Free Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) by Joseph Badal

The boy paused. “It’s disgusting. My mother treats him like a king when he shows up. Then he disappears again. He spends more time with his whore than he does with his own family.”
    Janos heard hatred as well as disgust in Gregorie’s voice. And he also heard fear.
     

CHAPTER THIRTY
    Meers had written the name of a beach – Ka ki Tha lassa – on the piece of paper he’d given them. They arrived there early, at 6:45 a.m. The beach was deserted. Bob and George got out of the car and looked around. A strong wind blowing off the water whipped the sand into a stinging frenzy. They retreated to the car and wiped the sand from their eyes.
    “Damn! The wind must be blowing forty miles an hour,” Bob said. “My face feels like it got hit by a cactus.”
    The ticking of the car’s clock sounded louder and louder with each passing minute.
    “Do you think he’ll show?” Liz asked.
    “He’ll be here,” George answered. “He’s got too much to lose if he doesn’t.”
    Meers finally drove up, twenty minutes late, with a passenger seated in the back of his black Volvo.
    “Wait here,” George ordered.
    Using his hand to shield his eyes from the blowing sand, George walked to Meers’ car. He opened the right rear door and slid onto the backseat, pulling the door shut behind him. Meers looked back at George. “I’ll leave you guys alone,” he said. Meers then turned and left the car.
    The stranger across from him looked straight ahead, not acknowledging George in any way.
    “Thank you for coming,” George said, extending his right hand.
    The man didn’t take the hand, but did finally turn his head to look at George.
    George withdrew his hand and brushed his windblown hair off his forehead while taking the measure of the other man. He could tell from his features the man was a Gypsy. He had a curved white scar running down the left side of his face, from his cheekbone to the rim of his jaw. The scar seemed to shine against his mahogany skin. The man’s eyes were ebony-colored.
    “I take it you don’t like being here,” George said in Greek.
    Leering at George with a “you must be stupid” look on his face, the man said, “If it ever gets back to the Rom I helped you, my own clan will kill me. Let’s get this over with.”
    “All right. Who’s behind the kidnappings of children in Greece?”
    “Why the fuck should I tell you?” the Gypsy said, his mouth twisting into a cruel slash.
    He wants money, George thought. He glared at the Gypsy, who leaned back against the car seat and smiled smugly. George leaped at the man and grabbed his throat. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he said in a dead-calm voice. “If you hesitate once, if you lie to me, I will rip your throat out.”
    Croaking through compressed vocal chords, the man raised a hand in submission. “Okay! Ease up.”
    George released him, all the while watching his eyes. They seemed to have turned even blacker. He watched the man massage his throat. “We know Gypsies have done at least some of the kidnappings,” George said. “Who are they?”
    “It’s not Gypsies . You say it as if all of Rom is behind the kidnappings. It’s only a small band of renegades.”
    “Who’s their leader?”
    “A mean sonofabitch,” the man answered. “Guy named Radko, Stefan Radko. His own kumpan i a won’t have anything to do with him. Been working with the Bulgarians, kidnapping kids for over twenty years. He’s in his forties now. In tight with the Bulgarian Secret Police.”
    “How do you know so much about Radko?”
    “Radko’s a Rom legend. Gypsy mothers tell their children he’s the bogeyman. The clan leaders are afraid if it ever gets out that a Gypsy has been kidnapping Greek children, there’ll be a massacre of Gypsies all over the country.”
    George rubbed his face with his hands and focused on the sound of the sand blowing against the car. After a moment, he looked over at the Gypsy and asked, “Where can I find