Shadows on two wheels

The summer heat clung to Kaisariani like a sweaty shirt. Myrto Zervou wiped her brow with a black handkerchief, eyeing the empty bike rack outside Mr. Kostas’s kiosk.

"Third one this week," muttered Kostas, shaking his head. "Thieves are eating this neighborhood alive."

Myrto clucked her tongue. "A thief’s hand is quick, but God’s eye is quicker."

Her son, Aris, lumbered over, toolbox in hand. "Maybe it’s kids, Mama."

"Kids don’t steal ten bikes in a week and vanish like smoke," she snapped. "This is work."

That evening, over bitter coffee, Myrto’s granddaughter, little Eleni, piped up: "Yiayia, I saw a van near the square. Men were loading bikes."

Myrto’s eyes sharpened. "What men?"

"One had a snake tattoo."

*    *    * *    *    *

The next morning, Myrto marched to the local mechanic, Babis, whose shop smelled of grease and lies.

"Babis," she said sweetly, "who in this city buys stolen bikes?"

Babis nearly dropped his wrench. "Myrto, don’t start..."

She leaned in. "A snake tattoo. Ring any bells?"

Babis swallowed. "Maybe… Nikos ‘the Serpent’ in Peristeri. Runs a chop shop."

*    *    * *    *    *

That night, Aris drove them to Peristeri in his dented pickup. The chop shop was a fenced yard under a flickering neon sign: Nikos Auto Repairs.

Myrto adjusted her black dress. "Stay close."

They slipped inside. Rows of stripped bikes gleamed under tarps. A muscular man—snake tattoo coiling up his neck, barked orders.

Then, a voice: "New shipment’s ready for Piraeus tomorrow."

Myrto’s pulse jumped. A syndicate.

Aris grabbed her arm. "Mama, we need the police..."

"Bah! By then, the bikes are fish in the sea." She spotted a phone on a crate. Quick as a cat, she dialed Mary’s husband, a port customs officer. "Petros! Stop any bike shipments at Piraeus at dawn. Now!"

Then... "Hey!" The Serpent loomed.

Myrto brandished her umbrella like a sword. "You steal from hardworking people? Shame!"

Aris tackled a thug. Myrto whacked another’s knee. Sirens wailed.

*    *    * *    *    *

At the police station, the officer sighed. "Madame Zervou, you can’t..."

"I can’t? Who found your stolen nephew’s scooter last year?" She crossed her arms. "The fox is clever, but the hen has friends."

The next day, the bikes were returned. Kostas gifted her a bottle of tsipouro.

Back home, Aris groaned. "Mama, no more adventures."

She winked. "Till the next one."

Outside, Athens hummed, a city of shadows, secrets, and one sharp-eyed widow in black.

The End