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

I had maybe twenty years before my parts started desiccating.
    "My grandmother wouldn't shoot her own son."
    He snorted. "She killed her own brother-in-law."
    "What?" I squawked.
    "He sold insider information to a rival Family, so she poisoned his Name Day cake. Or so the story goes."
    "I want to go home." My voice was faint. It had already packed its bags, fled the coop.
    "Great idea. That's what I'm telling you."
    "Except my father would still be missing. Where is he?" I was asking the universe more than Melas himself, but he answered.
    "We don't know, and I'm not convinced your grandmother does either. She'd go guns-in if she knew for sure. Hell, maybe she knows but there's some other plan twirling around inside her head. You never know with that woman."
    "Why now? Why kidnap him? It makes no sense."
    There was a long, problematic silence before the detective spoke again.
    "What did your father do in America?"
    "For work? He was a truck driver."
    Two beats, then: "Was he?"
    The 'o f course' played peanut butter, sticking to my mouth's pink roof. "Okay, so let's say he wasn't—which is what you suspect—how do I find him?"
    "You don't. Whoever took him took him for a reason. They expect to profit, so you can't just knock on doors, bat your eyelashes, and ask for your father back."
    "Then what am I supposed to do?"
    He groaned. Seemed like I brought out his inner emo. "You're not giving up and going home, are you?"
    "Would you?"
    "If it were my father? Never. But I'm in a different position. My father's a baker—a verifiable baker. His biggest sin is keeping a cat in the bakery."
    "So if you were me, where would you start?"
    "I'd figure out what your grandmother is doing that's new. Business-wise, I'm talking. Has she made any new deals, new friends? Any old deals where the terms have suddenly changed?"
    "Okay …"
    "Wait," he said. "Are you calling me on the house phone?"
    "Yes."
    "Jesus," he said, and hung up.
    What was his problem? Now I had a head rattling with questions and not nearly enough answers to satisfy them. Figure out what Grandma's got going on—how was I going to do that? I didn't know the layout of the family compound, let along the layout of the family itself. Who was I supposed to trust? Who spat out answers if you thumped their back the right way?
    Takis and Stavros. They both had a way of unintentionally burping up details. And Stavros was the nicer guy. Takis was more of an anthropomorphic weasel.
    I'd start with the human and work my way down.

Chapter 6
    S tavros was wifeless , so he was banished to the bottom floor in the section of the compound known as the bachelors' barracks. One of the family kids ponied up the information for the sweet, low price of me listening, while he and his—and my—cousins practiced their English on me.
    Fifteen minutes of "What you name?" and "Where's the party?" later, I was wandering pale hallways inside the main house.
    The bachelors' barracks were less barracks, more suites, complete with kitchenettes and en-suites, from what I could see as I peered into open rooms. They made my new digs look even sadder.
    And every suite had cable TV and Internet, or so the kids had told me. Grandma was generous with the family. If this family was what I thought it was, I suspected generosity wasn't so much a benevolent move as it was political tactics. Keep family happy and they stay loyal. There would always be one or two waiting to squeeze Grandma for more, but they were outliers. The bulk of the family could be kept loyal through the adequate and regular dispersal of luxury items.
    Translation: Shiny things buy loyalty.
    Right on. Because I was thinking that right now indoor plumbing could purchase me as a friend for life.
    I knocked on Stavros's door.
    "Who is it?" His voice was muffled.
    "Katerina."
    Some distance away, behind the white paneled door, he let out a string of colorful curse words. Something about engaging in sexual atrocities with the Virgin Mary, someone's