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  Adonis had promised Bald Yannis a generous backhander from his inflated prices as a cut for scheming up the scam and was grateful for his chain-sawing intervention. Adonis calmly explained market forces were responsible for the increase in prices as demand for his hotel rooms’ outstripped availability. He wanted cash upfront as he’d heard the tales of other false apocalypses resulting in hotel owners being left bankrupt by cultists running up huge bills after handing over all their worldly goods to evangelical leaders.

  “He’s right. Look ‘ow many gave all their money to that Harold Camping with ‘is ‘end times’ predictions,” Bald Yannis interrupted, having researched previous scams. “’Ow is Adonis supposed to know which of yous ‘aven’t given all yous money to a cult leader and wont’s be able to pay yous bill?”

  A number of the crowd became red-faced, recalling stupidly sending money to Camping who had refused to return it when his 2011 rapture prediction proved to be a damp squib.

  “’An if yous really believe the world will end everywhere except ‘ere then yous must believe all currency will become valueless, so yous might as well spend it all now at the ‘otel, tavernas an’ hardware shop,” Bald Yannis reasoned.

  With their outrage over the rip off prices quelled the crowd of Doomsday trippers meekly handed their cash over before collecting their room keys. As the last straggler disappeared Bald Yannis high- fived Adonis, saying “like taking candy from a baby. I just knew these eejits would be gullible.”

  Chapter 3

  Stapling the Old Fool

  Mail order Masha was in no mood for her secret assignation with the smitten young reporter. After barely escaping death at the crazed hands of the besotted stalker who’d been pursuing Prosperous Pedros and attacking the Pappas with a church candlestick, leaving him handcuffed to the altar, Masha wanted nothing more than a sugary fix of galaktoboureko. Remembering the promise she’d made to Vasilis to resist fattening temptations she abstained from giving in to her cravings for the custard delight and instead headed home to check up on her old fool of a husband.

  “Great bowls of borscht,” Masha exclaimed on arriving home to discover the pan full of Russian red soup she’d chucked over crazy Koula still needed cleaning up from the kitchen floor.

  “I suppose it was too much to expect yous bone idle carcass to lick it up,” Masha admonished Onos the donkey who was standing in a trance like state in the kitchen. Masha let out a sudden yelp as she realised the donkey was standing guard over the prostrate form of her husband.

  “If yous ‘ave been at them Viagra again yous old fool, I swear I’ll divorce yous,” Masha cried. “Get up Vasili.”

  That old fool Vasilis was in no state to answer his wife. He had been lying in a pool of borscht for many hours since slipping in the slimy soupy mess and cracking his head wide open on the floor tiles. Blood from his gaping head wound seeped into the spilled soup, creating a dramatic crimson pattern around his pasty-faced head.

  Hurling herself on the floor Masha grabbed her husband’s head, shaking it in frustration. When Vasilis failed to respond she dropped his head with a sickening thud and ran to grab a mirror to check if he was still breathing. When the mirror misted over she sprang into action and phoned Pancratius the village policeman in a panic.

  “There’s another mad person on the loose, someone ‘as attacked Vasilis. He’s out cold on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. Yous must come and investigate at once.”

  “Good grief is there no end to the crime wave sweeping through the village?” Pancratius shouted, rushing into Masha’s kitchen.

  “Yous was quick,” Masha praised the policeman.

  “I was right outside sticking my crime scene tape up,” Pancratius replied, giving Vasilis the once over. “The old fool doesn’t look too healthy; we must get him to the hospital urgently. Grab his legs Masha and we’ll chuck him in the back of the police car.”

  Sirens blared as the police car sped off to the hospital where that old fool Vasilis was unceremoniously dumped into a hospital bed next to the Pappas. The doctor immediately pronounced the old fool needed his head wound stapling together and wheeled him off to the operating theatre, ominously proclaiming “it is touch and go if he’ll survive.” For once the smitten old doctor was too flustered from the disruption caused by the hoax bomb scare to give his undivided attention to Masha who started wailing and beating her voluptuous silicone chest at the prospect of becoming a pregnant widow.

  “There, there,” the Pappas attempted to console her. “If the worst happens your husband has had a good innings and will find a place in heaven. You’re far too attractive to remain a widow for long.”

