“So, how did they hook up?”
“Sotiris leaned over and asked if she wanted to join us. She said, ‘No.’ He asked if he could buy her a drink. She said, ‘No.’ He asked if he could marry her, and she laughed.”
“That’s when he made his move,” said George. “He slid out of his chair and onto the one next to her.”
“He was the best at picking up girls. A super-
kamaki
,” said Theo.
They were talking more naturally than they had in front of their parents, and it made them sound like bravado-driven sixteen-year-olds; but he couldn’t fault them for being so naïve. Most men, make that virtually all, would be the same in pursuit of a woman that hot. And once there’s booze involved, every guy thinks he has a shot. It’s the Greek man’s mentality. They take great pride in what they imagine to be their skills at pursuing women, even describing their “whatever-it-takes” behavior by the name for the little trident their ancestors once used to hunt octopus:
kamaki.
“Did anyone else talk to her?”
“Not that I noticed,” said Theo.
Andreas looked at the other boy. George gave a quick upward jerk of his head in the Greek style for “no.”
“How long was she sitting there before Sotiris said something to her?”
“Maybe ten minutes,” said George.
Andreas shook his head. “Come on guys, the ‘greatest piece of ass’ ever to walk into one of the biggest
kamaki
joints in all of Athens is sitting alone at the table next to you, and no one but Sotiris talked to her? For ten seconds, maybe. For ten minutes, never. Someone must have. Think harder.” He raised his voice a bit.
Theo shook his head. “No, I never saw anyone talk to her.”
George shut his eyes. “I’m trying to remember, but neither of us ever spoke to her, either. And, once Sotiris joined her, the table was off-limits.”
“What do you mean, ‘off-limits’?”
George opened his eyes. “We knew he was doing his thing and we didn’t want to interfere. So we started talking to other friends and left them alone.”
“And the bouncers kept everyone else away from her table.” It was Theo.
“What bouncers?”
“Two guys in club tee shirts.”
“Was that before or after Sotiris was with her?”
“After.”
George added, “But I saw them stop a few different guys heading toward her table before Sotiris spoke to her. I remember, because I was trying to guess who she might be waiting for.”
“Why did the bouncers stop them?”
George shook his head. “Don’t know, but our table and hers were in a section of the club set off from the rest of the room by a velvet rope. The club decided who got past the rope and where they could sit. Maybe she told them she wanted to be alone.”
Andreas looked at Kouros, rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then dropped his hands to smack his thighs as he focused back on the boys. “So, can you describe the two bouncers?”
George answered. “Probably late twenties, both about six-four, two hundred-forty pounds, shaved heads, close-cropped beards, dark. They looked like every other gorilla-bouncer you expect to see in a club.”
Andreas had the boys run through the rest of what they remembered. Sotiris had left with the girl about forty minutes after they started talking, telling his friends he wouldn’t be back that night and if his parents called the next day to ask where he was, they should say he was “asleep at Theo’s house.” It would not be the first time they’d told that story to Sotiris’ parents. Andreas made them repeat everything three more times, with Kouros getting in some practice in the bad cop role. He shook them up a bit, but what they said remained essentially unchanged: nothing seemed out of the ordinary to either of them, although George recalled one of the bouncers disappeared shortly before Sotiris and the girl left the club. They never saw their friend again.
They took the back streets of Psychiko into Athens. It was evening rush hour and, though at times it seemed they were following roads laid out by pavers chasing wandering goats, this was the fastest way back to headquarters.
“I think we should stop by the Angel Club before it gets busy.” Andreas hadn’t said much since getting in the car.
“That won’t be until after midnight.”
“I meant before it opens. I doubt the two gorillas with the girl worked there or, if they did, they’re still around, but the ever-charming Angel Club staff is our only lead to them.”
