Ionian Gangster Boy

by Mikey Simpson

  Chapter 3 - Close Encounters

  Morgan ventured outside the hotel for the second day in shorts and a black polo t-shirt, he was a little unkempt with two days stubble and blood shot eyes. He had packed to go into town but wondered if it might be best to leave it for a few days, the run up to the weekend might have busier streets he could use to his advantage. It was just after ten thirty and before he could do anything he would need a bite to eat. He wandered to the cafe & bakery by Molfetta beach and ordered a coffee and bacon sandwich, sitting with his shades on scouring the English papers for any updates on his father’s murder. Most tabloids had the same generic insight, but the Times had the most in depth article following certain scenarios of his dad’s life, but they had no concrete evidence to explain why it had happened in such a wealthy part of town. It quoted the police who at this stage were following enquires and would not comment on spiraling investigations. He noted that they did, however, desperately want to find Mr Burdett’s son, and were stepping up efforts to locate him. There was a picture of him from his school days, cap blazer and all. He couldn’t have sent them a better photo himself. The resemblance was terrible, he admitted to feeling relief, perhaps no one would recognising him after all.

  When his head felt a little sharper, he followed his first instinct about venturing into town and decided to wait a few more days. He left the shop after purchasing a bottle of water and then bought a knock off Polo sport towel before slowly walking down to the beach, where he noticed the locals had now brushed away the washed up seaweed and organised rows of deck chairs with parasols at the waters edge. There were a greater number of tourists today, some already turning pink like lobsters under the strength of the sun. He walked to a more shaded area of the beach and made himself comfortable laying with just his shorts on to relax. If he was to stop here he would have to gain a tan like the locals, he justified being lazy.

  A few days later he had a deepening tan, courtesy of his mothers genes, his hair was turning lighter with blonde streaks that he had not seen since he had been a child. He had got to know a few more of the bar owners and business people on his nights out and was enjoying himself perhaps a little too much, maybe tonight he would genuinely try to find a job by asking at the workers bar The Barrel.

  It was now Friday the 26th, the sixth night of him going underground, and funds were now running dangerously low. Tonight, he thought would have to be an early one. Tomorrow he needed a clear head, so he could go to the bank. He made it out for around nine o’clock, after reading through more of his father’s documents and walked up the lane past Roof Tops to the last bar in Gouvia The Barrel. Beyond it in the distance was the wire fence of the Marina.

  He walked in the bar for the first time; it was quiet compared to the ones nearer Molfetta Beach. There was background music and a group of lads playing darts at the far end where the bar was open-air and led out to the beer garden. Morgan sat on a stool and waiting to be served, he could see there were plenty of families outside watching football and the waitress had her hands full collecting the empties.

  A few minutes later she came over to serve. ‘Evening, what can I get you!’ she asked in a cockney accent.

  ‘A large Mythos.’

  ‘That’ll be an Amstel draft then mi darling,’ she confirmed looking at him with her eyes wide, nodding her head. ‘We don’t sell bottles here love,’ she said as she brought a frothy pint sized glass over.

  Morgan’s poor first impressions of the rundown place made him think, why do people come here? As the night wore on he began to realise the atmosphere and the local characters who drunk there made up for the decor. At about eleven o'clock, he was about to leave and collect his Kebab before retiring early, when as he sank the last part of his pint he received a surprising pat on the back from two unlikely characters. It was Davie and Stevie from the plane.

  ‘See I told you, I saw him, last night Davie laughed,’ as he turned to his brother.

  ‘You always remember a face,’ Stevie grinned. ‘What you having to drink Morgan?’ he asked.

  The night flashed by as the two scousers told him about getting arrested. ‘You wouldn’t want to be held in those cells for long, they’re as bad as a sewer.’ Stevie said as Davie nodded and held his nose with his fingers.

  ‘Did you see any Italians?’ Morgan fished for information.

  ‘Come to think of it, we did. Why is everyone so interested in these guys? Everywhere we go! Once people find out we’ve been in the cells they ask about the Italians.’ Davie said with a grin. ‘It'll cost you a few drinks though.’

  There was a bit of a pause and then Morgan said. ‘OK! I owe you a couple from the plane, Spill the gossip.’

  Stevie jumped in. ‘Anyway I got a better view of them than you. You ought to see the face of one of them, eye all closed up and a busted lip. The police gave them a good hiding; you could hear the punches in the cells next door. It was a bit loud with lots of cursing and shouting, plenty of banging about.’

  ‘The cops didn’t seem too happy about the situation. I think they’d got their hands full sorting them out, so they just let us go. No questions at all, better than the cops back home!’

  ‘You were shitting it, thinking we were next!’ Davie laughed at his brother.

  ‘No I wasn’t!’

  ‘Anyways, we think they were a hit squad. They were hard, apparently they didn’t talk. They didn’t give up any information only a few broken teeth.’ a guard said.

  ‘Some poor bastards going to get it, sooner or later.’ Morgan said thoughtfully, before getting the round in.

  ‘So what you doing here?’ Morgan was surprised to be drinking with them.

  ‘There’s no work down there in Kavos, all the bar jobs have been taken already! We were struggling for coin.’

  ‘So anyway this driver was dropping off English food, drinks and crisps to a big shop in Kavos.’

  ‘He’s an Evertonian!’ Davie says.

  ‘And we get talking about having trouble finding work.’

  ‘We don’t want to go back home!’ The pair were filling in the story bit by bit.

  ‘And he says that his gaffer up here in Gouvia wants some lads to help in the warehouse.’

  ‘Doing a bit of this, a bit of that!’ Davie couldn’t help himself.

