It was quiet inside, and almost empty. Only one of the twenty or so tables was occupied, and that by a solitary old man reading a Greek newspaper. The interior decor featured the typical Greek blues and whites. The walls were accented with colorful ceramic tiles. There was a mixed aroma of oregano, marjoram, roast lamb, strong coffee.

A young waiter with dark eyes approached him. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Gurney. I’m meeting Mr. Angelidis.”

“Of course. Please.” He led the way to a partitioned area at the back of the room. Then he stepped aside and gestured toward a booth that could have accommodated six people but had only one occupant—a heavyset man with a large head and coarse gray hair.

The man had the flat, crooked nose of a boxer. His thick shoulders suggested he had once been quite powerful, perhaps still was. The expression on his face was dominated by deeply etched lines of sourness and distrust. He held a fat stack of dollar bills and was counting them out onto a neat pile on the table. There was a gold Rolex on his wrist. He looked up. His mouth smiled without losing any of its sourness.

“Thank you for coming. I’m Adonis Angelidis.” His voice was low and hoarse, as if there were calluses on his vocal chords from a lifetime of shouting. “Forgive me for not rising to greet you, Mr. Gurney. My back is … not so good. Please sit.” Despite his hoarseness, his articulation was oddly precise, as if he was choosing each syllable with care.

Gurney sat directly across from him. There were several plates of food on the table.

“The kitchen is closed, but I asked them to make special a few things, so you could choose. All very good. You know Greek food?”

“Moussaka, souvlaki, baklava. That’s about it.”

“Ah. Well. Let me explain.” He laid his stack of bills on the table and began pointing at and describing in detail the contents of each dish—spanakopita, salata melitzanes, kalamaria tiganita, arni yahni, garithes me feta. There was also a small bowl of cured olives, a basket of crusty sliced bread, and a large bowl of fresh purple figs.

“I invite you to pick whatever appeals to you, or take a bit from each. All very good.”

“Thank you. I’ll try a fig.” Gurney took one and bit into it.

Angelidis watched him with interest.

Gurney nodded his approval. “You’re right. It’s very good.”

“Of course. You take your time. Relax. We talk when you are ready.”

“We can talk now.”

“Okay. I must ask you something. Somebody told me about you. You are an expert at murders. This is true? I mean, of course, solving murders, not doing them.” The mouth smiled again. The heavily lidded eyes remained watchful. “This is what you care about?”

“Yes.”

“Good. No Organized Crime Task Force bullshit, right?”