Prosperous Pedros To The Rescue
Tall Thomas dashed from the harbour-side house with a sense of urgency. He needed to warn his good friend Prosperous Pedros that a deranged stalker with pyromaniac tendencies and no compunction about kidnapping goats was obsessed with him. Pulling up at Pedros’ stone cottage he was frustrated to discover no one was home and drove off to Rapanaki to see if Pedros had been summoned by his demanding mother.
Prosperous Pedros had pulled into the harbour before first light. He’d had an excellent night’s fishing and planned to go along to help with the clean-up in Thea’s harbour-side house after a quick sluice down with the hosepipe over the outside toilet. The sound of the water rushing through the hosepipe drowned out the noise of Thomas hammering on his door as Pedros soaped himself down, oblivious to any potential danger from his obsessed stalker.
Sorting the fish to take along to Tall Thomas to flog from his mobile refrigerated fish van, Pedros had an altercation with the bucket of fish, necessitating a change of pullover. After washing his fishy pullover in the sink he was baffled to discover his only spare pullover was missing. Scratching his head he muttered “something is definitely amiss, I will ‘ave to get to the bottom of all these peculiar goings on.”
Climbing into the pick-up he spotted a foreign object wedged beneath the passenger seat. “Malaka, this ‘as to belong to mail order Masha,” he muttered, holding aloft a gold strappy shoe with a ridiculously impractical stiletto heel. “No other woman would be stupid enough to prance round the village in such a monstrosity. It must ‘ave fell off her foot when I dropped ‘er ‘ome after the fire.”
His first instinct was to pretend he hadn’t seen the shoe, and then he pondered if Masha would ever know he if simply tossed it out of the pick-up window into the sea. The thought of returning the shoe to Masha made him nervous, but recalling the unsettled feeling he’d experienced when he discovered his spare pullover was missing he elected to do the decent thing and take the stiletto shoe over to Masha.
Driving towards Masha’s house Prosperous Pedros pulled over to chat with Takis. “Yous will never guess what ‘as ‘appened,” Takis relayed excitedly. “Some madman ‘as only gone an’ bashed the Pappas’ ‘ead in, handcuffed ‘im to the altar and left ‘im for dead. Iraklis had to give ‘im the kiss of life, but it’s still touch an’ go if he will survive.”
“Who do you think wanted him dead?” Pedros asked.
“Could be anyone, he’s made lots of enemies. Then again it could be some random nutter. Any of us might be in danger if there’s an unknown madman on the loose. I’d best get back an’ make sure Yiota is safe,” Takis said, rushing off.
“There’s certainly some strange goings on in Astakos,” Pedros sighed, driving off. Pulling up at his destination he muttered “I ‘ope that old fool Vasilis is at ‘ome, Masha always makes me nervous with her vampish ways.” He’d heard about Masha’s reputation for topless sunbathing and desperately hoped she didn’t answer the door without her clothes on.
Grabbing the gold stiletto shoe, Pedros strode towards the open kitchen door, thinking he should warn Masha to keep it locked as there was a madman on the loose in the village.
Before Pedros had the chance to announce his presence his ears were assaulted by a blood curdling scream. Reacting instinctively he rushed into the kitchen to discover Masha cowering in terror, her back pressed against the cooker. A manic woman loomed over her, about to bash the Russian’s head in with a heavy gold candlestick.
“Masha,” Pedros screamed in alarm.
“Pedros,” Masha screamed, “Save me.”
“Pedro, my sweet darling you have come for me,” Koula shrieked, turning towards her imagined husband with a look of deranged ecstasy on her face.
For one endless second everything was suspended in a frozen tableau. Pedros stared in horror at the manic woman frothing at the mouth and wielding a deadly weapon. Then, as Pedros leapt forward to clout the crazy woman with Masha’s stiletto and grapple the candlestick out of her clutches, Masha took advantage of Koula’s distraction and hurled the lukewarm pan of borscht over her assailant’s head. Pedros knocked Koula facedown to the floor, jumping on top of her until she could be more suitably restrained.
“Pedro, yous ‘ave saved my life,” Masha cried in gratitude. “This deluded woman accused me of having an affair with her husband and tried to kill me.”
