Mykonos After Midnight (7 page)

Wacki wasn’t worried about Sergey. He’d seen his kind before. Pretty boy tough guys who came to Mykonos thinking they’d show the island hicks how business was done in the big city. The lucky ones might get to open a small place, one that largely supported the landlord and a host of politicos with fingers up to their elbows in pretty boys’ pockets. But the big clubs, the ones capable of pulling in 100,000 euros a night just to get in the door during peak season, were an off limits business to all but select locals and their political protectors.

How Teacher expected to get a foothold in that closed market was a mystery to Wacki. He’d just have to take care that whatever blame there was for failure––and he had no doubt there would be failure––fell on Sergey. He’d enjoy watching the arrogant prick get his balls fried.

The thought gave Wacki pause. He decided he better call Teacher and put some distance between himself and Sergey in her mind. Just to be sure she knew whom to blame when nut-frying time came to Mykonos.

Chapter Nine

Teacher stared at the computer screen as she listened to Wacki complain about the “asshole” she’d sent to replace him as “her man” on Mykonos.

They’d spoken only twice before. Once to satisfy herself that Wacki was the right person for what she had in mind and, later, to confirm the terms of their arrangement. Her conversations always used a secure teleconferencing hookup that allowed her to see the caller, but not the other way around.

It was obvious to Teacher that Wacki did more than dress the part of a pimp, he was one in every sense of the word. Pimps were quite useful in a world filled with johns, and for what she had in mind on Mykonos, an absolute necessity. But Wacki was no leader. For that role she had her Sergey. Wacki’s part was as a humbled number two itching to report on number one’s failings.

“So sorry to hear of your stumble on first meeting Sergey. I’m sure the two of you will soon be on fine terms.”

“But why do you need him when you have me? He doesn’t even speak Greek and knows nothing of how things are done on the island.”

“If I recall, you are not native to Mykonos and had to learn its ways. I hired you to help Sergey learn what you know. Not to question my judgments.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare question your judgment. I was just curious.” There was a decided quaver to Wacki’s voice.

“Good. Because I’m relying on both of you for the success of the project.”

“Thank you for your confidence in me.”

“Just understand that Sergey is your boss.”

There was a momentary pause before Teacher heard, “Yes, absolutely, I understand.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I certainly wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings that might jeopardize my plans. And if you ever feel the need to contact me again, you know how to reach me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good day.”

The screen went blank. Teacher stared at it for a moment before looking at a photograph on her desk of a young girl in a first communion dress wearing spring flowers in her hair. Everyone who saw it on her desk thought it was of Teacher. But she knew better. She had no idea who the little girl was. Nor did she care. It served only as the symbol of a life she never lived.

Whenever she thought her life was good and she could relax, she’d look at that photograph and remembered the truth.

Teacher picked up the photograph.

***

She hadn’t chosen her life. Even now, when she was free to do as she wished, it was not hers. She was on a course set long before she had any say. No matter how she looked, no matter what or whom she knew, indeed no matter how eloquent her words, she would always be that Eastern European child stolen away from parents of whom she retained not a single memory. She’d been very young and whoever
that
child was or might have become died that day.

She was reborn to a different life, where no one cared if she lived or died as long as she produced. Her first memories were of her tiny hands making knots for rugs, her body serving the much larger hands of others. It did not matter if she were three or four or five––and to this day she did not know her age––she was touched by so many she no longer cared or noticed. Unless there was pain. But that was not often. As long as she did as she was told.

Teacher shut her eyes and squeezed the photograph.

She was a trafficked slave and learned as a child to avoid beatings by understanding orders in whatever language they were given. She could not read more than a few hundred words, and not all in the same language, but she could do her sort of commerce in a dozen languages. She was the interpreter for those who did not understand the requests, the demands, the orders of their owners and customers.

But she became more than that. She grew to be ruler of her peers. Her slight, incorrect translation of a requested act would lead to a beating. A more serious error on a vital direction could lead to death. It did not take many such mistakes for the others to realize she must be obeyed. And those who understood that her words were wrong dared not intervene to correct. They appreciated her power and the simple principle by which she ruled: Do as she said or surely die.

