Mykonos After Midnight (11 page)

“What do they get paid?”

“Five euros or so an hour, plus free admission and a drink.”

As soon as the bouncers saw Wacki coming toward them they nodded and one opened the door. Inside the place was ablaze with noise and lights and music. The downstairs was one big dance floor and bar, pumped along by very hot-looking women perched strategically above the crowd in places where they could perform their craft, colloquially known as pole dancing.

Overlooking it all was a balcony circling most of the dance floor and filled with more people, some sitting at tables.

“Up there is for VIPs. It’s a more refined crowd.”

From what Sergey could see of the crowd, by “refined” he assumed Wacki was referring to their choice of stimulants.

“Let’s go. I’ve seen enough.”

Outside Wacki pointed at a taxi waiting in front of the club. “Hop in. Only two more places to see, they’re at the same beach.”

It took the taxi five minutes to crawl the two hundred yards up from the club to the bus station. Getting through the crowds was like swimming head-on through a frenzied rush of hot-to-spawn salmon.

At the bus station Wacki pointed to a long line of young people boarding two municipal buses. “We’re all headed to the same place. They’ll have a lot of catching up to do when they get there. By now the clubs are packed with wild ones from the beach tavernas who’ve been going at the same crazy pace since late afternoon.”

The drive took longer than Wacki said it would. Mainly because the taxi driver kept slowing down to avoid motorbikes flying up and down the road to the beach.

The driver said, “I think they call this ‘the road to Paradise’ not because of the beach, but because that’s where crazy tourists who drive like that are likely to end up. If they can, locals avoid this road like the plague between dark and a few hours after sunrise.”

“If locals are afraid to drive on their own roads, why don’t the cops do something about it?” asked Sergey.

The driver laughed. “The cops don’t care. The only ones who care are the club owners. And they don’t want anyone messing with the image of Mykonos as a place where you can do anything you want and be protected by the gods of Delos from harm. Which includes arrest.

“You should see the medical clinic the morning after a busy night. Looks like a combat zone, but you’ll never hear a word about any of that. All’s always perfect on this island.”

And looking to be more so every moment,
thought Sergey.

At the beach the taxi turned left, climbed up onto a rise, and stopped by a large stone building overlooking the sea.

“Here we are.”

Again a long line at the door, money changing hands, and Wacki waved in through a VIP entrance, this one on the left. This club was much bigger than the first, but just as packed and looked like it could handle five thousand customers. They entered past a bar onto the dance floor. In front of them was the VIP section, and off to the right a pool. The place packed in thousands of celebrants of every imaginable shape, size, color, sex, and dress, all pumping along in rhythm to the music and lights, accompanied by stimulants of their choice, and all aiming to make it through to watching the sunrise over the sea.

The last club on Wacki’s tour sat on the beach and was smaller than the one above it. A massive glass wall separated the place from the sand. Here, too, the bar was the first thing you saw, next came a pool with the dance floor beyond it, and a VIP section farther along terracing up a hillside. The music and light show seemed a bit more sophisticated, and the place looked to attract a slightly older, somewhat more upscale crowd than the others, but to Sergey its bottom line was the same: Do whatever it takes to bring in the bodies and make the money.

It was a philosophy he knew well.

He’d run these kinds of clubs before. Smaller, yes, but the crowds were the same and so were the problems.

He doubted any of them had the proper licenses, but they obviously had the juice to stay in business, and that was all that mattered.

In the taxi on the way back to town Wacki said, “Now that you’ve seen our magical island at night, what’s next?”

“I want to meet your mayor.”

Chapter Fourteen

The sun came up the same as it always did, though for late night partiers with shuttered windows it wasn’t that big a deal. But Andreas liked to sleep with his windows open when on the island. He loved the smells of wild rosemary and thyme scented by sea breezes. There was nothing like that in air conditioned Athens where he slept behind rolled down steel shutters. None of that here. At least not yet.

Andreas’ in-laws were in Athens so he stayed at their summer place on Mykonos’ north central coast. It was a rare location, having its own cove. Though by law no beach was private, since Lila’s family owned the land surrounding the cove, for all practical purposes the beach was theirs alone to share with the sea.

Mykonos was a different island out there away from the craziness of the season. A true paradise.

Lila loved sitting on the beach in the morning as Aegean sunlight danced upon the water casting the sea in hues of silver, rose, and gold, popped distant islands into sight, and bounced shades of blue across the sky to fire up a splash of green along a light brown hillside, a shot of pink amid oleander green, a beige lizard against a gray wall, or a cresting wave of white against a deep blue sea.

Andreas’ favorite time of day was late afternoon, watching light range across fields of ochre, gray, and black––framed in the stones and shadows of ancient walls lumbering up onto hillsides or sliding down toward the sea. For Andreas, those tranquil moments eased away his memories of places forever lost to modern times; and led him to wonder how akin his own thoughts might be to those of ancients who looked out upon those same hills, seas, and sunsets so many thousands of years before.

But today was not one for musing about the beach or ancient times. Tassos and Kouros had crashed in the guest bedroom and there was a busy day ahead. Andreas pushed himself out of bed, went to the bathroom, threw some water on his face, and headed for the kitchen to start the coffee.