“Why is my husband Pedros here if the two of you aren’t having an affair?” Koula screeched, her body writhing as she tried to free herself from the weight of Pedros’ body.
“Pedro, do you know this crazy woman?” Masha asked in confusion. “Have you got a secret wife?”
“I’ve never seen ‘er before in my life,” Pedros stated emphatically.
“Pedro, how can you deny our love? Tomorrow we are to be married, I’ve made all the arrangements with the Pappas at the church,” Koula panted, still fighting against Pedros’ weight. “I made this beautiful wedding dress out of one of your bed sheets.”
“Did you seriously expect not to be jilted at the altar in that tacky rag,” Masha taunted, emboldened now her attacker was face down on the floor.
“My dress is beautiful,” Koula yelled, struggling frantically. Wriggling violently Koula suddenly remembered her dress was covered in bright red borscht and she screamed “you have ruined my wedding dress.” The realisation seemed to suddenly drain her of energy and she started sobbing hysterically.
Chapter 43
Blood and Borscht
Slick Socrates and Bald Yannis drove through the village in a desperate quest to find Koula. Driving past Masha’s house they noticed Prosperous Pedros’ pick-up parked outside and Socrates suggested. “We really ought to warn Pedros he could be in danger from Koula as she is obsessed with him, if her latest shrine is anything to go by.”
The pair walked into the kitchen to be confronted with the bizarre sight of Koula lying on the floor in a red wedding dress, with Pedros straddling her back.
Socrates, jumping to the erroneous conclusion Koula’s wedding dress was soaked with the Pappas’ blood, shouted “the Pappas is hardly likely to survive if he’s lost that much blood.”
“It’s borscht, not blood,” Masha enlightened him, adding “Pedros is a hero, he saved my life when this crazy woman tried to kill me.”
“Masha, it was a stroke of genius throwing the pan of soup over her,” Pedros replied. “She was acting so crazed I would ‘ave struggled to get ‘er down without yous quick thinking. Yanni, can yous find something to tie her up with?”
“Are you all right Masha?” Socrates asked, rushing to offer a comforting embrace. He was alarmed Stavroula’s pregnant step-mother had been the victim of a vicious attack.
“I am, thanks to Pedros. I think she would have killed me if he hadn’t turned up,” Masha shuddered.
“She attacked the Pappas in the church and bashed his head in” Socrates explained to Masha. “It’s touch and go if he will survive.”
Bald Yannis proffered the rope used to tether Onos the donkey. All the fight had gone out of Koula and she didn’t struggle when the men used the rope to restrain her, tying her hands behind her back. Her fever was raging and all the blood had drained from her face, creating a ghostly appearance as they stood her upright in the borscht covered wedding dress. Before they had the chance to lead Koula to the pick-up and persuade her to hand herself in to the police, she collapsed on the floor in a dead faint.
“We’d better get her to the hospital, she’s burning up,” Bald Yannis urged. “We can collect Soula on the way, she’ll want to be with ‘er sister.”
“We’d better all go together as the police will want to question everyone about this latest attack,” Socrates insisted. “I’ll telephone Pancratius the village policeman and have him meet us at the hospital.”
Everyone piled into the pick-up and drove off to the hospital, failing to notice Bald Yannis furtively stashing the blow up sex doll under the passenger seat.
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That old fool Vasilis woke from his nap, frustrated to find no sign of Masha. “Is it too much to expect her to stop ‘ome for once to look after ‘er sick ‘usband instead of gadding about,” he complained. Walking into the kitchen he was surprised to see Onos the donkey licking borscht from the floor. “At least yous is loyal,” he said to the donkey, before slipping in the soupy mess and cracking his head open.
Chapter 44
Rappelling Away
Kyria Sisyphean was so overwrought from having been pressured into entering a kafenion full of heathen men, Iraklis felt duty bound to stay and calm her before the bus arrived, rather than accompany the Pappas to the hospital. As the word spread on the village gossip vine the Pappas had been brutally attacked by a madman, no one felt obliged to rush to his hospital bedside, so universally was he despised.