  “Tremendous scouse accent,’ Morgan said.

  ‘Runcorn actually,’ Stevie replied.

  ‘So here we are, and it’s great! A roof over our heads at the warehouse, some out of date snacks and money in our pockets. What's better than that!’ Davie said.

  It was thirsty work catching up. ‘It’s your round then. You’ve got work. I’m still looking and broke,’ Morgan said.

  Stevie got some cash out and paid for the next lagers. Then looked around, at the new patrons entering the bar. ‘Talking about scoring, I had a decent crack at these last night, look at them! Very tasty.’ He waved at the girls walking in.

  Morgan turned to look. ‘Hello Suzanna, Jenny, Erika,’ he said one by one as they lined up at the bar.

  Suzanne blew him a kiss and winked as they all giggled in Swedish.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you girls.’ a shout came from a tattooed man emerging from behind the bar. ‘Only English and Greek spoken in this bar!’ He appeared serious at first, but then laughed. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Hej Damien, hur mår du? Sorry! How are you?’ Erika asked.

  ‘Damien fick en solbränna.’ he replied.

  ‘Yes you have gotten a nasty sunburn, just like someone else I know!’ she pointed to Morgan whose nose was permanently a shade of red.

  Stevie leaned on the bar and whispered. ‘You been there?’

  Morgan just nodded.

  ‘You don’t waste any time do you. You lucky bastard!’

  As the night went by, and the stars dissapeared in the first light of day, drinkers at the bar stepped outside into the beer garden to watch the sun rise. It was beautiful for Morgan t
o share one more night with Suzanna, but he had made up his mind that this would be their last. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, physically or emotionally, anyway sooner or later he would have to do some nasty things and he wouldn’t be able to do that with the girl in tow. He would tell her later but for the time being, it was just right; they sat with arms around one another watching the day break.

  At six o’clock, everyone went home as the bar closed. Suzanna was pissed off because Morgan had told her, he had things to do. ‘Like what?’ She had said impatiently, before getting upset and leaving with Jenny. He walked down the lane once the street had cleared. Stevie and Davie had swayed from left to right holding Erica up, arms locked over their shoulders. He felt alone and a little sad thinking about Suzanna. He walked on past the hotel not wanting to go to bed yet and lit a cigarette; his head was clearing from the affects of alcohol as he approached the junction by the Molfetta Beach Hotel. He made his way over to the cafe he always used for breakfast and sat next to the French doors. He was deep in thought looking down the lane when there came a tap on a pane of glass in the door.

  ‘Yassu Morgan,’ George the owner said as he opened the door. He appeared from the dark interior of his shop dressed in white like a ghost, flour on his hands and face.

  ‘What you doing here at this time of the morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t sleep, got a lot on my mind at the moment!’ Morgan frowned rubbing his temples before finishing off his cigarette.

  ‘Come on through to the back. I’ll fix you up. Come, come!’ he said ushering Morgan in.

  ‘This place always smells so good.’ Morgan gave the man a compliment, as he smelt the aroma of fresh coffee and the baking of fresh bread from the large hot ovens.

  ‘This place is my life. The bread! The pastry! The cafe! I build this from nothing when I first get married. It has been good to me, but now I am getting older, and the work is hard.’

  ‘Perhaps you should take it a little easier!’ Morgan sat at an old wooden table in the kitchen, as the baker poured them some fresh coffee and placed a plate of hot croissants in between them. ‘Help yourself,’ he placed two plates out and some butter.

  ‘I don’t mind hard work because the business takes care of us. My wife and I have three daughters, and they are taken care of through this.’ He held up his dough-covered hands, to show Morgan.

  ‘Why don’t you retire!’

  The baker laughed. ‘I have seven months of the year to make a living, with my hands and a handful of apartments I rent across the road near to the beach. Then we pack up and go to Athens, there's little to do here in the winter.’

  ‘Oh I didn’t realise that, I’ve never actually thought about what happens out of season.’

  ‘That's why I worry! I worry about dropping numbers of tourists. I worry for the islanders; everyone's highly competitive with each other chasing the same tourists. It’s not like it used to be, when lots of British came out here in the eighties.’ He sighed and then carried on. ‘And this news about the mafia is going to make people mad. I heard the other day that there had been some trouble in the north of the island, a little place called Kassiopi. Some armed men have taken some rented villas; you know Mafia in a feud. The locals who looked after the villas were beat up quite badly trying to stop these guys.  What can you do if the bastards have got guns. Nothing!’ He spat out his last words in disgust, before drinking his coffee and taking a bite of one of his croissants.

  Morgan just sat in silence; his thoughts now compounded by what the baker was telling him. He felt uncomfortable and responsible, for what was happening to the islanders.

  The baker continued. ‘Everyone now wants something for nothing, nobody builds, nobody creates the way the old people here used to make life work for themselves. I remember back then we seemed happier. We had little and family meant a lot. How times change, now we can’t afford to stop here in the winter, we have to work elsewhere,’ he sighed.

  Morgan looked glum but then turned the conversation around. ‘You know! I have nothing to go back to England for, after my holiday. I was just thinking outside how enjoyable it would be to stay here for a while. You know get a nice tan.’ he raised his arm to show the baker.

  ‘Well now you know I have apartments, if you want to stay I would be pleased to rent you one at a special price?’

  ‘How much for the season, if I can find a job?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘We look after our workers here. Normally it would be two hundred and fifty euro a month for a studio, but I like you. Lets say a hundred and fifty euro a month for the rest of the season. You pay every month?’

