Chapter 9
Strip Searched By A Suma Wrestler
“We don’t have a moment to spare if we are to catch our plane,” Quentin urged, herding the others through the busy airport at breakneck speed.
“Ere K-Went-In, carry the parrot, it is weighin’ me down something rotten,” Fotini complained.
Quentin was relieved his wife and mother, Fat Christos, Tassia and the baby, had passed through security clearance without incident, though Fat Christos had kicked up a stink over the exorbitant sum extorted for his excess luggage of stuffed germs. Waiting for the two stragglers to catch up, Quentin hissed at Fotini and Nitsa, “I’m warning you two to be on your best behaviour; I’ve had as much of your antics as I can stand.”
The two old crones shot him withering looks and Fotini retorted, “’ave a bit of respect for yous elders, yous gormless malaka.”
“I give up, you two just can’t be told,” Quentin replied, hurrying forward to distance himself from the obnoxious pair.
“Did you pack these bags yourself, sir?” the agent from the Transport Security Administration questioned.
“Of course,” Quentin replied.
“Then can you explain what you intended to do with this potentially deadly weapon?” the TSA agent demanded, wielding a lethal looking Idaho potato peeler comprising a gleaming steel blade attached to a potato shaped handle which Fotini had shoved through the bars of the parrot’s cage.
“Oh no, I should clarify the cage belongs to the old lady I am travelling with, it isn’t mine,” Quentin vehemently protested.
“Indeed, that’s the latest excuse all the terrorists are trotting out,” the TSA agent sneered sarcastically, pulling Quentin out of line and dragging him off to be strip-searched and interrogated in a private room.
The waiting agents smiled benevolently at the two old ladies as they approached security. A handsome uniformed fellow with a full head of hair caught Nitsa’s eye, making her fancy the chance of a quick pat down. “Ow do yous know I aven’t got a bomb in my bloomers unless yous strip search me?” Nitsa taunted at full volume, causing mild panic in the airport as the other travellers thought they heard the word ‘bomb.’
“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” the agent chided indulgently, still under the delusion this was a harmless old lady.
“Ere, dont’s be bashful, I bet yous cant’s wait to get yous ‘ands all over me. I promise yous will find it an explosive experience,” Nitsa encouraged with a saucy wink.
“Best pat them down to be on the safe side,” his fellow agent recommended, annoyed at these troublesome old bats. His shift was due to finish and he really didn’t relish the prospect of overseeing this strange pair disrobing out of their hideous old lady dresses.
“Step this way for a pat down,” the agent instructed Fotini, menacingly snapping the wrists of his surgical rubber gloves.
“Get yous ‘ands off me yous filthy pervert,” Fotini screeched, whipping a sharpened souvlaki stick out of her bloomers to use as a protective weapon.
The agent responded by pushing an alarm button which sent a small army of TSA agents scurrying over to manhandle Fotini to the floor. “The suspect is disarmed,” the agent shouted, straddling her backside and holding the greasy wooden skewer aloft.
“The other one said something about a bomb,” he bellowed, causing the remaining queue of passengers to stampede towards the exits in fright as Fotini and Nitsa were frogmarched from the scene to be interrogated by the bomb squad.
Deirdre was blissfully unaware of the plight of her husband and the two old crones as she boarded the plane with the others. Their flight was halfway to Greece before the suspect threesome was released from police custody, with the two old crones banned from ever flying into America again. As they re-entered the airport waiting area they were greeted with the flash of cameras as television stations had dispatched their reporters along to get the dirt on the newsworthy bomb scare.
Preening for the cameras Nitsa finger-combed her moustache and opened her top buttons of her hideous old lady dress, unaware the purloined toupee she had shoved down her bra was now sprouting gorilla like hairs on her wrinkled cleavage. Playing it up for the cameras she plaintively asked “Does I look like I ‘ave a bomb in my bloomers? I’m just a little old lady trying to get ‘ome to Greece but these malaka eejits ‘ave treated me worse than a terrorist.”
“It’s against our ‘uman rights what these perverts ‘ave put us through, putting their filthy ‘ands all over our bodies,” Fotini piped up.
“That’s right, against our ‘uman rights to be mauled like that,” Nitsa echoed, furious her best efforts to be strip searched by the handsome agent with a full head of hair had come to nothing when a female agent built like a Suma wrestler had taken over.
