Jeffrey Siger - Assassins of Athens

Andreas Kaldis once read or heard somewhere that the chatter never stopped in Athens. Not even at sunrise, when the earth itself seemed to pause to draw a breath. Like its people, the city always had something to say, whether you were in the mood to listen or not. Sun-up simply shifted the style of conversation from high-pitched shouts of an Athens at play to the anonymous din of a city at work.

Thats what Andreas was doing now, working. Turn off the damn siren, no ones listening. He was in a foul mood. The bodys going nowhere. Just like us in this goddamn coming-home-from-partying morning traffic.

Police officer Yianni Kouros said nothing, just did what his boss told him to do. Thats why Andreas liked him: he listened.

Andreas stared out the passenger-side window at a hodgepodge of neglected private and graffiti-covered government buildings. This section of Pireos Street, a formerly elegant avenue, began west of the Acropolis, ran northeast through the trendy, late-night bar and club area of Gazi, and ended with a name change amidst the around-the-clock drug and hooker trade by Omonia Square. What remained of its once-treasured three-and four-story buildings were now warrens of ground-level check cashers, bars, small-time retail shops, and cheap, foreign restaurants. It seemed every immigrant group in Greece had set up shop in this part of town. Truth was, they were everywhere; well, almost.

I remember when I was a kid my dad used to bring me down here for sweets on Sundays. Especially this time of year. He loved late spring.

Bet he wouldnt bring you here today, Chief.

Andreas nodded. God bless him, hed sit by the edge of the park at Omonia gesturing up ahead with his left hand, having coffee with friends while Id play. Everyone liked him. I thought that came with being a cop. I should have known better.

They were locked in traffic packed solid up to an intersection about one hundred yards ahead. The traffic light at the corner was red and, when a gap opened in oncoming traffic all the way back to the light, Kouros pulled the unmarked car into the empty lane and raced toward the intersection.

Christ, Yianni, at least turn on the lights.

Never turned them off, only the siren. Another reason Andreas liked Kouros: he listened but was no fool.

Kouros reached the intersection just as the light turned green. He swerved across the front of their lane and shot up the street to the right, narrowly missing the rear wheel of a motorcyclist whod jumped the light.

Andreas turned his head and stared at Kouros. He knew there must be a grin breaking out somewhere on the other side of that face. Andreas was a dozen years older than Kouros but, except for the few tinges of gray streaking Andreas slightly too long dark hair, youd think they were the same age, perhaps because Kouros boot-camp style haircut and compact, bull-like build made him look older than he was, or because Andreas hard work at keeping his six-foot two-inch athletic frame in shape paid off.

Kouros weaved through a series of far-from-fancy back streets running roughly parallel to Pireos. Just before Omonia he turned left and cut back across the road. Its only a couple blocks from here.

Andreas watched a hooker lean out from a doorway marked by a single white light above it, the local signal for hookers here.

Great neighborhood.

Yeah, probably another drug deal gone bad.

Dont know yet, but something tied to drugs would be my guess. Dawn on a Sunday morning, this neighborhood, a foreign-looking young male in a dumpster, no money, no ID, no witnesses, no one with him, and no one looking for him. At least not so far. Andreas shrugged. Well see.