  Ceasing her wailing Masha glared at the Pappas suspiciously. He certainly wasn’t himself as he usually referred to her as a shameless gold digging trollop. Pulling herself together she declared, “I must telephone Stavroula and let ‘er know ‘er father might not survive ‘aving ‘is ‘ead stapled back together. She will want to be by ‘is bedside.”

  As Masha dashed off to place the call a gruff voice greeted Pancratius, saying, “I wish to report a serious crime, someone ‘as kidnapped my mother.”

  Rolling his eyes at this ludicrous assertion the policeman suggested Fotis had simply misplaced his ancient mother in the mayhem ensuing from the hospital bomb scare. “When did you last see her?” he questioned.

  As Fotis shrugged his shoulders trying to recall when he had last seen his mother, the Pappas volunteered, “She was the first to rappel down the sheet to the car park. I couldn’t believe my eyes. One minute she was lying there like a skeletal corpse and the next she was sprightly personified. I forgive you all for leaving me here in my weakened state even though I could have been blown up.”

  “Get over yourself,” Masha sneered, re-entering the room. “Yous know full well it was the blasted parrot squawking and not a real bomb. As for yous Foti, why aren’t yous out lookin’ for yous mother instead of cluttering up this ‘ospital room?”

  “Now I’ve reported ‘er kidnapping to the police authorities I will ‘ead out an’ look for ‘er,” the now chastened Fotis decided with a twirl of his moustache.

  “The police need to be out lookin’ for the mad person what attacked my ‘usband. That should be their priority. None of us are safe until the mad man is caught,” Masha asserted.

  “And possibly murdered someone too,” Pancratius gulped, having just received a telephone call from Toothless Tasos saying Deirdre was adamant she had spotted the corpse of a naked woman floating in the harbour. This sudden crime wave was more than Pancratius could cope with and made him long for the days when his biggest problem had been the elusive underwear thief. He was certain Koula had been the correct person to arrest as she’d been caught in the act attacking Masha, but now he was confronted with an unknown aggressor on the loose who had assaulted Vasilis and possibly murdered a woman before dumping her body in the harbour. Pancratius suddenly blanched, saying “Perhaps it is a serial nutter and they have attacked Vasilis, committed murder and kidnapped Kyria Moustakos. Foti, have you had any ransom demands?”

  “Dont’s be so ridiculous, Fotis ‘asn’t got any money. What would they demand, a kilo of sardines?” Masha mocked the policeman.

  Confirming no demands had been made Fotis slunk out to do a bed to bed check of the hospital, hoping his ancient mother had simply slipped back into the wrong bed unnoticed in the earlier confusion. The Pappas suggested Masha should pray for her husband’s safe deliverance in the operating theatre, only to be told, “Shut up, yous fraudulent god botherer.”

  By the time Stavroula and Slick Socrates rolled up Masha had bitten through her false nail extensions as her pregnancy prevented her from turning to vodka.

  “What ‘appened?” Stavroula demanded.

  “My ‘usband was attacked by a deranged dangerous mad man an’ might not survive,” Masha told her.

  “’As he put his affairs in order with a formal will?” Stavroula whispered to Socrates. The colour dr
ained from her face when Socrates confirmed with a nod that Vasilis had put nothing in writing. Stavroula’s brain went into overtime calculating how much of his fortune would go to Masha and the impending baby before she got her own share of his loot.

  “Yous need to get ‘im to sign something in my favour if he comes round,” she hissed to her lawyer lover. “We cant’s let the gold digging floozy get everything.”

  “She won’t. Under forced heirship laws you will get more than Masha but the same as the baby, unless it turns out he has more love children yet to crawl out of the woodwork,” Socrates explained, adding “but you could use your charm to persuade him to write a will in your favour.”

  “’Ow can yous sit there talkin’ about ‘is money at a time like this?” Masha asked accusingly. “Yous ‘ave the bare cheek to call me a gold digger yet yous sit there plotting ‘ow to divvy up ‘is assets before he’s even cold in ‘is grave.”

  “Nonsense Masha, yous misheard me. Yous know what high esteem I ‘old my newly found father in,” Stavroula protested. In truth she had become somewhat fond of Vasilis, but her affection was outweighed by her greed.

