Germany to be closer to home than ever. “I bet
we can figure it out . ”
Our driver had deposited us at the front doors then gone to park the car—
a white Mercedes. He told us he’d meet us in this very spot, but it was twenty
minutes and counting. How long did it take to find a parking space on a
weekday, and when school was in? The mall wasn’t exactly packed.
“What does your baby have to say about this? This was all her idea .”
“We should look at clothes,” Marika said, ignoring me. “I could use some
new maternity clothes.”
Marika had a bunch of kids. How she didn’t already have all the
maternity clothes was beyond me .
“If we wander off how will the driver find us ?”
“Winkler has eyes everywhere, I bet .”
I glanced around, hunting for a glimpse of the driver, a thin man with a
Hitler Youth haircut. He’d looked like a scorched blade of grass in his black
suit, black shirt, and tie .
Nothing. Maybe he was invisible; I wouldn’t put much past Winkler.
“We should wait. Or you can go and I’ll wait here .”
“If we go together it will make time move faster, which means he will be
here faster.”
Either that made sense or I was more tired than I realized. “You mean like
the umbrella thing?”
Marika stared at me, so I explained.
“If you carry an umbrella, it won’t rain. But the day you don’t carry an
umbrella it will .”
“If that is true then why do I see people in the rain with umbrellas all
the time ?”
She had a point.
“Okay, but let’s be quick.”
We skimmed the storefronts. Even Marika had to admit that despite not
speaking German, it wasn’t exactly difficult to figure out what stores were
peddling. We found a department store with maternity clothes, and after
buying one of almost everything, Marika and I staggered back to where we’d
started.
No sign of the driver.
“What does the baby say ?”
Marika closed her eyes for a moment. “Nothing. She is sleeping.”
“Could you wake her up ?”
Marika gave me the side-eye. “Never wake a sleeping baby .”
Not that I doubted the wisdom of that advice, but I was sure it was aimed
toward post-birth infants.
“Maybe we should go find him,” I suggested.
She looked down at the bags at her feet. “I do not think I can carry all of
these. Being pregnant is hard .”
“I could carry them .”
“Great idea! That way I will have my hands free in case I need to
guard you .”
Whatever made her happy. I realized I missed Elias’s presence. Elias was
a quiet, easygoing guy who shadowed my every move without complaint.
Well, without too much complaint. With Elias around I could be alone and
not. Marika’s heart was gold but her mouth’s power source had no half-life
that I could discern. It just went on and on .
We found the parking garage without too much trouble—the largest
parking garage in Frankfurt.
Where to start?
I texted Xander, asked him to ask Winkler where her driver normally
parked.
Budapest.
Isn’t that in Hungary?
It’s the name of one of the parking garages.
We took off in search of Hungary’s capital city. Several minutes passed,
then my phone shook again. I set down Marika’s bags. It was Xander again.
Are you in the mall ?
Parking garage.
Go back upstairs to your original meeting place.
Why?
Upstairs—now. Stay there.
I relayed Xander’s message to Marika, who didn’t look impressed with
his instructions.
“How dangerous can it be? You have your bodyguard with you. My baby
is awake now and she says the driver parked that way and we should find
the car .
That way was well-lit. There was steady traffic—foot and wheel.
“It can’t hurt to just take a look, right?”
“If there was trouble, my baby would tell me .”
“Did you tell your parents everything?”
“Everything except the important things.”
I rubbed my forehead. This was a bad idea, but then so was going back up
to the mall. Xander didn’t know; he didn’t have to schlepp all these bags .
“Okay. Let’s do this .”
Marika pointed the way. I picked up all her bags again and we trotted
down to the next level. Sure enough, the Mercedes was there. Empty. No sign
of the driver. But no blood or signs of a fight either. That was good—right?
I fired up my flashlight app, pressed it to the glass, spotted the keys
dangling from the ignition. I tried the door. Unlocked.
Marika peered over my shoulder. “We should get in .”
“Baby’s idea ?”
“Yes.”
Guilt tweaked my gut but we were already here. There was no real reason
to go back upstairs when we’d found the car. We could sit here and wait for
the driver to return.
“You should sit in the driver’s side .”
Okay …
The bags went in the trunk. By the time I slammed it shut Marika had
already made herself at home in the luxury vehicle’s passenger seat. I slid in
to the driver’s seat and waited.
“I hear all of Winkler’s cars are white,” she said .
“Grandma’s are all black.”
A thought galloped across my mind, and it was wearing spurs. White and
black cars. White hats and black hats. Good guys and bad. Which was silly
because I was surrounded by bad guys, except Marika who was a good guy
married to a bad one .
A bad one who’d saved my bacon more than once .
And now I was hungry for bacon.
“What now? Does Miss Cleo have any ideas?”
“Miss Cleo ?”
“Famous American psychic.” And charlatan.
Marika closed her eyes. “She says we have to go for a drive.”
“Where to ?”
“First we have to leave the parking garage.”
I buckled up .
Greece, Italy, and now Germany. I was seeing a side of Europe most
tourists were lucky enough to avoid. Lots of alleys. Underground dwellings.
Although, I had to admit Germany was a place where eating off the ground
wouldn’t be the worst idea ever. Germany didn’t just have house elves—they
had elves for every kind of cleaning.
It took me a moment to adjust the seats and mirrors. The driver wasn’t a
big guy but he was still one of those guys who was taller than me. Then we
were off, purring toward the exit .
Out in daylight again, I glanced at Marika. “Where to ?”
“Left.”
We continued that way for a few tense blocks, and then my phone
buzzed.
Xander.
What are you doing?
Standard Greek greeting that means, “How are you?” As far as Xander
knew we were in the mall, waiting on a rescue team or a hit squad. I wasn’t
completely clear about that part .
“It’s Xander,” I hissed at Marika. “Text him .”
“You do it,” she said. “I am listening to baby .”
“Trying to drive here .”
She took the phone. A moment later she passed it back. I glanced down at
the sent message.
“ ‘Katerina said to tell you she is driving right now ,’ ” I read. “Are you
crazy? Now he’s going to freak. He told us to stay in the mall !”
“But Baby told us to leave the mall, so who are you going to listen to ?”
I would have rolled my eyes but I was trying to take mental snapshots of
the scenery so I could enjoy it later. Right now I was too tense, trying to
follow the unborn talking map lady .
“How much longer?” I asked Marika.
“As long as it takes. But at least baby is a girl, so we will not get lost. If
she was a boy she would tell us about a shortcut and then we would be lost in
Frankfurt forever.”
We passed some gray stuff. And some glass stuff. And some charming
buildings that looked like they’d been recently designed to look old. And
buildings that were pieced together long before the not-quite United States
was flinging tea in Boston Harbor.
My phone rang .
Flying mostly blind, I wasn’t in a position to answer, so I ignored it .
“Are you going to answer that ?”
“No.”
“Probably that is best. They will just yell at us anyway.”
“I don’t like being yelled at,” I said .
“Me either.”
We hit the edge of the city. Baby told Marika to tell me to keep going.
Before long we were out in the suburbs, then out in the country. We hit
nowhere and we hit it fast, but it sure was pretty. Nowhere usually is .
“There,” Marika said. “Up ahead there is a church. Baby says we have to
go there.”
“A church? Really?”
“It is a holy place. How dangerous could it be ?”
They say pregnancy shrinks the brain. Marika was walking evidence. A
few very short weeks ago a looney cop—the American kind—gathered
hostages in Makria’s church. Marika staged a rescue, which required its own
rescue. The woman seemed to be PTSD-proof. Me, in her shoes I’d be
flinching every time I saw candles.
This church was old. Lots of heavy stone. Colorful windows. Double
doors out front that curved up and came together in a peak, like hands in
prayer. If the Titanic had had a wide, durable door like this, Jack wouldn’t
have died .
I parked. We appeared to be the only ones around, unless there were
Ewoks hiding in the trees. Or, as Johann would say, Evoks. There was no
traffic on the road either. It was no—man’s land .
“What now?” I asked Marika .
“Do you think they have a vending machine? I could use a snack.”
“I don’t think churches have vending machines.”
She looked at me sadly. “We do not have any food, do we ?”
I rifled through my bag. Marika was in luck. I was still carrying stakeout
supplies. She made a happy sound that might have been gas as I dumped
chocolate, chips, and a little plastic wrapped chocolate cakes on the console.
“I will stay here and refuel,” she said, digging into the chips. “Baby says
you have to go in alone.”
I didn’t think baby wanted to share her snacks, that’s what I thought.
“Alone? In the big, scary church?”
Now that I was getting a good look at it up close, the church wasn’t warm
and inviting. It wasn’t asking me to sit awhile and take a load off. It looked
like it wanted to prejudge me and pull a lever, sending me straight to hell .
“Alone.”
“Do I have to ?”
The wrapper crackled. “Yes .”
Fine. Okay. Whatever. Heart trying to gallop in the opposite direction, I
got out of the car and approached the doors. My instincts said to knock and
ask if Herr Frankenstein was home. The hinges moved silently. The church
was old but it was cared for. Whether that was good or bad, I couldn’t say .
Stained glass windows depicted angsty apostles. Ornate pews with more
curlicues than an 80s perm waited for worshipers’ butts. Dark, foreboding
wood everywhere. Not nearly gold enough to be a Greek Orthodox church.
Ceilings in the nosebleed territory, covered with angry, pointing dudes
watched over it all .
I wasn’t alone. In the front pew, a dark haired man was bent over, having
a silent heart-to-heart with God or one of His Sidekicks.
What now? Marika’s baby wasn’t exactly a font of information. Mostly
she was bossy. She reminded me of Grandma.
There were footfalls behind me. My heart jumped into my throat. I might
have squeaked.
“Why are you so jumpy?” Marika asked. “It is just a creepy old church,
with some creepy man sitting up front. Say, do you think he is dead?
Knowing your luck he is probably dead .”
Oh crap, she was probably right. This was the perfect place to dump a
body. Arrange it in the penitent position and nobody would notice until flies
and rats began submitting rental applications.
“What are you doing here ?”
“Baby said to wait, but who is the adult here? Me. Who is the parent? Me.
Also I wanted to see if you have any more food .”
I blinked at her. “You finished everything?”
“I could not help myself. My mouth kept going like this—” she gnashed
her teeth “—and food kept jumping in the way .”
“As soon as I figure out what we’re supposed to be doing here, we’ll find
some food .”
“You should ask the dead man if he knows anything.”
“Dead men don’t usually know stuff.”
“They know who killed them .”
I thought about poor Jimmy Pants and wondered if he knew his killer.
“Come with me,” I pleaded. “You’re my bodyguard, remember?”
My bodyguard stayed a good six feet back as I walked to the front of the
church. Or was this technically a cathedral? I wasn’t sure I knew the
difference. Churches and I have an estranged relationship.
“Hello?” I scoured my memory banks for a German translation. “Hallo ?”
The man didn’t move .
“Hallo ?”
“Ask if he is dead ,”
“Are you dead?” I asked in English.
The man didn’t answer. He was dark-haired, the strands slicked back in a
fashionable style. He was wearing a suit—a suit with sheen. A bad guy suit.
It’s always men of dubious morality who wear the shiny suits.
“Hallo ? Hello? Yiasou ? Hola ?”
That was it, my language database was depleted.
“Maybe he is choking.”
Whatever a choking person looked like, this wasn’t it .
“I don’t think so .”
“Maybe he is deaf,” Marika said, not even remotely helpfully. “You
should go around to his front so he can read your lips. Do you know sign
language?”
“All I know are obscenities.”
“Those are the only ones I know, too .”
Obviously I’d been sent here for a reason, even if that reason was
completely—oh, I don’t know—unreasonable. Once Marika’s kid was born
and old enough to wreck havoc, I was going to stuff her full of high fructose
corn syrup and send her back to her mother. But the fact was that the guy
sitting six feet away wasn’t moving. He was either dead or the soundest
sleeper on the planet.
Deep breath. I could do this .
I rounded the pew and came face to face with Orestis Papadimitriou, NIS
agent. Former NIS agent. Orestis’ mouth hung open and his eyebrows were
raised. His death obviously came as a surprise to him, which made two of us .
The oil from yesterday’s schnitzel went sour in my stomach.
I went, “Urg .”
“Who is it ?”
I told her. She went pale and dropped down on one of the pews without a
dead guy on it .
I didn’t know what to do next, so I snapped a picture and messaged it to
Xander. Xander would know what to do. He was NIS and he was Family.
That meant he had resources and skills. Then I texted him frantically and
made sure he knew I didn’t do it .
A text came right back .
Stay there. This time, listen.
Do you need the address? Because I don’t know the address.
I know where you are .
How?
He sent back a winky face .
Doh. If Winkler was anything like Grandma—and she was—the
Mercedes would be equipped with some kind of tracker.
“We should wait in the car,” Marika said .
As appealing as the idea was, I couldn’t leave Orestis here alone. In life
he’d been kind of a slick dick of a guy, but he’d let me walk when Hera
wanted to do Very Bad Things to me. Someone had killed him and dumped
him here alone, in a foreign country. It didn’t seem right to abandon him .
“You go. I’ll wait here .”
“What if the murderer is still out there? Maybe this was a hate crime.
Maybe Greece and Germany are like Takis and me. We want to kill each
other all the time .”
Obviously not all the time, taking their offspring’s existence into account.
“What if the murderer is still in here ? ”
“You are right,” she said, and hurried out, leaving me with what was left
of Orestis Papadimitriou.
Thirty seconds later, she walked back in .
“On second thought, I will wait in here with the dead man. You should go
outside.”
“Why—what is it ?”
She grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me toward the doors. “You
will see .”
I didn’t have much choice, not with the power of Marika compelling me.
I burst out into the thin German sunlight. As dim as the Church de Creepy
was, it took my eyes a moment to adjust.
Then my mouth fell open .
Sitting on the Mercedes’ hood was Dad .
Chapter
Thirteen
My knees wobbled. I flopped down on the ground, tucked my knees up under