The Pappas was unceremoniously dumped on a hospital bed and attached to monitors to measure his vital signs. An emergency bleeping sent the smitten old doctor rushing in to electrically shock the Pappas back to life with defibrillator paddles. The charge temporarily revived the Pappas and he screamed in terror when he caught sight of the skeletal horror with a bald skull, a toothless grimace and a broken arm occupying the adjoining bed, before promptly passing out again.
“Nurse, prepare another bed in this room, another patient is being admitted,” the smitten old doctor instructed as Bald Yannis carried the still unconscious and rope-bound Koula into the room, closely followed by Soula, Slick Socrates, Masha and Prosperous Pedros.
“Masha, what a delight to see you again,” the smitten old doctor gushed, completely ignoring the needs of his patients. “Has your ancient husband suffered another Viagra overdose?”
“No, he’s ‘ome in bed,” Masha said, oblivious her husband was out cold, lying in a pool of borscht on the kitchen floor. “We are ‘ere to meet the police who are on their way to arrest this crazy woman,” she said, pointing at Koula.
“Oh Masha, don’t be so harsh, this is my sister and she’s obviously not in her right mind. Yous can see ‘ow sick she is,” Soula admonished, stroking Koula’s fevered brow.
“Soula, you cant’s expect me to be sympathetic to yous sister when she tried to kill me,” Masha said. Noticing the Pappas lying in the next bed she added, “That could ‘ave been me hovering between life and death, attached to all them monitors, if Pedros ‘adn’t come along in the nick of time to save my life.”
“Will he live doctor?” Slick Socrates asked, pointing at the Pappas.
“Only if we can find a suitable blood donor for him. He has lost so much blood he needs an emergency transfusion, but he has a rare blood type.”
“We must all be tested at once,” Soula volunteered, immediately annoying the others.
“That God-bothering fraud is not having one drop of my blood,” Slick Socrates declared, remembering how much upset the Pappas’ blackmailing scheme had caused Stavroula.
“But yous cant’s just stand there and watch him die,” Soula cried, finally shaming all the others except Masha into having their blood tested. As the blood tests were carried out, Koula was hooked to a drip. With vital nutrients being pumped into her body she was soon pronounced out of danger and appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
“The only one of you with the same rare blood type is Soula,” the smitten old doctor announced when the blood tests were completed.
“Soula, I refuse to let you give blood. Yous is pregnant with twins,” Bald Yannis commanded his wife.
“But I ‘ave to Yanni, I cant’s ‘ave ‘is death on my conscience.”
“Your husband is right Soula, we cannot transfuse blood from a pregnant woman. I wouldn’t have had you tested if you’d told me about your condition,” the doctor said.
“There must be some other way to save him, doctor,” Soula wept. Even her dislike of the Pappas could not trump her kind nature. Suddenly, a thought struck her. “Doctor, you must test my sister Koula, she probably has the same rare blood type as me.”
“It would be pretty ironic if the blood from the crazy woman that tried to kill him ended up saving his life,” Slick Socrates laughed.
The smitten old doctor agreed the crazed woman was stable enough to have her blood transfused into the Pappas, and various needles and tubes set the process in motion. As the Pappas’ lost blood was replenished he was temporarily revived. Glancing to his side he saw the crazy woman who had attacked him with the heavy gold candlestick in the church and he screamed in terror, shouting “Masha, I must warn Masha she is in danger,” before passing out again.
“That’s not like him to think of others before himself, it’s very much out of character,” Socrates observed.
Masha looked suitably shamed she had been prepared to watch the Pappas fade away in front of her when his first thought had been to warn her she was in danger. “I would ‘ave ‘ad my blood tested if I ‘adn’t been pregnant,” she lied brazenly.
The Pappas had just been pronounced out of danger when Pancratius the village policeman finally rolled up at the hospital to take everyone’s statements about the brutal attacks that had unfolded in Astakos.
“It’s shocking to think of this crime wave in the village,” Pancratius declared. He’d been laid up in bed with a bout of pancreatitis when the elusive underwear thief was on the rampage. The most exciting complaint he’d dealt with recently was customers talking too loudly in the taverna.
“Now, are we sure this woman didn’t attack the Pappas in self-defence? There were no witnesses to the attack and we all know how infuriating the Pappas can be,” the policemen said.