  The deal sounded terrific, a lot cheaper than the hotel. ‘OK it’s my last night tonight in the hotel, I will see you later about it!’

  George smiled. ‘Ah to be young and have the rest of your life ahead of you, it would be nice to be in your shoes for a week. This is my life now. This is the way I live for my family!’

  ‘You’re right, your family need you, you should be happier! Life’s too short and then you die!’

  George looked puzzled by the boys comment but didn’t question it. The boy looked tired, his eyes looked heavy. ‘I’ll let you rest your head for a while,’ he said as he continued with his baking.

  Morgan sat and watched the flames from the ovens and drank more coffee, he watched the baker work and then laid his head down on the table before falling asleep. When he awoke it was to the clattering of trays in the kitchen sink. The baker’s wife and daughter were cleaning the ovens; the baker was nowhere in sight. It was ten o’ clock, after working through the night he’d gone back to bed for a rest.

  A few minutes later he made excuses to leave, and thanked them for the bakers hospitality. He asked them for directions to the Corfu town bus stop and made his way there by crossing over the main dual carriageway. He didn’t have to wait long until an old blue bus stopped to allow passengers on at the front and back doors. Now he could have a day out of the resort, relax and see the sights. He would become a tourist for the day find his way around the islands main town and attractions whilst drawing out sufficient funds for living and any emergency. If he used the card in the capital, he would still give himself room for manoeuvre on the island, whilst they searched high and low to track him down.

  Morgan looked at a tourist leaflet he had picked up when leaving the bakery it read. Corfu Town: When you explore the beautiful leafy streets of Corfu Town, you will find hidden treasures of architecture, wonderful churches, fortresses and even a palace. Historians will love the Archaeological Museum, offering an insight into Corfu's past, as well as the neoclassical Museum of Asian Art, which houses some breathtaking pieces originating from China and Japan, and the Municipal Gallery of Corfu which showcases famous works such as the 'Sphinx' by Sp. Skarvelis and 'The assassination of Capodistria' by Haralambos Pachis.

  He read the brief history of the island: The Old Town of Corfu is located in a strategic position at the entrance of the Adriatic Sea and has its roots in the 8th century BC. The three forts of the town, designed by renowned Venetian engineers, were used for four centuries to defend the maritime trading interests of the Republic of Venice against the Ottoman Empire. In the course of time, the forts were repaired and partly rebuilt several times, more recently under British rule in the 19th century. The mainly neoclassical housing stock of the Old Town is partly from the Venetian period, partly of later construction, notably the 19th century. As a fortified Mediterranean port, Corfu’s urban and port ensemble is notable for its high level of integrity and authenticity.

  When Morgan left the bus in the main metropolitan square, modern Corfu Town seemed quite upbeat and cosmopolitan, the streets themselves did seem to be a mixture of Greek, Venetian, French and British influences as stonework and pillars marked where the trading houses and prominent public buildings were. He walked down the wide footpaths, which were now full of weekend shoppers, the main streets were a wash with teenagers on scooters dodging in and
out of cars and buses. He spent some time window-shopping but as the time passed by, with a matter of urgency he followed the streets to the commercial part where all the banks were. There alongside the National Bank of Greece was the Alpha Bank; here was where he could replenish his funds. He stopped at the cash point but then realised that like, in the UK, his withdrawal would be limited to a small amount. So he ventured inside careful, to position himself away from any security cameras. After a long queue, he reached the front to be served by a frosty looking clerk with grey hair and square glasses.

  ‘What can I do for you today?’ the man asked.

  ‘I’d like to withdraw some cash.’ Morgan asked as he pushed through his cash card.

  ‘We have cash dispensers outside.’ the clerk said with an attitude as he shuffled some paperwork.

  ‘For a lump sum of five thousand Euros.’ Morgan replied.

  The clerk looked a little wearily at the boy. ‘Have you any identification?’ he asked.

  The boy provided him with his passport and the clerk checked his account on a monitor. ‘Which branch do you have your account with?’ the clerk asked suspiciously.

  Morgan hesitated for a moment, according to his father’s notes all the bankcards he had been given had been set up and verified by his father, signing funds over to his son after his sixteenth birthday. ‘It’s an online account.’

  ‘I see and what’s the money for?’ the clerk was now starting to irritate him.

  Morgan was just about to tell the guy it was none of his business when the bell rang for Saturday half-day close. It was twelve o’clock. ‘I need a new scooter, the old one’s packed in.’ he said in Greek.

  ‘Can I have four thousand five hundred in high bills, and the rest in fifty’s.’ he asked, to save a bulge in his pocket.

  The man nodded and then punched in some information on the computer. A few minutes later Morgan’s heart rate had nearly returned to normal as he walked down the steps from the bank on his way to the Old Town, five thousand Euros safely tucked away with his passport in his shorts.

  Morgan admired the Venetian old part of town. It was laid out in the 14th century according to the leaflet. It had lots of narrow alleys lined with multi-storeyed pastel-coloured buildings with red tiled roofs. As he walked down alleys crammed with character, he eventually found a pedestrian intersection. Here, the alleys met in a stream of tourist activity along the Liston, a row of cafes and restaurants, the scene was breathtaking with many arches stretching as far as the eye could see. In the panoramic backdrop reaching out to the sea was a green tree studded park with a cricket pitch in the middle of it. Rising above this in the distance was the museum and old forts, which dominated the bays surrounding the town. In the clear sky above, he could hear swallows and house martins screeching with delight at their surroundings.

