contribution, no matter how artistically constructive such an act might be.
It was exactly the sort of place you'd expect to find bordering Exarchia Square, the symbol of Greece's student revolution and epicenter for its current revolutionaries. The media unwittingly had helped make it that way. Greek children grew up watching Greek television showing Greek students wearing Greek masks protesting against Greek authority by throwing Greek rocks (and Molotov cocktails) at Greek police. And virtually always, in one way or another, Exarchia was part of the story. The place had become a romanticized land of Oz for disillusioned and rebellious young. Not many from the old days still were around, though some remained geographically close by, just on the other side of the hill in Kolonaki, but in every other respect far removed from the revolution.
Andreas stood in the doorway. At first, he looked to be staring at the walls, but he quickly fixed his gaze on the faces gathered around the table closest to the door. Then his eyes moved on to those at the next table. He didn't say a word, just studied one face after another, lightly drumming the fingers of his right hand on a manila envelope held in his left as he did.
'What do you want?' said the man behind the counter.
Andreas turned to face the man and smiled. 'Good morning, sir. And how are you this fine day?'
The man did not return the smile. 'Like I said, what do you want?'
'Is this your place?'
'Yeah. Who's asking?'
Andreas walked to the counter, leaned over, and motioned with his right index finger for the man to come closer. The man hesitated and Andreas wiggled his finger again. The man took a step forward and leaned in.
Andreas whispered, 'Police. I need your help with something.'
The owner's eyes darted to his left, then just as quickly back. Andreas didn't turn to find where he'd looked, he could see in the mirror behind the counter that it was to a man sitting alone at a table in the rear. He wasn't one in the photo. He looked half their size, probably five-six, 140 pounds at most. His dark hair was long in the student fashion of the day, eyes dark, skin relatively light, with a razor-thin wisp of a beard running from the middle of his lower lip to the base of his chin. He was in jeans and a plain white tee shirt, nondescript except for one thing: his eyes were studying Andreas in the mirror.
'Yeah, what?' The owner didn't whisper.
Andreas kept whispering. 'I need to know if you've ever seen these two men.' Andreas pulled a photograph out of the envelope and placed it on the counter between them.
Andreas looked back at the owner. 'So, do you recognize either of them?'
'No, never saw them before.'
Andreas smiled. 'Yeah, sure.' He patted the bar, and turned around. 'Hi folks, hate to interrupt your morning coffee, but I have a question to ask you. Have any of you ever seen either of these men?' With that he walked from table to table, pressing the photo in front of every face. Most immediately shook their heads no. A few looked more intently at the photos before saying 'no.'
Andreas spoke to the man at the rear table last.
'So, my friend, have you ever seen either of these men?' Andreas handed him the photograph.
He stared at it for a moment as if studying it, then handed it back. 'No, sir, not that I recall.'
'Thank you,' said Andreas courteously smiling as he put the photo back into the envelope.
Andreas turned and said to the owner. 'I guess that's it.' He started toward the door, then paused. 'But, since we're here, we might as well earn our pay. Yianni, check the tables, and I want IDs on everyone.'
By checking the tables he was telling the owner that there better be appropriate receipts for everything in front of every customer. It was a must for any business hoping to avoid stiff penalties from the tax authorities, or off-the-record gratuities to any who caught them.
Andreas heard a muttered 'bastards,' from behind the bar.
Kouros pulled a receipt out of a shot glass. Most places used them to hold receipts. 'It's from yesterday.'
Andreas looked at the owner and waved his finger at him. 'Tsk, tsk, you are in trouble my friend. Our government doesn't like people trying to cheat it. The proper authorities should hear about this.' Andreas made it sound like the shakedown was coming. 'Anybody else work here?'
'No.' The owner was fuming.
'Just you?'
'I'm a poor man, with a lousy business, I can't afford help.'
Andreas walked behind the counter and started opening drawers.
'What are you doing?' shouted the man. 'Who do you think you are?' This time he cursed Andreas aloud.
Andreas ignored him and kept opening drawers until he found what he wanted.
He dropped a pair of women's shoes and a waitress' apron on the counter. 'Let me guess, you wear these when you want to express your feminine side.' Then he dropped a box of tampons and a lipstick beside them. 'Dare I ask what do you do with these?'
The man was clenching and unclenching his fists.
'Now, why would a nice man like you lie about working alone? Could it be that she-' picking up the apron '-is illegal?' He patted the man on the shoulder. 'So, once again you're trying to steal from our government?'
A boy got up and headed toward the door. Kouros gestured for him to sit down.
'But I have a class.'
Kouros repeated the gesture and the boy sat down.
Andreas gave an I-have-your-ass-now look to the owner. 'Unless you want this place shut down and more problems than you can imagine, I want you to get everybody who works for you over here now. I want these two bastards' and slapped the envelope with the photograph across the man's chest; then he leaned over and whispered in the man's ear, 'so I can get back to making some real money and you can continue doing whatever the hell it is you do.'
The owner was nervous and blurted out, 'There's only one girl, she works part time.'
Someone cleared a throat. 'Officer.'
Andreas turned and smiled. 'Yes, sir?'
It was the man at the rear table. 'I may know those men after all.'
'Really?' Andreas' sounded sincerely surprised, or at least he hoped he did.
'Yes, all this excitement must have jarred my memory. I seem to remember seeing them before.'
Andreas walked over and sat down at the man's table. 'Sorry, sir, I didn't get your name.'
'Mavrakis. Demosthenes Mavrakis.'
Andreas nodded, as if truly thankful for the man's sudden recollection and utterly oblivious to his undoubted interest in stopping the owner from giving away information that could lead them to Anna. 'So, who are they?'
'I don't know their names, sir, I just saw them around the neighborhood.'
'Ever see them in here?'
'No, sir, they're not the coffee shop type, if you know what I mean.' He smiled.
Andreas smiled back. 'Yeah, sure. So, what do you mean by 'around the neighborhood'?'
He suddenly looked uneasy, but in a way that made Andreas sense it was because that's how he was expected to look and not because he actually was. 'You know, the kind of places where students go to get things.'
''Things?' What sorts of 'things'?' He already knew the answer was drugs but sensed he better keep playing dumb.
Demosthenes rolled his eyes. 'Come on, officer, you know what I'm talking about.'
Andreas smiled as if he suddenly saw the light. 'Yeah, that fits with why we're looking for these guys. So, how come you know so much about the neighborhood?'
'I go to school here.'
'You look a little old for the university.'
He shrugged. 'It is what it is.'
Andreas smiled again. 'Yeah, sure is. So, where can we find these guys?'
'I don't know. I noticed them about a week ago and haven't seen them in a couple of days. They weren't the kind of guys I wanted to get to know.'
Andreas nodded. 'Ever speak to them?'
