When the chips in front of the man were gone, he said to the croupier, “I…I would like to sign for another pile of chips.”
The croupier turned to look at the pit boss.
“Give it to him. That’ll be the last.”
Tony Rizzoli wondered how much the pigeon was already hooked for. He took a seat next to the man and bought into the game. Roulette was a sucker’s game, but Rizzoli knew how to play the odds, and his pile of chips grew while that of the man next to him diminished. The loser was desperately spreading chips all over the table, playing the numbers, the colors, and taking odd-even bets. He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, Rizzoli thought.
The last of the chips were swept away. The stranger sat there, rigid.
He looked up at the croupier hopefully. “Could I…?”
The croupier shook his head. “Sorry.”
The man sighed and rose.
Rizzoli stood up at the same time. “Too bad,” he said sympathetically. “I’ve had a little luck. Let me buy you a drink.”
The man blinked. His voice quavered. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”
I’ve found my mule, Rizzoli thought. The man obviously needed money. He would probably jump at the chance to fly a harmless package to New York for a hundred dollars or so and a free trip to the United States.
“My name is Tony Rizzoli.”
“Victor Korontzis.”
Rizzoli led Korontzis to the bar. “What will you have?”
“I…I’m afraid I haven’t any money left.”
Tony Rizzoli waved an expansive hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Then I’ll have a retsina, thank you.”
Rizzoli turned to the waiter. “And a Chivas Regal on the rocks.”
“Are you here as a tourist?” Korontzis asked politely.
“Yes,” Rizzoli replied. “I’m on vacation. It’s a beautiful country.”
Korontzis shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“You don’t like it here?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful, all right. It’s just that it’s gotten so expensive. I mean, everything’s gone up. Unless you’re a millionaire, it’s hard to put food on the table, especially when you have a wife and four children.” His tone was bitter.
Better and better. “What do you do, Victor?” Rizzoli asked casually.
“I’m a curator at the Athens State Museum.”
“Yeah? What does a curator do?”
A note of pride crept into Korontzis’s voice. “I’m in charge of all the antiquities that are dug up in Greece.” He took a sip of his drink. “Well, not all of them, of course. We have other museums. The Acropolis, and the National Archaeological Museum. But our museum has the most valuable artifacts.”
Tony Rizzoli found himself becoming interested. “How valuable?”
Victor Korontzis shrugged. “Most of them are priceless. There’s a law against taking any antiquities out of the country, naturally. But we have a little shop in the museum that sells copies.”
Rizzoli’s brain was beginning to work furiously. “Is that so? How good are the copies?”
“Oh, they’re excellent. Only an expert could distinguish between a facsimile and the real thing.”
“Let me buy you another drink,” Rizzoli said.
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. I’m afraid I’m not in a position to reciprocate.”
Rizzoli smiled. “Don’t worry about it. As a matter of fact, there’s something you can do for me. I’d like to see your museum. It sounds fascinating.”
“Oh, it is,” Korontzis assured him enthusiastically. “It’s one of the most interesting museums in the world. I’d be happy to show you around anytime. When would you be free?”
“How about tomorrow morning?”
Tony Rizzoli had a feeling that he was onto something more profitable than a mule.
The Athens State Museum is located off the Platia Syntagma, in the heart of Athens. The museum itself is a beautiful building built in the style of an ancient temple, with four Ionian columns in front, a Greek flag flying on top, and four carved figures on the high roof.
Inside, the large marble halls contain antiquities from various periods of Greek history, and the rooms are crowded with cases of relics and artifacts. There are gold cups and gold crowns, inlaid swords and libation vessels. One case holds four gold burial masks, and another, fragments of centuries-old statues.