Walt Kelly started at him, frustrated. “Don’t wait too long,” he said. “That shipment will be gone.”
The villa at Rafina was ready. The realtor had said to Constantin Demiris, “I know you bought it furnished, but if I might suggest some new furniture…”
“No. I want everything exactly as it is.”
Exactly as it was when his faithless Noelle and her lover, Larry, were there betraying him. He walked through the living room. Did they make love here in the middle of the floor? In the den? In the kitchen? Demiris walked into the bedroom. There was a large bed in the corner. Their bed. Where Douglas had caressed Noelle’s naked body, where he had stolen what belonged to Demiris. Douglas had paid for his treachery and now he was going to pay again. Demiris looked at the bed. I’ll make love to Catherine here first, Demiris thought. Then the other rooms. All of them. He telephoned Catherine from the villa.
“Hello.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
Tony Rizzoli had two unexpected visitors from Sicily. They walked into his hotel room unannounced, and Rizzoli instantly smelled trouble. Alfredo Mancuso was big. Gino Laveri was bigger.
Mancuso came straight to the point. “Pete Lucca sent us.”
Rizzoli tried to sound casual. “That’s great. Welcome to Athens. What can I do for you?”
“You can cut the bullshit, Rizzoli,” Mancuso said. “Pete wants to know what kind of games you’re playin’.”
“Games? What are you talking about? I explained to him that I’m having a little problem.”
“That’s why we’re here. To help you solve it.”
“Wait a minute, fellows,” Rizzoli protested. “I have the package stashed away, and it’s safe. When…”
“Pete doesn’t want it stashed away. He’s got a lot of money invested in it.” Laveri put his fist against Rizzoli’s chest and pushed him into a chair. “Lemme explain it to you, Rizzoli. If this stuff was out on the streets in New York now like it was supposed to be, Pete could take the money, launder it, and put it to work on the street. See what I mean?”
I could probably take these two gorillas, Rizzoli thought. But he knew he wouldn’t be fighting them; he’d be fighting Pete Lucca.
“Sure, I understand exactly what you’re saying,” Rizzoli said soothingly. “But it’s not as easy as it used to be. The Greek police are all over the place, and they’ve got a narc in from Washington. I have a plan…”
“So has Pete,” Laveri interrupted. “Do you know what his plan is? He says to tell you if the stuff isn’t on its way by next week you’re going to have to come up with the cash yourself.”
“Hey!” Rizzoli protested. “I don’t have that kind of money. I…”
“Pete thought maybe you didn’t. So he told us to find other ways to make you pay.”
Tony Rizzoli took a deep breath. “Okay. Just tell him everything’s under control.”
“Sure. Meanwhile we’ll stick around. You’ve got one week.”
Tony Rizzoli made it a point of honor never to drink before noon, but when the two men left, he opened a bottle of scotch and took two long gulps. He felt the warmth of the scotch course through him, but it didn’t help. Nothing’s going to help, he thought. How could the old man turn on me like this? I’ve been like a son to him and he gives me one week to find a way out of this. I need a mule, fast. The casino, he decided. I’ll find a mule there.
At ten o’clock that evening, Rizzoli drove to Loutraki, the popular casino fifty miles west of Athens. He wandered around the huge, busy gaming room, watching the action. There were always plenty of losers, ready to do anything for more gambling money. The more desperate the person, the easier the prey. Rizzoli spotted his target almost immediately at a roulette table. He was a small, birdlike man, gray-haired, in his fifties, who was constantly stabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. The more he lost, the more he perspired.
Rizzoli watched him with interest. He had seen the symptoms before. This was a classic case of a compulsive gambler losing more than he could afford.