Jeffrey Siger - Sons of Sparta

Kouros walked five paces from the door, closed his eyes, and for a moment did nothing more than concentrate on breathing in the brisk salt air laced with random whiffs of wild herbs. He opened his eyes and stared out across the plateau toward the bare-as-the-moon Saggias Mountains. It was a typical cloudless, brilliant blue-sky day in the Mani. He wondered why he always thought of Mani skies as gray. Maybe it had something to do with the bloody history of the landscape beneath them? Not just from battles against Turks, Franks, Bavarians, Venetians, and so many other would-be conquerors, but in neighbor-against-neighbor savagery as merciless as any World War I trench warfare.

He shook his head. Hard to imagine all of this ending up as a golf course. Still, these days nothing seemed to remain the same for long where there was money to be made. And it wasn’t as if explorers had come across a lost tribe living a Stone Age existence and, by announcing their find to the world, sealed the doom of their discovery’s ancient ways.

No, the modern world had always touched the Mani. It just never held on very long, because the Mani had a tendency to burn a dabbler’s fingers. Maybe this time would be different. Kouros sure hoped so. The hard-working strugglers around here could sure use some good luck.

He wondered how his own life might change if he had money coming in regularly without having to work for it. Make that honest money. He’d never thought about anything like that before. His father raised him to expect to work hard for whatever he wanted. Kouros took a sip of coffee. No reason to start daydreaming about that sort of life now, because it didn’t seem likely the deal would go through, at least not as his uncle had envisioned it. His uncle’s interest in the property had passed to his children, not Kouros. Now it was their call.

He shook his head, thought of his uncle, and remembered he’d promised Mangas to get the autopsy report off to Athens. He’d noticed a scanner in his uncle’s office. He’d send it as soon as he finished his coffee.

Coffee . Another memory triggered. The synapses had begun to fire again.

His uncle’s everyday coffee crew was a bunch of bad guys, no matter how charming and likable they seemed. And whether truly the “council of elders” they fashioned themselves to be, Kouros knew they hadn’t told him anything close to what actually took place in their morning meetings. He might be Uncle’s “favorite” nephew, but he was still a cop and, with Uncle gone, they had little reason to treat him much better than any other Maniot prying into their affairs.

Still, he had to try. On the surface several had potential motives, most unmistakably Stelios, whose family-maybe even he-once exchanged vendetta killings with Kouros’ family. Yet that seemed too obvious to be likely. But if his uncle had been murdered, everyone was suspect, beginning with those he did business with.

Kouros finished off the biscuits in two bites and downed his coffee. There would be time for more coffee later, after he’d sent the autopsy report on to Athens and dropped in on his uncle’s crew at the taverna for a more sober chat. Why not? After all, they’d told him he was “always welcome.”

***

It was eleven by the time Kouros walked into the taverna. The only one in the front room was the waitress.

“May I help you?” she said.

“Uh, yes, I’m looking for friends of my uncle. They have coffee together here every morning.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you. You’re the nephew from Athens. They were talking about you this morning.”

“You mean they’re gone?”

She nodded. “They’re here every morning at nine and gone by ten-thirty.”

Wow, he thought. Those old guys drank even more than I did. How did they ever make it out of bed for coffee by nine?

“They thought you might show up this morning.”

“Did they say why?”

She shrugged. “Said you might have more questions about your uncle.”

So much for the element of surprise, thought Kouros.

“They left a message for you if you showed up.”

“What’s the message?”

“‘The trick is to have water in the glass with your whiskey.’”

Kouros burst out laughing.

The girl laughed, too. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He watched her walk toward the kitchen. Tight black jeans, tight white t-shirt, dark hair, dark eyes, great butt. Front not bad either. Kouros’ blood started to pulse. Watching her walk seemed likely to sober him up a hell of a lot faster than coffee.

She came out of the kitchen with a coffeepot in one hand and a cup and plate of cookies in the other.

Kouros smiled. “My name’s Yianni.”

She smiled back. “Stella.” She put down the coffeepot, cup, and plate.

He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

She took his hand and he gripped hers. Neither made an effort to let go of the other. They smiled at each other and he withdrew his hand.

“How well did you know my uncle?”

She looked down at the floor. The smile was gone. “Very well. He was a nice man and always kind to me.”

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”

“Harm him?” She looked up and seemed surprised. “Do you think it wasn’t an accident?”

Kouros shook his head. “No, I’m just used to asking those sorts of questions. It comes from being a cop.”

“You’re a cop?” She seemed afraid.

“Don’t worry. I know about your incident with immigration. I’m not going to hassle you. You were a friend of my uncle, and that’s good enough for me.” He patted her on her bare forearm.

Stella smiled and touched his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Now will you answer my question?”

She looked down at the floor. “I only knew him from his mornings here. He always sat with his friends and I never heard anyone say a bad word about him.”

“Did you ever overhear any talk of threats against him?”

“No, I never listened to their conversations.”

Kouros knew she was lying. But, that was to be expected. He was an outsider, and a cop on top of that. She’d be crazy to tell him what her customers talked about, especially those customers.

“How did my uncle get his morning newspaper?”

She looked up. “The man who owns the minimarket at the bottom of the hill on the other side of Vathia always delivered it here.”

“When?”

“Around eight.”

“Who’d he give it to?”

“He’d put it on the table at the place where your uncle always sat.”

“Did he ever give it to him personally?”

She gestured no. “He’d have a quick coffee and leave before they got here.”

“Did anyone ever look at my uncle’s paper before he arrived?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t. Maybe Babis did once or twice, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Who’s Babis?”

“He’s my…my boss.”

“Where is he?”

“Right here,” said a booming voice behind Kouros.

Kouros turned his head and saw a dark, burly Greek of about Kouros’ height, but heavier, standing in the doorway between the two dining rooms.

“Hi, I’m Yianni Kouros.”

“What do you want?”

Kouros smiled. “We met here yesterday after my uncle’s funeral.”

“Like I said, what do you want?”

Kouros swung his body around so that he was facing the man head on. “That’s a very inhospitable Maniot way to act.”

“I’m from Pirgos.”

Kouros smiled. “That explains it.”

The man stepped toward Kouros. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kouros now forced a smile. “Ease up there, Babis. It was a joke.”

“I don’t like jokes about my hometown.”

“I have a question for you, Babis. With this hair-up-your-ass attitude how did you ever end up in the hospitality business?”