  He decided he would walk and take a closer look at the forts and made his way along the footpath past a taxi rank. After about ten minutes, he had reached the grand metal railings by the raised promenade, which indicated a steep gradient down to the coastal road to Kanoni and the sweeping shallow waters of the bay. Here, he welcomed a slight breeze, but it was much too hot to be standing in the mid day sun. Morgan sat for a while on a bench under the shadow of a palm tree. He watched the Ionian Sea with its steady stream of ferries and cruise ships navigating around the forts, a lifeline for the island bringing inquisitive people to a world heritage site.

  As time passed by his throat started to get dry and he felt a little dizzy, he realised he was probably dehydrated and so followed a sign to the museum, there he would find a cafe and refreshing shade amongst the tall pillars of the grand building. He walked along the promenade past the main walkway to the forts following one of the main roads in an arc towards it, as he approached the neatly tucked away museum the number of pedestrian began to thin in this shady part of the town.

  He was in a daze when a taxi screeched to a halt beside him and scared the life out of him.

  ‘Hello, my friend, I think you need a cab,’ a voice called from inside the old silver Mercedes.

  As Morgan overcame his shock, he approached the car and realised it was the old taxi driver from the airport.

  ‘Yia sou Spiro! Are you trying to run your fares over now!’ Morgan joked pointing to the close proximity of his tyres to the footpath.

  ‘No but I am trying to help them from being followed,’ he pointed to two shady figures who were picking up their pace along the footpath. ‘What you waiting for, jump in!’ Spiro shouted, as the two men now burst into a sprint.

  Morgan surprised by the men's unwanted attention, pulled at the cab door and threw him self in.

  ‘Keep down,’ Spiro shouted as the car quickly accelerated before his wing mirror exploded into a thousand pieces.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I’ll tell you who they aren't. They aren't police! Police don’t shoot you before asking questions not even here in Corfu!’ he said anxiously, as he followed the coastal road through the town quickly passing the museum.

  Morgan slid around on the leather seat as Spiro negotiated a chicane like bend. He pulled himself up to look out of the back. ‘There's a hole in the window,’ the boy shouted.

  ‘Keep down just in case they are following!’ Spiro looked through the rear view mirror, to assess any tail.

  ‘I thought I told you, to let Maria know if you needed a cab.’ the old man cautiously stated.

  Morgan sat in silence for a moment, and then asked. ‘Do you know who I am?’ His comments were ignored.

  Now it was the turn of the taxi driver to remain silent, as he skilfully weaved across town along crowded streets and congested side streets. It was obvious that he was covering their tracks and ensuring no one could follow them. ‘It’s OK. You can sit up now.’

  Morgan pulled himself upright, and saw they were now travelling along the notorious dual carriageway that led away from the capital. Ahead of them were the main resorts to the north east of the island. They were speeding at 120km per hour as the car zipped past scooters and dodged buses and lorries. Soon they would have to slow to take account of the traffic lights at various intersections near Gouvia.

  Very little was said for the rest of the journey. Spiro called Maria on his mobile. ‘Move your car off of the hotel driveway, and get me the old tarpaulin cover from the outside pool bar.’ he asked, and then had an earful of a one-way conversation, before putting the phone down. ‘Women!’ he said in an irritated tone.

  As the taxi pulled into the resort along the main junction Spiro pulled over and stopped at the tobacco Kiosk. He returned with a pack of cigars. Minutes later they were parked alongside the pool to the rear of the hotel, ‘Go through into the bar and ask Maria to pour two large Metaxas, not the cheap stuff! I need a drink!’

  As Morgan walked past the deserted pool area, he looked back to see Spiro covering the damaged Mercedes. The boy entered the hotel and was welcomed into the bar by Maria. ‘What has happened, where were you last night? Why has Spiro brought you back? What is Spiro doing with his car?’

  Morgan ignored Maria’s questioning. He was dazed and confused, and he needed to know what was going on. ‘Maria can I get two large Metaxas, Spiro says not the cheap stuff!’

  A few minutes later Spiro breezed into the bar wearing his panama hat puffing on a cigar. He approached the bar and downed a generous measure of the brandy. ‘Give me the bottle Maria!’ he gestured with his hands to his cousin behind the bar. ‘We’re going outside to the pool; bring me some mixer and ice. Come Morgan I think we need a chat,’ he barked.

  They sat around the deserted pool as Maria came out with a tray of small mixer bottles and a cup full of ice; they were seated at the pools edge facing the hotel cooling their legs in the water.

  ‘Leave us alone,’ Spiro said as if he were dispatching a nosey waitress from their sight.

  Maria looked back disapprovingly. ‘Don’t mess up the pool area remember I’ve got my first tou
rists coming later!’

  Morgan sipped on his Metaxa and then coughed. ‘Pass me a mixer.’

  The old man flicked his wrist and opened the small bottle of ginger ale. ‘I’ve had that car from brand new, and been in tight scrapes with it before. I never been shot at.’ He said before puffing on his cigar.

  ‘Sorry, It’s all my fault,’ Morgan tried to talk to the old man as Spiro took his shirt off to reveal his white vest underneath.

  ‘That car was a present from my late wife Alexis, bless her soul! Those malakas put holes in her!’

  Morgan felt terrible but thought, better the car than him!