Kouros glanced in the direction of their office as he drove across Alexandras Avenue onto a road leading to one that wound around Lykavittos, Athens’ majestic sister hill to the Acropolis. This was a long way to get to the club, but potentially quicker in traffic. On the east side of Lykavittos lay Kolonaki, where wealthy Athenians preferring a more citified lifestyle lived among post-World War II apartment buildings and the rare traditional home not yet sacrificed to developers.
Kouros dodged his way through Kolonaki and the bustling back streets of old Athenian neighborhoods aiming for Pireos Street.
“I think we better be ready for trouble,” said Andreas.
“Should we call for backup?”
Andreas shook his head. “No, then we’d have to behave.” He grinned and shot a light jab at Kouros’ arm. “We’re better off if they think we’re as nasty as they are. That way they might try to make a deal. If we come in with backup, they’ll just call for a lawyer.”
“Someone at that club had to be in on—” Kouros slammed on his brakes as a motorcyclist shot in front of them out of a garage. “
Malaka!
The bastard never looked!”
“Nice language.” Andreas nibbled at his lower lip. “Yeah, it was a setup from the start. An irresistible girl at the next table, gorillas keeping everyone else away.” Andreas shook his head. “I just find it hard to believe that someone from a family as prominent as the Linardos family would be behind such a premeditated, cold-blooded killing of an innocent sixteen year-old boy.”
“To get back at the father for what he did to the Linardos girl?”
“I understand the motive, Yianni. It’s just that killing a child as revenge for the sins of the father…” he let the words trail off. “How could anyone be so naïve or arrogant not to realize a Linardos would be our number one suspect?”
“Maybe the boy wasn’t supposed to die; something went wrong?”
“Maybe. But as bizarre as it sounds, the parents’ reaction wasn’t complete shock at what happened to their boy. It was almost as if they knew something like that
could
happen, and an idea of who did it.”
“Which brings us back to the Linardos family.”
“Like I said, suspect number one.” Andreas stared out the window. “Assuming a Linardos is behind this, the only way I see of proving it is working our way link-by-link up the chain from the actual killers, most likely the two gorillas with the girl.”
Kouros nodded. “Should we start interviewing the family members?”
“Can’t think of a better way to meet a lot of very connected lawyers. We’d need something concrete before taking on one of the most powerful families in Greece, but what the hell, let’s at least take a run at the head of the family. I’ll have Maggie set up an appointment for this afternoon with the grandfather, the one who runs the newspaper.”
“Speaking of the papers, have they picked up on the murder?”
“Don’t know, I’m sure Maggie will tell us if it’s out there.” Andreas tried calling her but it wouldn’t go through. “Damn it, the phone reception here is as bad as on Lykavittos.”
“Nice language, Chief.”
Andreas smiled. “Never mind, we’re almost at the Angel Club, we’ll try again when we’re finished here.” He pointed to a glitzy black-glass and steel, one-story warehouse-size building on the right. “Pull over there, and be sure to block the front door. Let’s start pissing them off.”
Pissing off the crew at the Angel Club wasn’t something most sane people did. At least not those who wanted to keep breathing. Those who ran it, not the owners on the license, came from one of the most ruthless and powerful clans in Greece. Notoriously short-tempered and proud, it took very little to set them off. But they worked hard at reining in their natural propensities for violence in order to profit off the more civilized city-folk they drew into their club. And profit they did, not just from its high cover charges and questionably formulated booze, but from drugs grown and processed back home in their hillside villages.
Middlemen sold their brands at a premium in Amsterdam and other drug-friendly European cities, but in Greece the consumer bought directly at the Angel Club or other hot-spot clubs in their network. Their business was so long-standing and well-organized that police rarely challenged them, and almost never back in their villages, where their power, influence, manpower, and armaments often outnumbered all but the army.
These were the guys Andreas wanted to piss off.