It was no different a rule than all enslaved lived by. It was as she was taught, and she followed that teaching by whatever means required to better her horrible life. She became the unquestioned leader of her tiny captives’ universe, but never allowed a hint of her power to reach those who truly ruled her life, for they would have ended hers at once. She ordered others to abuse her in the presence of her captors, so they thought her weak and bullied. It was a dangerous game she played, but it was how she survived––and thrived.

Still, she knew it wouldn’t last, it never did. She was a chattel, no more no less, and all that would keep her safe was her
own
power. She could not let that fade. She found lieutenants with no desire to command but who relished executing their master’s orders as ruthlessly as necessary to maintain power.

From those she controlled who knew how to read, and magazines left by those they served, she learned to read French, Italian, German, Russian, and English.

And she was lucky, too, for she was not one of those girls forced to lie upon a cot in a shantytown taking on all comers until she died, or lost her value as a whore and ended up a laborer in some other’s hands, until she died.

Yes, lucky because she was attractive and desirable to men of great wealth and power. She knew how to communicate with them, to be obeyed, and to please them. She earned large sums and favors for her captors. And they let her travel to places she knew existed only from the magazines. They never feared her return because if she ran away she knew they would find her, and death would be the most merciful end she could expect for such a foolish act. But as long as she pleased her clients she lived a life beyond her dreams.

She had another bit of luck. She did not menstruate until almost seventeen. Otherwise she’d have been a mother by no later than fourteen. She remembered the moment she first bled. She cried, for she knew what it meant. It was the first sign of her imminent fall from grace. She’d seen so many children birthing children in captivity lose whatever vestige of unreasoned hope they still held for their lives.

The fate of a child was a particularly effective means for controlling the mother. Many, certainly all who cared, soon turned into old women, not so much at first in their bodies but most definitely in their souls, watching helplessly as their captors plucked and priced their children for market as any commodity. But she was free of that manipulation, at least until then.

Teacher opened her eyes and put the photograph back on the desk.

I knew what I had to do, I had no choice.

He was a policeman. A widower. He said he was in his forties, but she knew he was older. He protected the men who owned her and many of those who paid for her company. She knew he liked her. She let him think that she liked him too. Nothing sexual, that would have been too easy and ended his attraction to her with an orgasm. No, she interested him with her mind, listening to every word he said, commenting on his every thought in the most flattering of ways, and making sure to refer back to other things he’d said in other conversations.

Three months of this led to a weekend away together. Three more weekends led to a marriage proposal. She told him there was no way her captors would let her go. He told her not to worry.

The wedding was private but her captors attended, smiling as if they’d been family. She had escaped. She was free.

He was a kind man. He encouraged her to learn. She went to school, and she graduated. She attended college. Never did she look at another man. She was committed to her husband and their two children. Yes, she’d become the mother of two beautiful sons.

Teacher closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against them.

Vladimir. And his rambunctious, mischievous brother.

She pressed harder.

My lovely Sergey.

She was in a class when they came to her home. Her husband had many enemies. They cut his throat, severed his genitals, and stuck them in his mouth. They did the same to her two beautiful boys. She did not know who did it. It could have been any of many.

She found them when she came home. She sat among them only for minutes, then packed her bag and left. There was nothing more she could do for them. She did not attend their funerals, for by then she was no longer in that city or that country.

She fled to lose herself, leaving behind all her papers and whatever else she thought could be used to trace her.

She became a nameless refugee in a foreign land. And, in time, experienced a revolutionary new emotion. Freedom. She no longer feared death, and with that discovered liberty, took absolute control over her life for the very first time.

She dropped her hands to her lap and looked again at the photograph.

She made friends among the many like her that she met in shelters and on the streets. She’d lived their lives, spoke their languages, and they bonded. They shared their pasts, spoke of future hopes, and did what they could to protect themselves in the present. They stood shoulder to shoulder. They spoke up. They organized against those who would harm them. They made things happen.

She taught them how to overcome and unite, weaned their fears into strength and their innocence into power. In return they called her “Teacher.” That was far more than this once stolen child ever dreamed of achieving.

