Jeffrey Siger - Target - Tinos

“They’re not as cynical as we are on the topic of reform. The exact message was, ‘Menidi or fuck off.’”

“Well, glad to hear that we’re at least getting off on the right foot.”

“So, what do we do?” said Tassos.

Andreas paused. “Wear vests.”

“Thick ones.”

Of the three cops in the unmarked, beat-up van only Kouros was familiar with Menidi. That’s what made him the designated driver. He had an aunt who lived north of Menidi in Thrakomakedones, a lovely area with large villas winding up Mount Parnitha’s hillsides. It was as different from Menidi as night was to day, but Menidi was where anyone from his aunt’s village with government business had to travel. His aunt, like many of her neighbors, kept a beat-up second hand car and nondescript, well-worn clothing for just that purpose; but not all had a bull of a nephew to accompany them on their adventures.

“Do you think we look seedy enough?” asked Tassos.

“I thought you were going to ask if the Kevlar vest made you look fat.” Kouros smiled.

Tassos reached over from the passenger’s seat with his left hand and popped his middle finger in front of Kouros’ face.

Andreas leaned forward from the back seat. “How much longer?”

“About ten minutes, I think. Amazing how much traffic there is. Wouldn’t expect it at this hour,” said Kouros.

“It’s nine o’clock, when all the gremlins start coming out of their hiding places,” said Tassos.

“I’d have liked it better if we could have set this up for a daytime meeting,” said Andreas.

“Like I said, they wouldn’t budge. They wanted every advantage.” Tassos tugged at his vest.

“How do you want to handle this, Chief?” said Kouros.

“Play it by ear and pray for inspiration.”

“I get it, like always.”

“I just want to make sure we come out of this alive. That’s the ‘prime directive,’” said Andreas.

“Wasn’t that a line from a movie?” said Kouros.

Tassos gestured no. “Television. ‘Star Trek.’”

“Did they all die in the end?” said Kouros.

“Just drive,” said Andreas.

The streets turned to gravel and the van slowed to less than fifteen miles per hour. Beggars appeared from everywhere. Kouros kept pressing forward, ignoring the tapping on the windows, and forcing those who tried to block his way to jump aside.

“I see you’ve done this before,” said Andreas.

“If I slow down too much we’ll have to stop to identify bodies.”

The building they were looking for was in the middle of the block on a busy street for Menidi. That seemed to the cops’ advantage, but not really; for in this neighborhood a busy street was about the same as walking down a dark alley. If someone wanted to whack you they just started shooting. It was up to everyone else to duck.

Kouros circled the block twice before parking directly across the street from the building. It was a run down, four-story, post-World War II apartment building in the ubiquitous concrete-slab-balcony style that had forever tarnished Athens’ beauty.

“No telling how many creeps hanging around here might be waiting for us,” said Kouros.

“Let’s assume all of them,” said Tassos.

Andreas cleared is throat. “One more rule. No matter what happens we never give up our guns. If this is a set-up, no way we make it easy for them.”

Kouros nodded. “No argument from me. I’ve got three.”

“So, which door do we choose?” said Tassos. There were two, one on either side of a central concrete pillar.

Kouros said, “The one on the right looks like it’s for the upstairs apartments, the other for whatever’s on the first floor.” The first floor windows were painted black. “No way to tell what’s inside.”

“My guess would be the storefront. Ready?” said Andreas.

The others nodded. Three van doors opened, three men got out and headed directly for the central pillar. They were five feet away from it when the storefront door swung open. A man the size of Kouros stood in the doorway staring at them. “In here.”

They stepped inside into a tiny foyer leading to a second doorway. The man pulled the outside door closed and all street sounds vanished. It was a deja vu moment for Andreas: another tomb and another two men waving for them to enter a second doorway. Another surprise? For sure, thought Andreas. He adjusted his crotch. It’s show time.

The room was about the size of a four-car garage turned sideways. A beat-up wooden bar ran along the front left wall just far enough to take five mismatched bar stools. Past the bar, four rectangular tables covered in white linen tablecloths and looking decidedly out of place sat lined up across the middle of the room, while two scratched and marred wooden tables along each sidewall took up the rest of the space. On the rear wall, a door to the left was marked WC and a door to the right stood open, revealing a small kitchen. A dull, uneven glow of orange light struggled to reach the floor from three very dirty and ancient overhead fixtures.

Above the bar sat a television set. Next to it on a wall hung an out of date calendar showing a huge pair of tits surrounded by a woman.

Seven men sat at the tables in the middle of the room, a total of ten bad guys, plus however many more might be hiding in the kitchen and the woodwork.

The three cops stood at the end of the bar facing the tables. None of the bad guys said a word. They all stared at Andreas, as if they knew he was in charge.

Andreas smiled, “And a very good evening to all of you.”

A heavily bearded man in sunglasses and sitting off to Andreas’ right said in perfect Greek, “What do you want?”

Andreas pointed over his shoulder toward the front door. “For starters, have your friends join you where I can see them. I think ten to three are good enough odds for you. Besides, it would be very bad manners if one of my colleagues had to stand with his back to you while we talked.”

The bearded man paused for a moment before nodding for the three to come forward. They brushed by the cops and stood along the back wall, behind the men at the linen covered tables. Andreas looked at Kouros and jerked his head toward the front door. Kouros walked to the bar, picked up a barstool, and wedged it snug against the door.

“Just so we’re not disturbed by any unexpected patrons,” said Andreas.

“So, like I said, what do you want?” said the bearded man.

“You already know,” said Tassos.

“Tell us again.”

“It’s not about you,” said Andreas. “At least I don’t think it is. For all our sakes I pray it’s not.”

“What does that mean?” said the bearded man.

“Hate crimes against tsigani aren’t popular these days with the E.U. They lead to investigations by Europol.”

“What’s that got do with us?” said a fat but muscled bald man sitting at the center of the seven men.

“I don’t care about you. I care about me. I’m in charge of what happens in Greece, not a bunch of foreign pricks. But if they give me a hard time, I give you a harder one, because you boys are suspects numero uno.” Andreas had found you could justify almost anything by claiming ego when talking to macho types.

The bald man nodded. “As long as you understand there’s a price.”

Andreas gestured no. “I don’t think so. I’m here to get information, not make a deal. I’ll owe no favors for anything you tell me.”

The bald man bristled. “That’s not the way we do business.”

Tassos said, “Sorry to tell you, but today’s payback time for past favors owed.” He turned his head toward a slim, gray-haired man on the far left. “Right, Aleksander?”