my chin and rocked. This wasn’t a dark closet, and this wasn’t exactly the
fetal position, but it felt comforting.
I peeked over a denim-covered kneecap. Dad slid off the trunk and
marched over to where I was rocking. He sat beside me, wrapped his arms
around my shoulders. A small sigh escaped me .
“Are you okay?” I asked him .
“We do not have much time,” he said. “Xander and the others will be
here soon. Are you okay ?”
“Not okay at all,” I said. “I thought you were kidnapped, I thought you
were dead. I thought I was an orphan! I’m practically Harry Potter, living in
Grandma’s room under the stairs. What’s going on ?”
He kissed my hair. “I am sorry. Very sorry. Believe me when I tell you
what I’m doing I am doing to keep you safe .”
I pulled away. “Are you ? ”
“Always. Everything I have ever done is about keeping my family safe .”
Wrong. He couldn’t keep Mom safe. But I didn’t say that because I’m not
an asshole. I knew Dad loved Mom with all his heart. She was our world.
“Are you really NIS ?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “I was NIS before I left Greece. They recruited me
while I was in the army .”
Greece has mandatory national service for men. It’s not all bad news.
Guys get to choose their poison: army, navy, air force.
“Did Grandma know ?”
He sighed. “It was her idea. She wanted someone on the inside. Someone
who was blood.”
I banged my forehead on my knees. “Why am I not surprised? Probably
because nothing surprises me anymore. What’s going on, Dad? Your old
friends are dying all over the place. The guy inside, Orestis, did you kill him
?”
“No. Orestis was a malakas , but he was one of the good guys .”
“Who are the good guys? Who are the bad guys? Is there a cheat sheet,
because I sure need one .”
Dad stood. He pulled me up with him. I rested my cheek against his chest.
For a moment I was a kid again and the world was simple.
“You are one of the good guys,” he said. “You are the best person I
know, my favorite person in the world. I love you. Always remember that .”
“Dad …”
“Right now I have to go, but I could not go another minute without
hugging you .”
“Grandma had me fake-killed.”
“So I heard,” he said bitterly. “It is a good thing I knew you were safe.
They are coming, so I am out of time—for now. Trust Xander. He will do
whatever it takes to keep you safe .”
“Because he’s NIS ?”
“Not just because he’s NIS, but because he’s a good man .”
“Then why is he working for Grandma?”
“He’s not,” Dad said. “He’s working for me. I love you, Katerina, and I
will be seeing you again soon .”
Before I could blink, Dad was gone and I was alone. But I wouldn’t be
before long .
Bees in my ears and eyes burning, I went back into the church.
“Was that who I think that was?” Marika said .
“Yes.”
She crossed herself. “It is a miracle!”
“Xander is on his way here .”
She crossed herself again. “Also a miracle.”
“We can’t tell anyone my father was here .”
“It will be a miracle if they do not find out.” She crossed herself several
more times.
“Marika, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she said .
Five minutes later Xander was climbing out of the black SUV, dressed for
stealth and murder in his normal black uniform. He grabbed me by the
shoulders, looked me over, but never in the eye. Then, when he seemed to be
satisfied that I was unharmed, he stomped into the church.
Dad’s words reverberating in my head, I stuck to his heels and followed
him in. Marika was posted just inside the door where I’d left her, arms
folded, eyes on the dead man .
“My eyes fourteen,” she said .
I didn’t doubt it, with all the kids she had .
“He’s dead,” I said. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
“You say that now, but what if he is a zombie or a vampire? He could
leap up and take a bite out of me .”
“Zombies and vampires aren’t real .”
“How do you know for sure ?”
She had me there. “Wouldn’t your baby warn you ?”
Marika threw a dark glance at the body and hurried outside, back into
daylight where vampires couldn’t get to her. I hung back, curious to see what
Xander would do. He and the dead man worked for the same agency. This
wasn’t a dead gangster or civilian, this was law enforcement at the highest
level. There would be consequences.
“Did I mention we didn’t do it? Because we didn’t.”
Xander didn’t say a word. He crouched down beside the pew and began
picking through Orestis’ pockets, helping himself to the dead man’s phone
and wallet. Then he typed a message into his own phone. Probably alerting
the NIS, letting them know they had a bigwig down and to send in a team
who’d pick the church clean and run every last fingernail clipping through a
database.
Then he came hulking past, each footfall peeved. He grabbed Marika’s
arm with one hand, mine with the other, and marched us out of church. It
crossed my mind that this was the first and only time I’d ever left church on a
man’s arm. At the rate I was going, it might be the first and last .
I looked at Marika behind his back. “At least he won’t give us a lecture.”
“Probably he will write an essay and make us read it . ”
No comment from the big guy. He didn’t break a sweat.
We were halfway to Grandma’s SUV when—BANG—Winkler’s
Mercedes exploded. A wall of searing heat hit me. Xander threw us to the
ground, covering our faces with his hands.
“I can’t see,” I told his warm palm. My lungs hurt—because there was a
man crushing me, mostly. The air was hot and tasted like ash .
He didn’t pull his hand away, so I did what I had to do. I licked his hand.
He yanked it away and wiped it on his cargo pants.
I rolled over onto my stomach then pushed myself up off the ground. I
reached for Marika but Xander already had her up and on her feet .
“Are you both okay?” I asked them .
“I am fine,” Marika said, brushing herself off. “Being a bodyguard has
made me tougher.”
Xander’s eye twitched.
“And the baby ?”
“I know she is fine because I am hungry.”
My heart lurched. Where was Dad? Was he okay? Was he responsible
for this ?
The fire was snap, crackle, and popping. Under the blistering hood, the
radiator was hissing like a sack of angry cats. I really hoped Winkler had
good insurance. Xander watched it burn, face as unreadable as ever .
“We didn’t do that.” I didn’t look at Marika. She’d seen Dad. I’d seen
Dad. But despite my dad’s reassurance that Xander was on his team, I
couldn’t bring myself to tell Xander Dad had made contact. I needed
processing time, so I slouched over to the SUV. Marika came with me .
Another car pulled in to the parking lot. It stopped next to SUV and
Johann got out. He took a long, hard look at the burning Mercedes then
hurried over to Marika.
“Is my flower vell ?”
Hand to her chest, Marika giggled. “What is he saying?”
“Something about gardening,” I told her. I left Marika in Johann’s starry-
eyed hands and went to stand with Xander. I nodded to the fire .
“We could have been in there, Marika and I .”
Xander didn’t say a word, didn’t look at me. His arms were folded. His
legs were apart. He looked like he’d been planted in this spot, centuries ago .
“Maybe it was a freak accident,” I said, trying to be helpful. “It happens
all the time at home. Car manufacturer skimps on a part, then next thing you
know people are dying and the car company is getting a government bailout.”
Nothing.
“What do you think happened to the driver?”
Xander passed me his phone. I looked at the screen and recognized the
driver, several long drawn-out moments after immediately. It’s not easy to
identify a person without a face, but I recognized his Hitler Youth haircut and
his black on black suit. The driver was performing his man-without-a-face
routine in a dumpster.
Yesterday’s schnitzel prodded me again. It’s only Photoshop , I told
myself. It’s as real as Santa Claus . I bit down on my lip. Not like that Fifty
Shades chick—more like a woman who was trying not to upchuck on her
own shoes.
The nausea subsided.
“Who killed him ?”
Xander shrugged.
“Come on,” I said. “You must have some idea.” I sighed. “I understand
why you won’t look at me, but could you at least communicate? We’re on the
same side here, I think.”
He faced me. Took off his glasses. Made the kind of eye contact a man
gives you when he’s thinking about screwing you or screwing you over. My
breath got all caught up in my throat. Then he replaced the glasses, looked
away, and my air supply punched its way through my tight esophagus.
The burning car coughed, then something sailed up and out of the flames.
It landed on the ground with a soft, plastic plop .
One of the chocolate cakes.
I bent to pick it up, but Marika beat me to it. When it came to food, the
pregnant woman could bust a move .
“It is mine,” she said. “I must have missed one. No wonder I am still
hungry.”
It occurred to me that Marika’s shopping bags had been in the Mercedes’
trunk. Now they were ash .
“What about your new maternity clothes?”
She peeled the plastic off the cake. “The way I am eating they would not
have fit for long anyway.”
Chapter
Fourteen
It was mid afternoon when we got back to Winkler’s elegant lair. Winkler
was waiting on the front steps. She wasn’t alone. Donk was with her, and
someone else .
Takis.
Why wasn’t he with Grandma?
“Re, malaka , where is my wife?” Takis called out through cupped hands
when we jumped out of the SUV .
Xander hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the white car directly
behind us .
Takis slithered down the steps to the vehicle, yanking the passenger door
open the moment the wheels quit moving.
“Nice to see you too, Takis,” I said .
He flipped me off, two-handed. “Get out of the car,” he told his wife .
Marika dug her heels in. “No .”
“I told you to get out .”
“I heard you the first time,” Marika said. They stared at each other—hard.
There was glaring involved. You couldn’t glare at someone with that kind of
force unless you’d had kids together and regularly fought over who’d get up
when one of the tykes urgently needed a drink, it seemed like. “Okay,” she
went on, “I will get out, but only because I need the bathroom.”
Takis puffed himself up. “I will come with you.” He shot Johann in the
face with a dirty look. Johann was lucky Takis wasn’t carrying his usual gun,
otherwise the driver wouldn’t be the only guy missing a face today.
I trudged to the top of the steps. “The mall didn’t work out .”
“That is why I hate the mall,” Winkler said. “Come inside.”
“Sorry about your Mercedes. It was very nice .”
“Don’t worry, my dear girl, I have others.”
“Sorry about your driver.”
She put her arm around me. “I have more of those, too .”
We piled into the kitchen, where Winkler had bread in the oven and
something that smelled suspiciously like moussaka.
I sniffed the air and helped myself to a chair. “Moussaka?”
“Moussaka,” Winkler said .
“Anything I can do to help ?”
“You can help by eating.”
“Eating moussaka is one of my favorite hobbies.”
Xander took the seat beside me. There seemed to be more of him than
ever. Or maybe I was more aware that he had more layers than that
moussaka.
Donk plopped his bony butt down directly across the table. “What are the
girls like here? I bet German girls would love to get a piece of the Donk .”
“You mean like the Italian girls?” Marika said. She barreled into the
kitchen with Takis and Johann on her heels. Both men were down in the
mouth. Marika looked radiant. “Even Italian poutanas would not have him .”
“They were playing hard-to-get,” Donk said .
“They were not playing,” Marika said .
“Nice entourage,” I said to Marika.
“I am thinking about asking them to wrestle in Merenda.”
The thought of the two men wrestling in Greece’s equivalent to Nutella
made my brain scream, and not in a good way .
“Are you girls both okay?” Winkler wanted to know .
“Oh sure,” I said breezily. “We see dead people all the time .”
“All the time,” Marika said. “How do you think that man today was
killed?”
“Garrote,” I said. “I saw the marks on his neck .”
Marks that were just like the marks on Jimmy Pants’s neck. Interesting, in
a terrifying way. Same killer or a coincidence?
“Huh,” Marika said. “I should learn how to do that, just in case I met
someone who needs garroting.” She beamed up at her husband. “Does
Baboulas give garroting classes? I should take one .”
“Fuck the Virgin Mary with a goat’s horn,” Takis muttered. “Why the
fuck did Katerina come to Greece and turn my wife into a man ?”
“Oh, oh, I know the answer to this one.” I raised my hand. “You
kidnapped me, remember?”
While we were bickering, Marika’s smile died. Her lips trembled. “That
man was dead. Very dead . ”
“So very dead,” I repeated. The word came out blurred and tear-smudged.
Xander presented me with a tissue. “Thanks. Aftershock, I guess.”
“Everybody dies,” Winkler said brusquely. “What I want to know is why
you were in a church with a dead man .”
Marika sniffled. Johann held out a tissue. Takis snatched it away from
him and handed it to his wife himself.
“She sounds like Baboulas,” Marika said .
Marika was right, Winkler did sound like Grandma. I figured it was a
hazard of the trade. There’s no crying in organized crime.
“It was Marika’s baby,” I said. “That’s why were at the church.”
Winkler pinned her eyebrows to her white hairline. “Baby? What baby ?”
“Marika unborn baby sends her messages,” I explained.
Marika’s eyes went shifty. As Scooby Doo would say: Ruh roh. “She is a
very smart baby. Already smarter than all her brothers and her father,
combined.”
“This baby gives you messages?” Winkler shook her head and laughed.
“There is a saying in the English-speaking world. Katerina, I am sure you
must know it. ‘Pull the other one, it has bells on.’ A fetus sending messages,
what is next ?”
Marika got all huffy. “Are you calling my baby a liar ?”
Winkler chuckled as she bustled about the kitchen. She pulled two loaves
from the oven, giant round loaves of thick-crusted bread. “Not your baby.
You.” She began sawing the loaves into thick slices. The knife had more
teeth than a shark.
Marika heaved herself out of the chair .
“Sit,” Takis hissed between his crooked teeth.
“She called me a liar .”
“So you’re liar. So what? I lie all the time. I am lying right now .”
Marika stuck her pointed finger in his face. “We will fight about that
later. For now, I am going to deal with this woman who is calling me a liar .”
Winkler doubled down. “If you are getting messages from your unborn
child, then I am a fish .”
Marika folded her arms. I almost felt sorry for Winkler; I’d heard Marika
yell at her husband and kids and it wasn’t pretty—or quiet.
“I work for Baboulas. You do not scare me, old woman.”
Winkler’s face was stuck in the amused position. “There is no psychic
baby, sending you messages. You want to know how I know ?
Marika’s gaze darted away. “How ?”
Winkler sighed. “Everybody thinks they are smarter than me—especially
men. It’s not easy being a woman in organized crime. Ask Baboulas; I bet
she will tell you the same thing. You are simple, and you think everybody
else is just as simple. I am not simple. Also, I am not a fool. Come here,
child.”
She pointed to the ground in front of her with her toothy knife.
Marika went—but she was wearing a frowny face .
Winkler’s free hand shot out and tweaked Marika’s ear. She slapped a
flesh colored rubbery nugget on the island.
I looked up at my friend and bodyguard. “Marika?”
“Transceiver,” Winkler said. She went back to hacking the loaves. “Your
friend is taking calls from the mothership. Which mothership—that is what I
want to know.” Marika dropped into the nearest chair, buried her head in her
hands. I swapped seats with Xander so I could put my arm around her. I
fended everyone else off with the killer stink-eye I’d inherited from my
mother.
“Who was it?” I asked her .
“I do not know.” Marika’s answer bubbled out. “They told me I had to
wear the transceiver and pass on the messages or they would take my
children.”
Takis snorted. “They would not keep them for long. They would be
begging us to take them back .”
I shot him in the face with a glare. He flinched.
“Man or woman?” Winkler wanted to know .
“A woman.” Marika sniffled. “That is why it was so easy to pretend she
was my baby talking to me .”
Takis rubbed his forehead. “God help me, my wife is an idiot.”
Marika raised her head. “For that I will put spit in your food .”
“It would not be the first time .”
“Normally I use my own spit. But this time … woof .”
Takis paled.
“The woman, was she Greek?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Maybe it was a feminine man,” Takis said, “like Adolf, over here.” He
hooked his thumb at Johann, who stiffened and put on his war face. The only
part he understood was Adolf , but that was a fighting word in this part of the
world.
I threw more eye daggers Takis’ way. “Don’t make things worse.”
“Don’t make things worse,” Takis sing-songed.
I had questions for Marika. So many questions. “How did this
happen? When ?”
“The day after Baboulas had you fake-killed. I was in church, praying for
your soul when she approached me . ”
“In church? And you didn’t see her ?”
“I might have been taking a little nap. She came up behind me and said
she wanted me to do a thing but that she would give me an earpiece because I
am very stupid and could not be trusted to follow orders any other way. I
tried to punch her, but she was gone. All that was left was a box with
instructions and the earpiece.”
“You didn’t see her ?”
“No, she was behind me. But she was wearing a lot of perfume. It made
my eyes water.”
“Good quality,” Winkler said, talking about the transceiver. “Look for
somebody with money to spend. Was there anything else in the box ?”
Marika shifted in her seat. “No .”
I patted her back. “Marika …”
“Maybe some food. I was hungry so I ate it .”
“She was definitely Greek if she gave you food,” I said .
“What kind of food?” Winkler wanted to know .
Takis slapped his forehead. “My wife is queen of the idiots.”
“And you are the king,” Marika snapped. “Chocolate. Chocolate
with nuts .”
“What did she ask you to do?” Winkler said .
“Pretend I was receiving messages and tell people to do certain things.
People being Katerina.”
I perked up. “She knew I was still alive?”
“Whoever she is, she is very clever.”
“Cleverer than you,” Takis said .
“You’re an asshole,” I told him .
He shrugged it off. “Tell me something I don’t know .”
“I do know something you don’t.”
“What?”
“Not telling. ”
“I hate you.” He pointed at me. “Do not tell Baboulas I said that .”
There was so much more I wanted to ask Marika, but I didn’t want to do
it with the peanut gallery around. I needed to separate her from the herd .
“Come on,” I said to her. “Let’s get some fresh air .”
“Take a walk out the back,” Winkler said. “If you like you can help feed
the animals.”
Marika’s eyes lit up. “You have animals? What kind of animals?”
“The kind that like to eat stupid people,” Winkler said .
Grandma called as we were en-route to the Crime Palace’s backyard.

