Greek Capers

by Katerina Nikolas

  “Kyria Stavroula, we have said many times that we have never come across a more innocent suspect than you. The very idea that such a magnificent cook could have been involved in foul play was patently preposterous to us and we would have put the case to bed last year if it hadn’t been for your meddling sister-in-law who was blind to her brother’s cheating ways. That such a ghastly superstitious peasant type could have exerted such influence to keep the case open was a burden forced upon us, even though we knew how much pain it caused you every time we brought the matter up,” the policeman said. “Our only regret is we may never again taste your excellent delicious cooking, having no further excuse to call on you in Astakos.”

  The policemen weren’t even clear of the hospital when Slick Socrates threw himself down on one knee, saying “Stavroula, say you will marry me my love, you are free at last.”

  “Yous know I would marry yous tomorrow, but there’s still that other little bigamous matter to sort out,” Stavroula cried, despairing of ever being rid of Toothless Tasos. She had once contemplated disposing of Tasos as she had with Kostas, but that was before Tasos had saved her life by disturbing the elusive underwear thief in the act of strangling her.

  “Worry not my darling, I have a cunning plan up my sleeve,” Socrates winked. He was confident his next move would free Stavroula to marry him: after all, the well stuffed brown envelope he had bribed the Pouthena policemen’s superior officer with had done the trick nicely in not only having Kostas declared dead but in permanently smearing the innocent man’s reputation as a cheating scoundrel.

  Chapter 13

  Garra Rufa Fish and Tiddlers

  Waving Sofia off after her first morning working in the beauty parlour Evangelia was optimistic the youngster would relieve some of the pressure of her workload. She was just about to head upstairs with the latest batch of death row letters when she was disturbed by loud banging on the salon door.

  “We’re closed,” she automatically called out. “Come back at six.”

  The relentless banging continued, forcing Evangelia to investigate.

  “I’m here to install yous fish pedicure tank,” the man on the doorstep said.

  “Oh I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, but come in, no time like the present,” Evangelia invited with a frisson of excitement. Ever since first reading that fish pedicures were becoming trendy in Greece she had fancied having one in the salon. Mail order Masha had encouraged her by promising she would dunk her feet in the tank regularly. Evangelia hoped it would be a big hit with her older clientele as they were most likely riddled with crusty dead skin on their wrinkled feet.

  With the tank installed and filled with water Evangelia watched the man grab the plastic bagful of imported garra rufa fish to immerse in the water.

  “Malaka, that’s the second time this week that’s ‘appened. It’s only gone and sprung a leak,” the tank installer groaned, waving around the bag of dead fish.

  “Don’t you have any spare ones?” Evangelia asked.

  “Not on me no, an’ it will be a couple of weeks before I’m over ‘ere again, it’s a bit of a backwater,” he replied, making a run for it.

  “What’s the use of a fish pedicure without any fish?” Evangelia questioned aloud, stepping outside to lock the salon door.

  Her plaintive complaint was overheard by Tall Thomas who was strolling by on his way to the kafenion.

  “Are you wanting fish? I’ve a few choice ones left over in the mobile refrigerated fishing van. At this time of day I can let yous ‘ave ‘em for ‘alf-price,” Tall Thomas offered.

  “I need live fish, not dead ones,” Evangelia exclaimed. “The little nibblers that came with the salon fish tank were all dead on arrival.”

  “So you want some little live fish to put in a tank in the salon?” Tall Thomas summarised, erroneously presuming Evangelia was referring to a decorative fish tank, having never heard of fish pedicures.

  “’Ang on a minute an’ I’ll ring Gorgeous Yiorgos on ‘is new-fangled mobile phone. He’s out in the boat now with young Iraklis an’ I’m sure they’ll be ‘appy to bring yous some tiddlers.”

  “That’s very obliging of you Thoma,” Evangelia replied, thinking her clientele were hardly likely to know the difference between a garra rufa fish and an anchovy.

  “There yous go, he’ll drop ‘em in to yous later,” Tall Thomas beamed after chatting to Gorgeous Yiorgos out at sea.

  “I’m much obliged Thoma, pop in for a free trim as a thank you.”

