When Dead in Greece by L.T. Ryan Page A

the room and stood in front of the window and lifted it open. Warm air billowed past, carrying the scent of a fresh catch. Down the coast four fishing vessels were pulling in.
    “We should go see Esau,” I said.
    We left the apartment, headed down the stairs, stepped into the cafe. It was a quarter full, with half the patrons on the terrace. The old men looked away as we made the short trip to Esau’s office.
    He was sitting in his ratty chair, head leaned back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
    I rapped my knuckles against his door.
    Esau didn’t move.
    I knocked again. Alik cleared his throat.
    “What?” Esau said, his voice raspy.
    “Have you thought about what you are going to do?” Alik asked.
    “Do?” Esau’s head rolled forward. His hands lifted from his lap and he draped them and his arms over his desk. He looked up from his hunched posture. “What do you mean, what am I going to do? You talk as though I have options here.”
    “You have some,” I said.
    “What?”
    “They want me. You can send me.”
    “Empty handed? You’ll be a dead man.”
    “If they can kill me.”
    “No offense, Jack,” Esau said. “I understand who you are and the things you have done. But you are a shell of that man right now.”
    Alik placed his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.
    I said, “I’m the best option you’ve got unless you’re willing to trade your life for hers. Are you prepared to do that?”
    Esau looked down at the space between his steepled hands. His tongue clicked as he licked his lips. A grunt of a word slipped out.
    “No.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    He looked up, eyebrows raised, forehead folded into a dozen wrinkles. “So what do we do?”
    “How much cash do you have lying around?”
    Esau glanced up at the ceiling. His gaze remained fixed. He wasn’t mentally counting or thinking about his bank accounts.
    “What’s up there?” Alik said.
    Esau shrugged, said nothing.
    I grabbed one of the fold-up chairs and placed it in the middle of the room. The chair looked like it could hold a guy maybe half my size. I ignored the pain in my hip and planted my left leg on it. Pressed down. Wiggled side to side to inch the chair closer to center.
    “Be ready to catch me,” I said to Alik. Then I stepped up and angled my head to the right to keep from hitting the ceiling with it. I extended both arms and pushed the ceiling tile up and set it to the right. I stuck my head into the hole. It was dark and dusty and smelled like coffee and donuts, just like Esau’s office.
    “See anything?” Esau asked.
    I blinked and my eyes adjusted to the light. In front of me there was nothing. To the right, nothing. Same on the opposite side. I shuffled in a circle on the chair like a ballerina until I was a hundred and eighty degrees from where I started.
    “There it is,” I said.
    “What?” Alik said.
    “Found it,” I said, pulling my head out of the hole. I jumped off the chair. Slid it five feet toward the door, then hopped back up. This tile took a little more force to move. I punched the corners a couple times to free it. Then I reached into the attic and grabbed the canvas bag. It was heavy and full so that the sides puffed out. It slid across the tile with a hiss. I leaned to the side and lowered it down to Alik, then rejoined him on the ground.
    “How much is in there?” Alik asked Esau.
    The old man shrugged and looked away.
    “Count it,” I said to Alik.
    Dust rose as he slapped the bag. He wiped off the zipper and pulled it back. Reached inside and grabbed a brick of bills.
    “It’s about twenty thousand U.S.,” Esau said.
    “Not near enough,” Alik said.
    “But it might buy us Isadora’s life,” I said.
    “Or it might get yours extinguished,” Alik said.
    “Maybe, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
    Alik set the bag on the chair and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked past me at Esau. “It should be you going, old man. You should own up to your