Jeffrey Siger - Sons of Sparta

Orestes waved his hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Let’s see. Greece’s finances are under microscopic scrutiny by a host of world financial powers to whom we owe umpteen zillion euros. It has a reputation as one of the most corrupt countries in the world, a disenchanted population heading more into poverty than out, political extremists in Parliament ready, willing, and, God forbid, able to plunge the country into civil war, and you think you can continue to do your little back room ‘a bit for me a bit for you’ bullshit dance to get anything you want out of our government? Wake up and smell the coffee, man. But you’d better hurry, for soon it, too, may not be Greek.”

“That’s just my point.”

“What is?”

“Greece should profit Greeks, not foreigners.”

“I assume you mean some Greeks.”

“Does it matter as long as the money stays in our country? If foreigners control our gas, the profits will leave our country. Greece will be nothing more than a colony, exploited to serve other countries.”

“Spare me the political rhetoric. Money squirreled away in Swiss bank accounts isn’t helping Greece.”

“But foreigners won’t care what happens to our beloved Greece. They’ll destroy our seas, our beaches, our very way of life to profit themselves.”

“You’re really trying to push every button, aren’t you? Trouble is, your facts are wrong. Foreigners have shown more concern than our government at protecting our environment. Greece has been penalized so often by the EU for environmental violations that fines are considered part of the cost of doing business here.”

Orestes impatiently waved off Andreas’ words. “I’m talking about massive, irreversible ecological disasters on the scale of what happened to America’s Gulf Coast in 2010 at the hands of disinterested foreigners. And look what the Russian geologists did to Turkmenistan in 1971. They tapped into a cavern filled with natural gas and started a fire that still burns today. The locals call it their ‘gate to hell.’ Then there’s Chernobyl. No one likes to talk about it anymore, but it still haunts and poisons us every day. If that’s the kind of foreign expertise the world has to offer us, I say no thank you.”

Andreas knew he was getting Orestes’ “Greece is for Greeks” bullshit sales pitch, not a search for truth. It was a lobbyist pitching to get his client what it wanted and damn everything else. But as insincere as Orestes undoubtedly was, the environmental issue was a real one, and it wouldn’t be prudent politics to give him an angle on claiming Andreas, and by extension Spiros’ ministry. He wasn’t concerned with environmental threats.

“I’m not sure environmental issues fall within the domain of my ministry, but I’m willing to look into what you’ve raised to see if any illegal activity might be compromising environmental safeguards.”

Orestes’ face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “That’s terrific. Come, let’s rejoin my party. Tomorrow I will give you the names and details of those you should be investigating.”

Before Andreas could respond, Orestes stood up and headed back toward his friends’ table. He waved for Andreas to follow. “No need for you to carry my glass and the bottle. The waiter will do that for me.”

Asshole .

***

Andreas stood outside El Malaga, trying to remember where he’d left his car. He’d been inside with Orestes and his crowd until four. Now he had a whole new batch of connected “friends” trying to draw him into their networks. It was age-old, lure-the-fly-to-the-spider style politics. Spiros said Andreas wouldn’t like the political game. Guess he was right about one thing .

Orestes had announced with a flourish to his table of friends that Special Crimes Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis has agreed to conduct an investigation into the efforts of certain foreign elements to exploit our nation’s resources for their own national interests. That brought on a round of toasts to Greece and to Andreas. It was pure theater, with Orestes cast in the role of noble savior of the nation, having found the “perfect” champion for their cause. Andreas had decided simply to smile. That was all Orestes really wanted anyway-the opportunity to play hero to his guests. Where it all would lead was something for Andreas to sort out with Spiros in the morning.

He remembered he’d parked his car on a sidewalk somewhere around a corner. He waved good night to Petro at the door and headed toward the corner in front of him.

Andreas knew to stay alert to his surroundings. On a scale running from white to red-white being asleep in your mother’s arms, red being balls-out raging with an AK-47-on the street he kept perpetually in orange. But with all he’d been drinking, at the moment it felt more like peach, as in Bellini. At the corner he turned left and saw his unmarked police car about a block away. He smiled. Right where I knew I left it .

Halfway to the car, two young men came running around the corner in front of him heading straight at him, with a third coming up fast behind them. Andreas backed into a doorway to let them pass. He heard the crack of a gunshot and saw one of the two men in front grab the back of his thigh and fall to the pavement five feet before the doorway. The other kept running. The third man stopped at the man on the ground and shot him three more times. He looked up, saw Andreas in the doorway, aimed his gun at him, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Andreas was on him like a wounded grizzly. He’d already snapped the man’s trigger finger yanking the gun out of his hand, broken his jaw with a palm thrust under the chin, cracked two ribs with an elbow to the chest, and was kneeling on the man’s chest pounding away at his face when someone pulled him away yelling, “ Chief, stop . That’s enough.”

Andreas didn’t struggle. He breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm himself.

“Are you, okay?” said Petro.

“Yes, thanks.”

“I heard the shots and when I came around the corner I saw that bastard aiming at you.”

“He pulled the trigger.”

“You’re damn lucky his gun jammed or he was out of ammo.”

Andreas shut his eyes and nodded. “Tell me about it.”

“What happened?”

“No idea, but in this neighborhood at this hour, my guess would be drugs.”

“You don’t think it was a hit meant for you?”

Andreas gestured no. “Not the way this was done.” He fluttered out a long breath. The adrenaline was still there. “I shouldn’t have gone ballistic. But I was so angry at myself for not picking up on what was going down, I took it out on him.”

“I don’t think he’ll be expecting an apology.”

Andreas laughed and patted Petro on the shoulder. “There was another guy running away from the shooter.”

“Yeah, I got a look at him.”

“Do you mind dealing with the blue-and-whites on this? I’d like to get home. If they need anything from me, they can find me in my office.”

“Sure, no problem. Besides, I think you’re right about this being over drugs.” He pointed at the dead man. “He’s a dealer from another neighborhood. Locals don’t like outsiders cutting in on their territory.”

Just like Orestes and his friends.

***

At 5:17 a.m. Andreas crawled into bed. Lila lay on her belly under the covers.

A millisecond later he heard, “So?”

“I was hoping you’d be asleep.”

“So was I.”

“It was a long night.”

“I can tell.”

“No sex,” said Andreas.

“Are you asking for some or confessing to none?”

Andreas laughed. “I spent the night at El Malaga being hustled by Orestes and his buddies. Let me sleep and I promise to tell you everything when I wake up.” He shut his eyes.