Pappas let his right hand, fingers fluttering, move up. Then he brought his hand back to his lap.
“Posno is not a genius, but he is clever and determined. He has almost certainly found you the same way I found you. Stavros found your name on the Internet. Something about your being involved in the shooting of some professor. That was a week ago. I sent Stavros to Sarasota to keep an eye on you.”
“Funny,” said Franco.
“Oh, I see,” said Pappas with a smile. “Because my son has only one eye to keep on you. You want to know how he lost that eye? He was shot by the man who is looking for you. Now, I’ll tell you how to find him.”
“Why do you want to help me?” Lew asked.
Pappas rose from the chair and went to the window.
“Nine years ago your wife was the prosecutor in a murder case. I was arrested, charged. My record, I must tell you, is not without blemish but this crime I did not do.”
He put his right hand on his chest.
“She talked to the witnesses, got experts to look at the signature on a hotel register… That’s not important. She believed me, dropped the charges against me in exchange for my testifying against Andrej Posnitki, who had set me up. It was a sweet deal if you ignore that Posno is a maniac who, between the three of us, is responsible for the demise of more than forty-one people. Still I owe your wife and when my family has a debt, we pay it no matter how long it takes.”
“I appreciate that,” Lew said. “Posno wasn’t convicted.”
“Good lawyers, lots of money. He got off. Since then he has found my presence on this earth intolerable. Putting him in prison or, better yet, death row, would greatly ease my paranoia. Your wife would not give up, as you well know. She continued to build a new case against Posno. So finding your wife’s records might well keep us both alive. She didn’t tell you about all this?”
“We didn’t talk about cases except the ones I was working on for her,” Lew said.
“Smart,” said Pappas, pointing to his head and looking at Franco. “You don’t know. You can’t testify.”
There was a gentle double knock at the door and Pappas, with a smile, said, “You’re gonna like this.”
One-eyed Stavros backed in balancing a large, round golden tray. He walked over and placed the tray on the glass table. The other son, Dimitri, came in with a smaller tray, balancing three small cups of almost-black Greek coffee. There were also three small plates with a fork on each. Pappas, Franco and Lew each took a cup and a plate.
Stavros leaned next to his father and whispered in his ear. Pappas nodded and whispered something back to him. It was Stavros’s turn to nod.
The brothers left the room, closing the door softly behind them.
“ Glykismata, ” Pappas said after a sip of coffee. “Greek deserts. This one is amygdalopita, nut cake covered in clove syrup. These are loukoumathes.”
He pointed to six round balls, which he said were Greek donuts covered with honey and cinnamon.
“Good with coffee,” Pappas said with a knowing nod. “And these cookie twists are koulourakia, glaktobouriko, egg custard baked in phyllo, and baklava. Everything baked today by my mother. Did you know Aristophanes mentions baklava in one of his plays?”
“No,” said Lew.
“Ah,” said Pappas with a shrug. “Why should you? Take.”
They put down their coffees. Lew took one of the cookies. Franco piled his plate. Pappas smiled.
“These are great,” said Franco, his mouth full.
“You’ll meet my mother on the way out,” Pappas said, his eyes meeting Lew’s. “As long as you have the blessing of your mother, it does not matter even if you live in the the valley of the dead. That’s a Greek saying. I have her blessing and, pardon me for saying it, you are treading in the valley of the dead. It is not a good place to be.”
He looked around the room and added, “Though I am under siege, I still have resources, which is why Posno has not gotten to me. I live in this comfortable prison. I would like to walk beyond the glass-covered walls that define my exile. To the extent that I can, I will extend my protection to you, but you must be quite careful. Find that evidence.”
He held up a finger and added, “Put Posno away. You like those, huh?”
Lew was eating one of the phyllo deserts filled with custard.
“Yes,” Lew said.
“Good,” he said. “You have anything else you wish to ask me?”
“You know any jokes?” Lew asked.
“Jokes? Sure.”
Pappas was smiling, puzzled by the question. Franco’s cheek was full of baklava, his fingers honey-sticky, his eyes moving from Lew to Pappas as if they were suddenly talking Greek.
“You want me to tell you a joke?”
“Yes.”
Pappas told Lew a joke and smiled, his teeth a huge wall of white. Lew took out his notebook and pen and wrote down the joke.
“Okay joke?” Pappas asked.
“Yes,” Lew said, putting the notebook back in his pocket.
“You didn’t smile,” he said.
“I don’t smile,” Lew said.
Franco finished his baklava and wiped his fingers with a napkin.
Pappas shook his head, put down his plate and empty coffee cup and walked to the window, looked out, sighed and turned around.
“When you arrived, my sons covered your license plate with clay in case he came by this afternoon, the circling vulture Posno, appearing whenever he wishes, reminding me that I am his prisoner and that the day of execution is coming.”
Franco put down his plate and cup and moved to the window.
“I do not think he knows yet about your tow truck, but he’ll wonder, and with good cause, why your license plate number is covered. He almost certainly has a photograph of you, Mr. Fonesca, but not…”
“Franco,” said Lew’s brother-in-law.
“Franco,” Pappas repeated. “I suggest you go out the front gate as you came, get in your truck and drive around the first corner. Mr. Fonesca will join you there.”
“No,” said Franco. “I’m going down there and if anyone gives me trouble I’ll ram the holy shit out of this Posno’s car.”
“Not advisable,” said Pappas with a shake of his head. “He is not likely to use a weapon unless you provoke him. You are not his prey.”
“Lew?” Franco asked, fist clenched, turning to Lew as he stood. “The son of a bitch mighta killed Catherine.”
Lew looked at Pappas, who pursed his lips.
“It may not be Posno,” said Lew.
“It may not be,” Pappas agreed with a shrug, “but I can think of no one else who would park in front of my house.”
“We do it your way,” Lew said to Franco. “Front door. Both of us, but no ramming. Let’s go.”
“As you wish,” said Pappas, leading the way out the door.
“That’s from The Princess Bride, the ‘as you wish,’” Franco whispered as they followed Pappas down the stairs. “Lew, let’s just get the bastard.”
At the bottom of the stairs stood a short, thin, overly made-up woman with electric badly dyed red hair. She was holding a shoebox-size white box tied with a string. Pappas introduced her as his mother. She smiled and handed Lew the box. The smell of baked phyllo and honey made it clear what was inside.
Pappas handed Lew a Greek fisherman’s cap and moved to his mother’s side, arm around her shoulder. Lew handed it back, took his Cubs cap from his pocket and put it on his head.
“Stylish,” said Pappas.
“Thank you,” Lew said to the woman, looking into her eyes.
