Read Online Trueish Crime: A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel by Alex A. King - Free Book Online
Authors: Alex A. King
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Grandma and Xander, which had to be some kind of major league felony.
Stavros was still recording.
“Did you get all that?” I asked him.
He pushed the red button. “Uploading to YouTube right now, then I will send Takis the link.”
“You can’t do that!”
He looked puzzled. “Why not? The file is too big to email.”
“Because the cops will see who did it!”
A pause happened. Stavros’s head did some slow addition. “I didn’t think of that.”
We both looked at his phone.
“Oh,” he said. “It finished uploading.” A moment later he said, “It has five hundred views already.”
“Take it down!”
“Okay, okay.” He fiddled with the phone some more. “I took it down.” More diddling and face-making. “Too late. Somebody already copied it and put it on Reddit.”
“Maybe you can’t see their faces.”
He perked up. “Maybe my hand was shaking and it’s too blurry to incriminate anyone.”
I grabbed his phone, found the video, hit the triangle to make it play.
Our chatter crackled out of the speaker. It was the perfect accompaniment to Grandma and Xander’s prison break.
“Dippy doodles shit on a stick,” I breathed. Grandma was screwed, Xander was screwed, and Curly and I were bent over the hood of this car, getting screwed. Stavros had handed the police everything they needed to nail my family through the forehead for this crime.
An argument could be made that we only recognized Grandma and Xander in the video because we knew them, but it was thin and wheezing. The police could probably zoom in on their faces, swivel the bird around onscreen and nab the license plate number.
“Do helicopters have license plates?”
“In Greece sometimes even cars don’t have them.”
My phone rang. We both looked at it. There was wild fear on Stavros’s face, and I knew mine was its mirror.
“Don’t answer that,” he said.
“I have to. It’s Grandma.
“She’s going to kill us and have Takis bury us in Turkey.”
“You recorded it—not me!”
“She won’t care,” he said mournfully. He buried his head in his hands.
I answered the call. “Hello?”
The silence wasn’t completely empty. There was crackling, the sound of Grandma’s hellfire under our feet.
“Katerina?”
“Grandma?”
“Tell Stavros I want to see him as soon as you get back to the house.”
“Okay.”
“When I am done with Stavros I will deal with you.”
Gulp .
Stavros didn’t lift his head. “What did she say?”
“I think you’re right about Turkey.”
----
W e drove back toward Volos in a horrified silence. I wondered if she’d let us have a last meal.
“Does Grandma let people have a last meal?”
“No. No last meal. Whatever you ate last, that’s it.”
I was afraid of that. “What did you have?”
“A croissant with Camembert, roast turkey, red onions, and cranberry sauce. I roasted the turkey breast myself, and I baked the croissants.”
Even though I was about to be killed, that sounded great. “You cook a lot?”
“I took a course.”
“I had a piece of Grandma’s spanakopita.”
“That’s a good last meal.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to die on an empty stomach. Do you?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t.”
Chapter 5
“ H ave another dolmada ,” I told Stavros.
“It won’t fit.” He shoved it into his mouth anyway.
This was potentially our last meal and we were taking it seriously. That meant we had picked a seaside taverna with a reputation for excellent food. Not that it was difficult to find good food in Greece. Throw a small rock and you were bound to hit a plate fully loaded with delicious eats.
Only a generous blue umbrella stood between us and the sun; it kept knocking on the canvas, trying to find a way in. We were alone. Well, unless you counted the German couple sitting two tables away. They had first-degree burns but they looked happy about their situation. All the other pansies had retreated to their cloistered bedrooms,
Stavros was still recording.
“Did you get all that?” I asked him.
He pushed the red button. “Uploading to YouTube right now, then I will send Takis the link.”
“You can’t do that!”
He looked puzzled. “Why not? The file is too big to email.”
“Because the cops will see who did it!”
A pause happened. Stavros’s head did some slow addition. “I didn’t think of that.”
We both looked at his phone.
“Oh,” he said. “It finished uploading.” A moment later he said, “It has five hundred views already.”
“Take it down!”
“Okay, okay.” He fiddled with the phone some more. “I took it down.” More diddling and face-making. “Too late. Somebody already copied it and put it on Reddit.”
“Maybe you can’t see their faces.”
He perked up. “Maybe my hand was shaking and it’s too blurry to incriminate anyone.”
I grabbed his phone, found the video, hit the triangle to make it play.
Our chatter crackled out of the speaker. It was the perfect accompaniment to Grandma and Xander’s prison break.
“Dippy doodles shit on a stick,” I breathed. Grandma was screwed, Xander was screwed, and Curly and I were bent over the hood of this car, getting screwed. Stavros had handed the police everything they needed to nail my family through the forehead for this crime.
An argument could be made that we only recognized Grandma and Xander in the video because we knew them, but it was thin and wheezing. The police could probably zoom in on their faces, swivel the bird around onscreen and nab the license plate number.
“Do helicopters have license plates?”
“In Greece sometimes even cars don’t have them.”
My phone rang. We both looked at it. There was wild fear on Stavros’s face, and I knew mine was its mirror.
“Don’t answer that,” he said.
“I have to. It’s Grandma.
“She’s going to kill us and have Takis bury us in Turkey.”
“You recorded it—not me!”
“She won’t care,” he said mournfully. He buried his head in his hands.
I answered the call. “Hello?”
The silence wasn’t completely empty. There was crackling, the sound of Grandma’s hellfire under our feet.
“Katerina?”
“Grandma?”
“Tell Stavros I want to see him as soon as you get back to the house.”
“Okay.”
“When I am done with Stavros I will deal with you.”
Gulp .
Stavros didn’t lift his head. “What did she say?”
“I think you’re right about Turkey.”
----
W e drove back toward Volos in a horrified silence. I wondered if she’d let us have a last meal.
“Does Grandma let people have a last meal?”
“No. No last meal. Whatever you ate last, that’s it.”
I was afraid of that. “What did you have?”
“A croissant with Camembert, roast turkey, red onions, and cranberry sauce. I roasted the turkey breast myself, and I baked the croissants.”
Even though I was about to be killed, that sounded great. “You cook a lot?”
“I took a course.”
“I had a piece of Grandma’s spanakopita.”
“That’s a good last meal.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to die on an empty stomach. Do you?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t.”
Chapter 5
“ H ave another dolmada ,” I told Stavros.
“It won’t fit.” He shoved it into his mouth anyway.
This was potentially our last meal and we were taking it seriously. That meant we had picked a seaside taverna with a reputation for excellent food. Not that it was difficult to find good food in Greece. Throw a small rock and you were bound to hit a plate fully loaded with delicious eats.
Only a generous blue umbrella stood between us and the sun; it kept knocking on the canvas, trying to find a way in. We were alone. Well, unless you counted the German couple sitting two tables away. They had first-degree burns but they looked happy about their situation. All the other pansies had retreated to their cloistered bedrooms,
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