“Did you do that thing Takis asked you to do ?”
“Not yet .”
“Why not ?”
“He didn’t say ‘please’.”
Grandma did her exasperated sigh. She did it a lot when I was around
because I sucked at dancing on the end of her string.
“I will call him,” she said .
Thirty seconds later, Takis called.
“Please,” he said .
“Please what ?”
“Please do that thing I asked you to do .”
“What thing is that ?”
He was still in the kitchen so he couldn’t say. I got a kick out of hearing
him squirm.
“Is that my husband?” Marika asked. “Tell him to take his poutsa and
stick it in an electrical socket.”
I passed on the message. Takis told me to enjoy three- way sex with
Zombie Jesus and a cactus. “No farm animals?” I said. “I’m disappointed.”
Then I ended the call .
“What did Baboulas want ?”
“Baboulas doesn’t want anything, but your husband wants me to check
out Winkler’s security on this property. I figure he’s here now so he can do it
himself.”
Marika crossed herself so hard she almost dug a ditch in her own skin.
“May God protect our souls in the next life, because He cannot help us in this
one. Winkler will boil us in a soup if she thinks we have been snooping
around.”
“We?”
“I am not just your bodyguard, I am your friend, which means we do
things together.”
“I’m pretty sure friends do normal stuff like go shopping and to the
movies.”
“We already went shopping.”
She was right. “I can’t involve you in this. You’re pregnant.”
“Pregnancy is not a disability. I can still shoot a gun—or I could if I had
brought mine with me .”
“Where are your guns ?”
My mind went to a dreadful place where she’d left them in the closet
at home .
“Locker at the airport.”
I looked at her .
“What? I could not leave them at home. Can you imagine my children
with all those guns? They would take over the world. Maybe we could use
snakes if we need to hurt somebody. Do you think Germany has venomous
snakes?”
“I don’t know .”
“We could drive to Austria. Everything there wants to kill you. They have
bears that live in trees, and when you walk underneath they fall onto your
head and eat your face off .”
I gawked at her. “I think you mean Australia.”
“What about kangaroos? We could catch one and teach it to punch
Winkler.”
“Also Australia.”
“Emus?”
“Australia.”
“What does Austria have ?”
“Classical music and Freud.”
“We cannot kill her with those.”
“We aren’t going to kill her. We won’t have to. Xander and I are being
super-discreet”
“I can be discreet.”
I gave her a look. Marika was a lot of things—most of them good—but
discretion wasn’t on the list .
We wended through the property’s elegant gardens, past puffball-shaped
hedges, around clusters of perfumed bushes. Cobbled paths. Little alcoves off
the pretty path, containing park benches and swings seats. We reached the
maze. Up close, the hedges were tall and foreboding. Nothing good ever
happens in hedge mazes. Ask Harry Potter. Ask Lucy in the 1992 version of
Dracula . Look what happened in the movie version of The Shining . Pan’s
Labyrinth . The list went on. Mazes were bad news .
“Do we really have to do this ?”
Marika hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. “This is on my bucket list
.”
“What else is on the list ?”
“Sex with that pretty man who plays James Bond .”
“Daniel Craig?”
“Sean Connery.”
“He’s nearly ninety. ”
“So?”
We went into the maze. Inside the ground was gravel and the sky was a
thin landing strip. The hedges loomed. Their pointed tops were judgmental
and sinister.
“Maybe we should go back,” Marika said, clutching her bag in front of
her. Unconsciously I’d done the same thing with my cross-body bag .
“What about your bucket list ?”
“The women in my family live to almost a hundred. I decided I have
plenty of time to find a less creepy maze .”
There was a grinding sound behind us. We turned around. The entrance to
the maze had vanished. Now it was a solid wall of hedge.
“Uh oh,” Marika said, “this is not good. I think this maze is haunted.”
“Not haunted. But if you see a trophy, I wouldn’t touch it if I were you .”
“Harry Potter,” she said, catching on fast. “I do not want to end up like
that one boy .”
That one boy ended up dead, thanks to Voldemort. There was no
Voldemort in this muggle world—just Winkler and Grandma, not a
Dumbledore between them. Whatever was coming next, it was bound to be
horrible and non-magical.
Right on time, a voice wafted out of the nearest hedge.
“Welcome to my labyrinth,” Winkler said. “You will be happy to know
you are not alone in here. If you brought friends with you, they are also
participating in my little game. The goal is to survive.”
The first message was in English. Then she repeated herself in German,
French, and Greek.
“There can be only one,” Winkler’s disembodied voice said continued,
via the speaker. She laughed. “I am joking. Nobody has ever made it out of
my maze. Not on their feet, anyway. You won’t find any weapons in here,
but if you are lucky you will discover items you can use to your advantage.
It’s like a video game, yes? I love video games. For the winner there will be a
favorable prize, and also waffles. Good luck .”
Once again, the message repeated in other languages, then the hedge went
back to being a hedge.
“When we get back to the house I am going to kick her in the mouni ,”
Marika said. Then she plopped down on the ground and started to cry. “I do
not want to have my baby in this maze. What if I never see my boys again?”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that .”
She perked. “Really?”
“We’ll be dead long before you’re ready to deliver, unless we find a
way out .”
I turned in a tight circle, considering our options. How thick and
impenetrable could a hedge be? I shoved my arms and heads into the feathery
greenery to see if there was a way out. There wasn’t.
“Fence,” I said. “Barbed wire .”
I touched the wire .
ZAP!
I shot backwards, landing on the gravel. My bones shook. My teeth
clattered. There was a numb tingling in my hand .
“Ewectric fenth,” I said, tongue thick in my mouth. I lay there for several
moments, hoping I hadn’t peed my pants—or worse. Feeling sorry for
myself, but even sorrier for Marika, who didn’t deserve to be caught up in all
this, I considered our options.
One: Make it through the maze. Profit.
Two: Stay in the maze. Die .
Three: Hope someone rode to our rescue .
Bones half liquefied, I hoisted myself to my feet and helped Marika up .
“Keep an eye out for anything we can use as a weapon. I don’t know
what or who is in here, so let’s hoard anything we find .”
The only weapon I had—and had ever had—was Dad’s slingshot. Not
long after I arrived in Greece, Grandma had Xander take me down to the root
cellar below the greenhouse for a weapon. Lucky me, their idea of arming me
was giving me Dad’s slingshot. It wasn’t a gun, but I could put a dent in a
man if I had time and ammunition. It lived in my handbag with the receipts of
shopping expeditions past. I had ammunition. Winkler had unknowingly
handed me an unlimited supply. I crouched down and scooped a handful of
gravel into my pocket.
I pointed out the only direction available to us: straight-ahead, for now
anyway. Before we started walking I quickly downloaded and installed a
popular fitness app that would map the maze as we walked. Everything I
knew about navigating mazes I’d learned from Labyrinth , so relying on
lipstick arrows probably wasn’t a sound plan .
We took off at a cautious pace .
“I am going to wring her old neck,” Marika said. “If we get out of here .”
I couldn’t disagree. What I could do was call Grandma.
“We’re stuck in a maze,” I told her. “Do you know anything about it ?”
She was quiet for a moment. “A maze? You better hope it does not have a
minotaur. It would be just like Winkler to put something terrible in the
middle.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks for nothing.”
“You are welcome.” Then she giggled.
“Want some advice?”
“No. ”
I gave her some anyway before ending the call. “Slow down on the green
koulourakia .”
“What did she say?” Marika asked.
“Watch out for minotaurs.”
“It is a good thing minotaurs are not real .”
I gawked at her. “You believe in zombies and vampires but not
minotaurs?”
“Nobody is perfect.”
Next I texted Xander, Takis, and Donk. Surely one of them could tell
Winkler that’d we’d accidentally-on-purpose strolled into her maze and now
we were stuck and possibly about to die. Although Winkler’s recording said
if we’d brought friends they’d be stuck in the maze too, so it was a fair
assumption that they were here somewhere.
Undeliverable.
The signal was now dead .
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Now I was seriously worried. “No signal.”
Marika pulled out her phone. She was dead in the water, too .
“We are going to die,” she said .
“Probably, but we have to keep moving forward.”
“Why?”
“Because I think your husband and the others are in here with us,
somewhere.”
“Now that I think about it, we should keep moving.”
The first surprise was around the corner. The maze jagged right. We
followed, and almost fell into a pit. Marika’s arm shot out to stop me in my
tracks.
“Sorry,” she said. “It is automatic. When Takis is driving someone has to
stop the children from flying through the windshield.”
“What about seat belts?”
“I have more children than seat belts. ”
There was a narrow ledge each side of the pit. We flattened ourselves
against the hedges and shuffled past. Almost immediately, there was
another turn .
I blew out a terror-tinted sigh. “Let’s move slowly.”
“Siga-siga ,” Marika agreed. Slowly, slowly. We linked arms and crept
forward. Somewhere in the distance there was a manly yell .
Marika turned white. “Takis.”
“That is the same sound he makes when the boys ouro in his shoes.”
“I thought only cats did that .”
“Oh no, children do it too. Or maybe it is just my children.”
One checkmark in the Don’t Procreate column. But then Marika and
Takis’ kids were a special kind of kooky; I’d have to work hard to yield a
crazier bunch. Maybe if their father was Pennywise the clown I’d have
more luck .
“Gamo tin katsika sou , I will break your neck!” Takis yelled from
wherever he was. Marika’s head swiveled.
“If that man has a goat it should be very afraid,” she said .
Around the bend the path split in two and ran off in opposite directions.
Directly ahead, at the top part of the T, sat a small gilt table with a glass top .
“Maybe if one of us stands on it we’ll be able to climb over the hedge,”
I said .
“It will have to be you because I have a fear of standing on tables after
what happened to Baboulas.”
Grandma was high and dancing when she fell off a solid table. This table
was spindly and not made to hold more weight than the glass box that was
sitting atop it. Nobody would be standing on the table .
“Say, what do you think is in that box?” I asked Marika.
“A chainsaw, I hope .”
“Too small.”
She licked her lips. “Maybe sweets.”
“No—whatever is in the box, don’t touch it .”
“Why not ?”
“Didn’t you read Alice in Wonderland ?”
She looked at me .
“See the Disney cartoon?”
No reaction.
“What about the movie with Johnny Depp ?”
More nothing.
“Trust me when I say eating food in a strange, fantastical location is bad
news, especially if it looks tempting.”
We walked over to the box. I lifted the lid. Sure enough, it was filled with
foil-wrapped bonbons. Marika reached out. I slapped her hand away .
“Those little wrapped chocolates are my favorites,” she said .
“What if they’re poisoned?”
“Who would do that to chocolate?”
I looked at her. Hard. “We’re trapped in a deadly maze, designed by an
old lady who kills people for fun and profit. She’s Grandma, except not
family, which means she is capable of anything, even poisoning chocolate.
Which is a travesty, I agree.”
Marika’s hand snapped out and seized the box. She dumped the lot in
her bag .
“What?”
Palms up: “What did I just say ?”
“I heard you, but I am thinking I will get Winkler to eat one, then if she
survives I know they are safe to eat .”
“If you want them that badly, buy some you can trust. ”
“These are free. Free food always tastes better.”
While she was espousing the virtues of free candy, I dismantled the table.
The glass top popped off easily. I tucked the disc under my arm. A glass
Frisbee might come in handy. A couple of decades after I first saw The Omen
, that scene where the photographer loses his head still comes to mind
whenever I see glass out in the wild .
“Which way ?”
We looked left. We looked right. Night was coming on faster now outside
the maze. Inside the maze we had light, thanks to the occasional lamppost. It
was yellow and thin but it was better than falling into a pit in the dark .
Neither of us was making a decision, so I went ahead and tossed out a
serving suggestion.
“Okay. Let’s go right. UPS trucks almost always turn right.”
“I do not know what those are, but I will follow you .”
We set off right, right again, then another right. Dead end. Beyond the
solid wall of hedge, something moved. I grabbed Marika’s hand, held her
still.
“Is someone there?” I called out .
“Katerina?”
My shoulders slumped with relief. “Takis, is that you ?”
“Where is Marika?”
“I am here,” Marika said with serious attitude, “but I am still angry at you
.”
“What is new about that? You were born angry at me. Hey, you two
vlakes , come over here .”
“We can’t,” I said. “The hedges are electrified.”
“Electrified? What kind of malakies is that?” There was a rustling in the
hedge, then a zap .
“Gamo tin Panayia mou ,” he swore.
“Told you so,” I said .
“You deserved that,” Marika called out .
“Have you seen or heard anyone else?” I asked him .
“No. Winkler had that rhinoceros of hers hit me with a stun gun. I am
going to rip off his balls when I see him, and stuff them up his nose. He will
spend the rest of his life smelling his own balls.”
“Leave the poor man alone,” Marika said. “He is just doing his job,
like you .”
“Maybe I will pull out his entrails and use them to tie a bow around his
waist.”
I cut into their marital discord. “Wait—Winkler put you in here on
purpose?”
“That German malakas put me in here. How did you get stuck in here ?”
“Your wife wanted to check out the maze,” I told him .
“Of course she did,” he muttered on the other size of the hedge.
Marika stuck her nose in the air. “Come on, Katerina. Let us keep going. I
really need to eat something. I am getting a little faint.”
“Why can our psychic baby not show you the way out?” Takis called out.
“Oh, that’s right, because you made it up .”
“Ignore the malakas .” She grabbed my elbow and steered me around the
next corner.
“You kiss our children with that mouth?” Takis yelled. “Vre —come here
!”
We turned another corner. Between the view I’d had from my window
and the map my phone was drawing on its screen, I guessed we were close to
the center.
Winkler’s voice tiptoed into the maze again. “There is a surprise around
the next corner. A nice one. I caught it snooping around my property. It
wasn’t easy, let me tell you.” She laughed. “I will tell you all about it if you
survive my maze . ”
Fear shoved it hands into my gut, played cat’s cradle with my intestines.
Dad. She had Dad. I just knew it. If she hurt him I’d strangle her myself,
waffles or not .
Around the next corner, in the middle of the path, lay a cocoon. A duct
tape cocoon. Very Lord of the Rings , except I knew that wasn’t Frodo all
wrapped up, seeing as how Hobbits aren’t real .
The contents were too big to be Grandma. About the right size to be any
of about a dozen people I knew, including Dad .
Heart trying to decide whether to freak out yet or not, I looked at Marika.
“Are we supposed to unwrap it or wait until it hatches?”
“What if it is a mummy?”
“I don’t think the Ancient Egyptians used duct tape .”
“You should poke it with your toe .”
“I’ve got a better idea .”
I pulled out my slingshot and loaded up a piece of gravel. Then I let it fly.
It hit the wrapped humanoid with a soft thud .
The cocoon muffled a yell. The whole thing jumped an inch to the left .
“They’re alive,” I said. “And I think it’s a male mummy, if it’s a
mummy.”
“Xander?”
“Too small.”
“Maybe we should unwrap him .”
“Just the face though, in case it’s a bad guy.” I handed Marika the glass
tabletop. “If he attacks me, smash him between the eyebrows.”
“I can do that.” She swung it through the air in a wide arc, practicing her
moves.
I crouched beside the mummy man. He was making all kinds of muffled
noises now, like being wrapped up was seriously screwing up his day. I
hoped this wouldn’t be the moment I discovered things that went BOO in the
night were real. He was bandaged up tightly with duct tape and black garbage
bags, except for a couple of strategic nostril holes. Good thing he didn’t have
allergies or he’d be a dead man .
“Relax,” I said. “Give me a moment to figure out how to get you out.
Well, the face part anyway. We’re not convinced you’re not undead or evil.
Or undead and evil.” I hunted for the tape’s end. It was tucked behind his ear.
I worked slowly in case it was taped directly to his skin in places, cringing as
it peeled away from his mouth with a sickening tearing sound. “You know
what you need? Chapstick.”
The lips moved. Sound croaked out .
“Am I dead ?”
“Not yet,” I said .
“Then why are you here ?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m trying to help you .”
Marika stuck her nose in. “We are trying to help you. We are a team .”
There was a short pause. Then: “Marika? Is that you ?”
The voice sounded familiar but it was difficult to get a bead on who I was
unwrapping with all its scratches. Someone had mauled his larynx with
coarse grit sandpaper.
“This is Marika,” Marika said. “Unless you are one of my enemies, then I
am not Marika at all. My name is …” she thought for a moment “Natasha.
And this is my friend Boris. Boris and Natasha.”
“Who is that with you? It sounds like Katerina, but it can’t be Katerina.”
“I’m definitely not Katerina,” I said. “I’m, uh … ”
“Boris,” Marika said .
I kept working at the tape. Whoever had tied him had performed a double
whammy. He was bound too well and terribly, at the same time .
“I’m going to have to roll you onto your face—sorry.”
He let out a scratchy yell. A long strip of tape yanked some of his hair out
—dark hairs—and when I rolled him back I managed to get a look at his face.
His eyes were still hidden, but there was enough of his full lips and
distinctive nose to make a positive identification.
Shit. Crap. Poop .
Chapter
Fifteen
I waved my hands at Marika, zipped my lips, and pointed to Detective Nikos

