Devil of Delphi: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery by Jeffrey Siger

head and stared out the window of his fourth-floor office. There wasn’t much of a view. Just other buildings.
    “Maggie,” he shouted. They’d found yelling to be far more effective than the intercom.
    The door swung open and Maggie’s head popped through the doorway. “Yes, Chief?”
    “Is my old friend still in charge of organized crime at GADA these days?”
    “Which old friend?”
    “We always called him Rolex.”
    Maggie gestured no. “He was too honest.”
    “Cute. You do know you’re a cynic.”
    “Born out of a lot of years in this place.”
    “Well, see if you can find out where he landed. I’d like to talk to him.”
    “Will do.”
    Andreas nodded. “And what about Tassos? Where’s he these days?”
    “You mean your poor, loyal friend who thinks you’ve abandoned him?”
    “Gimme a break. Phones work both ways.”
    “He’s on Syros enjoying the weather.”
    “Working?”
    “The day he quits is the day he’ll die.”
    Tassos Stamatos reigned as Chief Homicide Investigator for the Cycladic Islands. They’d been friends since Andreas’ days as police chief on Mykonos, and Tassos and Maggie had been an item since the moment Andreas unknowingly rekindled an old romance between his widower friend and never-married Maggie.
    “When do you think he’ll be passing through Athens?”
    “Tomorrow morning, probably.”
    “Good, set up a meeting here tomorrow around noon with Tassos, Yianni, Petro, and me.”
    “And the subject?”
    “Counterfeit booze and mobsters gone corporate.”
    ***
    Kharon stood in the shadows across from Jacobi’s taverna. He’d been there for twenty minutes. Watching. Not for anything in particular, just anything out of the ordinary. Ordinary for this neighborhood meant weird. That’s why he’d fixed on the big man dressed all in black sitting at the bar with his back to the broad, open front door of the taverna. He’d not turned around once, but from the movement of the man’s head Kharon could tell he was watching everything behind him in the mirror spanning the back of the bar. Just what he’d expect of a professional.
    He doubted a man with a private jet would have walked here from the Metro or come alone. He could have come by taxi, but then he’d have to find one willing to pick him up in this neighborhood. Several motorbikes sat by the taverna. One could be his. But where are the others who must be with him? Probably parked away from the taverna so not to draw attention from the neighborhood locals. Or Kharon.
    Kharon had been careful in his work, but there were those who knew of his role in many unhappy incidents, making all who possessed such knowledge potential betrayers to someone willing to bribe or threaten for what they knew about him.
    Kharon did a slow walk around the square. No one bothered him. Tonight he looked as if he belonged there. Twenty more minutes passed before he returned to his place across from the taverna. The man at the bar now sat sideways on a stool, looking out into the street. He waved across the room to Jacobi and said something Kharon could not hear. Jacobi shrugged. The man looked at his watch.
    That was the sort of irritated behavior Kharon expected from someone waiting for a latecomer to show up for a meeting. Quite different from the patience required of a professional prepared to execute a hit.
    Kharon crossed the street and strolled into the taverna. Jacobi saw him the instant he entered, caught his eye, and gave a quick jerk of his head toward the man at the bar.
    The big man at the bar studied Kharon as he walked toward him. “Mr. Kharon?”
    Kharon nodded.
    The big man extended his hand. “Glad you decided to come. My name is Panos.”
    Kharon shook his hand. “You’re not Greek.”
    Panos smiled. “And that’s not my real name.”
    Kharon sat on the bar stool next to Panos but looked in the mirror as he talked. “So, how can I be of service to you?”
    Panos swung around and met Kharon’s eyes in the mirror.