Disorganized Crime: A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel by Alex A. King

to shut their traps about his identity.
    " Ayia Aikaterini," Grandma said.
    Saint Catherine.
    The grand double doors were open. I followed her inside.
    Saint Catherine's guts had been designed by the latest crop of rappers and hip-hop artists. Gold everywhere. Everything that wasn't gold was silver, or something like it. Saints had been captured on the ceiling and walls in moments of extreme boredom; they were tired of hanging around, and they didn't care who knew it. Even J.C. Himself had a mild frown that suggested that he'd prefer to excuse himself and find the nearest bar.
    The pappas —a.k.a. the father, a.k.a. the priest—rushed to greet Grandma. He was a half dozen heartbeats away from a heart attack. He was red-nosed and purple-cheeked and the circumference of his waist was greater than his height. If I had to staple an adjective to his forehead I'd call him jolly .
    "Kyria Katerina," he said, beaming. He wiped his hands on his black cassock. "What a treat it is to see you on a weekday. I only saw you just this weekend." She didn't kiss his ring as was customary; he kissed hers. Maybe that was customary, too.
    "Father Harry," she said, "I have come to light candles."
    "Of course, of course! And candles you shall have—as many as you like." His attention slid to me. "A new face, and a lovely one. Welcome to Ayia Aikaterini. I am Father Haralambos, but everyone calls me Father Harry."
    After performing brief introductions, Grandma left me with the jolly priest while she paid homage to the icon of the Virgin Mary and her son. She pressed her lips to the glass, crossed herself forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, then went to front of the church, where she sat in one of the polished pews. Like most Greek Orthodox churches the seating was limited. Pews were there for the elderly, the infirm, the strays that wandered in to pray outside of services. Everyone else was expected to stand—women on the left, men on the right. All equal in the eyes of God … except not.
    "She always comes here to pray in times of trouble." He looked at me. "Are these times of trouble?"
    "I think so. My father has possibly been kidnapped."
    "Ah. That's why she's praying out loud, then."
    "You can tell her," Grandma called out.
    I must have looked baffled, because he explained. "The front of the church is bugged. Just about every law enforcement agency in the world is listening in."
    "And she knows?"
    "It was her idea."
    My mind blanked. "Why?"
    He rocked back on his heels. "Do you know about Saint Catherine?"
    "Not really," I said. Meaning up until now I had never given her a second thought. Most Greek names are derivative of one saint's name or another, and Catherine was Katerina's point of origin.
    "Saint Catherine was born in Egypt. Alexandria, to be precise. She was a brilliant woman, the daughter of a king. Clever. Educated. And very beautiful, like your grandmother was when she was a young woman, and like you are now. Many, many men pursued Catherine, but she turned them all away. She said she would not marry until a man who was more beautiful, more educated, more brilliant than herself came into her life. But there was no such man until she was introduced to Christianity. Jesus Christ was the man she sought, and to him she pledged herself forever, wearing the ring of their union upon her finger."
    "What happened to her?" Nothing good ever happened to saints. They always seemed to meet sticky ends, often involving fire. Saints are the poster children for bad things happening to good people.
    "The Roman emperor, Maximinus, upon seeing her, wanted her for himself. She refused to be unfaithful to Christ, and so the emperor had her killed. His executioner cut off her head."
    I was feeling slightly woozy. It would have been nicer to be named after someone who lived an amazing life and died happily in their sleep, some hundred years after their birth. "Okay …"
    "Kyria Katerina, your grandmother, is like her namesake. She is devoted, one