Melas, the Duct Tape Mummy. Melas, who had no idea I was alive. Except
now he was suspicious, wasn’t he ?
There was only one thing to do .
“We have to go, but we’ll send help when we can,” I said, disguising my
voice as a Russian man. My Russian accent was just like my Chinese accent,
which was just like every other accent in my repertoire, so I wasn’t what you
might call convincing. But Melas’s ears were still covered, which meant I
might score a miracle.
He opened his mouth and a laugh scraped out. “That is the worst accent I
have ever heard.”
“That’s too bad, because it was my best,” I said as a Greek-speaking
Frenchman.
“Katerina?” His body shook with laughter. “You’re alive.”
“No, I’m not. You’re in hell. Wooo …” I did spirit fingers “Boogity
boogity.”
He laughed hard for duct tape mummy.
I grabbed the end of the tape and gave it a good jerk. Melas yelped. I
looked at his face and laughed.
“What?” he demanded.
“Your eyebrows.”
Marika peered down at him. “What eyebrows?”
“Exactly,” I said .
“Virgin Mary help me,” Melas muttered. “Just get this tape off me, okay?
Then you can mock me all you want .”
We worked as quickly as we could. Once his arms were free he tried to
help, but being all tied up had taken its toll. His hands flopped around on the
ends of his arm noodles.
“Hold still,” I said .
“You say that like I have a choice.”
“He is like a baby,” Marika said. “A cute little baby when you are trying
to change its diaper. Who is a good boy? You are. You are .”
Melas closed his eyes. “My Virgin Mary ”
“What are you doing here?” I said, faking ease I didn’t feel .
“I could ask you the same thing. The last time I saw you you were lying
in a casket.”
“Wax dummy.”
“You looked good. Dead, but good. Why ?”
“Aunt Rita is magic.”
“No—I mean why aren’t you dead ?”
“Don’t worry,” I said brightly, “I probably will be soon. We all will .”
Marika shivered. “Right now I am very glad Winkler did not decide to
wrap me in duct tape. Tape scares me .”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Tape scares you ?”
“Tape, glue, and glitter are the most terrifying things in the world when
you have children. They can do anything with those three things—anything.”
I was down to Melas’ shins. Lucky for him, Winkler had caught him fully
dressed, so I was tearing tape away from denim.
“You never said what you’re doing here .”
Melas rotated his shoulders. He’s not as big as Xander, but there’s still a
lot of muscle on his bones. A lean, swimmer’s physique.
“Xander left Greece in a hurry,” he explained. “Then Marika and Baby
Dimitri’s nephew. Followed by Takis. I knew something strange was going
on. I wanted to know what .”
“Isn’t that just a tiny bit out of your jurisdiction?”
“You have to understand, I thought you were dead. It made me …”
“Made you what ?”
His gaze flicked up to Marika then back to me .
Marika covered her ears. “La-la-la. I cannot hear you .”
“Crazy,” Melas said. His eyes were dark and serious. There was pain in
them. “It made me crazy believing you were dead. Your death changed my
relationship with your family and Baboulas. It cleared my head and reminded
me what I’m supposed to be doing.”
The good ol’ food chain. Organized crime and law enforcement are
natural enemies. Both predators. Toothy. Each wants to wipe out the other.
Melas was in a difficult position—more difficult than he knew because of his
mother’s secret past as Grandma’s torturer.
“And what’s that ?”
Like I didn’t know. But I wanted him to say it .
“The crime families are taking over Greece, taking over Europe. It’s my
job to stop them .”
“By yourself? Because you’re doing a great job if Winkler caught you
and tossed you into her labyrinth, mummified in duct tape . ”
He gave me a lopsided grin. “My skills are rusty. I was distracted.”
Yikes. I changed the subject. “How did Winkler get you ?”
“Her pet rhino caught me peeping through a window.”
“That’s Johann. Did you know Winkler is a woman and also Greek?”
He gave me a funny look. “Yes .”
“So everyone except me knew ?”
Marika raised her hand. “I did not know. Nobody tells me anything.”
The tape was off now, coiled up like a silver snake with multiple
fractures. I held out my hand to Melas.
“What do you know about Winkler?” he asked me .
“She’s a fantastic cook and she loves twin sets .”
He shook his head, laughed, and took my hand. I pulled him to his feet.
As soon as he was standing up he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed.
“I’m glad you are alive,” he whispered against my hair. “I have never
been more happy to see anyone in my life.” He released me. “Now we have
to get out of here. Have you seen anyone else ?”
“We heard Takis through a bush .”
“The entrance?”
I showed him the map my phone was drawing. “Sealed. And there’s an
electric fence running through the hedges.” I told him about the table with the
wrapped chocolates, and the pit .
“Let’s keep going,” he said. “Be careful.”
We forged onward. Two turns later we hit a wall. Brick. There was
nowhere to go, nothing to do .
“Well, well,” came Winkler’s voice again. “I think you hit the wall. What
will you do now ?”
The wall shivered. Nothing happened at first, then it began to sink into
the ground, revealing what was behind Door Number One and Only .
“This is the center of the maze,” Winkler said. “Would you like to see
what is waiting for you? I hope you are wearing your running shoes.”
The tippy top of a building slowly revealed itself as the wall sank. My
stomach sank right along with it; only it moved faster—so much faster that I
looked down at my shoes to make sure I hadn’t peed my pants.
“Lions and tigers and bears—oh crap,” I said .
Melas looked at me. “What ?”
“Winkler has a zoo, of sorts. Lions, tigers, and bears.” The wall continued
its descent. The vine-covered pyramid was definitely identical to the one I’d
spied just beyond the zoo. This couldn’t be that building, but I was willing to
bet they were linked. Once that wall fell we were going to be tiger food .
On the far side of the brick, a metal door clanged. A big cat opened its
mouth and roared.
Marika stood there wide-eyed and petrified.
“We have to run!” I grabbed her hand and pulled. Terror had rooted her to
the ground. “Marika!”
“Get out of here,” Melas shouted.
He was standing his ground between us and the teeth on the other side of
the vanishing wall .
“Trying to,” I said .
I slapped Marika—gently. “Let’s go .”
She shook her head several times. “What ?”
This time when I pulled she followed.
“Come on,” I yelled at Melas.
“Go!”
We ran, but there was nowhere to go. A wall had sprung up behind us,
trapping us between teeth and a hard place. We weren’t the first to find
ourselves in this position. The wall had some suspicious maroon stains.
Ugh. I felt woozy.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I screamed in English. “Help! We’re going to die !”
The first wall stopped moving. Claws scraped brick.
But it wasn’t over yet .
Footsteps. Heavy boots on gravel. They were coming our way .
“At least six men,” Melas said .
Marika hid behind him. There was more Marika than Melas. “We should
hide,” she said .
The wall that didn’t have tiger teeth behind it fell, and around the corner
they came, seven fair-haired, blue-eyed men in black suits, white shirts, and
no ties .
“Do you guys know you look like James Bond’s stuntmen?” I said in
English.
“Vinkler has questions,” their leader said. At least I thought he was their
leader, on account of how he was talking and the others weren’t.
“Is this going to be like a test? Because I have to tell you, I haven’t
studied.”
Fear did terrible things to my mouth. It amped up my inner smart ass.
Sarcasm or die .
Fake James Bond didn’t twitch. “Vhy did you come to Germany?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Vhat were your instructions?”
“To quote my grandmother: ‘Get on the plane or I will make you
eat wood .’ ”
No reaction, but I could tell this wasn’t going how he expected.
“And vunce you vere in Germany, vhat vas your mission? ”
“Establish peace with Winkler.”
He looked at me. I looked back. It wasn’t like I was lying. Further
instructions had come from Takis, not Grandma. As long as he didn’t ask
about Takis I wouldn’t have to lie .
“Did you receive instructions from anybody else in your grandmother’s
employ?”
Shit.
I cupped my ear. “Vat vas that ?”
“Yes.”
The exasperated henchman looked up at the sky. “Vat now? Can we kill
them now? Because I really, really vant to kill them. Especially this one. She
is a smart-ass .”
The blond men raised their weapons, pointed them at us. Marika stuck her
head out from behind Melas.
“What are they saying?”
“They want to kill us,” I said .
“I have to pee first,” Marika said. “I cannot die without peeing first.”
I passed her message to Blondie, who shook his head .
“Come on,” I said. “She’s pregnant.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Oliver, you take her .”
Oliver stepped forward. There was fear in his eyes. I understood. Marika
wasn’t the best bodyguard but she was one hell of a mama bear. She would
choke the life out of him with her handbag if he put a foot wrong.
Melas was strangely relaxed. His body was all loose and easy, hands in
pockets; look on his face like we weren’t rats in a maze about to be shot
before we tasted the cheese.
“What is his problem?” Blondie demanded.
“Problem?” I looked at Melas. “Do you have a problem?”
“No.” He tilted his chin up-down. “No problem. ”
Somewhere in the distance, there was noise. The kind of noise that
helicopters make as their blades slice the air to pieces. Slowly, they were
coming this way .
Winkler’s voice came over the speaker. “What the fuck is that ?”
So. Winkler could hear us. Cool ruse, old lady, pretending to be a
recording.
“A helicopter,” I called out to her .
Melas raised his brows. “She can hear us ?”
I nodded. “I don’t think there’s fun in the sport unless she can control it
completely.”
Winkler laugh crackled out of the hidden speakers. “You are a clever girl,
Katerina. It’s like you know me .”
“I don’t know you at all, but you’re a lot like my grandmother. My father
would say you’re both the same shit. Are you going to fire at the helicopter? I
know about the missiles.”
“No,” her disembodied voice said. “It will be more interesting for the
passengers to live. For now. I told you I have something planned for this
evening.”
The helicopter moved in closer, until it was hovering overhead.
Conversation and expletives were impossible at this point, not with all that
manmade wind whipping the world into a frenzy.
Down came the rope ladder.
Deja vu .
This wasn’t the first time I’d been on the end of a rope ladder tumbling
out of a helicopter. Last time Xander was flying to the rescue. Was he flying
the bird this time? I couldn’t tell .
A friendly head looked over the edge .
Stavros.
Hooray! We weren’t going to die in Winkler’s maze .
Melas grabbed the dangling end of the rope. He went to wave me up, but
I pushed Marika ahead of me. Her full bladder was a danger to us all. The
James Bonds held their ground, unperturbed. At least they weren’t trying to
stop our escape. Once Marika was safe, I stood back so Melas could go next,
but he tilted his chin up-down. “Go,” he mouthed. “I’ll be right behind you .”
I scrambled up the ladder. At the top, Stavros grabbed my hands and
hauled me onto the whirly bird. Elias was beside him. My bodyguard grinned
at me. His eyes shone with tears. Stavros jammed a headset on my head .
“I have never been happier to see anyone.” Elias’s words came loud and
clear through the headset.
I grinned back at him. “That makes two of us .”
Melas scrambled up behind me and sat himself down, legs dangling over
the edge. Stavros handed him a headset.
“Who else is in there?” Melas’s voice filtered into my ears. “Takis,
you said ?”
“Takis, and probably Donk and Xander.”
Rope down, the helicopter moved on .
“I see the malakas without a kolos ,” Stavros called out. Moments later,
Takis scrambled up the ladder. He plopped himself in one of the helicopters
seats with a big grin on his face. Donk was next. If the maze had scared him
it didn’t show. He was too busy being a kid on his first helicopter ride .
“Do you think the pilot would let me fly?” he yelled.
“No,” Stavros said .
“Do you think he would let me fly if I tell him who I am ?”
A horny teenager? That wouldn’t impress anyone.
“Not a chance,” I said .
Stavros and Elias laughed.
Donk flopped down in a seat, happy anyway.
Xander wasn’t anywhere. The pilot moved from corner to corner,
hunting, but if Xander was down there he was a dressed as a hedge. The
helicopter buzzed away. We were flying away to safety.
Except not .
Premature descent.
The metal bird plonked its feet down on Winkler’s driveway.
“Is Xander here?” I asked. No one answered me .
Stavros and Elias jumped out. Elias held out his hand to me. Okay.
Whatever. I’d play along. But no one had better blame me when we all ended
up back in the maze, without our helicopter.
We all jumped out. Everyone except Takis. Then he appeared with the
pilot—the pilot who was a little old stooped woman in black. He passed her
down to Stavros and Elias, who were unfolding a wheelchair.
“Grandma!” I yelped. “What are you doing here ?”
“Visiting with family.”
Xander chose that moment to show up. He was dressed like the James
Bonds, suit, shirt, no tie, top shirt button popped. He jogged down palatial
steps and held out his arm for Grandma. She shooed it away and rolled to the
foot of the steps.
In a fresh, dainty twinset, Winkler minced through the open doorway,
sensible heels clicking on the stone.
“Having trouble with the stairs, you old skeela ?”
“Oh look,” Grandma said, “it is a talking mounopano .”
“Virgin Mary,” Melas muttered. Nobody laughed except Takis, who had
a wife and wasn’t bothered by sanitary pads, although Marika would have his
head if he followed Grandma’s example and called it a “pussy pad ”.
Winkler laughed. “Come up here and say that, you rancid putana . Oh
wait, you can’t. ”
“Are you afraid to come down here? That is okay, I would be if I were
you, too .”
“Why is that ?”
“Because even in this chair I could kick your wrinkled, old kolos .”
Melas moved behind me. “I have no idea what is going on .”
Neither did I .
“Do you kiss your goats with that mouth?” Winkler shot back .
“Better to kiss them than fuck them. Remember that one time you stuck a
handful of hay— ”
Winkler held up her hand, waved it like a white flag. “Come inside before
I decide to shoot you. Do you know how difficult it is to get blood out of
brick? It gets down between them and I have to get my people to use
toothbrushes.”
“Coca Cola,” Grandma said. “Let it sit for up to twenty-four hours and
then hose it away .”
“Coca Cola is magic,” Takis said .
“Coca Cola,” Marika agreed. “I am always soaking Takis’ underpants in
Coca Cola .”
Takis made a face. “Christos , woman. Why you have to tell our family
secrets, eh ?”
“It works on things that are not blood, too,” Marika said pointedly.
Takis threw his hands in the air. “I am cursed with this woman.”
Winkler threw a glance over her shoulder to her cluster of classy
henchmen, who had emerged from the maze .
“Johann, Oliver, carry the garbage upstairs and deposit it in drawing room
.”
Johann and Oliver moved to lift Grandma, but Xander and Stavros beat
him to it. The men exchanged glares. The Germans stepped back, possibly
because they’d heard stories about Stavros’ porn collection.
They left me outside. Which didn’t bother me too much, except it was an
apt metaphor for my recent life. Me, in a strange land, in the dark. Okay, so
Elias was back on the job, standing between me and the darkness, watching
for trouble.
I’d had more than enough. I wanted to see Dad again and go home.
Alone, if I had to .
“This is all too weird,” I said to no one in particular.
Melas scratched his head. “I don’t understand it either.”
“I want to go home, but I can’t even buy a plane ticket because my bank
thinks I’m dead .”
Xander reappeared. He nodded to Takis, who jogged up the steps and
disappeared into the house.
“That reminds me,” Donk said, “you still owe my uncle money.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’ll get it back when I can convince my bank I’m
alive and really me .”
Xander was at my side in an instant. He pulled out his wallet, fanned out
some euro notes and jammed them into Donk’s pocket.
“Thanks,” I said, tear pricking my eyes. “I’ll pay you back as soon as …
you know .”
Wordlessly (for a change) Xander pocketed his wallet.
A slow clap interrupted us. It was coming from a patch of darkness that
was mostly trees. An orange dot bobbed and danced, then vanished as Baby
Dimitri and Laki emerged from the shadow.
“Is that for me?” The Godfather of the Night and Mismatched Shoelaces
grinned at me. Laki was grinning, too, cigarette balanced in the middle, held
in place with gold teeth .
“Kyrios Laki,” I said, tacking on the appropriate honorific, “I didn’t
recognize you without your rocket launcher.”
He grinned harder. The cigarette danced on his lip. “It is in the car .”
Donk’s normal bravado drained away. He scurried over and held out the
cash to his uncle. “I got your money.”
“Did I send you to get my money? No. Katerina and me, we already made
a deal, didn’t we, Katerina Makris-with-an-s ?”
“He was just trying to help,” I said, feeling sorry for Donk. Yeah, he was
a hard-on with feet, but he was just a kid. “What are you doing here ?”
“Making a house call. What are you doing here ?”
“Door knocking. Would you like to hear about my lord and savior Jesus
Christ?”
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “You are piece of work.” He
looked around, took in the sight of our motley crew. “Now where is your
uncle?”
“My uncle?”
“About this tall.” He held his hand out at a hair below six-feet. “Dark
hair. Real malakas . Has a face that makes you want to kick him in the
archidia —or maybe that is just me .”
“I think a lot of people feel that way about him,” I said .
Baby Dimitri laughed. “Even as a child he was a malakas . Sneaky. The
kind of boy who steals and lies. If I discover he has stolen and lied to me
again …”
Math happened in my head. A penny dropped. Realization dawned. I
finally got a clue .
“You’re talking about the program.”
Fake surprise. “What program?”
“The counterfeiting application from the Camorra. ”
He pulled me into a hug. “You are too clever for this family. Maybe you
want to come work for me instead?”
As if. I didn’t even want to work for my family.
“The last time I saw Uncle Kostas was in Greece. If he’s here I haven’t
seen him .”
“He will be here. He set up this meeting himself.”
“That’s why Grandma is here,” I said, the penny dropping. “And that’s
what Winkler’s get-together is about tonight. He’s auctioning off the
program. I thought Grandma came to rescue us .”
He rumpled my hair. “Silly girl. For people like Baboulas and me, it will
always be about money. Come, let us go inside together, eh ?”
I shook my head. “I’m going home. To America. I’ve had enough of
crime and criminals.”
He touched his chest, round about where his heart would be if he had one.
“We are businesspeople, Katerina Makris-with-an-s, not criminals. Although
some would say that all businesspeople are criminals, in their own way. Your
grandmother, Winkler, and me, we are no different to the man in a business
suit, behind a big desk, in an office in Athens.”
“You sell drugs and kill people.”
“And they sell lies, so who are the monsters, eh ?”
Laki was getting twitchy behind him. “Can I make fire now ?”
“Not yet,” Baby Dimitri said. “Maybe later. Come on .”
Baby Dimitri threw me a wink, and he and his gold-toothed lackey jogged
up the stairs and entered Winkler’s fancy-pants abode.
“Wait,” I called out. “Are you saying my uncle is in Germany?”
Baby Dimitri shrugged. “He better be, or I will kill him myself. ”
Xander trailed in after them .
Baby Dimitri, Grandma, and Winkler all under one roof. Among them
they owned a great chunk of Europe’s crime business. And they all wanted
one thing: the program that would enable them to print the best euro outside
of each member nation’s central banks. They had the money; all they were
missing now were my uncle and the memory stick that contained the goods.
Melas had been talking to Elias and Marika. He jogged over. “What’s
going on ?”
I told him and his face turned grim. “The deal of the decade and here I am
with no jurisdiction.”
The NIS had to know, too. I was willing to bet that was why Orestis was
in town. No wonder Grandma had wanted me to come ahead of time: she
wanted to know what kind of trap she’d be flying into .
“I still need to pee,” Marika reminded us .
“And we still don’t know who was talking in your ear,” I said .
Melas shot me a curious look, so I brought him up to speed.
“Is there anyone in your family who isn’t crazy?” he asked me .
“Is there anyone in your family who isn’t?”
He grinned. “Me .”
“You’re in Germany, hunting down the bad guys when you have no
jurisdiction whatsoever.” Head tilt. “Tell me again: how is that not crazy?”
The grin widened. “I’m Greek. I’m naturally curious. About everything.”
His gaze swept over me as he said it, and I flushed. Good thing it was
darkish.
I redirected my attention to my bodyguard, who looked a whole lot
happier now that he knew I wasn’t toast. “Elias, could you take Marika in,
please? ”
“Melas is here. I’ll be fine .”
Marika bolted inside to use the restroom, Elias on her heels. Donk
muttered something about being hungry, so he headed for the kitchen. Which
left me and Melas outside alone.
“I need to tell you something,” I said .
“So do I .”
“You go first.”
“No—you .”
“You.”
He brought his mouth down on mine, ending the argument. My
underwear melted. My heart jumped into a mosh pit. My toes curled inside
my shoes when his hands grabbed my hips and pulled me hard against him .
“My grandmother will kill you,” I murmured.
“Let her .”
“Your mother will kill me .”
“You’re already dead .”
True—at least as far as most of the world was concerned.
The kissing went on. And on. And on. Until there was no place for it to
go except those bushes over there. And I wasn’t about to race to the next base
in some bushes. Been there, done that .
“We have to stop,” I said .
“We have to stop .”
I pulled away. “We’re stopping.”
His breathing was ragged, and so was mine. “We’re stopping.” He
hooked his finger into the top of my jeans and ran it around the edge where
the skin met cotton. “For now .”
“Is that a threat or a promise? ”
“Promise. As soon as the bad guys are in jail, it’s you and me, baby .”
Ruh roh .
I made a rewind motion with my finger. “Bad guys ?”
“Katerina …”
That rewind turned into a wag. “Don’t ‘Katerina’ me. Bad guys.
Explain.”
“You know what your family does .”
“I know .”
His gaze stuck to some point behind my shoulder. “As much as I like
them, they can’t keep doing what they’re doing.”
He was right and I knew it. Didn’t mean I had to like it .
“So is the big plan to put them all in jail ?”
He paused. His breath came out as a long, ominous whoosh.
“Not all of them .”
“Which ones, Melas?”
“Just the major players. People like Marika will be okay .”
“You mean Grandma, Aunt Rita, Takis, Stavros, Papou. People like that
.”
He nodded. “I am sorry.”
“This is my family. I won’t help you bring them down .”
“I don’t expect you to. But I do not want you to get in the way, either.
You should go home for a while, until all this is over .”
“I can’t. My bank thinks I’m dead .”
He reached for his wallet. “I can buy you a ticket right now, and anything
else you need .”
My back was to Winkler’s house. I stepped back. “I should be grateful,
and I suppose I am, but I don’t want your money. ”
“Katerina … jurisdiction or not, this could be the big break Greece needs.
I want you as far away as possible.”
“No—you should go home .”
“Me? Why ?”
“Three major crime lords, one wanted thief, and one dead NIS agent,
things are about to get hairy.”
His face hardened. “Dead NIS agent?”
Crap. Melas was a distraction. He was loosening my tongue with his sex
appeal and his kissing. “Oops. I have to go .”
I turned to run but he caught my wrist. “What dead NIS agent? And what
were you going to tell me ?”
What I’d wanted to tell him was that Dad was alive, but now everything
was a dumpster fire .
“Don’t make me do this, Melas.”
“Make you do what ?”
My foot crunched his. The moment he let go to nurse his booboo, I bolted
for the mansion’s grounds. Mentally I rolled my eyes because the smart move
would have been to run for the house. Inside the house I had family. Outside,
there were dark gardens and God knows what else. I crouched down behind a
bush and watched Melas hobble about. He called my name a few times, but
when it was obvious I wasn’t coming back he stomped up the stairs to the
house. Whether he was going to rally the troops to hunt for me or find a
quiet, dark corner to hide in and eavesdrop, I didn’t know, but I didn’t plan to
stick around to find out. I was going. Home. One way or another.
Chapter
Sixteen
I seized the opportunity to bolt before Melas returned with a search party. I
crept back to the front of the house and, sticking to the shadows, inched up to
the SUV. The keys were hanging from the ignition, where Xander had left
them. Security was tight in an invisible way around here, so it wasn’t like
anyone would be dumb enough to steal it .
Except that was exactly what I was going to do .
I slipped behind the wheel, adjusted the seat and mirrors. Then I started
the motor and eased down the driveway.
A face appeared in the rearview mirror. “Katerina, my favorite niece. You
were not who I was expecting, but you will do .”
I shrieked and hit what I thought was the brake but turned out to be the
gas. The SUV shot along the driveway, then slammed to a halt when I
managed to find the brake. The steering wheel came at me fast and love-
tapped my nose .
I squealed and felt for blood. My hand came away dry .
“You were never supposed to be here,” he said. “But I can use you. Yes, I
think this whole thing will work better with you.” He grabbed my ponytail
and yanked my head against the headrest. Then he looped his arm around my
neck. “Turn around.”
“I can’t. The best I can do is this .”
I thrashed my head from side to side .
He made an exasperated sound. “I mean turn the car around. We are
going back to Winkler’s house.”
My foot slammed the gas then the brake. Uncle Kostas’ face hit the
headrest but his arm didn’t loosen.
“You little skeela ,” he said. “I have a gun. I should just kill you now like
I killed that NIS malaka .”
I stifled a gasp. “You killed Orestis?”
“Back to the house.”
Dying again, for real this time, wasn’t part of my escape plan, but then
neither was turning the SUV around. Yet sometimes in life you have to step