  “Now don’t all crowd him at once, he’s still in a coma,” the doctor announced, wheeling Vasilis back into the hospital room.

  “My love,” Masha screamed, throwing herself on top of her husband.

  “Father,” Stavroula cried, attempting to land on the body before Masha could make contact. The pair of them screamed in pain as their heads violently collided. Socrates and the doctor yanked them off Vasilis, while the doctor admonished, “give him some air ladies; he’s only just been stapled.”

  Masha and Stavroula each requisitioned a hospital chair, glowering at each other across Vasilis’ borscht stained comatose body. The arrival of a very drenched young Iraklis dispelled the tension as the two women didn’t want to wash their dirty laundry in public.

  At the sight of mail order Masha, the love goddess of his dreams, the dripping Iraklis perked up, blushing profusely and stuttering insensibly as he handed the Pappas a spinach pie from the bakery.

  “Bless you my boy, it is so good of you to come and visit,” the Pappas said. “I am so worried there will be no one to care for the needs of my parishioners whilst I am laid up in here. Perhaps Irakli, you would reconsider your decision to leave the church and minister to those in need in my absence.”

  “I’m sorry Pappas but I can’t let Fat Christos down in the supermarket. It’s exceptionally busy as the village is bursting with Doomsday trippers,” Iraklis replied, having no intention of allowing himself to be manipulated ever again by the devious older man.

  “But someone must be there to guide those misguided pilgrims who have come from afar for a false revelation,” the Pappas insisted.

  “That false revelation is very good for the village coffers,” Socrates stated, reminding Stavroula she could hardly keep up with the foreign demand for her traditional moussaka and baklava.

  “Those Kazakhs can’t get enough of my meze, they say it tastes like ambrosia after their usual diet of boiled ‘orse meat,” Stavroula boasted. “Irakli, if yous ‘ave got any free time I’m in urgent need of someone to wash up whilst my father is lying around ‘ere like a vegetable.”

  “I could probably fit in an hour or two when I’ve finished for the day in the supermarket,” Iraklis agreed. Mrs Kolokotronis had stressed to him the importance of saving his wages should he be lucky enough to find a nice girl to settle down with. Iraklis had opened a savings account, making regular deposits with gusto, and welcomed the chance to boost his bank balance with extra work.

  “I can pay yous in good hearty home cooking,” Stavroula told him.

  “And how will you explain that to the taxman?” Iraklis questioned, having no intention of allowing Stavroula to exploit him. “It wouldn’t be seemly. I can’t put paidakia and pastitsio in my bank account and Mrs Kolokotronis would be offended if I didn’t eat her delicious cooking.”

  The smitten old doctor returned to shine a flashlight in Vasilis’ eyes. “In your condition you must get some rest Masha. I think your husband will remain in a coma overnight. You could have a lie down on the couch in my office,” he offered with a lustful glint.

  “If yous think I should rest I will call a taxi and go ‘ome,” Masha said, shattering the doctor’s dreams of cosying up with her and impressing her with his medical credentials. “I ‘ave to feed the donkey, Vasilis would never forgive me if I neglected ‘er. Stavroula can stay at ‘is bedside. Irakli, would yous like a lift in the taxi?”

  “Oh Masha, that is most generous of you,” Iraklis stuttered, stunned his dreams of being up close and personal with Masha would come true in the forced proximity of a taxi. Stavroula frowned at the thought of being lumbered with the comatose Vasilis, but craftily realised the best way to elbow Masha out of his will and ingratiate herself as the sole beneficiary of her father’s fortune was to hold fast by his bedside.

  “I will stay with my poor comatose father Masha. You should go home and put yous swollen ankles up,” Stavroula declared, unwittingly insulting Masha who considered her ankles were svelte sirens of seduction since she’d turned her back on sugar.

  “What about yous taverna?” Masha asked, suddenly suspicious of Stavroula’s motives for willingly hanging around in the hospital. Her question was interrupted by the arrival of Fotini who immediately began spraying every available surface with bleach, muttering “I dont’s want to get any of them ‘orrible ‘ospital germs.”

