“How the hell do these rental places get away with tying up this intersection with their shit?” said Tassos.
“They’re protected,” said Kouros.
“Not by me.” Tassos hit the horn but the guy on the bike ignored him. Tassos honked again. The guy still didn’t turn around, but flipped an open hand curse gesture over his shoulder at whoever was honking. Tassos, took his foot off the brake and allowed the car to coast forward until it nudged the rear wheel of the motorbike, sending driver and bike spilling lightly onto the road. The driver jumped up cursing and ran at Tassos’ window. He reached in awkwardly for Tassos’ throat.
Tassos grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled, grabbed the man’s elbow and pulled some more until the man’s head slammed into the top of the doorframe.
“Whoops, so sorry,” said Tassos allowing the man to pull away. Before the man could make another run at the car the cadet was at Tassos’ window yelling at him to get out. The owner of the rental agency was screaming to the cadet about what the “fat asshole” in the car had done to one of his motorbikes.
“Need help?” said Andreas.
“You must be kidding.” Tassos got out but didn’t say a word until the rental guy had finished his rant. The cadet asked for Tassos’ identification.
“You’re a newbie here, aren’t you?” said Tassos showing his badge to the cadet.
The cadet jerked to attention. “Please, sir, continue on. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Now the owner started cursing Tassos and the cadet.
Tassos smiled at the owner as he said to the cadet, “I want you to call your sergeant and tell him I said to get his ass over here right away with enough trucks to confiscate all of this guy’s four-wheelers.”
Tassos pointed to a turn down the road. “All the way to there. And what the hell, while they’re at it, have them pick up his two-wheelers, too. They’re all illegally parked, and probably a hell of a lot more than his license authorizes him to rent.”
The rental owner was screaming at the top of his lungs with threats of what he’d do to the “fat man who thinks he’s a big shot” if the cadet weren’t there.
Tassos kept smiling as he walked over to the owner. He stuck his credentials in the owner’s face and said, “Do you want to go home or do you want to go to jail?”
The man didn’t say a word.
“I said, ‘Do you-’”
“Home.”
“Then shut the fuck up.” Tassos got back in the car and blew the rental owner a kiss.
“Very nicely done,” said Kouros. “I’ve had wet dreams about doing something like that to some of those assholes. They’re out of control.”
Tassos pulled away, smiling as he did at the man he’d knocked off the bike.
“You can get away with just about anything on this island if you pay the right people” said Kouros.
“Didn’t use to be that way,” said Tassos.
“Well, it sure seems that way today,” said Kouros.
“It isn’t quite that bad,” said Andreas.
“Probably only because the limit hasn’t been tested yet,” said Kouros.
Fifty yards past the intersection, where a ramp to the left led up to a classic Mykonian hotel, the craziness of the intersection turned into sea views and old stone walls overlooking the sandy cove of Megali Ammos at the bottom of the hill. At the near end of the cove sat one of the last, and certainly most enchanting, old time beach tavernas on the island.
“Perfect choice,” said Andreas. Tassos nestled the car up against a fence on the left side of the road. “But I don’t think you can open your door.”
“No problem, I’ll slide across and get out on your side.” Tassos looked at Kouros in the back seat. “What, no wisecracks?”
Kouros opened his door. “Not after I saw what you did to that guy on the motorcycle…old man.”
Chapter Twelve
The bamboo-capped, white stone shack known as Joanna’s Place sat perched on the bottom of a waning crescent moon beach. Charming during the day, it turned downright ethereal at night in the silver moonlight reflected off the water.
The three cops made their way across the road to a narrow archway in a solid white wall forming the rear of the taverna. On each end of the taverna the wall dropped down to serve as the low border for the seaward side of the road, and together they wound away in both directions until out of sight.
Eight steps down from the road brought you back fifty years, to a time before the world had discovered Mykonos and Mykonians had not yet made dozens of other beaches readily accessible to visitors. Back then this was the place to come, and come they did. Even the Beatles and Pink Floyd ate here, though the music they heard-or one might hear on a chance evening today-was quite different from their own.
Off to the right stood a bar lined with wooden stools arranged so that patrons had to turn to get a peek of the sea through windows cut in walls. On the left sat the primary reasons for coming here: a huge kitchen and massive outdoor grill.
The half-dozen tables spread about inside were mostly empty, for here you came to sit outside on a covered stone patio running the length of the place, twenty feet from the edge of the sea. You could dip your feet in the water between courses.
Tassos embraced a smiling woman with short dark hair and a staunchly British accent. She promptly kissed and hugged Andreas and Kouros.
“Ah, the three musketeers have returned to Mykonos,” said Joanna.
“All evil should quake in its boots,” said Kouros.
“Let’s hope not,” she said. “On Mykonos that would bring on a major earthquake.”
They all laughed, and she led them to a table in the corner at the enclosed right end of the patio. “This should give you privacy and you’ll still have a great view of sunset.”
“Every table has a great view of sunset,” said Tassos.
Joanna smiled and patted Tassos on the shoulder. A young woman brought them water, a bottle of wine, and menus. “The wine is with my compliments. I’ll be back in a minute for your orders.”
All that separated the tables from the beach were a low white masonry wall running parallel to the sea and a few hand-hewn wooden pillars supporting the bamboo roof. A dozen handwoven wicker baskets from the nearby island of Tinos hung upside down from the ceiling, each fitted with a single bulb capable of casting just enough light to bring a pale glow to the room once sunlight was gone.
The only sound was the lapping of the sea against the shore. None of the incessant, pounding club music of virtually every other beach taverna at this sunset hour.
The sea shimmered in combinations of gun-metal blue, silver, and gold against a backdrop of vermilion skies and shadowy forms of distant islands. Except for a lone white church with a blood-red roof on the tiny island of Baou at the entrance to the bay, nothing in view suggested that the hand of man had played a part in any of this-unless of course you looked sharply to the left or right. But no one here did that. This was a place for remembering simpler times as you watched a glowing orange ball fade below the horizon.
Tassos broke the silence. “I first came here forty years ago. I was with my wife. In my mind, this place hasn’t changed that much.” He paused. “Come to think of it, my wife hasn’t either.”
He poured wine for the others and himself. “Yamas.”
“You still think of her?” said Kouros.
Tassos smiled. “You’re only asking that question because you haven’t yet found the love of your life. Otherwise you’d know the answer.” He took a sip of wine. “My memories of my wife are like that ring you wear of your father’s. With you always, even if you don’t think about it. Then comes a time when you notice…and remember…and forget again…until the next time.”
Kouros spun the ring on his finger. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I just thought what with you and Maggie…” He let his voice trail off.
Tassos smiled. “No offense taken. I understand. And yes, Maggie is very special to me, but my wife will always remain in my thoughts as that young woman she was on the day that she died.” Tassos gulped down the rest of the wine and smacked the glass on the table. “Theos singhorese tin.”