backward before you can move forward. I knew my Greek philosophers
better than I knew the Bible, and I knew most of them had something
pertinent to say about progress in the face of adversity. But none of them had
crazy uncles with guns. Crazy uncles, probably, but not guns. My wits had
already jumped out of the car, leaving me with my instincts and dry mouth.
My hand snaked into my bag, which was still slung across my body. It
found my phone. I managed to angle the phone and tap Xander’s number in
my contacts list. Yeah, there were other options, but Xander was the only
person I knew without a loud, Greek mouth. He could be counted on to listen.
“Why the violence and the hostage?” I asked. “What’s at Winkler’s
house?”
“Wrong question.”
“Who is at Winkler’s house? ”
“Everybody.”
Slowly, I performed a three-point-turn in the driveway. Technically it was
wide enough for a Mack truck to make a U-turn, but I was buying time .
“Winker, Grandma, and Baby Dimitri, you mean. I know. You set up a
meeting with them .”
“With them, yes. But I did not invite the NIS .”
“What makes you think the NIS is here ?”
“Because they want what I am selling, but they do not want to pay for it.
They want to take it !”
“The counterfeiting program?”
“They want everything for nothing. Do I look like a skeela to you ?”
“You do know it’s illegal, right? The NIS don’t want to use it, they want
to get it off the streets.”
“If you believe that then I have my kolos to sell you .”
“Are you saying the NIS wants to … print euros?”
“I am saying that they can do anything they like with the program, as long
as they pay .”
We were at the front steps, back where I’d started.
“Get out,” he said .
“Can’t. Your arm .”
He let me go. “Run or scream and I will shoot you .”
“You’re not my favorite uncle, you know that, right?”
“Blood is thicker than water, but money is thicker than blood.”
He was right, money was thicker. Also, it was cotton, while the other two
were liquids. I slid out of the SUV and landed with a soft crunch. Uncle
Kostas was right behind me. Something butted up to my head, something
cool and metallic.
“Gun?” I asked.
“Gun,” he confirmed.
“So what happens next ?”
Now that the SUV’s engine was quiet, I heard a scuffling noise from
the rear .
“Is there someone in the back?” I said .
“Just something I brought along for the ride. Look if you like .”
I yanked open the SUV’s hatch. Dina was inside, wrapped in tulle and
tied with ribbon. She had a bomboniere stuffed in her mouth. Through the
mesh I could see she was wearing a T-shirt with Dad’s face printed on front.
She appeared uninjured, but if looks could kill the whole world would be
plunged into a nuclear winter.
“She found my new hiding place and overheard me setting up this
meeting.”
“How did she find you ?”
“Who knows? It is a mystery. I was going to kill her but I was in a hurry
to leave, so I brought her with me. Time for that later.”
Dina wasn’t my favorite person but I didn’t want her to die. I didn’t want
to die either, yet here I was, lifespan dwindling by the second. Where was
Xander? If he wanted to step up and be one of the good guys, now was his
chance. Otherwise I was going to wind up keeling over from a fear-induced
heart attack.
“You don’t have to kill her. You don’t have to kill either of us. You could
let us both go and still do your business deal. There are three factions inside,
waiting to throw money at you .”
“I don’t have to kill you both, but maybe I want to. Killing gets easier the
more you do it, you know that? I’ve already popped two today, what’s two
more? Four. That’s a nice even number.”
Orestis, and Winkler’s driver. “What about Jimmy Pants?”
“Jimmy.” My least favorite uncle snorted. “He was NIS, did you know
that? So were the others. No wonder Michail took off to America with his tail
between his legs. All of his friends in law enforcement? The last thing he
wanted was to end up in prison, doing life. I sent Jimmy a message to come
to the school. I told him I had the program and wanted to make a deal. Jimmy
tried to convince me to turn the program over to his old bosses, for the sake
of the friendship he suddenly decided we used to have. I told him selling the
program was the right thing for me. Let me ask you, Katerina, money or no
money, which do you think is better? Let me tell you: money.”
He didn’t seem to know his own brother was NIS .
“So why were you living in Jimmy’s roof for so long ?”
“Boy, for a smart one you’re kind of a vlakas , aren’t you? You have
never had Greek neighbors, have you? Always someone watching, always
someone talking. I couldn’t just kill the kolotripas and then walk out of there.
I was waiting for a good time. The school was perfect. All those trees out
back. No one around. I was going to take out Fish and Deadly, too, but then
you showed up with this mouni .” He poked Dina, who would have gone
Zeus and shot a lightning bolt in his face if she could have .
“Why is it so important that you sell this program to one of these three
people?”
He shrugged. “I am lazy, which is bad in this business. That’s why I want
a big payday. Get the hundred million—if I am lucky, more—and vanish. A
man like me can live a good life on a hundred million euros and never run out
of cash, if I invest wisely.”
“I thought you were going to start your own crime syndicate?”
“I changed my mind. That is a man’s prerogative, you know .”
“Okay, but I don’t get why you need a hostage. ”
“Because I’m one man. I walk in there with my demand for more money
and I’ll roll out a human colander. But if I go in there with you, Mama’s
beloved granddaughter, nobody can touch me. Not even the NIS .”
“But you weren’t expecting me.” I chewed on it a moment. “You were
expecting Xander.”
“That big malakas … he is NIS, too, but a sleeper agent. He would not
have acted on behalf of his bosses tonight. I think he is playing a long game
—a much longer game. Mama does not know.” Big grin. “Expose the NIS
agent and everyone will be happy with me. Bam. They will let me take my
money and go .”
“Wow,” I said, brain whirring. “That’s a big deal. I had no idea Xander
was NIS .”
“Mama made a mistake when she killed his family. She made an enemy
for life. And he has been under her nose all this time, waiting for his chance.”
“Where does Dad fit in to all of this ?”
“He doesn’t. This is my deal. Mine. Michail, wherever he is, can go fuck
himself. Let him steal his own program from someone else .”
“I thought you knew where he was .”
“I lied. I do that sometimes.” He made a face. “I do that a lot. Which is
why everyone is angry at me. Well, one of the reasons.” He kicked my shin.
“Okay, walk. Up the steps.”
“What about Dina? Is she coming with us ?”
“I almost forgot.” He pulled out his gun and fired into the back of the
SUV. Suppressor. The sound didn’t travel far, but Dina’s howl did. Some of
it got caught in the tulle but what came out was pure rage. Uncle Kostas had
better hope she never caught him .
“Oh, Jesus,” I yelped. “You shot her!” I lunged toward Dina, but my
uncle grabbed me by the waist, held me back, kicked the SUV’s rear door
shut. “You shot her !”
“I’ll shoot you, too, if you do not skasmos .”
“You already said you were going to shoot me .”
“Yes, but I will do it sooner if you don’t behave.”
He grabbed my hair, tugged it like a leash to lead me up the stairs.
Inside it was cool, dim, with a soft, welcoming glow of yellow light from
the end of the hall. Everyone, if seemed, was in the kitchen. Winkler was a
lot like Grandma that way. Grandma did a crazy amount of business in her
kitchen and in the garden, while she was yanking weeds.
“That way.” The gun pointed to the light. “Winkler always does business
in the kitchen.”
“Like Grandma. Mobsters are weird.”
He gave me a funny look. “It runs in the family.”
There was no time to ask what he meant because suddenly the foyer light
came on and Marika was there, blinking. Elias was nowhere in sight.
“I found the bathroom,” she said, “and just in time, too. This is a very
nice floor.” She suddenly seemed to notice Uncle Kostas. “Theo Kostas, what
are you doing here?” Her eyes moved to the gun. “Katerina, why does he
have a gun ?”
“I think it’s standard issue when you’re a gangster,” I said .
“I am not a gangster,” he said. “I am a businessman. Now walk, both
of you .”
Marika fell into step beside me. “This is not good. Too bad I do not have
my guns .”
“I cannot believe anyone lets this one have a gun,” my uncle muttered
under his breath.
Marika turned around. “Why, because I am a woman? I am Katerina’s
bodyguard, and a bodyguard needs guns . ”
“My Virgin Mary,” Uncle Kostas muttered. “This family. Why me ?”
“You’re just lucky, I guess,” I said .
He herded us down the hallway to the source of the light. The kitchen was
alive with chatter and smells that would turn a vegan to the meaty side.
Grandma, Baby Dimitri, Laki, Xander, Donk, and Takis were at the table.
Johann was leaning against the counter. Stavros and Elias hovered close to
Grandma’s side. Winkler was mixing, stirring, cutting, a one-woman cooking
machine. Melas was nowhere to be seen. Where was he ?
“Oh, look who it is,” Winkler said in a dangerously casual voice. “It’s the
man who was supposed to acquire the program for me, but instead tried to
fuck me in the ass by stealing it and trying to sell it to me. Good to see you,
Judas.”
As he zeroed in on the gun pointed at my head, Elias stiffened. I wanted
to tell him this wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t screwed up on the job. This was
on me .
Baby Dimitri beamed at me. “Katerina Makris-with-an-s, have you
finished with that policeman already?”
Grandma eyed me. “Katerina, there you are. I was wondering what was
taking you so long .”
“I tried to go home, then this happened.” I tilted my head at the gun.
Uncle Kostas tapped it against my skull.
She looked past me to her youngest son. “Kostas, put down the gun .”
“Let me think … no .”
Winkler turned around. She pointed a wooden spoon at my uncle. “Fuck
the donkey—not in the house, eh, Kostas? Come on. We are civilized
people here .”
From the corner of my eye, I saw his head hang as though he was
considering the rebuke. But like a jack-in-the-box it popped right back up
again .
“Sorry, Thea, but this is business.”
She shook her head. “Business, he says. Come, sit and eat. All of you.
Let’s be civilized, okay? This is Germany not Greece.”
“Back up,” I said. “Thea ? That’s just a courtesy title, right? Or the
shortened form of Theano? Right?”
Nobody looked at me except Baby Dimitri and Laki. Bad sign .
“Right?” I repeated.
Uncle Kostas groaned. “She does not know? Gamo ton kerato sou , what
is wrong with you people?”
What was with Greeks wanting to make sweet monkey love to horns?
Their cussing was colorful … and baffling.
My hands turned palms up. “Know what ?”
Nobody said anything. Mostly they looked at the walls, the ceiling, the
bright copper pots and pans hanging over the island.
I appealed to the guy with the gun. “Uncle Kostas?”
“Mama and Winkler are sisters.”
“True story,” Baby Dimitri said. “We go back to the beginning of time,
all of us.” He winked at Winkler, who stared him down until he laughed.
“Sisters? Grandma and Winkler are … sisters?” Suddenly I was sweating.
I felt hot but the sweat was cold. My heart was flopping around to a
nonsensical beat. Fast. Slow. Fast. Fast. Slow. Gastric juices sloshed around
my stomach; stormy seas ahead. “I’m gonna puke .”
“Not in my kitchen,” Winkler said casually. “Johann, take her to the
bathroom.”
Johann, who was making goo-goo eyes at Marika still, lifted his foot.
Uncle Kostas aimed the gun at him. Johann stopped.
“Oh, for God’s sake. If she vomits in my kitchen I will fucking kill you,
Kostas,” Winkler said oh-so casually. “I don’t give a fucking shit that you are
blood.”
“But she is my hostage.”
Xander was watching Uncle Kostas across the kitchen with the intensity
of a hawk. Melas was still unaccounted for. Elias looked like he wanted to
cut a bitch—the bitch being my uncle. I kind of felt the same way .
The wave of nausea undulated. Everyone in the kitchen was staring at me
down the length of a tunnel.
“What are you doing?”
Marika. She was a million miles away. She wanted to know how I was .
“Peachy keen,” I said .
She looked at me, confused. I’d spoken in English, hadn’t I? And not just
English—Southern slang.
Uncle Kostas tapped my head with his gun. “Okay, which one of you
wants to buy my program?”
Sweat beaded up on my lip. The chills hit .
“Not your program,” I said. “You stole it from the Fontanas.”
“If I have it, then it is mine .”
“Everyone here wants to buy it,” Grandma said coldly. “That is why we
are here—no ?”
“Okay,” Uncle Kostas said. “Aldo Fontana was asking for a hundred
million. I would say that is a good place to start.”
“Start?” Baby Dimitri said. “Nobody told me this was going to be an
auction.” He glanced around. No one else was complaining, so he shrugged.
“Fine. A hundred million.”
Grandma stared at her youngest child. She didn’t look happy. I had a
feeling being on the receiving end of one of Grandma’s unhappy looks
wasn’t a positive thing.
“Where is it?” she asked him .
“Close by .”
“How do I know I am not buying a klasimo in a bottle?”
Winkler nodded over the chopping board. “It’s not that we don’t trust
you, Kostas, it’s that we know you. Your mama and I did not get to the top
by being stupid.”
Baby Dimitri chuckled. “Anyone would think these two did not marry
into their good fortune. Me, I built my business from the ground up .”
“No,” Grandma said, “you built it from six-feet under the ground up.
Your business is just like ours, built on the bones of the dead .”
He raised his hands, stopping short of giving them the dual moutsa .
“Okay, okay, forget I said anything. But I also want to see this program first.”
“We all want to see it first,” Grandma said .
“Johann,” Winkler said. “Get the laptop.”
“Takis,” Grandma said .
“Laki,” Baby Dimitri said .
Johann and Takis shot toward the far side of the kitchen, where two
laptop bags were waiting. Not Laki. He sat there, playing with a box of
matches.
“Laki,” Baby Dimitri said. “Laptop.”
Laki lit a match. “What ?”
“Laptop.”
“Lab tob? What is ‘lab tob ’?”
“Re, malaka , the computer.” Baby Dimitri pointed at the counter with his
whole hand .
Laki shrugged. “I do not do computers. I make fire .”
“Gamo tin putana sou ,” Baby Dimitri swore. “You.” He pointed to
Stavros. “Get the computer.”
Stavros looked to Grandma for permission. She nodded. He grabbed the
laptop bag and placed it on the table in front of Baby Dimitri. Ten minutes,
and multiple login attempts later, everyone had their computers up and
running.
Then all eyes were on Kostas. Gun in his left hand and aimed at me, he
fumbled in his pocket with the right.
“You.” He poked Marika in the shoulder with a tiny USB drive. “Put this
on the table.”
“Please,” she said .
“What?”
“Did your mother not teach you manners?” She went pale for a moment.
“No offense, Thea Katerina.”
“I tried,” Grandma said, “but my boys know better than their mama .”
Something in my head clicked. I looked at Grandma, then her sister.
They’d tried to set me up with one of Winkler’s kids. He’d tried to kill me
and wound up meeting a bloody end, thanks to the family sniper’s eagle eye .
“Ewww,” I said. “Ewwww. What is wrong with you two? You tried to
marry off to one of my cousins?”
“Oh, relax,” Winkler said. “He was not blood. He was unofficially
adopted. Johann here is also one of my children.”
Grandma made eye contact with me. “My sister cannot have children.”
Winkler pointed the wooden spoon at her. “Maybe I can, maybe I can’t. I
never wanted to have my mouni stretched out .”
Baby Dimitri grinned. “I could tell stories.”
The spoon moved. “Open your mouth and I will not give you the antidote
to the poison you just ate .”
Baby Dimitri laughed. “Always a joker.”
She pinned a sardonic eyebrow to her forehead. “Am I ?”
Marika took the USB drive from my uncle, carried it to the table .
“Give it to me,” Grandma said .
Winkler was facing the chopping board again. She swapped the wooden
spoon for a chef’s knife. “No. Give it to anyone but Johann and I will cut off
your arm.” The knife came down hard on the maple block.
Marika gulped. She held the drive like it was poop .
“I do not know what to do.” Her lip wobbled. “Takis?”
“It’s okay, my baby,” he said. “Just hold it until they decide, okay? If
anyone hurts you I will shoot them in the face .”
“How many times do I have to tell you? No shooting in the kitchen,”
Winkler said. “I fucking hate to get blood in my cooking.”
Uncle Kostas was reaching his boiling point. “Somebody just check the
program so we can talk money and I can get out of here. I have somewhere
to be .”
“In a grave,” Elias muttered. He was quietly seething on the far side of
the kitchen.
Uncle Kostas ignored him .
“Rock, paper, scissors,” I said. “Or eenie, meanie, miney, mo .”
Baby Dimitri snatched the drive out of Marika’s hand. “Give me that.
What do I do with it ?”
“Put it in the hole on the side,” Donk said .
“Hole? What hole? This thing has more holes than one of my clubs.”
Donk took the USB drive from him. “Let me show you, Theo .”
A paring knife whistled past his head, buried itself in the wall
behind them .
Everyone hit the deck. Everyone except Grandma and Xander. The pair
of them, they were cucumber cool .
Winkler had already reloaded, with a meat cleaver this time. “What did
I say ? ”
Grandma scoffed. “With all the skata that comes out of your mouth, who
can say ?”
“Try me, old woman.” Winkler waggled the cleaver. “I will put this
between your eyes .”
Grandma looked at me. “When we were girls I would wake up sometimes
to find this one with a knife at my throat.”
Marika crossed herself. “And I thought my boys were difficult.”
“You know why I did it?” Winkler said to Grandma. “Because I could.”
Uncle Kostas sighed like we were busting his balls. The man wanted his
money and he wanted it now. “Nobody cares. Somebody check the disk so
we can do this .”
Johann grabbed the USB drive from Donk, shoved it into Winkler’s
laptop. A couple of clicks later, the program I remembered from Naples
sprang to life on the screen. The human rhino nodded to Winkler, who said,
“Okay. I will give you one hundred and five million,” over her shoulder.
“One hundred and six,” Grandma said .
“And seven,” Baby Dimitri countered.
Winkler wasn’t about to let the deal of a lifetime pass by. “And ten .”
“Fifteen,” Grandma said .
Baby Dimitri raised his hand. “Sixteen.”
“One hundred and fifty million,” Winkler said .
The kitchen went quiet.
Baby Dimitri raised his hands. “Too much for me. I am a simple man
who sells shoes and souvenirs and watches the pretty women on the beach.”
Laki winked at me, because if Baby Dimitri was anything, a simple
shopkeeper who liked boobs was a tiny fragment of the tawdry whole. The
two men rose from their seats, packed up their laptop, and vacated the
building, Baby Dimitri to return to his shoes and boobs; Laki to making fire .
Winkler stared Grandma down. “So now it is just us .”
“Just you,” Grandma said. “Take your program, make your money, but I
do not want to see another one of your fake euros anywhere near my city .”
“The last ones were good. These ones will be perfect. You will never
know if the money in your purse is real or not .”
Uncle Kostas clicked his fingers. “Money please, then you can do
whatever you want with it—I don’t care .”
“You,” Grandma said, pointing her finger at him. “You are going to eat
wood, one way or another. You will never be too big or too old for me to
spank you .”
He snorted. “As soon as I have my money you will never see me again.”
“Oh,” she said, fixing a steely eye on him. “I think I will .”
Not only was I listening and watching, but I was also looping information
through my head and rewinding.
“You killed Orestis, yes?” I asked my uncle.
He went shifty eyed. “I told you already.”
“Orestis?” Grandma said. “Orestis who ?”
“NSA agent,” I said. “Orestis Papadimitriou.”
She turned pale. “Po-po , is this true, Kostas?”
“Maybe.”
Before she could get another word in, I tossed my question at Uncle
Kostas. “Were you the one feeding Marika messages?”
“Directions? What directions?” His attention slid back to Winkler. “Thea
—my money, please.”
So he wasn’t the mysterious voice in Marika’s ear. Interesting.
“Did you blow up Winkler’s Mercedes? ”
“No,” he said. “Now skasmos and let the adults do business, Katerina.”
“How do you want it?” Winkler asked him .
“A million in cash. Wire the rest to this account.” He handed her a slip of
paper.
She nodded. “Johann.”
Johann exited the kitchen. When he came back it was with a gun to his
head and a suitcase in his hand. The man holding the gun was Detective
Melas. And holding a gun to Melas’s head was Dad. My father looked alive
and well. Clean. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.
“Dad!”
Dad winked at me. “Stay calm,” he said. Then he looked at my uncle.
“Hey, malaka , get that gun away from my daughter or I will kill you .”
Lots of stunned faces. But not me, not Xander, and—very interesting—
not Grandma.
“Leave the Melas boy out of it, Michail,” she said. “He is just doing
his job .”
Dad lowered the gun. “Nikos Melas? Helena’s son?” He clapped Melas
on the shoulder. “I did not recognize you. But you will have to step aside.
This one is mine .”
Uncle Kostas laughed. “What are you talking about, malaka ?”
I watched my father reach into his jacket and pull out a leather wallet. He
flipped it open for his little brother. My uncle turned parchment white.
“NIS,” he whispered.
Then he turned around and shot at me. My own uncle.
That rat bastard.
Xander vaulted over the table, sending the open laptops flying. He
grabbed me as I started to crumple, out of shock mostly. The bullet had
struck my arm, and now I was going to die—again. Fabulous .
The room spun .
Xander scooped me up .
“Get her out of here,” Dad said. “You know what to do .”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. Arm burning, I wriggled out of
Xander’s grasp. He grabbed me again but he couldn’t contain my feet. One
shot out and nailed Uncle Kostas right in the baby maker.
The kitchen filled with the primal cry of a knackered male. Uncle Kostas,
hunched over his own groin, looked up at me, his eyes wet and furious. He
lunged.
Melas lifted his own weapon and smacked my uncle in the head. Uncle
Kostas made an oof sound and dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The room exploded in a flurry of movement. Guns came out. Accusations
were made .
And then Grandma fired a warning shot into the ceiling, using a gun I
didn’t realize she’d brought to this Tupperware party.
Everybody stopped.
“I always wanted to do that,” Grandma said. “Sister, you are under
arrest.”
We all gawked at her. Even Dad and Xander were slack jawed.
“I like this,” Grandma went on. “All of you looking like fish with your
mouths open. I bet you never saw that coming, did you ?”
Winkler started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. “Arrest? What are you,
the nursing home police? Are you going to take our pudding if we don’t
behave?”
“Interpol,” Grandma said casually.
Dad slumped against the doorframe. “Interpol?”
Xander looked dazed. He and Dad were making serious eye contact .
“Interpol,” I said faintly. “Raise your hand if you’re not secretly law
enforcement.” My good hand went up. Either everyone else in Winkler’s
fancy kitchen was working for the law or they weren’t taking my request
seriously. “Marika?”
“I am just a bodyguard and a mother,” she said, bewildered.
Winkler’s face was turning colors. Pinks and purples. Rosy shades.
“Under arrest for what? The same crimes you commit every day, sister?”
“Counterfeiting is a serious crime. We have been watching you for
some time .”
“You came here to make the buy, too, no ?”
Grandma’s lips were a grim, thin line. “No. I never had any intention of
outbidding you .”
Dad was rubbing his head, trying to parse this version of his mother with
the Baboulas he knew and love-hated, no doubt. “This is our case,” he said.
“If anyone is taking Winkler it’s the NIS. This is why we came here, Orestis
and me .”
Even here, even now, he didn’t out Xander—Xander who hadn’t
answered his phone earlier when I could have really used a cavalry.
Xander who had, finally, recovered from the shock of Grandma’s reveal.
Takis didn’t look surprised. Ditto Stavros and Elias. Either they knew
Grandma’s secret before they walked in here, or they didn’t care. Loyalty was
loyalty.
“NIS is Greece,” Grandma said. “Interpol is the world. Call your boss if
you need to, Michail, but she will tell you the same thing. Do not worry, I
will make sure you get recognition. The work you have been doing is good .”
High praise. The tips of Dad’s ears turned pink .
Meanwhile poor Melas was looking bewildered. “Are you saying …
you’re a policeman, Kyria Katerina?”
“Be a good boy and put those handcuffs of yours on Winkler, please,”
Grandma said .
Winkler wagged her finger. “Oh, no, no. I am going nowhere with you .”
“You do not have a choice.” Grandma rose from her wheelchair, suddenly
far more mobile than she should have been, under the circumstances.
Circumstances being that she broke her hip in a table dancing accident.
“You heal fast,” I said .
“Praise the Virgin Mary, it is a miracle,” she said dryly.
What about the cancer?
Fake broken hip. My faked death. Fake cancer wasn’t a leap. This wasn’t
the time and place. I stood back as Melas and Takis presented Winkler with
handcuffs.
Winkler folded her arm. “No. You can’t make me .”
“Please cooperate,” Melas said .
“I want my lawyers.”
“Your lawyers can meet us in Athens,” Grandma told her. “Takis will
call them .”
“This is skata .” Winkler spat on the ground.
“Come, your cooking is not that bad,” Grandma said purposely
misunderstanding her. “Not as good as mine, true, but it has not killed anyone
yet, unless you intended it to .”
Winkler tried running next, but the doorway was blocked. Uncle Kostas
was a heap on the ground, and Dad was there with a gun. (It was weird seeing
him this way, yet the gun looked at home in his hand.) Melas caught her. She
flopped on the ground, a boneless geriatric toddler, legs flailing, arms doing
the windmill.
“If I do this and someone gets hurt, that is not my fault,” she cried .
Grandma went digging in her handbag. She pulled out a stun gun and shot
Winkler in the ass. Melas cuffed the woman while she was down .
Grandma took Winkler’s place at the chopping board. “All this conflict
has made me hungry. Who else is hungry?”
Everybody except Winkler raised their hands.
Even though I was dying, I managed.
Chapter
Seventeen
While Grandma cooked, Xander helped me upstairs. Winkler’s fancy digs