“An’ they confiscated all my Idhao Spud Bars,” Fotini wailed.
“Disgraceful it was, does Fotini ‘aving a sweet tooth make ‘er a drug mule?” Nitsa shouted. The TSA agents, convinced anyone smuggling such an abundance of confectionary must be hiding something unsavoury in the shiny wrappers, had rendered Fotini’s chocolate stash inedible with their invasive search.
The reporters took a long hard look at the two frail old women, realising they could spin an excellent story about TSA brutality and an abuse of power that would tug on their viewers’ hearts strings. Only one diligent reporter dared to question the old crones’ narrative, asking, “But isn’t it true you did declare you had a bomb? Even if you say such a thing in jest it is a threat the authorities must take seriously.”
“I ‘ave a bomb,” the parrot squawked from the confines of its shower curtained cage amid a frantic flash of cameras.
“See it wasn’t us, it was the blasted parrot what couldn’t keep its mouth shut,” Nitsa insisted.
“Bomb, bomb,” the parrot squawked, jerking its head to avoid Quentin’s attempts to gag it.
“Outrageous,” a suited fellow cried, pushing his way through the reporters to press his ambulance chasing lawerly card into Nitsa’s hand. “We will sue the TSA for a fortune for the ordeal they have put you innocent ladies through.”
“Innocent, my hat,” Quentin muttered under his breath, heading off to the airport pharmacy to purchase some travel sickness pills to drug up the parrot. By the time he returned the reporters had dispersed, eager to file their stories, and Fotini and Nitsa were distracted by their rumbling stomachs. Without a single Idaho Spud Bar left to nibble on they were overcome with hunger, but Fotini fussily refused to eat any more foreign food. She insisted on placing a telephone call to ‘Granny’s Greek Giros,’ demanding ‘call me Mel’ deliver a takeaway Greek feast to the airport.
The obliging Melecretes rolled up bearing tzatiki, souvlaki and pita. Pouring generous glasses of ouzo he sympathized with the old ladies’ horrendous ordeal at the hands of the fascist and brutal airport agents.
“Po po, they brought it on themselves, they acted disgracefully as usual,” Quentin huffed. Turning to Nitsa he asked “What on earth do you think Fotis is going to make of your latest arrest?”
“He will think I’m a game old bird,” Nitsa retorted.
“Well don’t forget you are supposed to be meeting his mother and this won’t make a good first impression,” Quentin sneered at their antics.
Surveying the crumb strewn mess the two old crones were creating with their airport Greek picnic he suddenly launched himself on the souvlaki, removing all the potentially dangerous wooden sticks that could get them re-arrested before they could board the next flight. As Fotini grumbled he silenced her with an ominous threat, saying “I don’t care what Deirdre says, as soon as we get back to Greece I am buying a goat as a guard dog. That will put paid to your unwanted visits.”
Chapter 10
Bald Yannis Pregnant And Scamming
Bald Yannis cycled along admiring the lush carpet of early spring poppies and wild orchids blooming in the olive groves. It reminded him he must get Soula to move the goats into these groves
for a spot of tastier grazing. Greedily gulping fresh sea air to counter his morning sickness, his efforts to pedal uphill were somewhat impeded by his rapidly expanding stomach bouncing up and down on the bicycle’s crossbar. Nearing the hardware shop he was almost asphyxiated by a lungful of fishy diesel fumes belching from the dodgy exhaust pipe of Tall Thomas’ mobile refrigerated fish van.
“Yous is an environmental vandal,” he bellowed after Tall Thomas. Swerving to avoid Pappas Iraklis approaching erratically on the tricycle, Bald Yannis pedalled straight into the back of Onos the donkey who promptly deposited a steaming pile of manure all over his feet. Spluttering in anger he called for Soula to come and hose down his shoes. As she wielded the hosepipe Bald Yannis lamented “I shouldn’t be cycling in my condition.”
“Soula’s the one what is pregnant, yous is just ‘aving a phantom one,” Thea interjected, annoyed Soula had rushed to her husband’s aid when she was meant to be serving.
