Sergey looked in windows filled with bowls, candlesticks, and other objects of hammered silver, and finely detailed works of art expressed in gold: necklaces, earrings, and rings. He recognized a necklace as one Anna had worn when she first came to see him.
He moved on.
Ten paces later the road opened into the town’s main square. It sat at the north end of the harbor, on the other side of town from the bus station, and though officially named Manto Matogianni Square in honor of the island’s Greek War of Independence heroine, everyone called it the “taxi square.” Here you stood in line and prayed for one of the island’s thirty or so taxis to come quickly.
They crossed down through the square behind the statue of Manto and onto a lane between a kiosk on the right selling breath mints, cigarettes, and condoms, and the Greek equivalent of a fast food place on the left. A quick right and another left had them in a tiny square filled with mostly empty chairs and tables, bordered by two bars on the left and a church straight ahead.
“This is a good place to start our tour. The church is Saint Kiriake, it’s one of the three main ones in the town of Mykonos. If you lived in town you belonged to one of them, unless you’re Catholic. Their church is in Little Venice.”
Wacki turned away from the church to face the bars. “But that’s not why this square is famous. It’s famous because of what once was over there.” He pointed at the bar on the left.
The place had a porch big enough for a dozen to sit comfortably, three-dozen when crammed. Inside the bar looked hardly big enough to hold more than a hundred.
“That’s where Mykonos’ famed international gay nightlife scene got its start. The tables here used to be packed all night with customers of Alberto’s.”
“Does Mykonos still draw a lot of gays?”
“You better believe it. By far most of its tourists are straight, but without the gay influence this island would go into cardiac arrest. They’re big spenders and bring style to the island. The places they like are always the busiest in town.”
Wacki waved at the square. “But the scene’s not happening here anymore. A few years back you couldn’t squeeze through this square between now and four in the morning.”
He shook his head. “It’s all gone except for a tiny mention of its name beneath a sign on the bar next to where Alberto’s used to be.”
“What happened?”
“The same as happened to a lot of places in Greece. Landlords blinded by memories of extraordinary good times didn’t appreciate the financial realities of a country in crisis and refused to reduce skyrocketed rents. That gave inventive, connected competition with lower overhead a chance. It shouldn’t come as a surprise what happened on a party island where the loyalty of most tourists to even their favorite places is best described as, ‘The king is dead, long live the new king.’”
“Is there a new king in town?”
“Yes, on the other side of the harbor. We’ll get there when it’s jumping. But that won’t be for a couple more hours. The magic starts building up in town after sunset but doesn’t really get pumping until around two and keeps on rolling straight through dawn.”
Matogianni was more like a stone path than a street, varying between six and twelve feet wide. Beyond the church an array of shops lined both sides of the lane, and for as far as the eye could see the path was packed with people studying shop windows and each other.
Color, style, practicality, fashion sense meant nothing. If there were a perceptible dress code it was that anything goes, except for those women and their imitators who followed another rule: Do whatever it takes to emphasize your boobs and butt. If it shimmers, stretches, shakes, or shines, sooner or later you’d see it strut by on Matogianni.
Wacki didn’t bother to stop as he walked past the shops. “The bars along here aren’t a big draw. Hit or miss. No real followings except for friends of people who work in them and, if the place happens to be tied to a bar in Athens, customers from Athens who come here.”
They passed a jewelry shop on the right advertising the world’s most expensive brands of watches. “This place does a huge business. A lot of people off cruise boats and yachts come to Mykonos just to buy their watches here.”
Sergey studied the name above the door.
“The island’s high-end places are still making money. More and more wealthy Arabs are coming each year and they like to shop. Louis Vuitton just opened a place and is doing very well, mainly off the cruise boats. Tour groups from Asia head straight for it.”
It’s all true, thought Sergey. This is an island paradise with a monied, holiday-minded crowd prepared to spend big on high-end jewelry, expensive watches, and pricey clothing; a rapidly growing Arab and Asian clientele; and a civic ethos where the guiding moral principle was “Will it make us money?”
“Come on, boss, there’s a lot more to see. The evening hasn’t even started.”
I’ve found heaven.
Chapter Thirteen
Andreas knew tomorrow would be a long day. That’s why he made sure Tassos and Kouros understood that their requested “quick drink in town” would be just that. He’d made his point three hours ago.
They’d parked at the base of the six windmills, overlooking a bay on the backside of the old harbor. The dozen or so multicolored, three-story former pirate-captain homes along the bay-virtually the only such structures in otherwise mandatory white, two-stories maximum Mykonos-gave the area its name: Little Venice. At sunset its bars and restaurants were packed with tourists staring west across the water. And from then until sunrise with partiers seeking a less spiritual sort of satisfaction.
They’d headed toward one of the old captain’s houses, and a local hangout on the ground floor known for its traditional Greek music; but Tassos made them stop first at a piano bar next door. The bar was gay, but filled with a mixed crowd, as were most of the gay bars in this area of town. Tassos said he loved the singer and every time he was in town he made a point of going there.
Tassos found a seat next to the piano and sat mesmerized through two sets. Andreas and Kouros stayed at the bar talking with the owners and a neighboring bar owner who’d popped in to listen to a couple of songs but stayed when he recognized Andreas. Their conversation was the same as everywhere else in Greece: Damn the politicians and how can our country get out of the mess it’s in without them.
By the time they dragged Tassos out of the bar it was after one, but the owner of another bar saw them and insisted they come in for a drink in his place. It was filled with locals anxious to give the three cops an earful on what they should do to fight the increasing crime rate. Kouros’ suggestion that they hire more cops, double the starting salary of eight hundred euros a month, and stop asking for favors every time one of their relatives was arrested, didn’t go over well.
But it did get them out of the place, and Andreas steered them back toward the car. The street was crowded with drunken kids, so Andreas cut through a bar on the right out onto a slightly less crowded stone path running between the bars and the sea. They’d made it as far as the narrowest part of the path when waves brought on by some distant passing cruise ship splashed up onto the path ahead, forcing them to pause.
Just as the way was passable again Tassos tapped Andreas in the middle of his back and whispered. “Coming right at us, that’s him. The big one with silver hair. The one behind him is Wacki.”
Andreas stepped back to let the men pass. He smiled at them as they went by. Sergey stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t seen him, Wacki nodded and said, “Thank you.”
“Silver head’s a friendly guy,” said Kouros.
“Big guy,” said Andreas. “And he looks in shape.”
“Prison gives you a lot of time to work out,” said Tassos.
“Looks like Wacki’s showing him the town,” said Kouros as he stared at the legs of a tall, young blond woman coming from the same direction as Sergey and Wacki. She wore a denim micro-skirt, white tank top, and platform sandals, and clung to a thin, swarthy Greek boy in his twenties wearing a white tee-shirt, torn jeans, and dirty athletic shoes.