came with an infirmary that was equipped to deal with all of life’s little
medical emergencies, like gunshot wounds.
Xander worked quickly and quietly while I cried and cursed in two
languages.
“It’s not enough,” I said while he stitched. He’d administered a local
anesthetic but I could still feel the needle and the tugging of skin. “I need
more languages to curse in. I feel limited with just two. Ow !”
He rolled backwards on the stool and rifled through the cupboards,
checking labels on various bottled pills. He shook two pills into his palm,
poured me a glass of water. He held the water while I put the pills in my
mouth, then he lifted the glass to help me drink.
“Thanks,” I said .
He said nothing.
Dad came in to check on me, and when he was satisfied that Xander was
doing a good job, he kissed my hair and said he’d be downstairs. Marika
came in, too. She had things to say but my brain wasn’t braining so good, and
my mouth wasn’t wording words.
“It’s going be okay,” someone said. The voice was unfamiliar but I’d
heard the words before. Somewhere. Somewhen.
I giggled. I tried to stifle the sound with my hand and poked my eye
instead.
“Oops,” I said .
Then I passed out .
I woke up on Grandma’s plane.

Then I woke up again when we landed.
Finally I woke up in a bed that wasn’t mine and a bed that wasn’t
Grandma’s spare, either. My arm was throbbing, and my mouth tasted like a
nightclub floor on a Sunday morning. Something was watching me.
Something out of a nightmare. A crater with yellowing eyes and a grinning
mouth.
“Papou?” I asked.
Papou cackled. “When I was young, women never fell asleep in my bed
.”
“Because they were desperate to escape?”
He swatted my head. “You are lucky I did not let Yiorgos eat you. He
looked like he wanted to peck your eyes out .”
“I’ll leave them to him in my will, I promise.”
That swat turned into a pat. “You are a good girl, Katerina, and I am glad
you are not dead. But do not tell anyone I said that, okay? Everyone will
think I am a woman.”
No one would ever mistake Papou for a woman. Sometimes it was
difficult to even pin a species to him. He rolled away, leaving me to ponder
my surroundings.
Xander’s apartment. Now I recognized it. I was in his bed, between his
sheets. But where was Xander?
“How are you feeling?”
Dad. He was in the doorway, looking he always did when I was sick .
“Like I got shot,” I said. “You ?”
“Like I am not good at my job if I let my daughter get shot .”
“For the record, your brother is kind of an asshole. Where is he ?”
Dad sat on the edge of Xander’s bed. “Where he belongs.”
“Prison?”
He shrugged.
“Dad …”
“In a federal facility. More than that I cannot say .”
A long, ragged sigh broke out of my chest. “Our family is insane.”
“All families are crazy, but … this one is crazier than most. I am sorry,
Katerina. I should have told you. Your mother wanted us to tell you a long
time ago, before she—“ he swallowed, “—before she left us .”
A bead of hope welled up in one of my heart’s warm chambers. “Is Mom,
you know, really dead? She’s not secretly alive and a pirate or CIA ?”
“Yes, she is gone. I could not protect her, either. What kind of man am I,
Katerina?”
My heart grabbed its blankie and hunkered down for the long, motherless
winter. But I still had Dad. He was here. He was now. Okay, so he wasn’t
who I thought he was, but he was a good man. Well, a goodish man .
“You’re my favorite dad . ”
Dad laughed. “I am your only dad .”
“Even if you were gay and I had two you’d be my favorite.”
After Grandma had zapped Winkler in the ass and Xander had whisked
me away to the infirmary, it hadn’t taken long for the Winkler home to come
under siege by law enforcement, celebrating the takedown of a kingpin. The
newspapers speculated, because that’s what newspapers do, but they were
thin on facts. They didn’t know about Dad, about Grandma, about the rest of
the Makris family members clustered in Winkler’s kitchen, because by the
time Winkler and her people were hauled away, the rest of us were winging
our way back to Greece.
Uncle Kostas had killed Orestis Papadimitriou. He’d killed our driver and
stuffed him in a garbage can in the mall’s parking lot because Uncle Kostas
really liked money and unbeknownst to Winkler her driver had been another
undercover NIS agent, standing between my uncle and his payday.
“What happened to Dina?” I asked Dad .
“Dina? Dina who ?”
I gave him a look—the look. “Your ex girlfriend. The one you forgot to
break up with before jumping the boat to the Americas. Dina who was tied up
in the back of Grandma’s SUV outside Winkler’s place.” Dina, whose whole
life was a shrine to Dad .
“Dina?” He laughed, short and hard. “I forgot about her .”
“Please never let her hear you say that—or at least stand behind
bulletproof glass first.”
“She has issues, eh ?”
“Issue,” I said. “Just the one .”
Up until now Dad had been perched on the edge of the bed. He changed
positions, sitting on the bed, legs stretched out, arm around me. Rainclouds
cleared up. World peace reigned. Mosquitos and spiders dropped dead. It was
an illusion, but I’d take what I could get .
“The moment I met your mother there was nobody, until you came along.
Then it was you and her, and the two of you were my world. But you are
saying Dina was at Winkler’s? She was not there when we left .”
“Was there blood? Uncle Kostas shot her. There should have been
blood.”
Years of living in the USA had turned him a little bit American. He shook
his head instead of doing the chin lift. “No blood.”
“Weird …”
“A mystery for another day, okay? Today we are alive and in Greece.”
“Opa?”
“Opa,” he said .
I didn't go to Grandma. She came to me while I was loitering around in