  Checking her watch she realised there was just enough time left to grab a quick coffee and peruse her mail before returning to open the salon again. Waiting for the coffee to brew she stood on the balcony, smiling at the sight of Sofia sitting on the harbour wall with her eyes glued on the fishing boat in the distance. The first blooms were appearing on the bougainvillea trained on her balcony and the sight of the beautiful magenta flowers made her feel light-hearted as she slit open the envelope containing a passionate declaration of love from Colin the Cannibal.

  Colin swore he had seen the light since his incarceration on death row, having converted to vegetarianism, except on Saturday’s when the prison canteen served Nutraloaf, a nondescript lump of mashed food allegedly containing meat mixed up with margarine and dubious leftovers. Unlike most of her prison pen-pals Colin admitted his guilt and genuinely appeared to be a repentant reformed character. Evangelia made a mental note to sign Amnesty International’s petition denouncing Nutraloaf as prison swill unfit for human consumption and to send Colin a packet of laxatives as he complained Nutraloaf played havoc with his insides and was far worse for his digestive system than human flesh.

  A cold shiver ran down Evangelia’s spine when she opened the next letter from Marvin the Mincer. The contents were most disturbing. Marvin’s words were steeped in an accusatory tone, demanding to know why Evangelia had not yet sent him any cuttings of Masha’s hair. Evangelia gasped in horror as the letter went on to describe how Marvin the Mincer fantasised constantly about mail order Masha and how he planned to break out of prison and sleep on an embroidered pillow stuffed with her hair.

  Evangelia wondered if she should alert the prison authorities about Marvin’s increasingly creepy obsessive fantasies with the Russian and his threats of escaping prison, but then realised the authorities would likely dismiss her as a pathetic attention seeking death-row groupie and possibly prevent her from maintaining contact with other inmates.

  Attempting to convince herself she should leave well alone she said “Security must be very tight on death row making it impossible to escape, and there’s the whole of the Atlantic Ocean between Marvin the Mincer and mail order Masha. I shall simply sever all contact with Marvin.” Evangelia shuddered again, thinking her choice of the word ‘sever’ was an unfortunate one considering Marvin’s predilection for chopping up his victims.

  “’Ere Evangelia, I’ve got the little living fish you wanted,” Gorgeous Yiorgos yelled up, thankfully shaking her out of her maudlin reverie.

  Chapter 14

  First Catch

  “Can you park up at the other side of the harbour?” Iraklis asked Gorgeous Yiorgos as the fishing boat puttered back towards land. Iraklis was eager to avoid the scary looking young woman still perched on the harbour wall.

  “It’s a boat, we moor it not park it, yous eejit. I ‘ave a regular spot to moor it and we won’t be doing any detours ‘cos yous is a bit shy,” Gorgeous Yiorgos replied. “Now grab ‘old of that bag of tiddlers for Evangelia. I expect she’s planning to do a nice fish meze this evenin’ and wants ‘em live so they’ll still ‘ave that fresh out of the sea taste. I threw a few little crabs in for ‘er with the anchovies and sardines.”

  “It’s very kind of you to let me take this sea bass home for Mrs Kolokotronis,” Iraklis said

  “It was yous first ever catch, yous should be proud lad. Now watch yous don’t lose yous balance stepping out.”

  Putting his head down Iraklis stalked
off speedily with his fish. Due to his crippling shyness he totally ignored the bashful ‘hello’ the black clad teenager offered. By the time he reached the supermarket he was consumed by guilt for acting in such a rude way.

  “Mother brought me up to mind my manners better than that, but with her expectations of me being a celibate priest she neglected to give me advice on how to deal with intimidating girls she’d most likely disapprove of,” he muttered, before calling out “Do you need a hand with anything Christo?”

  “Be off with you lad, it’s yous day off,” Fat Christos replied. “If yous is heading ‘ome yous could drop this block of Feta off to my mother.”

  “Most gladly,” Iraklis replied. Unable to resist the urge to boast about his first fishing triumph he waved the sea bass aloft, saying “I caught this myself.”

  “Well done lad, it’s a good one. Yous first fish is one yous will always remember. Did yous get it with a line or a net?

  “With a net.”