Then came the money.

Chapter Ten

Wacki would have chosen any number of hotels on the island over the one Teacher picked for Sergey. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with the place; it just seemed out of touch with the vibe Wacki saw as Mykonos.

The Asteria was among the first hotels built on Mykonos after World War II and one of many across the country financed by public funds in an effort to promote Greece’s tourist economy. It remained government owned but operated under a lease between a Mykonian and the ministry of tourism. The building was of Greek government design not traditional to Mykonos, most notably in its balconies and three-story height. But the hotel sat at the rear of the property and, painted all white with traditional Mykonian blue trim, blended in relatively well with its surroundings.

Like most post-war, government-funded hotels, the Asteria had been built at one of the best locations in its community. The entrance stood along the broad flagstone road walked by virtually everyone coming into the old town off a boat or from a car parked in one of old port’s municipal lots. During tourist season, except for those in taxis or locals on business requiring a vehicle in town, everyone had to pass by the Asteria on foot.

A seven-foot high, whitewashed stone wall separated the hotel grounds from the road. Across the road sat a tiny beach used largely by cruise boat visitors sunning themselves during the day, and by cats and dogs for doing their thing at night. Rarely did one see a local on that beach…except in amorous pursuit of a tourist.

Sergey had a suite on the hotel’s top floor overlooking an acre of well-maintained gardens, a poolside dining area, and the old harbor. It was the best room the Asteria had to offer, yet compared to what else was available on the island, Wacki thought the accommodations spartan. But he dared not question Teacher’s judgment.

Sergey stood with his back to Wacki, looking out the window as he spoke. “I want to meet the owner of this hotel.”

“You mean the Mykonian who has the lease?”

“Yes. What’s his name?”

“Lefteris, but he’s not in town as much as he used to be. He leaves the operation of the hotel to his son. Would you like to speak to the son?”

“No. I want to speak to the owner.”

“Okay. Let me find him and see when he’s available.”

“Where does he live?”

“Out by the lighthouse on the northwest tip of the island.”

“I want to see him now.”

“He might not be home. He could be anywhere. If there’s something wrong with the room let me know and I’ll get it fixed without bothering Lefteris.”

“The room is fine. Just get me a meeting with him
now
.”

“May I ask why?”

“No.”

Wacki nodded and forced a smile. “Yes, boss. I’ll make some calls and make it happen.”

Sergey didn’t turn away from the window. “Good.”

***

An hour later Wacki and Sergey bounced along in a Jeep winding along a ridgeline road high above the island’s northwest coastline. The road ended at the island’s only lighthouse and, in keeping with the practical way islanders tended to name places after their geographical peculiarities, this area was known as
Fanaria
, the Greek word for lighthouse.

As with virtually all secondary roads in Mykonos, repaving schedules largely coincided with the four-year mayoral election cycle and, as the next election wasn’t for a year, the Jeep’s off road capabilities were getting a workout.

“Quite a view from up here, isn’t it?” Wacki spoke as his eyes darted between the road and Sergey in the passenger’s seat.

“Yes.”

“Over there to the left is Delos. It’s a holy island, second in importance only to Delphi. Next to it is Rhenia, the locals call it ‘Big Delos’ and straight ahead is the island of Tinos. It’s famous for––”

“How much longer until we get to Lefteris’ house?”

“A couple more minutes. It’s on the left, facing west. Terrific view of the sunset. Maybe the best on the island. He moved here from town a couple of years back. A lot of Mykonians have moved out of town. Practically abandoned parts of the old town to Albanians.”

“You don’t say,” said Sergey.

“Now we’ve got Pakistanis and Bangladeshis moving in. The whole place is changing.”

“I’m sure.”

At a long, white-stuccoed wall Wacki turned left through a blue, halfway-open sliding gate. He parked on a flagstone driveway next to the wall and led Sergey through an archway into an entrance foyer. The house stood on the right and a large, semi-enclosed terrace opened off to the left, each done in the same all-white with blue trim motif as the hotel. They went out onto the terrace.

