Read Online Trueish Crime: A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel by Alex A. King - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alex A. King
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snoozing the afternoon away because they lacked the fortitude to handle the blistering heat.
Did I say pansies? I meant the smart people, who probably weren’t in danger of winding up at the bottom of a deep hole on Turkish soil.
I sucked down another frappe . Greece had cornered the market on iced coffee. They tossed instant coffee, sugar (or not, if that was your thing) cold water, and ice cubes into a cocktail shaker, then shook until the whole thing was dense foam. Then they poured it into a tall glass, stuck a straw in, and changed your life.
“I was thinking we could stay here forever,” I said. “We’ve got food, drink, the beach, and a bathroom directly across the street. Grandma wouldn’t kill us in front of all of these people.”
We looked at the German couple.
“In front of all these two people,” I said.
Stavros thought about it for a moment. “Or we could run away.”
“Where would we go?”
“Las Vegas. I hear you can get anything in Las Vegas.”
True, but did you really want it?
The more I thought about it, the more the idea had merit. We could run away. It had worked for Dad—
Oh. Yeah. His mother had known where he was the whole time. She’d even come to visit me, with Mom’s help. I had no recollection of the time we spent playing together at the park, but apparently Xander had been there, too.
Maybe we could run farther. New Zealand sounded promising, or … what was that nugget on Australia’s foot called? Tasmania.
“How about Antarctica?” I said.
“I like polar bears,” Stavros said. “We should do that, right after I go drain the snake.”
“Wrong pole.”
“I like penguins,” he said, switching hemispheres. “They are cute in their little tuxedos.”
He jogged across the street to the taverna ’s storefront. The cooking happened inside the building, but the tables and chairs were mostly outside along the waterfront, with a few inside for people waiting to take their food to go.
I dragged my gaze up and down the deserted beachfront road. Nobody but us and the Germans and a couple of stragglers down the far end of the promenade, knocking back frappes . The sun was at its highest point, shooting for a top-down assault. The heat was coiling into one massive, overstuffed feather duvet, and it had plans to smother those of us dumb enough to be outside.
Stavros jogged back, his fly half mast. His face was pale, his eyes wild.
“Get up! I hear a helicopter!”
Now that he mentioned it, I did hear the faint buzz of an incoming bird.
“Probably a police helicopter. Or a news helicopter.”
“No, the local police cannot afford a helicopter. Baboulas bought it from them!” he said urgently. “We have to run. Or hide. Or run and hide.”
“What about the check?”
He dumped a wad of euros on the table. “Happy? Let’s go!”
The whirring was moving closer. It sounded like a swarm of furious giant hornets.
I stood and stepped out from under the umbrella, my belly loaded with good Greek eats. When I moved it was how I imagined wading through quicksand, which, so far, hadn’t been a real problem. The dangers of quicksand had been overhyped in my childhood.
What I needed was a good nap, but the caffeine surging through my system wouldn’t give me permission. The coffee wanted to dance, the food wanted to nap, and so they struggled for dominance while I watched the sky, a hand shielding my eyes from the glare.
There was a helicopter, all right, and it was moving our way.
Inside my head I started running, but my feet hadn’t received the message. All the food in my gut was blocking the transmission. If running was going to happen I wouldn’t be the one doing it.
“Argh! It’s coming right for us!” I said lamely.
“That’s what I said!”
“What are we going to do? I can’t run! Not with all this food in me.”
“Too bad we are not Ancient Romans,” Stavros said as the helicopter lowered its belly to the road. The Germans had their phones
Did I say pansies? I meant the smart people, who probably weren’t in danger of winding up at the bottom of a deep hole on Turkish soil.
I sucked down another frappe . Greece had cornered the market on iced coffee. They tossed instant coffee, sugar (or not, if that was your thing) cold water, and ice cubes into a cocktail shaker, then shook until the whole thing was dense foam. Then they poured it into a tall glass, stuck a straw in, and changed your life.
“I was thinking we could stay here forever,” I said. “We’ve got food, drink, the beach, and a bathroom directly across the street. Grandma wouldn’t kill us in front of all of these people.”
We looked at the German couple.
“In front of all these two people,” I said.
Stavros thought about it for a moment. “Or we could run away.”
“Where would we go?”
“Las Vegas. I hear you can get anything in Las Vegas.”
True, but did you really want it?
The more I thought about it, the more the idea had merit. We could run away. It had worked for Dad—
Oh. Yeah. His mother had known where he was the whole time. She’d even come to visit me, with Mom’s help. I had no recollection of the time we spent playing together at the park, but apparently Xander had been there, too.
Maybe we could run farther. New Zealand sounded promising, or … what was that nugget on Australia’s foot called? Tasmania.
“How about Antarctica?” I said.
“I like polar bears,” Stavros said. “We should do that, right after I go drain the snake.”
“Wrong pole.”
“I like penguins,” he said, switching hemispheres. “They are cute in their little tuxedos.”
He jogged across the street to the taverna ’s storefront. The cooking happened inside the building, but the tables and chairs were mostly outside along the waterfront, with a few inside for people waiting to take their food to go.
I dragged my gaze up and down the deserted beachfront road. Nobody but us and the Germans and a couple of stragglers down the far end of the promenade, knocking back frappes . The sun was at its highest point, shooting for a top-down assault. The heat was coiling into one massive, overstuffed feather duvet, and it had plans to smother those of us dumb enough to be outside.
Stavros jogged back, his fly half mast. His face was pale, his eyes wild.
“Get up! I hear a helicopter!”
Now that he mentioned it, I did hear the faint buzz of an incoming bird.
“Probably a police helicopter. Or a news helicopter.”
“No, the local police cannot afford a helicopter. Baboulas bought it from them!” he said urgently. “We have to run. Or hide. Or run and hide.”
“What about the check?”
He dumped a wad of euros on the table. “Happy? Let’s go!”
The whirring was moving closer. It sounded like a swarm of furious giant hornets.
I stood and stepped out from under the umbrella, my belly loaded with good Greek eats. When I moved it was how I imagined wading through quicksand, which, so far, hadn’t been a real problem. The dangers of quicksand had been overhyped in my childhood.
What I needed was a good nap, but the caffeine surging through my system wouldn’t give me permission. The coffee wanted to dance, the food wanted to nap, and so they struggled for dominance while I watched the sky, a hand shielding my eyes from the glare.
There was a helicopter, all right, and it was moving our way.
Inside my head I started running, but my feet hadn’t received the message. All the food in my gut was blocking the transmission. If running was going to happen I wouldn’t be the one doing it.
“Argh! It’s coming right for us!” I said lamely.
“That’s what I said!”
“What are we going to do? I can’t run! Not with all this food in me.”
“Too bad we are not Ancient Romans,” Stavros said as the helicopter lowered its belly to the road. The Germans had their phones
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