to have a shower and count the loot and oh, have a large gin. Killing people was harder work than they led you to believe. He’d done it twice, and you know, it didn’t get easier.
He was reaching for the light switch when he got a massive wallop to the head that sent him sprawling across his tiny living room, the bag of swag spilling every which way, a rainbow of miniature paintings, jewelry, Krugerrands, cash, a few pair of the girl’s lace panties he’d grabbed, even one of the flokati rugs.
He turned to see Georgios standing over him. Georgios, how the fuck could that be? The guy was fish meat off the cliffs of Santorini. Jesus, how rough was his hangover? Hallucinating already?
Georgios hissed, “I’m going to cut your balls off, mallakas, for the death of my cousin.”
Good to his word, he had a very lethal looking knife in his right hand. Sebastian held up a hand, asked, “You’re his cousin?”
He didn’t know whether to feel relief or fear. He ranted, “I tried to save Georgios. It was that crazy American bitch killed him. Why do you think I left her behind? She’s completely mad.”
The knife was raised, and Sebastian had an inspiration that saved his balls and his life.
He said, “See all this treasure, we can use it to track her down, extract proper vengeance for your noble cousin.”
Noble certainly stopped the mad bastard in his knife tracks. He asked, “Why should I believe you, mallakas?”
Sebastian was on his feet now, grabbed the gin bottle, poured two large measures and, with a shaking hand, offered it to the guy, who grabbed it, tried it, made a face. Sebastian knocked his back like a drowning man, said, “I was living on Santorini for months, I never even heard of your noble cousin, why would I kill him? But this crazy woman, she owed him rent, she stole from me, she is truly demented.”
The guy had put the knife down, thank God, and was looking at all the cash and goodies lying on the floor.
Sebastian quickly added, the gin urging him on, “My parents are rich and this is my inheritance.”
Why they would have given him some rather delicate items of lingerie was tricky but the Greeks knew all about the, um, peccadillos of the Brits.
The guy said, “I found your credit card in Georgios’ home.”
Dammit, must’ve fallen out of his pocket while he was bending over, wrapping the body in plastic. Fucking credit cards, always came back to bite you in the bum.
The Greek pushed his glass towards Sebastian, grunted, “More.”
Sebastian thought, the scoundrel might have tried please. But this was probably not the best moment to mention it.
The man said, “My name is Yanni.”
Would Damn jolly good to meet you be overdoing it? Sebastian settled for, “Glad to meet you. Alas, I wish it were under happier circumstances, but be assured, I will track this lady down and wreak revenge for you and your family.”
He was thinking, give the bastard five hundred for his trouble and get shot of him. Well, let’s not be rash, two hundred was probably a fortune to a chappie like this.
The guy had rock-hard eyes, said, “We.”
Sebastian echoed, “We?… I’m not sure I follow you, old chap.”
Yanni was looking at the knife again, said, “I don’t trust you English, we stay together till this is avenged, okay?”
With a sinking heart, Sebastian mustered his best grin, said, “Splendid, rather chuffed to have you on board.”
Yanni grabbed a pile of cash and Sebastian thought, Steady on.
The Greek was heading for the door, said, “Now we eat, drink some ouzo, and plan how we find this she- devil.”
Sebastian wanted a shower and more gin and to be rid of this lunatic.
“Capital,” he said.
Twelve
Dyke City
If there was a dyke scene in Attica, New York, Paula Segal sure as hell was going to find it. She did a couple of lines of coke on the dashboard, made sure her pushup bra was doing its necessary pushing up, and was ready to roll.
She drove to downtown Attica and a good thing she didn’t blink too long or she would’ve missed it. It was the typical small upstate New York town that had been thriving during the time they filmed It’s a Wonderful Life but now it looked like a ghost town, probably the casualty of a nearby Wal-Mart. But the lesbians had to hang out somewhere, right? She drove by a few dilapidated blocks, past the mostly abandoned shops. There were a few bars, but only one getting any business. As she entered, Kiss’ “Rock And Roll All Night” was blasting. She had a feeling this wasn’t a good sign.
The place was crowded, that was the good news. The bad news was the ratio was bad, i.e. there were practically all men. Standing in the doorway, Paula felt the sets of male eyes leering at her desperately, as if she was the first woman they’d seen in years. Jeez, was the whole town of Attica a freaking prison? Did they release them right into the goddamn bars?
One guy grabbed her arm – he looked frighteningly like Sean Penn in Dead Man Walking – and said, “Hey, how about a little dance, honey?”
Like you could dance to Kiss.
She yanked her arm free, hissed, “Fuck you, townie.”
God, men were so fucking gross. Did she actually used to like them or had she gone through the eighteen years of her sexually active life faking it? Eh, whatever, she was just so glad she was through with all of that crap.
The woman working the bar – she wasn’t bad looking. Blond, a little heavy but, hey, Paula liked big girls. The woman looked briefly in Paula’s direction and half-smiled, but Paula couldn’t tell if there was more to it, if it was a come-on or not. As a newbie lesbian, Paula’s gaydar wasn’t fully developed yet. Since she’d, well, turned, she’d accidentally hit on several straight women and she was sure she’d let some hardcore dykes, easy lays, slip through her fingers. She hoped it all averaged out in the end.
Paula sat at the bar and decided to go native, ordered a bottle of Schlitz.
Watching the woman get the drink, Paula eyeballed her ass. Nice. She liked her shoulders, too – they were big and meaty. She had at least a few tattoos, wasn’t wearing makeup, and her hair was cut short, boyish. Looked like a dyke all right.
“Hey, I’m Paula.”
“Bonny,” the woman said.
Paula smiled, said, “Shake your bon-bon, shake your bon-bon.”
Bonny was deadpan. Maybe she didn’t like Ricky Martin?
Trying to loosen her up, Paula said, “It’s kinda guy-heavy here tonight, huh?”
“Yeah,” Bonny said, “but this is the clientele. What’re you gonna do, you know?”
“I know what I’m gonna do,” Paula said.
She smiled, letting the implication linger, as if there was any doubt what she had in mind.
“Excuse me, are you hitting on me?” Bonny asked.
She seemed if not disgusted, seriously annoyed.
Before Paula could respond a fat guy with a scraggly red beard appeared.
He said, “What’s the problem, honey?
“This lady’s hitting on me,” Bonny said.
Paula said, “Um, I think there’s a, um, misunder-”
“You tryin’ to pick up my wife?” Bearded Guy asked.
