“Got it all worked out, haven’t you? I don’t see what you had to get so upset about.”
“No? For one thing they’ve arrested that poor old sod who drove you. That’s not so funny, is it?”
“How do you know?”
“We had word from Florina this morning.”
“How?”
“Ask no questions, you’ll be told no lies. I’ll tell you this, though. The comitadjis have been using these hills for fifty years or more. There’s not much you can’t get away with in these parts if you know the ropes. Don’t forget that they’re Macedonians on both sides of the frontier. When it comes to small-scale work like this, the Chrysantos boys haven’t got an earthly.”
“What’ll happen to the driver?”
“That depends. He’s an old comitadji, so he won’t say where he got his orders from, no matter what they do to him. But it’s awkward. He isn’t the only one in Florina. There’s old Ma Vassiotis, for instance. They might have a go at her. You know, if the Sarge hadn’t changed things round a bit, I’d be inclined to go up and give your Miss What’s-her-name another bashing myself.”
“Supposing I were to tell Chrysantos that I hired the car and told the old man where to go.”
“He might believe you. But how did you know where to go?”