  ‘Malakas That's what the Italians are! There always mafia, they don't know how to do business unless they got muscle with guns. That’s not the Greek way,’ he turned to Morgan and knocked back his second neat drink. ‘Drink! Drink! He encouraged the boy to charge his glass. ‘Here have another one! Yammas!’ The two of them clinked glasses together and drank. This went on for the majority of the afternoon before Spiro relaxed and started to smile again, as the danger of the afternoon began to mellow. The old man was getting tipsy and started to talk about the old days on the island, the wealthy olive plantation and a vineyard in the hills where Spiro grew up. After a long conversation about the man’s life, it was obvious to see that the man sitting with Morgan was no taxi driver. His stories revealed that he was too well connected to be a peasant, yet he wasn’t a councillor or anything legal even though he knew the law. It was as if he owned a lot of the island, but was no landlord. It was a mystery, and no matter how direct Morgan’s questions were about the taxi driver following him, the man always managed to talk around them. Spiro although he never answered any of Morgan’s prying, did not dissuade the young man from warming to him, Morgan was glad to have such a character watching over him.

  Eventually Maria brought some pork and chicken outside and made a barbecue next to the pool bar it was turning to evening now, as the sky glowed orange over the pine covered hills. It was hot with no air. The promised heat wave had arrived to the joy of the fireflies that were coming out to play in the dusk. Morgan took off his t-shirt and plunged into the pool, he would have a little swim before dinner. The boy dived a little to clear his head of the brandy then swam a few lengths as the charcoal began to glow red and orange on the big oil drum barbecue, which illuminated the bar area of the sun terrace. He watched Maria as she filled the table with Greek salad and dips; Spiro checked the tender meat covered with herbs as it cooked. To accompany the meal was a selection of wines displayed centrally on the table.

  ‘That smells delicious,’ Morgan said as he climbed from the pool.

  ‘It will be ready soon. Why don’t you freshen up before our guests arrive,’ Spiro placed his shirt and hat back on to look more formal.

  Half an hour later Morgan had shaved off his stubble. Sprayed with No1 D&G aftershave which stung a little, dressed in his baggy jeans and red Ralph Lauren shirt. Running down the flights of stairs and passing by the bar area, he could hear the TV and English voices of Sky news chatting away. He thought nothing of it and opened the French doors to walk out into the pleasant evening air. His sandals gripped the slippery marble as he walked by the pool over to a group of people who gathered socialising with glasses of wine. As he approached he could see places had been set for seven people. In the centre, of the table was a plain sponge cake along with a tray of sweet baklava.

  ‘Yia sas,’ Morgan said as he approached the table.

  ‘Ah this is our first guest of the season,’ Maria welcomed the boy to the table. ‘This is my husband Panos,’ she said placing her hand on the stocky man’s shoulder. He had short black hair with grey temples and wore a gold medallion around his neck.

  ‘Pou ine i, Spiro?’ the boy asked, noticing he was missing.

  ‘He’s gone to the bar to get another bottle of wine,’ said one of the men, who was in his thirties, he wore a baseball cap and athletic clothing with Nike trainers. ‘My name is Ariston, pos se lene?’

  ‘Me lene, Morgan,’ The other man sat around the table introduced himself as Stavros he was smaller than all the rest and had golden hair with a side parting, he had chinos and a cream linen jacket that bulged on his left hand side. He greeted the boy and gave an uneasy smile before returned to talk to Maria.

  A few minutes later Spiro returned with two bottles of red wine. ‘Where is Andreas?’ he asked as he inspected the barbecue. ‘The Kebabs are nearly ready!’ he placed the bottles in front of his place at the table and then walked off to speak on his mobile.

  Maria brought out more food on a tray. ‘We have my husband’s favourite meal Stifado, and some stuffed tomatoes to go with the other food,’ she took the top off the casserole dish and handed out fresh bread.

  ‘Come Spiro, the food is ready!’ Maria’s husband Panos shouted as the gathering began to help themselves to the grill and fresh salad.

  Once the hungry guests moved from the barbecue Maria passed Morgan a plate, and he too gathered at the grill alongside Spiro to examine what was on offer. There were chicken filleted pieces that had been marinated in oregano and basil, it looked a lovely golden brown colour set against his white plate. He also picked up a kebab and started to nibble taking one mouthful of the skewered pork, onion and pepper.

  ‘This is delicious!’ Morgan acknowledged Maria's cooking.

  ‘So is the Stifado,’ Panos gestured to his wife with delight.

  He was just about to return to the table when Spiro held his arm. ‘You and I need to talk. I have been watching the news from England. The authorities are widening their search abroad for you and are making demands for the local police in town to start searching for you. It won’t be long before they come to the resort knocking on the hotel’s door. Soon the English police will come! He nodded gravely.

  ‘So you do know who I am? Morgan asked.

  ‘You will have to come with us tonight, we can look after you and keep you safe,’ the old man spoke softly but with purpose.

  ‘Do you know who I am? The boy repeated.

  The old man sighed, and the frowned at him. ‘I recognise you, from a long time ago when you and your father used to visit the island.’

  Morgan picked at his chicken and broke a piece off to eat. ‘I can’t remember seeing you on our travels!’

  ‘I have always been in the background. Your father once bought wine from me!’

  Morgan looked a little guarded. ‘How do I know I can trust someone who has been following me for days?’

  The old man shrugged. ‘You were followed by more than just me. It is lucky for you that I saw those malakas, or you would be dead!

  Morgan thought for a moment. ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘You come with us to the vineyard. It is secure and out of bounds to the public.’ the old man gathered a pile of food on his plate and then turned to return to the table. ‘If you listen to me, we can keep you safe!’ he patted the boy on the shoulder. ‘No need to worry!’

  Morgan placed some more chicken on his plate and rejoined the diners. He added some salad and stuffed tomatoes to his plate and then began to devour his meal. He looked across the table as Spiro pulled the corks out of the dusty bottles of red wine. ‘Anyone for 2003 Satanna’s Well Cabernet Sauvignon?’ he asked.

  ‘We are honoured, what’s the special occasion?’ Panos asked offering his glass to his elder.