Lefteris’ home, like his hotel, had an unobstructed view of the sea, though from this height the Aegean seemed a sapphire tabletop peppered with colorful toy boats sliding by puffs of white cotton.

Wacki waved to a gray-haired man of about Wacki’s height, but at least twice his girth. He sat on a beach chair next to a swimming pool that looked to fall off into the sea.

“It’s windy, Lefteris,” said Wacki.

“Always is this time of day this stage of summer. Sit over here. It’s protected from the wind.” He spoke in Greek and pointed to two chairs facing his. As the men approached, Lefteris struggled to his feet and extended his hand to Sergey.

“Welcome. I’m Lefteris.”

Sergey shook his hand. “Sergey.”

Lefteris motioned to the chairs again. “Please, sit. Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” said Sergey.

“Water?”

Wacki gestured no.

Lefteris switched to English, “Please forgive my English, it is not very good but I understand you do not speak Greek.”

Sergey nodded. “I’m trying to learn.”

“Good. I’m sure we will find some way to communicate.” Lefteris sat down. “So, what can I do for you?”

Sergey sat down, crossed his legs, and pulled a cigarette and a lighter out of his shirt pocket. “May I smoke?”

Lefteris smiled. “Of course, this is Greece. We’re civilized.”

The men laughed.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Sergey lit the cigarette and put the lighter back in his pocket.

“You are a guest of the hotel.” He waved toward Wacki. “And a friend of Wacki’s. How could I refuse?” Lefteris smiled.

“I don’t know what Wacki has told you about me or––”

“Nothing,” said Lefteris in a bit too quick of answer.

“As I was saying,
or
the purpose of my business on Mykonos.”

“Business?” He looked at Wacki then back at Sergey. “What business?”

“One that will be highly profitable for both of us.”

“I already have a highly profitable business, I need no other.”

Sergey smiled. He was holding the cigarette but had not yet taken a puff. “We both know that’s not true. You, like every other hotelier on this island, are suffering. Hotels offering far more to guests than yours can possibly match are cutting rates to the point where you cannot compete on price and still make a profit. You’ll be lucky if you make enough to cover your expenses for the season. And with all that you owe to the banks I doubt you’ll make it another season, certainly not two. Crossing your fingers won’t work either. It will take at least a decade for Greece to get back on its feet.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I lease the hotel. I’m not an owner. I’m not worried about the banks.”

Sergey laughed. “I like your style. But we both know that not owning the hotel is a decided disadvantage, because the only time a hotel on Mykonos is likely to make any real money for its owner is when it’s sold. And that’s an opportunity you’ll never have.”

Lefteris stared at Sergey. “You seem to know a lot about my business.”

“Enough to know that what you said about your debt situation isn’t true. You borrowed a lot to cover renovations required by your lease, and even more to cover this season’s estimated operating costs. With the way things are going, how do you possibly expect to meet your bank payments?
And
, with what you’ll owe in lease payments to the government…” Sergey shook his head.

Lefteris didn’t answer.

Sergey continued. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that in the current political climate the ministry isn’t about to cut you any slack. It’s a new crew in there. Not like the old days. You’ll be in default on the lease and, if someone with money comes along willing to take over your lease,
bye-bye,
you’re history. You’ll end up with no hotel and a lot of debts you can’t possibly pay.”

Sergey pointed at the house and pool. “My guess is you’ll lose this place, too.”

Lefteris stared at Sergey. “I assume you didn’t come here to lecture me on hotel economics. What’s your point?”

Sergey stared back. “I want to buy your hotel.”

Lefteris leaned forward in his chair. “Are you, crazy?” He wagged his right hand in front of his own face. “In the first place, as you just said, it’s not mine to sell. All I have is a lease. Besides, I have no interest in selling.”

“No interest in selling your lease? At any price?”

“At any price that you or your partner here could meet.” Lefteris turned and ranted at Wacki rapidly in Greek.

Sergey waited until he had finished.

“Wacki, tell me exactly what he just said, word for word.”

Wacki started to stammer.

“I said, ‘word for word.’”

Lefteris spoke. “I said that you and your asshole of a partner, Wacki, couldn’t possibly come up with enough to pay me what I would want to give up the hotel. It’s my baby. I’ll nurse it to my death. So stop wasting my time.”

