“You have two minutes.”
“Spyros sent me. He thought you and I should have a talk.”
“Really? And what do we have to talk about?”
“Do you mind if I sit down?”
“I don’t think you’ll be staying that long.”
Tony Rizzoli settled himself in a chair facing Demiris. “I have a manufacturing plant, Mr. Demiris. I ship things to various parts of the world.”
“I see. And you want to charter one of my ships.”
“Exactly.”
“Why did Spyros send you to me? Why don’t you charter one of his ships? He happens to have two of them idle at the moment.”
Tony Rizzoli shrugged. “I guess he doesn’t like what I ship.”
“I don’t understand. What is it you ship?”
“Drugs,” Tony Rizzoli said delicately. “Heroin.”
Constantin Demiris was staring at him in disbelief. “And you expect me to…? Get out of here, before I call the police.”
Rizzoli nodded toward the phone. “Go right ahead.”
He watched Demiris reach for the phone. “I’d like to speak to them too. I’d like to tell them all about that trial of Noelle Page and Larry Douglas.”
Constantin Demiris froze. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about two people executed for the murder of a woman who’s still alive.”
Constantin Demiris’s face had gone white.
“Do you think maybe the police would be interested in that story, Mr. Demiris? If they aren’t, maybe the press would be, huh? I can see the headlines now, can’t you? Can I call you Costa? Spyros told me all your friends call you Costa, and I think you and I are going to be good friends. Do you know why? Because good friends don’t rat on each other. We’ll keep that little stunt you pulled our secret, shall we?”
Constantin Demiris was sitting rigid in his chair. When he spoke his voice was hoarse. “What is it you want?”
“I told you. I want to charter one of your ships—and, you and I being such good friends, I don’t think you would want to charge me for the charter, would you? Let’s say it’s a favor traded for a favor.”
Demiris took a deep breath. “I can’t let you do this. If it ever got out that I allowed drugs to be smuggled on one of my ships, I could lose my whole fleet.”
“But it’s not going to get out, is it? In my business, I don’t advertise. We’re going to do this very quietly.”
Constantin Demiris’s expression hardened. “You’re making a big mistake. You can’t blackmail me. Do you know who I am?”
“Yeah. You’re my new partner. You and I are going to be doing business together for a long time, Costa baby, because if you say no, I go right to the police and the newspapers and spill the whole story. And there goes your reputation and your fucking empire, right down the drain.”
There was a long, painful silence.
“How—how did my brother-in-law find out?”
Rizzoli grinned. “That’s not important. What’s important is that I’ve got you by the balls. If I squeeze, you’re a eunuch. You’ll be singing soprano for the rest of your life, and you’ll be singing it in a prison cell.” Tony Rizzoli looked at his watch. “My goodness, my two minutes are up.” He rose to his feet. “I’m giving you sixty seconds to decide whether I walk out of here as your partner—or I just walk out.”
Constantin Demiris suddenly looked ten years older. His face was drained of color. He had no illusions about what would happen if the true story of the trial came out. The press would eat him alive. He would be portrayed as a monster, a murderer. They might even open an investigation into the deaths of Stavros and Chotas.
“Your sixty seconds are up.”
Constantin Demiris nodded slowly. “All right,” he whispered, “all right.”
Tony Rizzoli beamed down at him. “You’re smart.”
Constantin Demiris slowly rose to his feet. “I’ll let you get away with it this once,” he said. “I don’t want to know how you do it, or when. I’ll put one of your men aboard one of my ships. That’s as far as I’ll go.”