  ‘It’s good luck to welcome in the tourist season, good luck for you that it starts officially in the hotel tomorrow,’ he filled everyone's glasses and then stood. ‘Here’s a toast to good health, wealth and family. Yammas!’ Spiro saluted.

  Morgan drank some of the red wine that smacked his lips and taste buds with a rich, smooth flavour before reaching over to examine the familiar wine bottle. The label was black, and set within it was the golden devils fork logo of the vineyard ‘Satanna’s Well.’ Indeed 2003 was a good year for the wine, but Morgan also recognised that it was the year his mother had died. T
he year he would start boarding school, and the year his father started to educate him for his future life. Morgan put the bottle down and looked at Spiro, just who the hell was this old man! he wondered.

  As the night, passed by the stars lit up the sky and Maria put wood on the fire to illuminate her guests as they drank and ate the rest of the feast. Morgan got to know more about his companions, especially Ariston who it turned out ran his yachting firm at the marina. Stavros was a trusted worker from the vineyard who was never far away from Spiro, who himself called him, ‘His right hand man!’ whatever that meant?

  Morgan could feel the heat building from the flames of the barbecue as the men sat in an arch around it finishing the remaining wine. It wouldn’t be long before they would say farewells to make their way home for the night. Morgan sat feeling a little uneasy about moving to the vineyard so talked again to Spiro. ‘I know I have a lot to thank you for today,’ the boy nodded towards the covered car at the back of the drive. ‘And I somehow know you are trying to look after me.’ The boy played with his wine glass. ‘But I have to turn your offer to move to the vineyard down!’ He sat on the edge of the seat addressing the old man. Before Spiro could answer Panos stood and looked at the two other men in the party. ‘Come my friends, I think there is a need for some privacy.’ Both Stavros and Ariston nodded and quietly left for the hotel bar.

  At the side of the pool, the two remaining figures were silhouetted by the flames from the grill, some bats flew down and skimmed the waters surface, while others flew around in circles above their heads. Both of them felt tense.

  ‘I wish you would reconsider. The vineyard is large, and there is plenty of room to do as you wish,’ the old man pleaded.

  ‘I appreciate your offer and realise that I am in danger here, but I need to face my troubles alone and work out a way to expose those who want me tracked down.’

  ‘You can’t hold out on your own. There are far too many of them, and they have powerful people to protect them in high places.’

  ‘That is why I don't want you to get involved. It would be too dangerous for you.’

  Spiro laughed. ‘That is very kind of you, but I have faced danger all my life. This situation makes no difference. I’ve been on their hit list for a long time, why do you think Stavros stays close!’ the man said gravely.

  ‘Until I have exposed these people, I can’t trust anyone. I am coming to terms with who my father was, and who I am. Unfortunately, the time has come for me to make my own way in life, or fall trying. Only I can rectify the situation and resolve any issue regarding the family business.’

  The old man nodded. ‘You have grown up so quickly and understand the nature of our world. I respect your wishes, and wish you well in what you are trying to achieve.’ The old man stood and spat into the fire. ‘It seems you have only one choice and that is to fight, may god have mercy on our souls. I’m afraid many more people are going to die, before peace will return to the island.’

  ‘I have a lot to fight for, but also have a lot to lose. My father tried to prepare me, If only I had been a more attentive student, instead of fighting him on business matters, only time will tell if I can expose my enemy and overcome their superiority.’

  ‘You have a lot to do. First things first, get out of the hotel and find somewhere else to stay, they will come soon and check everywhere for you.’ Spiro warned.

  ‘I have already found somewhere, but I need a job to blend in with the locals,’ the boy gestured openly with the palms of his hands.

  ‘In that respect, I can help. Find your way to the Gouvia Villa Club Complex and ask for Andreas. He is my nephew. He needs help in the restaurant. You have experience, and you are ideal to work there. Tell him, I send you!’

  Morgan smiled and shook the old man’s hand. ‘You have been an enormous help, thank you!’

  Spiro picked up an old jacket with leather patches on its arms and padded it down. ‘Here, I have something for you,’ the old man produced a revolver from his inside pocket. Remember it’s an old school revolver, aim wisely and always hit your target.’

  Morgan frowned. It was an unexpected gift. ‘Thank you, I will use it on those that deserve it!’

  ‘I will be watching.’ Spiro stood with a tear in his eye. He shuck the boy’s hand and then turned and walked away. ‘Stavros get the car. We are leaving,’ a figure from the shadow of the trees by the drive appeared in the moonlight.

  ‘Ne Spiro.’

  Morgan took a few moments to handle the gun, and then concealed the revolver in his baggy jeans. He drank the little remaining wine, and sat looking into the fire. Spiro had showed the hand of friendship and the boy recognised that his father’s teachings were coming true. Let them show themselves to you and you will know who is friend or foe.

  Later once everyone had gone, Maria approached him in front of the fading fire. ‘Morgan it is nine o’ clock, and Spiro says it is time for you to go!’

  The boy nodded and followed her back into the hotel, he quickly gathered up his belongings and paid his bill. As he walked down the lane toward the cafe and bakery a tourist bus pulled up outside the hotel, emerging from it were pale skinned British holidaymakers. The tourist season for the hotel had undoubtedly begun.

  Half an hour later the baker had just left him in his new apartment, it was a basic studio with a bathroom, bedroom and fridge that opened onto a veranda. The veranda itself looked over a small stream that flowed across the grounds under a small footbridge and alongside the building. The apartments themselves were truly private as they were sheltered from the paths by large orange and lemon trees that were in bloom and smelled gorgeous.