***
Maggie saw from the incoming calls listed on her computer that the chief was trying to reach her. She called back but there was no answer. She had news for him on the Kostopoulos case. He wouldn’t be happy. Preliminary autopsy results were back. The boy was dead by three a.m. from strangulation; the marks about his neck showed no signs of a struggle and were consistent with those on a victim trying to achieve an asphyxiation-high during intercourse; his penis was badly bruised and scraped from yet to be determined causes; and he was sodomized multiple times, by multiple partners, again with no signs of a struggle.
The media will love this. It was all the evidence they need for endless, “Rough Sex Night Gone Bad” headlines, and he-got-what-he-deserved slants to every story. Yes, the chief definitely wouldn’t be happy.
***
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Andreas looked at Kouros, then back at the pro wrestler-size giant standing in the vestibule of the Angel Club. He was dressed all in black, with a gold “A” embroidered on the lapel of his jacket. Andreas pointed his left index finger at his own chest and said meekly, “Us?”
The giant gestured to a slightly smaller version of himself standing just inside the club to step into the vestibule. “These two assholes are looking for trouble.” He glared at Andreas.
Andreas smiled and looked at Kouros. “I guess we should introduce ourselves,” and then fixed his eyes on the giant, all the while keeping his index finger aimed at his chest. “We’re police. Yianni, please show this gentleman your credentials.”
The giant took a step toward Andreas. “If you’re cops, get the hell around the back with the rest of the help. Only paying customers come in the front.”
Andreas didn’t move or say a word; just continued to smile and point at himself.
The giant was two steps from Andreas. “Asshole, if you don’t get the fuck out of here, you’re gonna get hurt real bad.” The second guy stepped into the vestibule and stood facing Kouros, arms crossed and glaring. Kouros didn’t budge.
The giant took another step forward and was halfway into his next when Andreas drove the heel of his left hand full-thrust up, into, and through the giant’s jaw. A perfect, never-saw-it-coming knockout.
Before the giant hit the floor Andreas had turned to face the second man, now reaching for something in his jacket pocket. “Uhh, uh,” said Andreas, waving a finger at him. “Play nice.”
The guy paused, as if not sure what to do. But Kouros did. He delivered a Champions League-quality soccer shot directly to the man’s balls. Two down.
“Nice work,” said Andreas. “Now, smile to the camera,” pointing to the security camera above the door to the club, “show your badge,” pulling his own out from beneath his shirt so that it hung free on the cord about his neck, “and let’s make sure they get some good shots of these,” pulling a nine millimeter semi-automatic from the belt of the giant and taking from Kouros the similar one he’d removed from the jacket of the other guy.
Andreas waved the guns in front of the camera and yelled, “
We were in mortal fear for our lives. Now get your ass down here, Giorgio!
”
Everyone knew Giorgio, at least everyone in law enforcement. He ran the place for the clan back in his village. Although Greek, he preferred the Italian version of his name. Probably would have liked to hear “Don” in front of it too.
Two minutes later a slight, trim, swarthy man dressed all in white appeared in the doorway. His head completely shaved, his three-day-old beard jet black. No way of telling if he was in his thirties or forties. Two more giants were with him. “Andreas, my friend, come in. Please.”
Andreas nodded and stepped inside. They’d tangled before. Andreas still was holding both pistols. He handed one to Kouros as he passed him and Kouros fell into step right behind him.
All the lights were on at this hour, so that the club’s faceless crew of Eastern-European workers could ready the place for the crowds of Greeks to come. In bright light there was no mystery here. The burgundy carpets and matching, bordello-style banquettes were a mash of cigarette burns, spike-heel stiletto tears, and stains from spilled drinks and God knew what else. Long, black Formica-top and metal-leg tables filled the center of the room. They were nearly as badly beaten-up as the mostly matching chairs.
Every bit of wall space was black, except for a huge video screen that dominated the wall behind the block-long bar at the far end. The club ran nonstop ads on that screen for whatever brand of cigarettes or booze was willing to pay, filled with sounds of the hottest new music and images of nearly naked, please-fuck-me-looking young girls.
