Sons of Sparta: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery by Jeffrey Siger Read Free Book Online Page A

of doors. They were alone in the vestibule and Andreas started to reach for the other set of doors when Petro put his hand on Andreas’ arm.
    “Just a minute, Chief.”
    Andreas looked at Petro. “Do I know you?”
    The scowl turned to a smile. “I’m a cop assigned to headquarters security at GADA.”
    “Are you working undercover here?”
    “No, just trying to make a living. It’s a night job.”
    Andreas smacked him on the shoulder. “Thanks for not giving me away.”
    “I figured you wanted it that way. Come on, I’ll take you to Orestes’ table.”
    Whether Petro was an honest cop earning extra money as a bouncer or something else, Andreas had no way of knowing. But he liked the guy’s style. “Stop by my office for a coffee sometime.”
    “Thanks, I’d like that.”
    Petro opened the door and a whoosh of sounds filled the vestibule, followed by the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. Smoking had been outlawed in places like these years ago, but those charged with enforcing the law rarely did. Inside, El Malaga had its share of de rigueur low lighting, red and gold flocked wallpaper, faux gilt embellished woodwork, and cigarette burns in its almost-leather upholstered banquettes. But what made this place unique were the owner’s two primary passions: painting and women. El Malaga earned him the money to sustain and display them both. Stark, Picasso-like images of exaggerated nudes in exotic poses filled the walls, and one of El Malaga’s grand parlor games involved trying to guess the women who’d been the models. In some cases it was obvious, because the woman had proudly claimed the portrait as her own by writing her name beneath it. Others simply smiled to themselves as they listened to patrons guess at their identities. But the owner wouldn’t name names, for it was his inviolate discretion that kept him in models.
    Petro led Andreas through a bar area filled with courting young men and women into a larger room filled with linen-covered tables and an older crowd. A small stage at the far end of the room accommodated everything from intimate cabaret to hardcore urban rebetiko performances, depending upon the mood the owner decided to set for the room. Tonight the stage was empty.
    They stopped at a table of six men near the stage. Andreas recognized Orestes. He sat huddled in conversation with the men on either side of him while the others laughed in animated conversation with a group of women at the next table. Andreas assumed the women’s table was next to the men’s for a reason. In these days of ubiquitous smartphone cameras, girlfriends of prudent, married big shots didn’t sit at the same table with their patrons.
    “Thanks, Petro, I’ll take it from here.”
    Petro nodded and left.
    Andreas stood by the table and looked across at Orestes. Orestes ignored him. Andreas cleared his throat. Orestes still ignored him. “Excuse me, sir, my name is Andreas Kaldis.”
    Orestes acted as if he didn’t hear him. Andreas walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m Andreas Kaldis—”
    Without turning, Orestes said, “I know who you are. I’ll speak to you when I’m finished speaking to my friends.”
    The two men with Orestes smirked.
    “But there’s no place for me to sit at your table, sir.”
    “Then you’ll have to stand.”
    The men laughed.
    “No problem, sir.”
    Andreas walked over to an empty chair at the women’s table. “Mind if I sit here, ladies?” Without waiting for an answer he sat down and flashed his most charming Cary Grant smile at the blonde to his right and brunette to his left.
    “My name is Andreas, what’s yours?”
    The women looked nervously at the men’s table.
    “Oh, don’t worry about them, I’m here to see Orestes. We’re all old friends.”
    The blonde smiled. “I’m Sasha.”
    “Hilda,” said the brunette.
    Both spoke Greek with distinctly Eastern European accents and looked to be less than half, if not a