Sergey nodded. “I understand your commitment to a place you created, but on reflection, perhaps the time has come to consider moving on and enjoying the fruits of your life in luxury and peace.”

“Like I said, the two of you are wasting my time.” He tried to stand.

Sergey barked, “
Please
, don’t get up before you’ve heard my offer.” He softened his voice. “That would be very rude.”

Lefteris dropped back into the chair.

“First of all, sir, Wacki is not my partner. He is just one of my many paid employees.”

Sergey fixed his eyes on Wacki. “Isn’t that right,
boy
?”

Wacki looked at his feet. “Yes, boss.”

Lefteris looked at Wacki. “You told me he was your partner.”

“You must have misunderstood,” said Wacki still looking at his feet.

Sergey turned to Lefteris. “Well, now that we’ve cleared up that little misunderstanding, perhaps we can get down to business.”

Lefteris raised and dropped his hands. “Why not? After all, it’s bad business to turn down a deal you haven’t been offered. So, what do you have in mind?”

Sergey pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and waved it at Lefteris. “I’d prefer that my employee not know the amount I’m offering you. It’s written out on this, and as soon as the ministry of tourism approves the lease transfer that amount will be paid to you in full. I assume you’d prefer for as much of the purchase price as possible to be paid off the books, but I’m afraid with all the regulatory scrutiny these days I can’t risk losing the license by doing it that way. So, to compensate you for that inconvenience,each year I will pay you five percent of the hotel’s annual net profits for as long as I have an interest in it.”

Sergey handed the paper to Lefteris and watched as Lefteris tried to hide his surprise. He wasn’t a very good poker player.

“There must be something else you want from me,” said Lefteris.

“Yes. In order to ease our transition into the community, for a reasonable period of time I expect you to make yourself available to me as a consultant, all expenses paid of course.”

Lefteris shook his head from side to side. “I don’t get it. Like I said before, you must be crazy. We both know your offer makes no sense. The hotel isn’t worth anything near what you’ve offered. Why are you offering so much?”

“I assume that means my offer is acceptable on the terms I’ve outlined?”

Lefteris looked at the paper again, drew in and let out a breath. He nodded. “Yes. But I’ll have to check with my attorneys. As soon as I get their okay I’ll have them prepare a memorandum of understanding to submit to the ministry.”

“No problem. As long as I have your word that we have a deal.”

Lefteris stood and extended his hand. “We have a deal. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone what you’re paying me. No reason to start attracting hungry relatives and long lost friends.”

Sergey laughed. He put down the cigarette he had not smoked, stood up, and shook Lefteris’ hand.

Teacher would be pleased.

***

On the way back to town, Sergey listened as Wacki rambled on about how Lefteris must be losing it to have thought that Wacki would ever suggest he was Sergey’s partner. As they pulled up in front of the hotel, Sergey leaned over and patted Wacki’s thigh.

“I assume Lefteris and the recently departed Christos Vasilakis were friends?”

“Yes, very close friends.”

“And you were as well?”

“Yes, I’d worked for Christos for a while a few years back.”

Sergey shook his head. “Horrible what happened to that old man. Beaten to death in his home during a robbery. He was a legend on this island. Probably almost as much of one as you think you are.” Sergey laughed and gave a gentle slap to Wacki’s thigh.

Wacki forced a grin.

“Just so there’s no confusion, my friend, about the degree of loyalty and confidentiality I expect from you, if I think you’re even mumbling in your sleep about anything having to do with me or any of my business, let alone talking about such things to another human being, I can assure you that you’ll look a hell of lot worse at your funeral than poor Christos did at his.”

Sergey squeezed Wacki’s thigh hard enough to make him jump. “Remember that always.”

***

Teacher smiled as she listened to Sergey tell the story of his negotiations with the hotelier. He sounded as enthusiastic as a young boy reciting the details of his first day at school. He had so much more to learn, but this was not the moment to make that point. This was a time to praise and encourage him, and to savor an emotion she never thought she’d sense again: a loving mother listening to her child.