The Curse of the King. Peter Lerangis

Other side of the plaza. We’re six o’clock, they’re twelve. Just to the left of the big TV!”

      The TV was no longer playing Everybody Loves Raymond but an old black-and-white episode of I Love Lucy. Sitting at a small round table were four men in brown monk robes.

       The Massarene.

      I couldn’t tell if they were the exact same goons who’d tried to kill us in Rhodes. We were too far away. Those pious robes hid a gang of thugs who would shoot at thirteen-year-old kids from helicopters.

      “What do we do?” Aly asked.

      “They tried to murder us once already!” Cass said.

      “That was before the Massa knew who we were,” I said. “Remember, they need us.”

      “So we just walk up to their tables?” Cass asked. “Like, ‘Yia sou, dudes! Can we offer you some baklava for dessert, or maybe a kidnapping?’”