Trueish Crime: A Kat Makris Greek Mafia Novel - Plot & Excerpts
I had left Donk in Marika’s custody. She was circling the block because parking was non-existent. My assassins couldn’t find parking either, so they were following in her tire prints, chomping at the bit because I’d told her to drive at the speed of snow melting in February. By some feat of magic (I suspected she’d used sexual favors) Cleopatra had nabbed a disabled parking space by the front doors. “Don’t worry,” I had told her on the way past, “the moment they look at you they’ll know you belong there.” Back in the morgue, with its walls the exact ghostly shade of green they use to paint phosphorescent star and planet decals, I was listening to the morgue attendant bitch about the guests who wouldn’t leave. He was a little schnauzer of a guy, whose expression teetered on the edge between laughter and tears. “It’s the economy,” Melas told me. “People can’t afford to bury their dead, so they dump them here.”
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