Free Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) by Paul Johnston

like my offering outside?’ Another throaty laugh. ‘I thought it was perfect. Sweet honey for my sweet man.’ The irony in the voice was lacerating.
    Mavros swallowed hard and went into the kitchen to reengage the switch of the main circuit. The lights came on in the sitting room and he focused on the form curled up in his black leather chair. Andhroniki Glezou’s long legs, bare under a loose orange skirt, were drawn up beneath her, her arms crossed under the shapely breasts that her tight T-shirt emphasised. Her pale face with its delicate features and small straight nose was composed, but her dark eyes were as restless as ever beneath the crown of tousled, highlighted hair.
    ‘Well,’ Niki said, her tone softening. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me, Alex?’ She caught his eye. ‘Why didn’t you call me? I left you a message.’
    ‘Did you? I never got it,’ Mavros lied. He’d turned his phone off when he was at his mother’s and hadn’t felt like returning the message after he left there. The truth was that Niki had begun to get him down. ‘I’ve been busy and…’ He let the words trail away, knowing that, whatever he said, he was in her sights.
    ‘Sweet man,’ she said lightly, smiling at him. ‘Of course you’ve been busy.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Busy offering your arse to people who are rich enough to pay for it.’
    ‘Niki, I—’ He broke off when he realised that she was still talking.
    ‘Haven’t you realised, Alex?’ she said, unravelling her legs and standing up, right arm raised and left foot forward like an Amazon about to cast a spear. ‘You’re a whore, nothing more. All you care about is that your clients hand over the cash.’
    He shrugged, knowing that any comment would only make the onslaught worse.
    ‘Because you only work for rich people, don’t you?’ Niki continued. ‘You only work for thieving businessmen and foreigners who’ve more money than Croesus.’ She held her position, the arm still up. ‘Well, you do, don’t you? How many poor people have you ever helped? Have you ever taken on a case for free, out of the goodness of your heart?’
    Mavros was leaning against the door jamb, his eyes lowered. He’d worked without a fee on more than one occasion, but Niki wouldn’t believe that. She was a social worker and she spent her days with immigrants from the former Soviet Union who’d come to the home country with nothing to their name except their Greek blood-line. After six months with her, he had realised that she resented every evening she had to spend on her own. She was an orphan and had rejected her foster parents, though not until after they’d paid for her to go to university in London.
    ‘Leave it, Niki,’ he said, turning away and taking a bucket and sponge out of the cupboard. His upstairs neighbour was a ballet dancer and he knew she was performing these evenings. If she came back and dragged her precious feet through the honey Niki had smeared on the landing, he’d be in even deeper trouble.

    ‘No, I won’t leave it!’ she shouted, her voice breaking. ‘You’re a freak, Alex, with your two-tone eye and that brother you’re forever hero-worshipping. Why can’t you pay attention to someone who’s alive for a change?’
    Mavros froze.
    She came over to him quickly and clutched his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Alex, I’m sorry,’ she said, tears welling up. ‘Let me clean up, I was only…I was only trying to make a point.’ She pulled the sponge from his hand and went out into the stairwell. Mavros took a deep breath then filled the bucket and followed her. ‘Bit of a sticky situation,’ he said in English as he squatted down on the marble. He knew there was no point in arguing with Niki. She would only become more hysterical and, besides, she was right—he was a freak. The worst thing was that, most of the time, it suited him.
    Niki let out a sobbing laugh and brushed the hair back from her face with a forearm. ‘Oh, Alex,’ she said.