The Falconer's Tale by Gordon Kent Page A

off for Iceland, and devil takethe consequences. Now Molyvos was crawling with them,and his chocolate shop perched on the edge of the town witha hundred-foot drop to the old Turkish gate below was fillingup. Soon enough, Sergio would give him the eye and suggestthat he move along and make room for more customers. Piatlooked into the shop. There was a big, dark guy at the counterwith a very pretty woman with a baby. Piat admired thewoman’s backside for a moment, and then—
    â€œJesus,” Piat said, out loud. The man at the counter wasMike Dukas. Again.
    Dukas led the woman out on to the balcony. The wholestructure moved under their weight—it was sturdy, but itdid protrude well out over the cliff. Dukas looked embarrassed.
    â€œJerry?” he said. His hand was out.
    There wasn’t anywhere to run. Piat shook hands. “Mike.”He gave the woman a smile. She smiled back, and thenlooked up at Dukas as if exchanging a joke.
    Dukas said, “This’s my wife, Leslie.” Leslie Dukas wastwenty years younger than her husband, rather stunninglypretty next to such an ugly man despite the pack full of babythat she carried.
    Piat indicated his table and waved through the windowfor Sergio.
    Leslie stood for a moment, shaking hands with Piat. “Youguys can just do the guy thing. We’ll go have a feed, won’twe, kiddo?” A tiny pudgy hand reached out of her baby packand tweaked one of her nipples. She laughed. “Gotta go,guys.”
    Piat was left with Dukas. Dukas ordered coffee and a bigpastry. He made a joke to Sergio in decent Greek.
    â€œYour wife’s lovely,” Piat said.
    â€œYeah,” said Dukas. And again, “Yeah.”
    â€œThat’s the small talk, then. What are you doing here?”
    Dukas still looked embarrassed. He doesn’t want to be here, Piat thought.
    â€œPartlow wants you back,” Dukas said. He shrugged.
    â€œDave’s already fucked it away?” asked Piat.
    Dukas shrugged again, looking as Greek as a local, his armsspread wide on the bench back, his weight slumped a little.“Did you expect it?”
    â€œPhff.” Piat’s noise was contemptuous. He had realizedhimself that he was still smarting under the speed with whichhe’d been tossed aside. “I don’t know what Clyde wasthinking. The guy couldn’t handle a hooker.”
    Dukas snorted. His eyes were on Piat’s book, but theyflicked up and met Piat’s quickly. Piat was off thinking aboutDave and Partlow. “So where do I meet Clyde? Is he hidingin a hotel in Mytilene?”
    Dukas passed Piat a slip of paper. Piat disappeared it intohis pack with a minimum of fuss. Dukas said, “Not as far asI know.”
    â€œStill in Scotland?”
    It was the look on Dukas’s face that finally warned Piat—a little look of interest, almost triumph, at “Scotland.” Dukashad been looking at the book—Dukas hadn’t said anything—
    â€œYou don’t know, do you?” Piat said.
    Dukas hesitated and then shook his head. “Nope,” he said.And then he smiled and said, “But I bet it’s in Scotland.”
    Piat leaned closer to Dukas. “I thought you were in onthis.” He shoved the crannog book into his pack and glancedat the slip of paper—just a DC telephone number.
    â€œPartlow doesn’t know where to find you.” Dukas rubbedhis nose and his eyes met Piat’s. “I thought you might preferit to stay that way.”
    It wasn’t said as a threat, or at least it didn’t sound like athreat to Piat, and he had been threatened by experts. Butit did speak volumes. Dukas was saying I could have fucked you and I didn’t, so you owe me .
    â€œI do. I like it here.” Piat glanced out over the cliff to thebrilliant blue sea and the black volcanic beach. It all flittedaround his brain—Hackbutt and Irene and the birds and Daveand Partlow and the sea trout in