Xander’s bed. She looked the same as ever, like she’d lost a battle with time,
gravity, and a roll of black cotton.
“Here,” she said. “I brought you a gift .”
Koulourakia . Green-flecked.
Pot wasn’t my thing, but with the pain in my arm I was half tempted—
maybe three-quarters.
“Where is Xander?” I asked her .
“Athens. He offered his room while you recuperate. Better for you to be
here than in my shack with me, eh? The bathroom is close …”
Athens. So far away .
“The bathroom is inside,” I said glumly .
Her laugh was gummy. She leaned sat on edge of the bed and patted my
hand. “I hate that outhouse. If it were up to me I would burn it down .”
“So why don’t you ?”
“What else am I going to leave you when I die, eh?” Then she winked.
“So, you’re Interpol.”
“Amongst other things, yes. The thing about the world, Katerina, is that
you can be many things.”
“You fight crime, but …”
“I also do crime, yes? To fight crime sometimes you have to get your
hands bloody and your reputation dirty.” She pressed her fist to her chest. “I
have paid prices, my doll. My soul looks like a Turk has been using it for a
toilet. But I have done good, important things, too. So in the end I think God
and I will be okay .”
“Why did you fake the broken hip ?”
“I wanted people to think I was vulnerable.”
“Do you really have cancer?”
“Yes, but it is in remission now .”
“And the marijuana?”
“I just really like it.” She reached for the container of koulourakia . “You
want some? It is the best marijuana money can buy .”
“I think I’ll pass, but thank you .”
“More for me.” Her dark, watery eyes twinkled. “I am sorry I had to have
you killed.”
“Am I still dead ?”
“Too many people have seen you, and I cannot make them all believe
they are seeing ghosts. A few of them, yes, but not all .”
“Why did you do it ?”
“You have friends in high places, my doll. But when you have friends in
high places you also have enemies in those high places.”
“But I haven’t done anything! I’m just a bill collector.”
“You are the granddaughter of a woman who occupies two very high
places, a woman who loves you with all her heart. There are some who say
Baboulas does not have a heart, but they are wrong. I have one and it is big.
Well-hidden, but big. And my enemies would very much like to hurt you to
hurt me. They know what I know, that family is more important than money
and power. So I had to take you off the board to keep you safe .”
“You sent me to Winkler!”
“She is family. She understands.”
I understood. I did. But she was making calls she had no right to make.
And when I told her that, she nodded.
“You are right. You are a grown woman with your whole life ahead of
you. Of course your whole life might last five more minutes, but all I can do
is give you bodyguards and let you live it .”
I was curious about something else. “What happened to that doctor you
wanted to set me up with ?”
“He went home with Hera .”
I laugh-snorted. I was full of questions and I wasn’t sure there were
enough answers to satisfy me—not without a flowchart. I looked around
Xander’s apartment. His things were here but it felt empty without him .
“When is Xander coming back ?”
“That I do not know. When he is finished briefing the NIS .”
“But he’s your bodyguard.”
“Do not worry, Katerina, he will be back .”
I shook my head. “I’m not worried.”
Grandma gave me a look. “My only granddaughter … you remind me
of me .”
While I was recuperating, life happened in disjointed chunks.

