Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) Read Free Page B

through.’ He laughed, displaying straight white teeth. ‘After all, Turks and Greeks are basically the same, aren’t they?’
    Mavros raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that as an ice-breaker at social gatherings around here.’
    Deniz Ozal nodded. ‘Tell me about it. I’m as bad as it gets as far as most Greeks are concerned—Turkish blood plus American nationality. That’s probably why I get screwed so much every time I come to the so-called cradle of democracy.’
    Mavros nodded. Ozal had a point. The historical enmity between Turks and Greeks had survived into the twenty-first century despite the moves of a few well-meaning politicians and the occasional outburst of fraternal aid after earthquakes; while American military involvement in the civil war that followed the Second World War and the CIA’s machinations during the dictatorship of 1967-1974 had not been forgotten or forgiven by many Greeks.
    ‘What are you then?’ Ozal demanded, his eyes locked on Mavros.
    ‘I told you, I’m the dick.’

    ‘Yeah, yeah,’ the Turkish-American said irritably. ‘You know what I mean. Are you Greek or what? Your English is perfect.’
    Mavros raised his shoulders. ‘My father was Greek, my mother is Scottish. But I’ve lived here all my life, apart from four years of university in Edinburgh.’
    ‘Edinburgh, Scotland, huh? Cool city. I went to an antiques auction there about five years back.’ Deniz Ozal leaned forward and cocked an ear as his seat creaked. ‘So how good a dick are you, Alex? It’s okay if I call you that? What have you got that I should buy?’ He turned towards the Fat Man, who was deep in his book of card games. ‘Hey, can I get a cup of coffee here? What’d’ya call it?
Varyglyko
?’
    Mavros nodded. Strong and extra sweet. ‘What have I got? Didn’t Kriaras tell you?’ He’d known the police commander for ten years. When something came up that the official police didn’t fancy, it would often be shunted in his direction.
    The Turkish-American opened his arms. ‘Sure he did, but you and him could be best buddies running a scam for all I know. You give me a sales pitch and I’ll tell you if I like it, okay?’ He leaned forward again. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. You don’t look like any private dick I’ve ever seen. Haven’t you got a set of decent clothes? Haven’t you got an office? And what kind of hairstyle do you call that?’
    Mavros blinked and put his hand to his forehead. If he was going to offload this guy, now was the best time, before he found out what the job entailed. He’d made the mistake in the past of sticking with a client he couldn’t get on with for the sake of what seemed on first impressions to be an interesting case.
    ‘Well?’ Ozal said impatiently. ‘What have you got, Alex?’
    Mavros watched as the Fat Man lumbered across the gravel with the coffee and a glass of water.
    ‘Thanks, pal,’ Ozal said. ‘ Efcharisto .’ His accent and intonation were good. ‘Hey, anything to eat?’ He looked at Mavros’s plate. ‘What did you have?’
    The Fat Man was already on his way back to the kitchen. Mavros knew for sure that, even if there was any galaktoboureko left, Ozal wouldn’t get it. The café owner was even more anti-American than the Party’s Central Committee.
    ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Mavros said. ‘You don’t want to eat in here.’ He moved his eyes around the yard and up to the wasp traps dangling from the pergola.
    Ozal followed his line of gaze. ‘Jesus, I see what you mean. Look at those poor suckers.’
    Maybe it was because he’d left his potential client hungry, maybe it was because at least this one wasn’t an Athenian snob, but Mavros decided to go along with him. ‘All right, Mr Ozal—’
    ‘You can call me Deniz, Alex,’ the Turkish-American said with a wink of complicity.
    ‘All right, Deniz. What have I got? I studied law at university in Scotland, specialising in criminology. After my military