  “Yous will never guess ‘ow Did-Rees caught ‘er first fish?” Fat Christos challenged. “Only in ‘er hat,” he guffawed before Iraklis could even hazard a guess.

  Iraklis had a second chance to boast about his catch at his lodgings, proudly presenting the whopping sea bass to Mrs Kolokotronis.

  “Yous first ever fish,” she gushed with pride. “It’s too big for the two of us so I’ll invite Evangelia round to share it later. It’s the least I can do seeing as she’s invited me over to the beauty parlour to try out this new-fangled fish pedicure thingy she’s all excited about. I’ll just gut it and marinade it in lemon and olive oil before I dash off.”

  “I’ll do a nice horiatiki salata to go with it,” Iraklis offered, reluctant to tell Mrs Kolokotronis that Evangelia was likely planning a fish meze with the tiddlers they’d brought her, and wouldn’t be free.

  “Yous is such a good boy,” Mrs Kolokotronis told Iraklis, ruffling his hair before expertly scaling and gutting his catch.

  Chapter 15

  A Taxi to the Finest Restaurant in Town

  Mail order Masha was squabbling with Stavroula across the comatose body of that old fool Vasilis. Stavroula flatly refused to budge from her father’s hospital bedside until the shiny new will was signed, even though she had something to celebrate with the news she was now officially a widow.

  Earlier that day Bald Yannis had led a posse of village men to the Dimos, the local municipality offices, to find out if there was any truth in the speculative oil rumours, but the mayor had flatly refused to see them to discuss the matter. The mayor was otherwise occupied defending himself against the scandalous charges of bribing the electorate in the last local government election, with offers of free meat from his butcher’s shop in return for votes. Rather than face Bald Yannis and his motley crew of villagers, the mayor chose to barricade himself in his office, taking cover cowering beneath his desk, having developed something of a persecution complex. Back in the hardware shop Bald Yannis phoned mail order Masha to remind her of the importance of her spying dinner date with the Kazakh.

  “Dont’s let the oily foreigner wriggle out of tellin’ yous what he’s really up to ‘cos we couldn’t find a thing out at the Dimos,” Bald Yannis yelled down the phone line.

  “I knows ‘ow to ‘andle a man,” Masha retorted, winking saucily in the direction of a sharp suited and handsome pharmaceutical rep. “Just leave it to me. Luckily the television station has given me a few days off from presenting the weather so I can stay by my ‘usband’s bedside.”

  “I ‘ope yous isn’t ‘aving dinner in the ‘ospital,” Bald Yannis groaned, thinking the horrible hospital smell might deter the Kazakh from revealing his secrets.

  “Of course not, Dastan is pickin’ me up outside in a taxi any second,” she scoffed, hanging up on the hardware shop man.

  Returning to the bedside of that old fool Vasilis, Masha announced to Stavroula that she had to be off.

  “Yous ‘ave only been here a few minutes,” Stavroula protested, preferring to have Masha to squabble with than being left all alone with her uncommunicative father and the sickeningly pleasant Pappas.

  “Well in ‘is comatose state he ‘as no clue I’m ‘ere anyway. I cant’s see why yous is bothering to stay all night again, he won’t know the difference.”

  “He’s my father, I want to be ‘ere for ‘im when he wakes up,” Stavroula insisted.

  “Vasilis would never forgive me if I neglected his precious donkey,” Masha replied, touching up her orange lipstick and admiring her matching nails as she made a beeline for the exit in her ridiculously high heels.

  “Watch your step,” an orderly advised, pushing another bed into the hospital room. “Oh good, the old dear will have some company,” he added, wheeling Fotis’ ancient old mother, Kyria Moustakos, into place next to Vasilis. Addressing a horrified Stavroula he said “I’ve no idea where her son’s got to, so if it wouldn’t be too much trouble could you see to her bedpans?”

  Dastan the Kazakh was waiting outside the hospital in the old Mercedes taxi for mail order Masha to appear, stoically ignoring the insane ramblings of the driver who had left the meter running. Nitsa, refusing to be intimidated by this slimy mafia hood and his bodyguard, was openly taunting the pair.