Baby Dimitri called me .
“A lucky thing happened in Germany. Your grandmother and I, we got
away before the authorities came. Very lucky.”
“Very lucky.”
“We must be the luckiest people in the world,” he said casually. “I
wonder what happened to your uncle?”
“I guess we’ll never know,” I said .
He laughed and laughed. “Do you know what you need, Katerina Makris-
with-an-s ?”
“What?”
“New shoes. Come see me sometime soon. I am expecting a shipment
next week .”
“Shoes?”
“What else? I am a simple shoe salesman, remember?”
Grandma pulled some strings and brought me back to life. The call center
representative fell all over himself trying to placate me. I didn’t need
placating. I was fine. I was alive, and so was Dad .
The next morning, my aunt stuck her head around the door. Aunt Rita,
sedate from neck to toe in a wrap dress and knee-high boots had gone all-out
from the neck up. Platinum afro and more glitter than a strip club .
“There is a delivery here for you .”
I sat up in Xander’s bed. “What is it ?”
She paused. Waggled her head from side to side before answering. “You
should come and see .”
“Is it bigger than a breadbox?”
“So much bigger.”
She helped me slip into a dress—my arm was stiff and sore—and made
sure I didn’t embarrass the whole family by running out in bare feet .
Outside in the courtyard stood a cow. White. Big horns. Sweet,
docile face .
“Wow,” I said. “Just what I always wanted.”
“There is a note,” my aunt said, handing it to me .
It was from the bank’s Indian call center. They were very, very sorry they
had mistaken me for dead and wanted me to have this cow .
Grandma waddled out of her yard, hose in hand. “What is that ?”
“Cow,” I said .
Papou rolled over in his wheelchair. Yiorgos the eagle was using the
stuffed bird as a chair. At least that’s what I told myself.
The old man cackled. “You say it is a cow. I say it is delivery. When do
we eat ?”
“Nobody is eating my cow,” I said. “What’s your bird doing, anyway?”
His smile turned upside down. “I think he is a pousti . Too much time in
prison, watching men drop soap in the showers.” He rolled away, slapping at
the birds.
“Takis,” Grandma barked, “take the cow to the farm. If it eats my roses I
will cook it myself.”
Takis jogged over, muttering to himself. “Why me ?”
Elias appeared at my side. His arms were folded and he was laughing.
“Your family is never boring.” He and Stavros had been taking turns,
camping on the couch in Xander’s apartment.
Elias was right, my family was the antithesis of dull. I’d gone from being
one person away from alone in the world to being part of a huge, vibrant, and
corrupt whole. I’d never had pets, and now I had my own goat and cow .
The day was the coolest one yet. Summer had packed its bags and was
beginning its migration south. And when it came back, where would I be ?
Who would I be ?
I shivered.
Elias looked worried. “You okay, boss ?”
“Fine. I need to get some fresh air. I’m going for a drive.”
“Want me to ride with you ?”
“Thanks, but I’m good .”
Grandma didn’t look happy. “It is too soon. Your arm …”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m going to crazy if I sit around here .”
“Then you will be just like the rest of us,” Stavros said .
“We will be with her, Kyria Katerina,” Elias said. He and Stavros
followed me to the garage, where my yellow VW Beetle was waiting.
There was someone leaning against it. Someone tall and gorgeous and
male. And he liked kissing me—a lot. I liked kissing him, too. Today he was
in black boots. Jeans. Dark, plain T-shirt that hugged his lean muscles in all
the right places. He looked up. His face broke out in a big smile, and all of it
was aimed at me .
“Are you slumming, Detective Melas?”
The smile evolved into a grin. “Going somewhere?”
“For a drive.”
“Makes two of us.” He opened the passenger door. I slipped past him and
slid into the driver’s seat .
“My car. I’m driving.”
He made a big production of crossing himself, but it was all in good fun .
“Where are we going?” he asked me .
“Don’t know . ”
“What a coincidence: that is exactly where I want to go .”
I hugged the coast, all the way from Volos to Agria, to Platanida, to
villages that weren’t about to give up their names.
Then I drove back .
Melas didn’t speak the whole time. Neither of us did. He held my hand
and flipped off drivers who were being total dicks—which was most of them
.
“You hungry?” he asked me, as we hit the outskirts of Volos. Within
seconds we were back in the city. Volos’s outskirts are micro mini. It was a
short cruise up the mountain, back to the compound. I parked outside the
gates, alongside Melas’s cop car and flipped a wave at the cousin manning
the guard booth.
We got out and leaned against the cop car’s grille, side by side, and stared
at the sun .
The air shifted. Someone was trying to sneak up on me .
“I can smell you coming a kilometer away,” I told Donk .
“You want the Donk, I know. Everyone does .”
He was all dressed up in slacks and a button-down shirt. I barely
recognized him without a mile of boxer short on display.
“Why aren’t you in school?” I said .
“School is over for today.”
The clock on my phone said he was right. It was mid-afternoon already
and Greek school finished at lunchtime.
“What’s with the …” I waved my hand at his—for him—fancy outfit.
“I’m here to see someone.” He puffed up his chest. “We have a date .”
Melas didn’t bother hiding his grin .
I raised my eyebrows. “A date? With someone in my family?”
“Why not ?”
“Because apart from me, every woman in my family is married.”
Melas’ smile started to wither. That’s because he’d dipped his pen in the
family ink and had an affair with one of the wives. They even had a child
together, a boy Melas couldn’t claim as his own. Who the other parties were I
didn’t know. It was better that way. Plausible deniability.
But Donk was no Melas.
“Good luck,” I said. “Call me if you wind up wearing concrete boots.”
He pointed two finger guns at me then set off for the front gate .
Melas waited until Baby Dimitri’s nephew was out of earshot before
striking.
“So you found your father.”
“More like he found me .”
“And he’s really NIS ?”
“Apparently.”
“And Baboulas works for Interpol?” He sounded bewildered
“I don’t understand any of this either.”
“Want to come back to my place and make out ?”
I did. I really did. But not tonight. When I told him he lifted my hand and
stamped a kiss on the palm .
“I understand.” He stared down at his boots. The air between us gained
weight. “I need to ask you something. What happened to your uncle and
Winkler?”
“Winkler is in some kind of Interpol prison. Uncle Kostas … I don’t
know. Somewhere NIS approved.”
“I did not think it would be possible for your family to be a bigger mess,
yet here we are . ”
He was right. It was like holding a bunch of wires, all of them leading to
various bombs, and not knowing which to cut—or whether I should cut them
at all .
“So if I kiss you,” Melas said, “will I get the concrete boots?”
“I can’t make any promises. My family is unpredictable.”
He pulled out his phone, sent me a text message. I read it then and there.
“ ‘For a good time call Nikos,’ ” I quoted.
“Did I say good? I meant great.”
He got in his car and drove away, tires spitting sepia clouds of dust. I
watched until the road curved and he vanished, and then I fired up my own
wheels and rolled up to the gates.
“I’m glad you are not dead,” my cousin said from inside the guardhouse.
“When you become Baboulas do you think I could get a promotion? I want to
do something different. Maybe I could be a henchman.”
The courtyard was quiet. The family dogs raised their heads at the sounds of
my footsteps. A couple wandered over to slobber on me. My goat bounded
over to snuffle my hand, before being immediately distracted by an
abandoned shoelace that he simply had to eat. At this very moment no one
wanted to kill me—not that I knew of, anyway. Grandma wasn’t going to die
in prison, and Dad was alive and a decent human being. It was good to know
my entire family wasn’t pure evil. They were evil lite, at worst. Work was
waiting for me. Well, not waiting , on account of how my boss was on
crutches and my workplace had burnt down. But somewhere out there was a
job with my name on it .
Great. Time for me to pack my bags and jump on a homeward-bound
plane.
I went back to Xander’s empty apartment. I opened his refrigerator.
Empty except a water jug and three bottles of Epsa lemonade. I wandered
into the bedroom, flung his closet open .
Enough black to send ripples of envy through a goth. Suits hanging
neatly. Cargo pants folded in neat piles. Boots lined up like soldiers.
My heart felt light but my gut was filled with rocks. Xander had carried
me out danger more times than I could count, and now he wasn’t here .
I sent him a text message, thanking him for letting me use his apartment. I
didn’t tell him what I was feeling, because my feelings were zinging all over
the place. Until my feet were on steady ground I couldn’t trust myself to
make decisions, which was why I’d turned Melas away. Gorgeous, hunky
Melas. Dangerous, delicious Xander. I’d kissed both men and both times the
earth had moved. My love life had been experiencing a drought. Plenty of
decent guys around but no one with chemistry. Not one single baking soda
and vinegar volcano. All it took was one small kidnapping and now my
whole life was lava .
A small ping from my phone. A small message.
From Xander.
It’s going to be okay .
Chapter
Eighteen
Spontaneity used to be for other people. Back in Portland I’d lived life
according to a template. Get up. Go to work. Netflix in the evening. Drinks
with friends with friends on the weekends—at least until they partnered up
and began the sticky business of ensuring the species didn’t become extinct.
Dinner at a different restaurant with Dad on Saturday nights. A quiet life. A
small, comfortable life. This new life was messy and complicated. I had more
questions than answers, but at least I had Dad. I had no idea why Dad’s
buddies had hauled him out of our Portland home or why they thought
Grandma was after him. There would be time for asking those questions later,
when I got back from my road trip .
I peeled out of the compound garage, Elias at the wheel of a black SUV
behind me. I’d like to say I drove all night, but I arrived in Athens before
midnight, a scant five hours after I’d left Mount Pelion.
Thanks to GPS I found the address I was looking for. Nice hotel. Not
fancy, but no one tried to sell me drugs as I trotted I across the parking lot
either. I took the stairs to the second floor. My butt was numb after all those
hours behind the wheel. My arm throbbed every so often, just to remind me
how close I’d come to death and how skulking around hotels at midnight was
me turning my nose up at my luck .
I strode along the hallway with confidence I didn’t feel, unwavering until
I reached Room 220. I glanced at Elias, who was standing fifteen feet away,
armed to the teeth. He gave me an encouraging smile and two thumbs up .
This was ridiculous. There was no way I could do this—whatever this was
.
But that was horse hooey, wasn’t it? I knew exactly why I was here, what
I’d come for .
I knocked.
There was long moment where I thought nothing would happen, that I’d
come all this way for nothing.
The door opened. Xander’s eyes met mine. He leaned against the
doorframe, hands in the pockets of faded jeans, no shirt, damp, tousled hair.
He looked like he was expecting company. No—he looked like he was
expecting me , and he really liked it now that I was here .
“ ‘It’s going to be okay,’ ” I said, repeating his text message. The words
he’d spoken to me as I was passing out in Winkler’s infirmary. The words
he’d whispered when Grandma had me fake-killed.
“I was wondering how long it would take you,” he said. “You’d better
come in .”
T HANK YOU FOR READING OUTTA CRIME, K AT ’ S 5 TH A DVENTURE .

W ANT TO STAY IN G REECE ? NIGHT CRIME , K AT M AKRIS #6, IS
OUT NOW .
If you’d like to save money on new releases, subscribe to my newsletter

right here : http://eepurl.com/ZSeuL ), or Like my page on Facebook (
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All my best ,
Alex A. King
Also by Alex
A. King
Disorganized Crime (Kat Makris #1 )

Trueish Crime (Kat Makris #2 )
Doing Crime (Kat Makris #3 )
In Crime (Kat Makris #4 )
Outta Crime (Kat Makris #5 )
Night Crime (Kat Makris #6 )
Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece #1 )

One and Only Sunday (Women of Greece #2 )
Freedom the Impossible (Women of Greece #3 )
Light is the Shadow (Women of Greece #4 )
No Peace in Crazy (Women of Greece #5 )
Summer of the Red Hotel (Women of Greece #6 )
Family Ghouls (Greek Ghouls #1 )

Royal Ghouls (Greek Ghouls #2 )
Pride and All This Prejudice
As Alex King :
Lambs

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M ARIKA BUSTLED AWAY , leaving me with a growling stomach and a burning

Binoculars. Snacks. Everything I needed for a casual stakeout. What I needed

“You are not dead .”

At 4:30 I was at the school’s front gate, waiting on Grandma’s emissary to

I grabbed my hair, closed my eyes .

Five hours later we touched down on the outskirts of Frankfurt and my

After dinner, Winkler entertained us with stories about various mobsters,

After lunch, Winkler suggested we go sightseeing without her. “You don’t

My knees wobbled. I flopped down on the ground, tucked my knees up under

Grandma called as we were en-route to the Crime Palace’s backyard.

I waved my hands at Marika, zipped my lips, and pointed to Detective Nikos

While Grandma cooked, Xander helped me upstairs. Winkler’s fancy digs

I woke up on Grandma’s plane.

I didn't go to Grandma. She came to me while I was loitering around in

While I was recuperating, life happened in disjointed chunks.

T HANK YOU FOR READING OUTTA CRIME, K AT ’ S 5 TH A DVENTURE .

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