Free Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) by Paul Johnston Page B

job to the competition?’
    Mavros raised his eyes to the night sky. ‘Because there isn’t any competition worth the name, Deniz.’
    ‘Is that right?’ There was a heavy slap. ‘I told you to wait, goddammit. So, d’you want the job or not, Alex?’
    ‘If you promise to stop hitting the woman. The Intercontinental’s pretty strict on visitors in guest rooms at this time of night.’

    Ozal grunted. ‘You think I didn’t square it with the desk? Hey,’ he said, his tone hardening, ‘you threatening me?’
    ‘Of course,’ Mavros replied. ‘I always threaten potential employers.’
    The irony silenced Deniz Ozal for a few moments, then he laughed again. ‘Funny guy. But can you use that mouth of yours to find my sister?’
    Mavros took the plunge. ‘I’ll give it a go. My rate’s a hundred thousand Greek a day plus expenses. In this case, as there’s travel involved, minimum five days, up front. Okay?’
    ‘Jeez, that’s pretty fuckin’ steep, my friend.’
    ‘Take it or leave it, Deniz.’
    There was a long pause.
    ‘Okay, done. You got a mobile phone?’
    ‘No, I prefer to use carrier pigeons.’ Mavros gave the number.
    ‘I’ll be travelling so I’ll call you when it suits me. Since I can’t rely on you to call me when I want you to. And give me your bank details. I’ll transfer half a million tomorrow, okay?’
    Mavros passed on the information, letting the jibe go unanswered. ‘Let me talk to your guest.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You heard me.’
    There was rustle of sheets.
    ‘Yes? What can I do for you?’ The voice was young, female and brash, the English smooth. She probably thought he wanted to arrange a rendezvous.
    ‘The name’s Alex Mavros,’ he replied in Greek. ‘I’m the only one in the phone book. If he hurts you, call me.’
    There was silence for a while. ‘All right.’ The girl sounded less sure of herself. ‘Thanks.’
    The connection was cut.
    Mavros got on to Olympic Airways and booked a seat on the morning flight to Paros, the nearest island to Trigono with an airport. Then he went back to bed, lowering himself carefully on to the mattress to prevent the bed frame creaking. Niki stirred, her arm moving against his thigh. Apparently comforted by making physical contact, she sank back into her usual deep sleep. Before he went the same way, Mavros wondered about what he was doing—not just the Ozal job, but the fact that he wasn’t going to tell Niki where he was headed. He knew it was wrong, knew that he should have had the nerve to face her and say that he didn’t want to see her any more, but he shrank from the inevitable confrontation. It wasn’t a question of gutlessness, he told himself. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t know how to avoid it. Being in a relationship was hell, he thought as his eyes closed. And then you started another one.
    Before the first tinges of dawn had crept down the street from the ruins of the Roman marketplace to his windows, Mavros got up and, keeping one eye on Niki’s lightly breathing form, put some clothes in a leather satchel. He reckoned his usual outfit of T-shirt, jeans and espadrilles, supplemented by a pair of shorts that could double as swimming trunks and a pair of trainers, would do for the Cyclades. Not that he had much recent experience of the islands. He rarely took holidays and his last trip off the mainland had been to find an Austrian woman on Zakynthos a couple of years back; her local husband had decided that she would benefit from an enforced stay in a hut in the hills. Mavros also had a major dislike of travelling with anything other than hand luggage. Deniz Ozal could pay for anything else he needed on Trigono.
    Padding noiselessly into the kitchen, he wrote a note for Niki:
    Urgent job—probably away for a week. I’ll be in touch.
A.
     
    He knew she’d immediately notice the lack of ‘with love’ or the like, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He propped the piece of