“His symptoms are real enough,” Soula said defensively. Bald Yannis had not taken the news of her pregnancy well, having no interest at all in babies. Initially worried her husband would feel trapped, she interpreted his raging heartburn, morning sickness, unnatural cravings and rapid weight gain as an unconscious sign of resignation to the reality of his impending parenthood.
“I ‘ear yous is not so sick to stop yous messing with my cat. I ‘ave to say it’s a pretty sick thing to staple its tail back on,” Thea accused.
“Yous always was an ungrateful woman,” Bald Yannis sneered. “If yous dont’s appreciate my stapling handiwork, fetch the cat over an’ I’ll chainsaw its tail off again.”
“Yous wants locking up,” Thea declared, rushing off to make sure the cat was safely indoors.
“I want to ask you something,” Soula said, smiling tentatively at her husband.
“Cant’s it wait till I’ve ‘ad some tsai and a nausea repelling ginger biscuit at the kafenion?” Bald Yannis asked in a weary tone. “An’ I ‘aven’t seen my darling Andromeda all day an’ want to take ‘er with me.”
“Sometimes I think you think more of yous pet goat than me,” Soula sighed, exasperated her husband was so caught up in his phantom pregnancy he gave no thought to her condition. She would love a chance to rest her swollen ankles and nibble her way through a packet of ginger biscuits, but all her time was spent tending the shop, the house and the ever expanding herd of goats.
“Dont’s be ridiculous, it’s just not goodly for the goat to be cooped up in the ‘ardware shop all day,” Bald Yannis replied, grabbing Andromeda’s lead.
“I know the feeling,” Soula muttered to her husband’s departing back.
“Nag nag nag,” Bald Yannis complained, pulling up a chair to join Moronic Mitsos in the kafenion. Casting his eye across the harbour he pointed to Tall Thomas’ mobile refrigerated fish van and said “that environmental hazard on wheels wants condemning.”
“Well your old banger isn’t much better,” Moronic Mitsos argued.
“Which is why I am thinkin’ of trading it in for a more environmentally friendly electric car,” Bald Yannis said.
“It’s a pity yous cant’s get a car to run on goat droppings,” Mitsos observed, adding “’Ere comes another one what looks nagged to ‘is limits.”
Pulling a seat up Toothless Tasos turned to Bald Yannis, demanding “Is it true yous ‘ave been threatening to chainsaw Thea’s cat?”
“That woman ‘as no sense of humour,” Bald Yannis scoffed.
Toothless Tasos refused to rise to the bait. As much as he worshipped the ground Thea walked on, he loathed her cat. He would happily borrow Bald Yannis’ chainsaw and do the job himself if he could guarantee she would never find out.
“’Ave yous ‘eard the news?” Moronic Mitsos asked. “It said on the television the world is about to end.”
“What, again?” Toothless Tasos laughed. “I suppose there’s another load of cultish nutters trying to cash in on a manmade panic. ‘Ow long ‘ave we got left this time then?”
“Till the end of next month,” Mitsos clarified.
“It’s amazing ‘ow many people always falls for these daft Doomsday end of the world predictions. It’s like the dimwits is askin’ to be scammed,” Bald Yannis mused. Stroking the pet goat he drifted into silence, allowing the cogs of his brain to whip up possible ways he could exploit this latest Doomsday scare for financial gain. If he thought long and hard he was sure to come up with a viable plan to part the gullible from their money.
Realising he would need Soula’s support if he was to invest his time cooking up a successful scam, Bald Yannis headed back to the hardware shop. Taking a furtive detour through Toothless Tasos’ back yard he trampled all over the delicate spring flowers. Giving into his warped desire to stir up a bit of trouble he snatched a pair of Thea’s silk knickers from the washing line. He would present them to Soula with an abject apology for being so insensitive.
Chapter 11
The Cat Gets A Bath
“Thea, I’m home,” Toothless Tasos called out. At the sound of his approach the cat fled in terror, taking refuge in the electric oven which had been left open. The house was empty and Tasos experienced one of his regular panics that Thea had left him. He could never quite believe his good luck the goddess of his dreams was content to live with him.
Determined to put things right with his fiancée Tasos stepped outside and wandered up the cobbled lane, picking a posy of wild wayside flowers for his beloved, commending himself he hadn’t resorted to raiding the graveyard for the blooms. By the time he returned bearing flowers Thea was home, preparing vegetables for a dinner of briam.
