CHRONIS HALKIDIS AT CONFESSION
April 10
Saturday, 3:00 p.m.
“Father Eusignios, I have come here today because I know you listen to the faithful and give them comfort.”
“All of the fathers our Church give comfort to the faithful, my child.”
“I am weighed down by sin, Father.”
“Unburden your heart, my child. Only then can you save your soul.”
“I am weighed down by many sins, Father Archimandrite.”
“I am here to listen to you and to entreat the Lord to forgive you.”
“May I kneel?”
“As you wish.”
Hearing confession was Archimandrite Eusignios’s favorite pastime. Although his job of overseeing the financial activities of the Church occupied most of his time, every Saturday evening he would sit in a small church somewhere in the Mesogeia area waiting for the faithful to come to confession. A young priest would drop him off in a modest Ford, presumably so that he would not outrage the local congregation with the spectacle of the black limousine he used for all his other business. Three weeks of surveillance had been enough. I pulled up outside the church on an old Kawasaki 250cc that I had stolen a few days earlier. The archimandrite’s young driver did not give me any problems: chloroform did the trick. I installed him on a bench at the back of the church and waited impatiently for the two elderly ladies to detail their transgressions to one of God’s finest representatives on earth.
It was easier than I had anticipated. Agisilaos had been harder work; he had put up quite a fight in the men’s room at the pool bar. Berios had opted to jump from the roof of his building rather than take a bullet in the mouth and Abbot Nikolaos proved too weak to put up any resistance, while Tsolakidis swallowed practically his entire swimming pool. As for the managing director of Earth Development, he needed five bullets—the distance was out of proportion to my skill as a marksman, but in the end he collapsed on the bottom step of his company’s headquarters, so I was not such a bad cop after all.
“Father, I can speak to you in confidence, can’t I?”
“Of course.”
“Father, I have killed five men. I murdered them in cold blood. I administered a shot of pure heroin to the first in the bathroom of a club of ill repute; sent the second hurtling to his death from a great height; strangled the third; drowned the fourth; shot the fifth with a precision rifle. What must I do get absolution for my sins, Father Eusignios?”
I lifted my head and flashed him my warmest smile. He went ashen.
“Father, whatever is the matter? It’s a simple question. What do I have to do to get your chief executive to absolve me?”
“Who are you?” he whispered.
With my left hand, I removed my blond wig and false mustache while my right hand pointed a .45 straight at his fat stomach. He did not recognize me, probably because I had shaved my head. I gave him some clues.
“Chronis Halkidis, head of Internal Affairs, Hellenic Police. I am here to confess. My sources inform me that you too are desperate to save your soul, which is troubled by the deaths of five innocent people, four of whom were burned alive.”
“I don’t . . .”
“Oh! Father, are you shaking? What a pity. I was hoping we had have time for a serious theological discussion.”
“I was not responsible for that fire.”
“My detective’s instinct tells me otherwise.”
“Wait! We can make a deal. I could make you a very rich man.”
He stopped dead when he saw the pistol pointing at his forehead.
“Oh! Fuck me!” he whimpered.
“Make your own arrangements,” I said, and shot him.