mother now rode the metro clutching their purses. That included immigrant mothers, for they were among the most preyed upon. Many feared that with Greece in economic decline for the first time in decades, there was worse crime to come, and all prayed that whatever came would not get out of hand.
To Angelo, Punka already was way out of hand. Cute, innocent-looking three-year-olds, five-year-olds, seven-year-olds, eleven-year-olds and every age in between raced around smiling and touching as they begged tourists and locals alike for money, and cursing those who did not give. Then there were the babies sleeping in the laps of older girls begging, but not really sleeping: drugged, so they couldn’t move or cry. And into this mix dropped the pickpockets, the opportunists. All run by Punka from a park bench and all watched as closely as a distrusting casino pit boss would his dealers.
“I really can’t take much more of this,” said Angelo into his transmitter. “What do you say, Christina, want to help me kick his ass?” He glanced across the square toward his partner.
“I can do it myself, thank you.”
“I bet you could.” He looked at his watch. He despised Punka even though he’d never met him. It wasn’t a matter of race or the notorious tsigani crimes and hustles that played out every day almost everywhere in Europe that bothered him. After all, separating suckers from their money was a time-honored tradition practiced by many groups, including businessmen and politicians. What drove his anger were the children, their exploitation.
He looked at his watch again. “Twenty minutes until our relief gets here,” said Angelo.
“Thank God,” said Christina. “This is worse than boring. Having to watch that bastard-”
“Christina. Someone’s heading toward Punka. Male, late twenties, five-six, thin, dark blue zippered jacket…”
“I see him,” said Christina.
“Hold off until contact is made then you follow the new guy. I’ll stay with Punka in case it’s a diversion.”
The new guy walked over to Punka and smiled. They didn’t shake hands, but talked for minute. He offered Punka a cigarette. Punka stood up, stretched, and took it. New guy reached into his right jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter. Punka leaned in for a light and new guy transferred the lighter to his left hand and…
Angelo thought, left hand? Why would he switch it to his left hand to light the cigarette? “ Move in now, something’s wrong.”
The stiletto was out of new guy’s right jacket sleeve and in Punka’s heart before Punka could draw a puff. It was a smooth, quick thrust with just enough twisting force to ensure Punka would not survive. He eased Punka back onto the bench and turned to walk away, the stiletto no longer in sight.
It was Christina who reached new guy first, her gun drawn. “ Stop, police. Drop the knife.”
He nodded, and let the stiletto fall from inside his right sleeve.
“On the ground, hands behind your head.” It was Angelo coming up behind him.
New guy dropped to his knees.
That was when the shot came. It entered dead center into new guy’s forehead.
The cops scrambled for cover.
The shot had to come from a building across the square, down by Ermou Street. But which building?
“Christina, call for assistance and stay with the bodies.”
Angelo ran toward Ermou, looking for something, anything. He ran into buildings, tried doors, grabbed anyone who looked suspicious, and did whatever else he could think of to make himself believe he had a snowball’s chance in hell of catching the shooter. But he knew it was a waste of time.
Just then his phone rang. It was Kouros.
“Busy night.” Andreas’ elbows were on his desk, his head in his hands, and his fingers rubbing his forehead. He dropped his hands and stared at Kouros and Tassos sitting across the desk from him. The three of them had just spent two hours with Angelo and Christina going over what happened in Syntagma.
“That was no mugging,” said Tassos. “No matter what the guy with the stiletto might have hoped to make it look like.”
“And not a sign anywhere that a shooter was ever there, except for the bullet through stiletto guy’s forehead,” said Andreas.
“Can’t wait to see how the papers play this one,” said Kouros. “‘Today in Syntagma a target under surveillance by the Greek police was the victim of a professional hit and, although the killer was immediately apprehended on the scene without a fight by police, in a matter of seconds after his capture he was taken out by an unknown sniper.’”
“So far, the only good news tonight was that we didn’t get whacked,” said Tassos.
Andreas rubbed his eyes. “Don’t forget the call I got from our distinguished minister screaming about doing something to stop ‘foreign criminal elements’ from ‘slaughtering’ each other in ‘the heart of our beloved Athens.’”
“Is that supposed to be more good news or bad?” said Kouros.
“I wasn’t quite sure if he was upset about the ‘slaughtering’ or the fact it was done in Syntagma instead of somewhere else,” said Tassos.
“That may be a bit harsh,” said Andreas. “I think that’s just Spiros’ way of spinning things to minimize heat from the press. Bad guys killing bad guys always seem to work. The good news was that he didn’t make the connection to the Tinos murders. And with any luck nor will the press.”
“Yeah, dead tsigani are all alike,” said Tassos.
Andreas starred at Tassos. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Thank you,” said Tassos. “As a matter of fact, a member of Parliament once told me that if you wanted to understand the Greeks, think one word. ‘Incorrigible.’”
Tassos stretched his arms out over his head and yawned. “Whoever arranged this had to know we were interested in Punka. It’s just too much of a coincidence. He was never in hiding, so if he were a threat to someone before we were on to him, he’d have been taken out long ago.”
“Where’s our leak?” said Andreas.
“Maybe it was Tassos’ tsigani contact, the one who hooked you up with Punka?” said Kouros.
“Stefan is capable of anything. But that would be a very risky play for him. He knows that if I even thought he double-crossed me…” Tassos waved a hand in the air.
“Maybe when the boys from our meeting tonight realized we were pressing the investigation into Punka’s murdered brothers they decided to take him out, too?” said Kouros.
“And us along with him,” said Tassos.
“Or it could be that Punka said something about the two of you busting his balls and it got back to someone who decided he was better off dead,” said Kouros.
Andreas leaned across the desk and stared at Kouros. “You just gave me another candidate. When I was playing hardball with Punka in that taverna, if someone overheard me telling him I was a cop who wanted to talk to him about his brothers’ murders it would have made headlines on the tsigani gossip network.” Andreas slammed his right hand on the desk. “ Damnit. ”
“That might mean whoever whacked Punka knows who you are,” said Tassos.
“I never said my name.”
“Punka might have told someone who you were after we dropped him at the taverna,” said Tassos.
“Or with the way your face keeps popping up in gossip columns about the wedding, someone might have recognized you,” said Kouros.
“I doubt if the tsigani in that taverna read Espresso,” said Andreas. “But I get your point. Send Christina and Angelo out there to see if they can locate anyone Punka might have talked to after we dropped him off. Tell them to get the names of everyone inside when I was there and, when they’re told no one remembers, to get the names of all the regulars.” Andreas paused. “And have them find out if that young girl working there yesterday is into gossip magazines.”
“Any ideas on who might be behind this?” said Tassos.
“The Albanians are high on my list,” said Kouros.
“They’re high on everyone’s list all the time,” said Tassos.
Andreas ran his fingers though his hair. “If what the Menidi crew said tonight about something major going down on Tinos ties in to what happened in Syntagma, and I can’t imagine it doesn’t, that church on Tinos is facing
