Mancuso came straight to the point. "Pete Lucca sent us."
Rizzoli tried to sound casual. "That's great. Welcome to Athens. What can I do for you?"
"You can cut the bullshit, Rizzoli," Mancuso said. "Pete wants to know what kind of games you're playin'."
"Games? What are you talking about? I explained to him that I'm having a little problem."
"That's why we're here. To help you solve it."
"Wait a minute, fellows," Rizzoli protested. "I have the package stashed away, and it's safe. When..."
"Pete doesn't want it stashed away. He's got a lot of money invested in it." Laveri put his fist against Rizzoli's chest and pushed him into a chair. "Lemme explain it to you, Rizzoli. If this stuff was out on the streets in New York now like it was supposed to be, Pete could take the money, launder it, and put it to work on the street. See what I mean?"
I could probably take these two gorillas, Rizzoli thought. But he knew he wouldn't be fighting them; he'd be fighting Pete Lucca.
"Sure, I understand exactly what you're saying," Rizzoli said soothingly. "But it's not as easy as it used to be. The Greek police are all over the place, and they've got a narc in from Washington. I have a plan..."
"So has Pete," Laveri interrupted. "Do you know what his plan is? He says to tell you if the stuff isn't on its way by next week you're going to have to come up with the cash yourself."
"Hey!" Rizzoli protested. "I don't have that kind of money. I..."
"Pete thought maybe you didn't. So he told us to find other ways to make you pay."
Tony Rizzoli took a deep breath. "Okay. Just tell him everything's under control."
"Sure. Meanwhile we'll stick around. You've got one week."
Tony Rizzoli made it a point of honor never to drink before noon, but when the two men left, he opened a bottle of scotch and took two long gulps. He felt the warmth of the scotch course through him, but it didn't help. Nothing's going to help, he thought. How could the old man turn on me like this? I've been like a son to him and he gives me one week to find a way out of this. I need a mule, fast. The casino, he decided. I'll find a mule there.
At ten o'clock that evening, Rizzoli drove to Loutraki, the popular casino fifty miles west of Athens. He wandered around the huge, busy gaming room, watching the action. There were always plenty of losers, ready to do anything for more gambling money. The more desperate the person, the easier the prey. Rizzoli spotted his target almost immediately at a roulette table. He was a small, birdlike man, gray-haired, in his fifties, who was constantly stabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. The more he lost, the more he perspired.
Rizzoli watched him with interest. He had seen the symptoms before. This was a classic case of a compulsive gambler losing more than he could afford.
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."