  His room was alone on the end of the block and had a metal table and two chairs for his use. Around the corner, three more rooms shared a communal space outside their French doors. Above him were two more floors, he had insisted on the ground apartment for ease of coming and going. The pathways were a series of rat runs that split off in various directions, to the great variety of holiday homes located there. He knew he could get back to the main street in three different ways and cut down to the beach in as many if not more routes. He could vary his coming and going accordingly to avoid being followed to his new home.

  He hid his field bag under the slats of his solid bed and again placed the wallet in the water tank of the toilet, before venturing back onto the main street to buy some food supplies. When he returned back to the apartment half an hour later he used a small torch to light the way. He held it in his right hand whilst carrying two bags of food, water and wine. If he had to take cover for some time he would need to eat, so the receipt showed numerous packets of crisps and chocolate bars with other snacks amongst other things. He quickly unpacked and then took off his shirt and jeans and threw them over the bed. Tonight he was exhausted and too tired to venture out, tonight he thought I will stay at my new apartment and relax.

  Morgan organised himself out on the veranda. He had opened a bottle of red wine to continue drinking and placed an old glass to use as an ashtray. On the ground, he had set some mosquito repellent smouldering away. He sat with his feet up on another metal chair, dressed only with his towel wrapped around his waist. There was a candle on the table that lit his surroundings as he relaxed and smoked a cigarette.

  The boy poured some wine and drank a small amount, it was dry and sour compared to Spiro’s label, but he persevered. As he sat half naked listening to the stream, he closed his eyes and rubbed the tension away from his neck. When his eyes opened there was a figure in the dark looking directly at him, at first it made him jump and he nearly jumped off his chair to scramble for the revolver, but then he realised it was a woman.

  ‘Hej dab,’ she raised a hand to greet him.

  ‘Hello,’ Morgan replied. ‘You Swedish?’ He was trying to appear worldly wise.

  ‘Yes, from near Stockholm! You have just moved in?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes literally,’ Morgan smiled. ‘And you?’

&nb
sp; ‘It’s our second week,’ she said venturing closer to the light. She was a brunette with a freckled face and a dark golden tan, thin and petite.

  ‘Me too!’ He looked at his watch, it was now ten o’clock.

  ‘You’re nearly my neighbour, I live two doors down.’

  ‘Oh! Nice to meet you.’ Morgan raised his hand. ‘Are you going out for the evening?’ he expected she would be going to a nightclub.

  ‘No not tonight, my girlfriend has gone to meet someone. I’m not too bothered in going out alone.’

  Morgan nodded in agreement at her.

  She smiled and then hesitated for a moment and then walked away along the veranda.

  Morgan yawned and rubbed his hair with his left hand whilst looking down at the stream and listening to the water again.

  ‘It is nice down here!’ the girl made Morgan jump once again.

  ‘Jesus!’ Morgan replied in shock for the second time in as many minutes.

  ‘Sorry!’ she hesitated again before speaking. ‘Are you here alone?’ she was inquisitive. ‘You smoke don’t you?’ she approached him.

  ‘Why?’ he felt a little off guard.

  ‘Oh just wondered if you wanted to share some grass?’ She produced a clear bag of the stuff from behind her back.

  ‘Do I ever, but I haven’t got any rollup or papers!’

  ‘Ah, one minute,’ she produced the papers and roller.

  ‘Ok! We can improvise, please sit down and have some wine’

  She giggled a little and quickly drank a glass of wine. ‘My name is Haley.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Morgan.’

  They put everything onto the table and opened two Marlboro’s to use the tobacco, sprinkling in an equal amount of grass in the centre of four papers. On his third attempt, Morgan managed to get the paper to stick and they had something that resembled a joint.

  ‘That's the largest joint I’ve ever seen! You're an expert!’

  ‘Don’t think so, but practice makes perfect.’ he said cheekily.

  ‘Excellent!’ her face, nicely proportioned features and bobbed hair could now be seen more clearly in the candlelight.

  She was plain but beautiful

  ‘Just a word of warning before we smoke this, but this stuff makes me horny as hell!’

  ‘Doesn’t it for everyone, not that I need encouragement!’ She seemed eager. ‘Well light it then,’ she was getting impatient.

  Ten minutes later Morgan felt a wave of relaxation flow over his body. The tension in his neck seemed to be drifting a little as he rolled his head and shoulders to feel more comfortable.

  ‘Are you having trouble with your neck?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a little tense. I’ve been under a bit of stress recently.’

  ‘Oh you work in the stock exchange do you?’ she laughed.

  ‘No a profession with greater risks than that!’

  ‘Sounds mysterious!’

  ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,’ he said to her amusement.

  ‘Here let me do that, I’m a beautician back home,’ she moved her chair and sat behind him, using her fingers to unknot his tired muscles.

  He relaxed in the chair and passed the joint behind him. She took a drag and exhaled into the night around them, the sweet smell of grass drifted on the air. She passed it back and carried on rubbing his neck and shoulders in a more sensual way. A few minutes later they were high. Haley broke off for a second and took the last drag of the joint, when she turned him around she was naked. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply with her tongue blowing smoke into his mouth. The kiss suddenly turned into sexual stimulation as the drug sent pleasure waves to his brain. He reached forward to her and drew her close as his towel fell away. There on the veranda the two of them were naked kissing one another passionately, she took his hand and sucked his middle finger, her mouth was moist and warm to his touch. He pulled her close, but she fought his attention by wriggling free and leading him inside his apartment.

  ‘I’m so horny, fuck me hard and don’t stop until you make me come!’