“If she acted in self-defence surely she would have alerted the authorities she had left him hand-cuffed to the altar, rather than leaving him to potentially bleed to death,” Socrates reasoned.
“And Pedros witnessed her about to attack me. It was completely unprovoked, I never set eyes on her before today,” Masha added.
“Then there’s all this business of her breaking into people’s houses and squatting, not to mention setting Thea’s house on fire and nearly incinerating a goat she had kidnapped,” Socrates continued.
“She told me yous was ‘er ‘usband Pedro, and she made that frightful wedding dress out of one of your sheets,” Masha said.
“I bet she stole my spare pullover too,” Pedros said in amazement. “All the time I believed my mother ‘ad come over all motherly an’ was doing all that cleaning when it must ‘ave been this crazy woman.”
“That’s right,” Socrates said, “She broke into Did-Ree’s house and did all her spring cleaning.”
“But you must understand, this isn’t like the Koula I love, something traumatic must have happened to cause her to lose her mind,” Soula insisted.
“Could it ‘ave been the shock of finding a dead body in the deep freezer, doctor?” Bald Yannis enquired.
“Well I’m no expert on psychotic triggers but it does sound plausible such a trauma may have temporarily unhinged her,” the doctor agreed. “Her feverish state may have resulted from an undiagnosed mania.”
“So yous is saying instead of locking ‘er up she needs help, doctor,” Pancratius asked.
“Oh most definitely,” the doctor agreed. “I fear when she comes round and reality hits her she is more likely to be a danger to herself than other people.”
“I will visit you Koula,” Soula promised as her sister was wheeled off to whatever fate awaited her.
“Well I don’t know about anyone else, but I could eat a horse,” mail order Masha declared.
They were just about to leave when Deirdre arrived. “Surely you haven’t come to visit the Pappas, Did-Rees?” Socrates questioned.
“Good grief no, he’s such an odious little weasel,” Deirdre declared, before belatedly faking concern and asking if the Pappas was ill. The others brought Deirdre up to date with crazy Koula’s antics, prompting Deirdre to say “if only we had got her help Socrate instead of turning her out. I’ve never come across anyone more ade
pt with a feather duster and such an eye for rearranging furniture.”
“So what are you doing here Did-Rees? I hope you aren’t sick,” Prosperous Pedros asked.
“Oh no, nothing like that. If you must know I’m doing a bit of match making. Nitsa and Fotis are made for each other, but she turned down his marriage proposal. I thought if I could just get them together again Nitsa may have a change of heart, so I persuaded Nitsa to bring us to the hospital in her taxi on the pretext of visiting Kyria Moustakos.”
“That skeleton is Fotis’ mother?” Socrates asked, pointing to the ancient old crone who had been snoring nonstop since their arrival.
“Oh yes, we became quite fond of her when we spent the night here fetching her bedpans,” Deirdre lied.
“Well Fotis isn’t here and you appear to have lost Nitsa,” Masha pointed out.
“She’ll be along shortly, she’s trying to prise the parrot off Quentin’s head before he gets out of the taxi,” Deirdre explained. “He’s not been able to get it off for two days, it is unnaturally attached to him.”
“Ah, here is K-Went-In now,” Socrates announced as Quentin walked in with the parrot still stuck on his head, concealed beneath a patriotic lobster adorned shower curtain.
“There’s nothing else for it Deirdre, I am going to have to resort to asking the doctor to surgically remove the parrot,” Quentin complained. “It is beyond embarrassing to go out in public with this thing on my head, not to mention how painful it is having these talons permanently embedded in my scalp. I can’t even sleep, every time I close my eyes the blasted bird starts squawking bomb in my ear and insisting I’m a pervert.”
“No need for a doctor, I ‘ave my trusty chainsaw at your disposal K-Went-In,” Bald Yannis offered, revving the chainsaw.
Nitsa sidled in after Quentin, wary in case Fotis was lurking with another marriage proposal. Catching sight of Bald Yannis she desperately finger combed her neon orange moustache and opened the top buttons of her hideous old lady dress to reveal her grotesque wrinkled cleavage. “Ooh what a hero yous is, rescuing that goat from the burning building. Let me gives you a kiss.”
Goatly Goings On Page 17