Tassos and Kouros were already there, cups in hand.

“Morning, Chief. Sleep well?”

“Are you trying to impress me? I can’t remember the last morning I saw you in the office on time.”

Kouros smiled. “That’s because I spend my first waking hours at home doing paperwork, and sometimes I get so distracted I forget what time it is.”

Andreas held out his left arm and used his right hand to feign playing a violin.

“Well, for this morning at least I can vouch that the boy has been working.” Tassos poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Andreas.

“Thanks. On what? Too early to be his suntan.”

Kouros handed Andreas a half-dozen sheets of paper. “It’s everything the agencies had on Sergey Tishchenko. Aside from the arrest in Poland that put him away for two years, he has no criminal record. That might be because up until he moved to Poland he was in the Russian military. One report said he was thought to be part of a military drug and sex trafficking operation that got its start during the first Chechen War in 1994, and kept up at it until they lost their patron’s protection. That fits time-wise, because the ring fell apart about the time Sergey left Russia for Poland.”

“Where was he born? How old is he?” said Andreas.

“Not sure. Records say he was an orphan, but nothing about when, where, or how. He gave a birthdate when he joined the military that made him old enough to enlist. That would make him around thirty-seven, today. He listed his parents as deceased, that he didn’t know their names, and had no next of kin.”

“Sounds like someone trying to hide from something,” said Andreas.

“Or escape. Possibly from a foster home or orphanage,” said Tassos.

“Maybe. What else do you have on him?”

“He was heavily decorated in the military and went from enlisted man to major. The military even sent him to university.”

“He’s a man who knew how to please his superiors,” said Tassos.

“And, if I recall correctly, pleasing one’s superiors in Chechnya meant doing some pretty nasty things,” said Andreas.

“Like drowning your girlfriend in a bathtub?” said Kouros.

“How was he in prison?” said Andreas.

“A model prisoner. So much so that they let him grow his hair as a reward for good behavior. Only incident even mentioning him was the suicide of a cellmate. And Sergey was nowhere around when it went down.”

“What happened?” said Tassos.

“The report says a guard found the cellmate alone in his cell hanging by his neck from shoe laces tied to the railing at the foot of the upper bunk. He’d made a noose on one end and let his knees drop until he passed out. He suffocated.”

“Christ, he could have stood up anytime to save himself,” said Kouros.

“You really have to hate your life to end it that way,” said Tassos.

Andreas picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Or be a lot more afraid of living it.”

“Do you think Sergey might have driven him to it?” said Kouros.

Andreas shrugged. “We’ll never know.” He took another sip. “If what’s in those records is the true story of Sergey’s life, I don’t see how he has the money to buy a hotel on Mykonos.”

“Perhaps he’s back in business with his old Russian military buddies?” said Tassos.

“But why a hotel on Mykonos? All their connections are in Russia,” said Kouros.

“The island is getting a lot more Russian tourists. Maybe they want their own hotel?” said Tassos.

“That would make a lot of Mykonian hoteliers and their guests very happy,” said Kouros.

Andreas put down his cup. “I think it’s time we introduce ourselves to Mister Tishchenko.”

***

The mayor’s office was on the second floor of the late eighteenth century, two-and-a-half-story municipal building at the south edge of the old harbor. It was the only structure on the harbor with terra-cotta roof tiles.

The place had seen a lot of changes over the centuries, most recently a new mayor. The old one had been in power for two decades and likely would have remained so for another two had he not surprised everyone by abruptly resigning in midterm as ruinous financial crises loomed on the horizon.

The office of Mykonos’ mayor controlled virtually everything that happened on the island. If the mayor was not pleased, he could shut you down in a heartbeat. The island’s new mayor was of short stature, mustache, and hair, but long on charm and political instincts. He’d been in local politics his entire adult life and knew how things worked on his island: money talked.

So, when Wacki called him to say big Russian money wanted to see him ASAP, the mayor passed on his usual early morning coffee in the port with cronies to meet with Sergey in his office.

When Sergey and Wacki walked into his office the mayor jumped up from behind his desk, came around to the other side, and, with arms spread wide open and a broad smile across his face, said in Russian, “Welcome home!”

Sergey was surprised. “You speak Russian?” he said in Russian.

The mayor said in Greek, “I have no idea what you just said, my friend, because I just exhausted my knowledge of Russian in welcoming you home, but please, sit.” Wacki translated into English as the mayor shook each man’s hand and pointed to three chairs at a small round conference table next to a window overlooking the harbor. Once his guests were seated, the mayor took the empty chair.

“What did you mean by ‘Welcome home?’” said Sergey in Greek.

“No need to struggle with Greek, said the mayor. “I see you speak English.”

“Yes.”

“My English is not so good, but I think it would be better if we try to speak in English. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What I meant was that this building was built by a Russian count and it served as his residence. We’re sitting in a place where you and your countrymen should feel as much at home as we do. Our home is your home!”

Sergey smiled. “Thank you. That is very kind of you to say.”