  ‘Morgan’s head felt a little cloudy as if he might pass out, but his animal instincts took over as he positioned her head and breasts pushed down onto the bed. He nudged his way forward so he could push harder and slid inside her. He closed his eyes, as his mouth watered and rotated his hips to increase the pleasure; everything was so sensitive. She backed up on him until she shuddered and moaned grabbing him nearer and nearer. The boy dug deep into his stamina trying to satisfy her; finally he was exhausted, and then she grabbed him and climbed on top. ‘Tonight I’m going to give you the ride of a lifetime.’

  Eventually they collapsed on top of the bed. ‘Jesus what's a matter with you Swedish girls,’ he said, groaning to turn over to sleep.

  ‘I told you grass made me horny.’ She smiled and pulled one more time at his manhood.

  ‘No more go to sleep!’

  ‘It’s not often you hear that from a man.’ she purred, and then put her arm around him as they both fell to sleep.

  The next day Morgan awoke with a pounding headache the likes he had never felt before, his temples were on fire, and his throat was as dry as the desert. He opened one eye and his blurred vision eventually aligned to see his apartment door ajar letting in a stream of sunlight, he turned over in bed and pulled the light sheet off his body, he needed a bottle of water from the fridge. After drinking the entire bottles content, he blew alcohol fumes from his mouth and shuddered before trying to rub life into his deathly looking face. A few minutes later he was throwing up in the toilet. He felt as green as he had ever been, like it was the first night out he had ever had, and what was shocking was it took him about half an hour to have the slightest recollection of his encounter with the girl from next door.

  He began to shake so took a beer from the fridge and sat outside with the towel wrapped around him smoking a cigarette. It was hard on his body, but he knew the only way to cure his poisoned mind was to have a hair of the dog. So he gulped the lager down and smoked until a level playing field entered his mind and his senses returned. An hour and two lagers later he was human, his head full of his exploits, he was proud of his performance.

  He looked on the table and saw the small bag of weed that Haley had left and then sensed that something was wrong, on his wrist where the TAG Heuer had once proudly been displayed was a ring of white skin. He rubbed his wrist in disbelief. Did he take it off last night? He scoured the apartment, and when he couldn’t find it, entered into a frenzy of checking his other belongings. He checked his jeans and found that although the revolver, wallet and cash card were there, four thousand of his emergency money had gone. He fell into panic and ran back into the toilet to look in the water tank, with relief he noted that the thousand he had kept back with the other cash cards had not been taken, along with the field bag that was still under the bed.

  ‘The bitch,’ he said out load flying into a rage. ‘Wait until I get my hands on her,’ he flew out of his apartment wearing just his towel and banged hard on the shutters of his neighbours. ‘Haley! What do you think you’re doing, taking my stuff!’ he shouted banging, some more to wake her up. He waited impatiently as the doors opened and a blonde girl peered out into the bright sunlight.

  ‘Hello, can you ask Haley to come to the door please I’d like a word with her!’

  ‘Who?’ The girl asked.

  ‘Don’t play around. Tell her to get the fuck out here, or I’ll come in!’ she looked startled at Morgan’s behaviour. A moment later her boyfriend suddenly appeared at the door.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Morgan took a step back.

  ‘I’m looking for Haley.’

  ‘Who the fucks Haley?’ the boy asked.

  ‘The other girl who lives here!’ Morgan shouted.

  ‘No one here apart from us mate, you've got the wrong apartment!’

  Morgan stood there in a daze; the boy from the apartment tried to come out but was pushed back
in by the girl. ‘No you don’t! Stay in here!’ she said to him holding her hand against his chest. It was a good job she did. Morgan was in no mood for messing around, and he would have dropped him there and then.

  ‘You don’t know a girl with light brown bobbed hair about five foot six, very slim?’ Morgan enquired.

  ‘Not seen anyone like that but there are dozens of apartments around here, if you don’t know exactly where she lives you’ll not find her!

  ‘You’d better go!’ she said anxiously as her boyfriend appeared at the door again.

  ‘Just fuck off will you and leave us alone.’ The apartment shutters closed with a clatter, leaving Morgan standing on the outside. Then and there he knew he had been played. No wonder he felt so shaky, he’d probably been heavily drugged, to knock him out. He still couldn’t come to terms with all the sex and sleeping together unless she just saw the moment and took it? Perhaps she was just desperate for money? Perhaps he had talked in his sleep and alerted her to the stash. He was relieved in a way that she hadn't taken the field bag but as sick as a dog about the money, in total he now only had a thousand and thirty Euros’ and he didn’t want to have to go back to the bank, it was too dangerous. Now, he certainly would have to get a job! He was confused, but knew if she didn’t live next door she wouldn't be far away. It was a hunch but from what she was wearing last night, she undoubtedly lived somewhere around Gouvia. If she did, he would come across her sooner rather than later.

  He returned to the apartment, had a shower and found his damp shorts from the night before and threw on a black v-neck t-shirt. He placed the remaining money in his wallet and checked the revolver for bullets, spun the cylinder of the worn revolver and pressed the latch back for safety. He was taking last nights encounter as a warning, from now on he would carry it everywhere. He gathered his bag and put inside a towel and binoculars. At the bottom he placed the gun with his ipod and phone. On leaving the apartment he wedged a small stone in between the shutter doors as he locked them. If anyone entered whilst he was away, it would become dislodged and alert him of an intruder. Before leaving for the day he hid the bag of weed in vines of a climbing plant that grew up the apartments outside wall. Morgan’s feathers had been ruffled, as he ventured out from his studio he was determined to start his research on the Italians and find the mysterious girl. God help her.