  Liberally spraying Vasilis with the bleach Fotini said, “This will ‘elp get rid of the smell of donkey, the old fool reeks like a barnyard. Stavroula, if yous intends to stay ‘ere with Vasilis I expect Melecretes could be persuaded to step in an’ do a bit of cookin’ in yous taverna. He fancies staying on for a bit in Greece rather than rushing back to the snowy hell hole of Idaho.”

  Stavroula eagerly accepted Fotini volunteering her house guest up to cook in the taverna as it solved her dilemma of how to be on hand to persuade Vasilis to name her as his only heir without losing customers.

  “There’s no sign of mother anywhere, she’s not in the hospital,” Fotis cried in a panic, returning to the room following a fruitless search.

  “Yous mother is outside in Nitsa’s taxi, but yous can’t ‘ave ‘er back till you’ve paid the fare,” Fotini announced.

  “Are yous sayin’ Nitsa kidnapped my poor mother?” Fotis asked incredulously.

  “Dont’s be so cretinous, we did yous a favour by bringing ‘er back ‘ere from Astakos. The old crone ‘ad no clue where she was or ‘ow she got there,” Fotini revealed. “She was sitting on a bench staring out to sea; it’s a good job Nitsa recognised ‘er.”

  Fotis dashed out of the room at remarkable speed for a geriatric fisherman, delighted at the prospect of another opportunity to propose to Nitsa.

  “Don’t forget to give the Pappas a good spraying, he reeks of fake religious fervour,” Masha muttered as Fotini prepared to pursue Fotis down the corridor. Kissing Vasilis goodbye Masha breezily headed out to the taxi with Iraklis.

  “Nitsa, yous know I love yous, say yous will marry me,” Fotis was pleading with Nitsa whilst rummaging through his pockets in search of stray coins to make up the exorbitant taxi fare Nitsa was extorting for delivering his mother back to the hospital.

  “I can’t marry yous if it means livin’ with yous mother, it would cramp my style. Yous will just ‘ave to settle for me bein’ yous girlfriend until yous mother croaks it,” Nitsa replied, counting the notes and coins Fotis handed over. “What about my tip yous old skinflint?” she demanded petulantly.

  “’Ow about I bring yous a tasty cuttlefish round later as yous ‘ave cleaned me out of cash?” Fotis asked.

  “Don’t think yous can wheedle yourself back into my good books with a bit of fish, it will take at least a lobster and a bottle of five star Metaxa to get me feelin’ frisky, ” Nitsa pouted.

  With that Nitsa released the central locking to
allow Kyria Moustakos out of the taxi. As Fotis gave his mother a fireman’s lift back into the hospital, Masha and Iraklis piled into the taxi with the two old crones. Iraklis swooned with pleasure as Masha placed one delicate hand on his thigh and leaned in to whisper, “I am so faint with hunger I could eat an ‘orse. Irakli, be an angel and go back to my ‘ouse to feed the donkey while I grab a bite to eat at the taverna.”

  Blushing bright red as Masha’s warm breath tickled the acne on the back of his neck, Iraklis gibbered in agreement. It crossed his mind that if Masha could eat a horse he was perhaps saving the donkey from turning up on the evening’s menu.

  Chapter 4

  Evangelia’s Peculiar Hobby

  Sighing wearily Evangelia turned the beauty parlour sign to ‘Closed’ and began sweeping hair from the floor. Her feet ached from standing since early morning and she was all gossiped out chattering about the events of the day. The thought of a mad man on the loose in the village made her nervous so she stuffed a large can of hair spray and a pair of sharp scissors in her handbag to ward off any attackers. She was looking forward to kicking her shoes off and catching up with her favourite hobby.

  Ever since her divorce twenty years earlier Evangelia had lived alone in the apartment over the salon with just a cohort of cats for company. The only man to attract her interest was Prosperous Pedros, but she had given up on him long ago as he made it quite obvious he had no intention of becoming romantically entangled. She rarely socialised, finding she’d had quite enough of people after spending the day perfecting the villagers’ perms, trimming their nose hair and waxing their moustaches. Her expectations of a quiet retirement at fifty had been shattered by the new laws declaring hair dressing was no longer considered a dangerous occupation. Realising she would now be expected to work till she dropped she’d decided to take on an assistant. She hoped with a bit of experience under her belt the new trainee could be left in charge, allowing Evangelia the chance to combine her favourite hobby with travel.