Free Target: Tinos by Jeffrey Siger Page A

who’s on Punka?”
    “Angelo and Christina.”
    “Fine, call them and tell them to bring him in now .”

Chapter Seven
    Angelo was not free of prejudices. He never claimed to be. He just tried to keep his from interfering with his professional responsibilities as a cop. But Punka was making it very difficult. Angelo and his partner, Christina, had been staked out in Syntagma for hours watching Punka orchestrate a petty-crime wave in the heart of their city.
    The Athens that Angelo remembered as a child had changed dramatically. Its innocence was gone. Residents no longer dared leave their front doors open, or any door or window for that matter. His mother and everyone else’s mother now rode the metro clutching their purses. That included immigrant mothers, for they were among the most preyed upon. Many feared that with Greece in economic decline for the first time in decades, there was worse crime to come, and all prayed that whatever came would not get out of hand.
    To Angelo, Punka already was way out of hand. Cute, innocent-looking three-year-olds, five-year-olds, seven-year-olds, eleven-year-olds and every age in between raced around smiling and touching as they begged tourists and locals alike for money, and cursing those who did not give. Then there were the babies sleeping in the laps of older girls begging, but not really sleeping: drugged, so they couldn’t move or cry. And into this mix dropped the pickpockets, the opportunists. All run by Punka from a park bench and all watched as closely as a distrusting casino pit boss would his dealers.
    “I really can’t take much more of this,” said Angelo into his transmitter. “What do you say, Christina, want to help me kick his ass?” He glanced across the square toward his partner.
    “I can do it myself, thank you.”
    “I bet you could.” He looked at his watch. He despised Punka even though he’d never met him. It wasn’t a matter of race or the notorious tsigani crimes and hustles that played out every day almost everywhere in Europe that bothered him. After all, separating suckers from their money was a time-honored tradition practiced by many groups, including businessmen and politicians. What drove his anger were the children, their exploitation.
    He looked at his watch again. “Twenty minutes until our relief gets here,” said Angelo.
    “Thank God,” said Christina. “This is worse than boring. Having to watch that bastard—”
    “Christina. Someone’s heading toward Punka. Male, late twenties, five-six, thin, dark blue zippered jacket…”
    “I see him,” said Christina.
    “Hold off until contact is made then you follow the new guy. I’ll stay with Punka in case it’s a diversion.”
    The new guy walked over to Punka and smiled. They didn’t shake hands, but talked for minute. He offered Punka a cigarette. Punka stood up, stretched, and took it. New guy reached into his right jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter. Punka leaned in for a light and new guy transferred the lighter to his left hand and…
    Angelo thought, left hand? Why would he switch it to his left hand to light the cigarette? “ Move in now, something’s wrong .”
    The stiletto was out of new guy’s right jacket sleeve and in Punka’s heart before Punka could draw a puff. It was a smooth, quick thrust with just enough twisting force to ensure Punka would not survive. He eased Punka back onto the bench and turned to walk away, the stiletto no longer in sight.
    It was Christina who reached new guy first, her gun drawn. “ Stop , police. Drop the knife.”
    He nodded, and let the stiletto fall from inside his right sleeve.
    “On the ground, hands behind your head.” It was Angelo coming up behind him.
    New guy dropped to his knees.
    That was when the shot came. It entered dead center into new guy’s forehead.
    The cops scrambled for cover.
    The shot had to come from a building across the square, down by Ermou Street. But which building?
    “Christina, call for