  “I know where I’ve seen yous two before. It was yous,” she said stabbing a finger in Dastan’s face “what was swimming this afternoon. And it was yous,” she added, waggling her finger at the bodyguard “what was standing on the beach ‘olding ‘is towel like a right plonker. I expect yous will come down with pneumonia soon, no one in their right mind goes swimming until at least July.”

  “I did shove a woolly sock down the front of my mankini to ward off the cold. The sea was very bracing. We have no sea in landlocked Kazakhstan so I must take advantage of my time here to swim,” Dastan said, slipping his sunglasses on to deter Nitsa from further prattling. Checking his gold Rolex he noted Masha was late and hoped she wasn’t planning on standing him up; it would never do to lose face in front of the hired help.

  “I like a man of the world who appreciates travel,” Nitsa wittered on without pausing for breath. “Mind yous the last time I travelled put me off, what with being arrested as a suspected terrorist at the airport by those ignoramuses who didn’t realise it was the parrot. Tortured I was. Not for the first time mind, I was tortured in the prison up in Paraliakos when they arrested me for causing grievous bodily harm to the chap from the electric company.”

  Dastan lowered his sunglasses to peer more closely at the deranged old crone. He would never have guessed from her ludicrous appearance that she was as dangerous as her tall tales suggested. At the sound of Masha’s orange nails tapping on the taxi window Dastan attempted to open the door for his dinner date companion.

  “The door won’t open, what is your game old woman?” he hissed at Nitsa.

  “I’ll open the door as soon as yous settle up with me for bringing yous all the way to the ‘ospital,” Nitsa demanded, holding her hand out for the cash.

  “But we have not yet reached our destination of the restaurant. Surely you can’t suspect a man of my means would stiff you,” Dastan protested.

  “I’m a simple old woman trying to supplement my meagre pension,” Nitsa cackled, refusing to release the central locking until the Kazakh peeled a wad of notes from his stash. As soon as she had her grubby hands on his money she opened the door for Masha, saying to the Kazakh, “I might ‘ave guessed yous ‘ad yous eye on the Russian floozy.”

  “Mind yous mouth, yous old hag,” Masha snarled.

  “I won’t say another word about what a tart yous is, goin’ off with some rich foreigner while yous ‘usband is in a coma,” Nitsa cackled before turning her attention to the road.

  “Masha, you look magnificent, such a picture of radiant beauty. I promise you an evening you will never forget,” Dastan said, planting an oily kiss on her hand and a hand on her leg.

  “Now don’t get frisky, yous mustn’t forget I’m a mar
ried woman,” Masha simpered, lifting Dastan’s hand from her leg and placing it on the bodyguard’s knee.

  “How could I forget after the bald brute with the chainsaw made it so clear,” Dastan replied, staring deep into Masha’s eyes through his dark glasses.

  “It will be a pleasant change to dine in a fine establishment rather than the local taverna,” Masha said, looking forward to a slap up meal.

  “I have booked the best restaurant in town,” Dastan assured her.

  “That’s for sure,” Nitsa laughed under her breath. Deliberately pointing the taxi in the opposite direction to the fancy restaurant Dastan had booked to impress Masha, Nitsa headed back to Astakos, confident the two foreigners were not familiar with the geography of the area and that Masha would be too self-absorbed to notice. Mel would be delighted when she deposited her unsuspecting passengers on his doorstep.

  Chapter 16

  Toothless Tasos Faces up to his Fake Death

  Slick Socrates was sitting outside the taverna feeling very smug, sipping a glass of ouzo, puffing away on a big fat cigar and making an irritating clatter with his komboloi beads. He was delighted his scheming had paid off; his brown envelope bribe to the police inspector in Pouthena having put the matter of Stavroula’s dead husband Kostas to bed once and for all. Stavroula was now a merry widow and the only thing standing between them finally getting married was Toothless Tasos.

  Stubbing his cigar out Socrates decided to pay a discreet visit to Tasos. He was pleased to see Thea leave the house with a frightful looking teenager made up like a banshee and to find Toothless Tasos home alone. Getting straight to the point Socrates said “Taso, I know you want to be free of your marriage to Stavroula so you can marry Thea.”