When they brought Angela to the prison in Lesbos her first thought was, Jaysus, this place lives up to its name. The holding cell held eight other women. Most of them were in micro-minis, skimpy tube tops, a couple even in bikinis. Most were talking in Greek, and a couple of blondes were talking in some other language, maybe Swedish.

Angela went up to one of the blondes, asked, “So is this a prison or a nightclub?”

Thought she was making a joke, but the blonde said, “Both. There was a raid at Niko’s last night. Heroin or something. But we have nothing to do with it.”

She sounded a little too defensive. Angela glanced down, noticed the track marks on her skinny arms.

“So what did they charge you with?”

“We do not know. They told us nothing.”

“What about you?” the other blonde asked. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing,” Angela said. “I was just having a drink, minding my own business, and next thing I knew two cops were taking me away.”

The officers who’d arrested Angela hadn’t notified her of any charges. But, of course, Angela knew why she was being taken away. She didn’t know if they’d found some evidence that could hang her or if she was just a suspect by default. Not that it mattered. She’d heard enough stories over the years about the Greek justice system. It was your classic, old-world, eye-for-an-eye, guilty-until-proven-innocent mentality. She figured she’d never be formally charged with anything. She’d be handed over to Georgios’ relatives and quietly killed.

“Do any of the guards here speak English?” Angela asked.

“There was a young guy here last night maybe nineteen years old. He was hitting on all the women. He told one girl, if she give him blowjob she can get out.”

Angela thought, Bingo...