The mayor nodded. “I’m sure you’re very busy, so why don’t you tell me how I can be of assistance to you?”

“I assume by now you’ve heard of my interest in acquiring a hotel on the island?”

“Yes, Lefteris is a dear friend. He said you made a very generous offer and assured him that things would continue as they always have.”

“That was very kind of him to say, and yes, I understand there are certain interests that must be protected.”

“We are a very small island with simple, poor people. It would not be fair if we allowed foreign wealth to come in and disrupt a way of life that has existed for generations.”

“I can assure you I have no interest in causing harm to any business falling under your protection as mayor. My wish is to bring new people with new money to your island.”

“New business is always appreciated. As long as it does not come at the expense of the old.”

“There is no business on this island that will suffer because of my plans for the hotel. In fact, everyone will benefit because what I have in mind will draw guests to the island all year round, not just during the brief summer season.”

“That would be an extraordinary achievement. But how do you expect to do that? Other hotels have tried to do the same thing with ideas like conference centers and spas, but all failed. People come to Mykonos for the beaches and fun of summer. There is no other significant draw.”

“With all due respect, Mayor, I think there are other ways.”

“What sorts of ways?”

Sergey smiled. “Walls have ears. I wouldn’t want a competitor learning what I have in mind before I have the chance to try them out myself.”

The mayor shrugged. “Suit yourself, but if your plans require town approval, and it’s hard to imagine they would not, sooner or later you’ll have to tell us what you ‘have in mind.’” He emphasized the last three words with finger quotes.

“And as much as I don’t want to upset your deal with my good friend, Lefteris, I cannot guarantee you’ll get approvals for such ‘other ways’ if they conflict with what the ministry of tourism allows under its lease of the hotel.”

“Thank you for your candor, Mayor. But I can assure you what I have in mind will bring great riches to the town and all who assist in making my project a success.”

“That is a philosophy I share. In business it is important to be nice to those who are nice to you.”

“You will find me to be very nice.”

The mayor nodded.

“There is one slight favor I’d like to ask of you, if I may,” said Sergey.

“Please, ask. If I can help I will.”

“I would like an introduction to your police chief. I have a delicate matter to discuss with him, and with your introduction I’m sure I’d get his absolute cooperation.”

The mayor stood up, walked across the room, picked up his mobile phone, and pressed a speed-dial key.

“Hello, Mihalis. I’d like to see you in my office as soon as you can get here. It’s about a ‘delicate matter.’” He paused. “Great.” And hung up.

The mayor smiled at Sergey. “He’ll be right over.”

“Please, I don’t want to impose on your time. Perhaps there’s another office we could use?”

The mayor waved his hand. “I won’t hear of it. It will be my pleasure to help out. After all, my
casa
is your
casa
.” He smiled again.

Sergey smiled, too, but for a different reason. The mayor’s curiosity had him taking the bait. Sergey knew his only chance at getting the police chief to cooperate was if the mayor were on board. And the only way for that to happen was to make his pitch when they were all together in the same room.

Step one accomplished. On to step two.

***

Being police chief on Mykonos was much like a minister trying to keep order in a brothel when the fleet was in. The best method was pray and duck.

Mihalis knew his job depended on keeping locals who mattered happy and that this gig was way better than most. With any luck he might be able to hang onto it for the couple of years left until his pension.

He parked the blue-and-white police car beneath the overhang of the municipal building and walked toward the steps on the left leading up to the second floor. A young woman stood in the entrance to a bar at the base of the stairs.

“Opening a bit early aren’t you, Stella?”

“Just closing. It was quite a night last night.” The bar was hers and, as the last traditional Greek dance place on the island, it was a favorite hangout for locals and traditionally minded tourists ending a late night of celebrating.

As Mihalis made his way up the steps he wondered what sort of shit storm the mayor had in store for him now. On this island there was always something.

***

The moment the police chief entered the room Sergey stood up and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming, Chief.” He spoke in English.

“My English not very good,” said the Chief.

“I’ll speak slowly but if you don’t understand something Wacki will translate. Again, thank you for coming.”

“Anything to help our mayor.”

“Thank you, Mihalis,” said the mayor.”

“As the mayor will tell you, I am about to buy a hotel on your island.”

The mayor nodded.

“I am concerned only about one thing. Security.”

The mayor’s face tightened at the question, and the Chief asked for a translation.

“I just want to know if I will be safe?”

The mayor answered. “Of course you will be safe. Why would you think otherwise?”

“I heard that a prominent businessman was recently robbed and beaten to death.”

“Exaggeration. It was a crime of passion.”

The police chief asked Wacki to translate what Sergey and the mayor had said.

Sergey talked over Wacki’s translation.

“What do you mean ‘a crime of passion?’”

“It was the man’s girlfriend and a couple of men who did it. It wasn’t a random robbery,” said the mayor.

The chief spoke in Greek. “Mister Mayor, you shouldn’t be telling him this. That is not publicly disclosed information.”

Wacki translated for Sergey.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” said Sergey. “I just wanted to be assured there wasn’t some organized criminal element operating on the island.”