“I am so sorry about ‘avin the cat stapled, my little bougatsa,” he lied. “Let me take yous out to the taverna tonight in way of an apology.”
Thea visibly thawed at the prospect of her tight-wad fiancé actually offering to loosen his purse strings. “Well it would be nice to dress up and go out for a change,” she relented, accepting the posy. “I’ll just fetch the washin’ in and then get changed.”
“That’s odd,” Thea muttered, returning indoors with the basket of clothes. “I could ‘ave sworn my best undies were on the washin’ line. ‘Ave yous ‘ad yous ‘ands on them Taso, I knows yous will grab anything when yous want to polish yous rods.”
“I ‘aven’t ‘ad my ‘ands on yous undies for ages,” Toothless Tasos sighed wearily, hoping the trip to the taverna would put the spark back into their bedroom. As Thea climbed the stairs she called out, “Turn the oven off Taso, I put it on for the briam.”
Approaching the oven Tasos caught a faint whiff of burning and wondered if Thea had left something cooking. Opening the door he discovered the traumatised cat slowly baking and the unmistakable smell of singed fur. Grabbing the cat he hastily threw it in the kitchen sink, drenching it with the full force of the cold water tap. The cat was so overheated it didn’t complain. As it sat in the sink cooling off Toothless Tasos ran round opening all the windows and spraying the contents of Thea’s favourite home shopping channel perfume liberally. Luckily for him Thea always took an age to decide what to wear. Even though he was technically the innocent party because it was Thea who turned the oven on without first checking it was free of cat, he knew he would be the guilty party in Thea’s eyes if she ever discovered the incident.
Thea finally re-emerged in her glad rags and was taken aback to discover Tasos cradling the cat in a fluffy towel. “I was just givin’ it a bath,” Tasos lied. “Yous cant’s be too careful about fleas at this time of year.”
“Oh Taso, what a sweet gesture,” Thea sighed, watching Tasos plant a duplicitous kiss on the furry creature. “I always knew one day the cat would win you round.”
“Did yous find your best knickers?” Tasos questioned.
“No, it’s a complete mystery,” Thea replied.
“Well I’ll just ‘ave to treat yous to some new ones,” Tasos offered. Taking a surreptitious look under the towel to ensure there was no visible
evidence of the cat’s baked trauma he decided he would treat the cat to a bell. At least it would alert him to the cat’s next hiding place and keep him out of trouble.
Chapter 12
Masha Is Exposed As A Binging Glutton
Thea wasn’t the only one dressed up in the taverna that evening. In anticipation of his first ever visit to an airport Prosperous Pedros had been easily teased by Evangelia that he must wear his best clothes and have a smart haircut. Shoe-horning himself into the dated suit he had bought for his father’s funeral, Pedros felt smug his vegetarian diet had kept him so trim.
“’Ere’s your vegetarian chicken, Pedro,” Yiota announced, presenting a plate of lemon chicken and spinach. Turning to Thea she whispered, “He scrubs up quite ‘andsome when he gets out of them awful pullovers.”
Thea cast her eyes over Toothless Tasos’ drab pullover and wished he too would make more effort, then felt guilty as he had at least tried to woo her by bringing flowers and bathing the cat. Remembering his offer to replace her missing smalls she asked Yiota “’Ave any of yous undies gone missing from the washing line lately?”
“I cant’s say they ‘ave,” Yiota replied.
“Well I’m missing some silk knickers and it makes me wonder if the elusive underwear thief is back to ‘is old tricks.”
“Well it’s true he was never caught,” Yiota agreed “but ‘appen yous just mislaid ‘em ‘cos I ‘avent’t ‘eard about his return on the gossip vine.”
Peering over the deep fat fryer Takis took in Pedros’ unusual garb and asked, “Ave yous got a hot date Pedro?”
“Perish the thought, yous know I dont’s date,” Pedros recoiled with a shudder. As a confirmed bachelor with a horror of marriage he was quite determined never to let any woman get him into her clutches. He considered he’d had a lucky escape when his only love had left him for a man with an inside bathroom. “I am off to the airport to collect my mother.”
Goatly Goings On Page 4