“Here’s fine,” said Andreas. They were about ten feet from the door. No reason to go any further, especially with three more all-in-black gorillas standing about twenty feet further inside.
Giorgio smiled. “Nice touch, setting up those two like you did.”
“You never did much go for the brains, Georgy.” Andreas knew he hated being called Georgy.
Giorgio stopped smiling. “Too bad they threatened you on camera.”
“Yeah, modern security cameras are a great boon to law enforcement.”
“So, what the fuck do you want?” The fangs were showing.
“Want to know about a certain lady who was in your place last night.”
Giorgio snickered. “That narrows things down.”
“She was in probably between midnight and one, sat in your private area and ‘was the greatest piece of ass ever to walk into your place.’”
“As they say, ‘Beauty’s in the eyes of the beholder.’” He wasn’t cooperating.
“This one was all in red.”
He shrugged. “Still, don’t remember.”
“Two of your gorillas were watching out for her.”
“Still don’t know her.”
“Would a picture of her help?”
“No, I doubt it.” He was making clear there’d be no cooperation.
“Well, let’s see. Just to be sure. Who knows what you might remember when you have to.”
“I won’t.”
“Good, then you won’t mind showing me your tapes from last night, say, from between eleven and two?”
“Fuck you.”
Andreas smiled, and kept his eyes locked on Giorgio. “Yianni, call headquarters and tell them we need someone from the prosecutor’s office to get an order shutting down this shit-hole.”
Giorgio smirked this time. “Try.”
“Tell him two employees of the Angel Club, armed with unlicensed semi-automatic weapons, attacked the chief of the Special Crimes Division and his partner on club premises after the officers identified themselves as police. Be sure to tell him that the entire unprovoked attack was recorded on security cameras and undoubtedly carried out on the orders of club management to interfere with this division’s investigation into widespread drug trafficking on the premises.”
Giorgio wasn’t quite smiling, but still had a grin.
“And tell whichever son-of-a-bitch prosecutor handles this that if I don’t have an order signed and down here in two hours, his sorry ass is my next investigation.” Andreas smiled. “Just in case you might be thinking you have a buddy or two out there to help you.”
Giorgio clenched and unclenched his fists. The smile was gone.
Shutting down the club for even a couple of nights would lose him a lot of money. Andreas was betting money was more important to Giorgio and the people he answered to than his macho hatred of Andreas.
“Okay, asshole. This way.”
There were eight cameras in all, some in the most unexpected of places. More than a few customers must have found themselves starring in films they never intended to make. Andreas wondered how many of Athens’ rich and powerful were in Giorgio’s pocket because of their, or more likely their children’s, performances.
A small security room, more accurately a closet, stood next to the bar. It was furnished with a table filled with video equipment and two chairs facing a wall of monitors. Andreas stood over Giorgio, watching him copy the tapes. There would be no accidental erasures. Kouros stood outside the room, his back to the door and his eyes on the five giants. It took about a half-hour to make the copies, and not one man said a single unnecessary word the entire time, as if doing so might send the delicate equilibrium they’d achieved into irreversible chaos.
Andreas was anxious to see the tapes, but knew better than to do it here. He’d wait until they were back in friendlier surroundings. For now, he just verified the timelines to make sure they were getting what he wanted. He didn’t want to come back a second time. Giorgio only could be pushed so far, as he made clear in his through-the-teeth-smiling goodbye to Andreas:
“Come back soon. We’ll be expecting you.”
***
Andreas sat behind his desk staring out the window. There was nothing to see, but, then again, he wasn’t looking. He wondered how long before Kouros and the lab guys came up with something on the tapes. They’d been at it for over an hour. The preliminary autopsy report confirmed what Andreas suspected. Someone went to a lot of trouble and torture to make it seem like the kid got what he was looking for. And not just to the press; to the police, too. This was made to look like the kind of case cops don’t care if they ever close: one that simply fades away as an ignored, unattended file. And that bothered Andreas big time.