Kouros and Andreas did the same, “God forgive her soul.”
Tassos filled the glasses again, and lifted his, “And to Yianni’s father.”
“Theos singhorese tin.” They toasted and went back to staring in silence at the sunset.
“What’s more, these days Joanna’s is just about the only place on the island where I can afford to eat. That is, if I were paying.” Tassos winked at Andreas.
“The island’s changed so much since I first came here,” said Kouros. “I can’t imagine how different it must seem to you.”
Tassos nodded. “Some say it’s changed for the better, others for the worse. But it’s definitely changed a lot. Especially after the sun goes down. In mid-summer I don’t recognize this place at night anymore.”
“And with the likes of Sergey showing up, it’s in for a hell of a lot more changes,” said Andreas.
Tassos picked up his wineglass. “Foreigners aren’t responsible for what’s happened on Mykonos. Mykonians control it, they get the credit as well as the blame.”
“Maybe,” said Andreas. “But if they let Russian mob types get a foothold here, they’re in for a whole different kind of grief. Things won’t run the same way. It will be bloody.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to be dumb enough to let them in?” said Kouros.
Tassos smirked. “With so many big time property owners in deep shit with their banks, unpaid taxes, and loan sharks, it’s only a matter of time before some of them start accepting offers they think will make them healthy again. And from past experience, for sure some of them won’t give a damn about what it might mean for the future of the island as long as it puts money in their pockets.”
“Hey, if you really want to play the cynic, my friend, be a real one,” said Andreas. “Why should any oligarch with big ideas and a bank account to match waste his time negotiating with property owners? No matter how bad a jam they’re in or lousy the economy, they think their property is worth whatever they say it is. The smart move is forget about them, buy up some nearly bankrupt bank that holds their mortgages and start foreclosing. Soon you’ll own half the island. Yamas.”
The men clinked glasses.
“From what I’ve been reading in the papers, I think the technical term for that sort of financial situation is a ‘fucking mess,’” said Kouros.
“Depends,” said Tassos. “Others would call it ‘opportunity.’”
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” said Joanna armed with a pen and pad in hand, “but have you decided yet?”
“Uhh, no, we’ve been too busy taking in the view,” said Tassos.
“And holding hands,” said Kouros.
“No problem. Happens all the time. Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering the appetizers. You just have to figure out what else you want.”
“Fish,” said Tassos.
“Barbouni,” said Andreas.
“And octopus,” added Kouros.
“The octopus is already coming. I’ll get the red mullet on the grill and we’ll keep going from there. Okay?”
“Okay,” said a trio of hungry men.
“Be right back,” she said.
“I love it here,” said Andreas.
“Me too,” said Kouros.
“To tradition,” said Tassos raising his glass.
“And kicking the butts of those who don’t get it,” said Kouros.
“Until they do,” said Andreas.
“Yamas!”
***
The reflective, neon green and yellow athletic shoes tied in very nicely with the just as brightly colored green linen pants and yellow Hawaiian shirt embroidered with silver and gold sequin images of buxom nude women in profile. Sergey couldn’t see Wacki’s eyes because they were covered in white-frame, oversize Chanel sunglasses, but he assumed the pupils were the size of donuts.
Wacki was standing just inside the hotel lobby, and a young American couple talking with the concierge couldn’t take their eyes off of him.
“I thought you said tonight was casual,” said Sergey.
“It is casual. This is my look of the night.” Wacki waved his hand at Sergey as if it were a magic wand. “And I think you look perfect as a boss out for a night on Mykonos.”
Sergey was wearing Dolce amp; Gabbana black jeans, a white Giorgio Armani tee-shirt, and black Louis Vuitton loafers. A black elastic band held his long silver hair in a tight knot. He’d found the clothes in his closet in a box marked “casual.” He wondered, but didn’t ask, whether Wacki was his mysterious personal shopper.
“So, where to?”
“It’s only midnight, boss, and too early for the sort of night life you’re interested in seeing. I thought I’d show you Matogianni Street. It’s what gets most of the big spender tourists shopping.”
Like Alice after her rabbit, Sergey followed Wacki out the hotel door and through its gardens toward an archway into Wonderland.
“For years that place to the right, on the edge of the harbor just past the beach, was the closest bit of competition to Christos’ place in town.”
They stood directly in front of the hotel, swarmed by mainly thirty-year-olds and younger headed into town and older folk headed out.
“But its business died when Athenian black money dried up. Too much cheaper competition elsewhere for the booze and other things it offered. Rumor has it that some connected locals are planning to open a titty-bar there, offering lap dances and all that goes with it.”
“That should give tourists an interesting first impression of ‘magical Mykonos.’”
“Yeah, I was surprised, too. But a club like that a couple of miles outside of town is making a hell of a lot of money, so it was only a matter of time before someone copied it. That’s how things work here.”
“So, the key is to come up with something that can’t be copied.”
“Yeah, but what’s unique? Titties are titties. Besides, if you come up with a big money-making idea the Mykonian mafia will find some way to take a cut of it or open their own place.”
“Mafia?”
“No, not the sort you’re used to. This mafia isn’t leg breakers. They use connections to destroy your business if you don’t play ball.”
“But, it’s still a titty bar at the entrance to the historic old harbor.”
Wacki shrugged. “Most Mykonians avoid town at night during the busy season, and know only what they hear. Those who run the night make sure that whatever shit a few might raise is drowned out in promises of how much money it will make the town from foreigners. And with Greece in the middle of financial meltdown, that sort of talk is music to voters’ ears, even though most should know by now that very little of that money will ever find its way into any one’s pockets but those in control and their patrons.
“The bottom line is most don’t care what happens during tourist season and those who do are afraid that if they take a stand the mafia will retaliate against their businesses or property.”
“Sounds like a terrific place to do business.”
Wacki smiled. “I thought you’d like that.”
As they walked toward town, Wacki nodded at a building on the right at the end of the beach. “That’s the original hotel on the island. The same family opened the first hotel outside of town. Their new one’s on a large piece of property overlooking the new port in Tourlos. I thought you might like to know. Just in case you’re interested in buying another hotel.”
Wacki smiled.
Sergey did not.
“And up ahead begin the jewelry stores. I sometimes think there must be more of them per square foot in the old town than anywhere else on earth.”
The road funneled down between buildings until it was only inches wider than the taxis forced to creep along at the pace of the crowds in front of them. Sergey stopped to look at a jewelry store on the right, three doors before the taxi stand.
“This one’s the most famous jeweler in Greece. The shop draws a high-end, world-class clientele.”