At once, Sotiris the waiter brought the first dishes – small shrimp fried whole with garlic, creamy, rose-pink taramasalata, red peppers stuffed with feta and baked to scorched softness – and laid them down the centre of the table, where the civil servants’ forks could easily reach them.
As Sotiris poured wine and water, Paliakis raised his glass, and spoke.
‘Eat, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘As my honoured guests, I am pleased to offer you a little something from my restaurant. Please, eat. And kali orexi.’
Horiatis carefully stubbed out the last inches of a noxious cigar and, tucking its remains behind his ear, speared a shrimp and chewed, the shrimp’s crisp tail crackling between his teeth. Councillor Routsis dipped bread in the taramasalata; as he popped it in his mouth, blobs of pink cream caught on the ends of his untidy moustache. Fitrakis drank down half a glass of red wine, and slid an oil-slaked pepper on to his plate.
Kylis leaned across to his brother, and spoke behind his hand.
‘Which one is which?’ he asked. ‘They all look the same to me.’
His wineglass untouched, Paliakis sipped at the Italian water. He retracted his lips in a smile, revealing his gold tooth.
‘I’m sorry Mr Alfieris is unable to join us,’ he said. ‘He has, unfortunately, been called away on urgent family business. But he and I have spoken at great length, and he asks me to give you his firmest assurances that he supports my plans wholeheartedly. From a planning point of view, he sees no objections whatever to what I propose. Or should I say, gentlemen . . .’ His smile grew broader, showing more teeth. ‘. . . With your assistance, he sees no insurmountable objections.’
A shadow of disappointment crossed Councillor Routsis’s face. He had done business with Alfieris before, and had looked forward to a discreet passing of cash-filled envelopes on his departure. With the tip of his middle finger, he pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose to focus on the plate Sotiris was bringing from the kitchen: delicate lamb chops, grilled over wood and sprinkled with oregano and fresh lemon juice.
‘It is unfortunate he can’t be here to tell us so himself,’ he said. He reached across to help himself to chops; noticing there were few, he added a fourth to his plate. ‘You’ll forgive me for saying so, but I’ll need to hear it from Alfieris’s own mouth that he has no objections.’
‘The lamb is from my own small flock,’ lied Paliakis. ‘I know you’ll find it excellent.’
By Fitrakis’s hand, Sotiris laid down a plate of octopus, the seared, burgundy limbs sliced to show the clean white flesh within, its aroma savoury and tempting.
Fitrakis dug in his fork, and chewed.
‘I must agree,’ he said. ‘The final word is always with the planners. Without Alfieris’s agreement, it would be impossible for me to give any kind of approval.’
At the end of the table, Pandelis was attentive to every word; the food on his plate was barely touched. Kylis’s plate remained empty; he poured himself more wine, emptying the last of the red into his glass. As Sotiris passed close, Kylis tapped him on the forearm.
‘Open two more,’ he said. ‘Keep it coming.’
‘You’ve seen the site, of course?’ asked Pandelis.
‘I’ve studied the maps,’ said Fitrakis, taking more bread. ‘The site is regarded as quite minor, and isn’t well documented. But it’s scheduled for excavation, when funds allow. That in itself presents problems, as Alfieris is no doubt well aware.’
For a long moment, Paliakis regarded him.
‘Problems have solutions, though, do they not?’ he said. ‘I have often found, in business, that the solution is financial. I am sure that, given the correct level of funding – the right remuneration to the consultants involved in the project, is what I mean – any problems, of scheduling or anything else, can be overcome relatively easily.’
Fitrakis smiled. A piece of charred octopus skin was stuck to his incisor.
Horiatis emptied his wine glass; at Paliakis’s signal, Sotiris hurried to refill it.
‘Of course,’ said Horiatis, ‘we none of us want to stand in the way of progress, or commerce. We are all experts in our own fields, and men of business, too. I believe we all have sympathy with what you want to achieve. But there are olives on the land; it’s designated for agricultural use, and that’s another problem. Without Alfieris’s help, getting a permit to remove the trees will be an insurmountable obstacle, in my opinion. I recommend you wait until Alfieris can be consulted. Perhaps we could all meet here again, when he is back in the office.’
The three guests’ cheeks were flushed from wine, and their eyes travelled lustily over the remains of the food.
‘I agree,’ said Councillor Routsis.
‘I think that would be best,’ said Fitrakis.
‘I’m afraid from what he said that he may be gone some time,’ said Paliakis, ‘and I am naturally anxious to press ahead. The scheme is important to the local economy; it will provide employment for our leaner winter months. With the red tape taken care of quickly, the first phase could easily be complete by spring. But, of course, you are all professionals in your fields. Consultants, if you will. Outline for me again, in simple terms, your main objections to the scheme.’
‘The scheduled excavation,’ said Fitrakis.
‘The olive trees,’ said Horiatis.
‘The lack of Alfieris’s written consent,’ said Councillor Routsis.
‘And if there were no trees? If there were no archaeology?’
Councillor Routsis laughed, and shrugged.
‘Well, obviously, in such a case the matter would be greatly simplified, of course,’ he said. ‘Much more straightforward. If only such a thing were possible.’
‘The paperwork would be a mere formality,’ said Horiatis.
‘We might consider it, even in Alfieris’s absence,’ said Fitrakis.
Paliakis bowed his head.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I must thank you all for your invaluable advice. Allow me to offer you coffee, and French cognac. And you are right – we must certainly set a date to meet again. I have the promise from a contact of mine of a carcass of wild boar from Turkey, prime quality, well-flavoured meat, and I would be honoured if you would join us here to share it.’ He raised his wine glass, from which he had not taken a single drop. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To good friends, and good business. Yammas.’
The civil servants were slow to depart, remaining at the table until the afternoon was at its close and the shadows were growing long. Councillor Routsis stumbled on the steps; Fitrakis clasped Paliakis’s hand and pulled him to his chest, like a much-loved brother.
Paliakis shut the street door behind them and rejoined his sons at the table. Kylis was keying a text message into his phone; Pandelis wrote in a small leather-bound diary with the tiny pencil from its spine.
Paliakis sat back in his chair, spread his hands on the white linen cloth and looked from one of them to the other.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What d’you think?’
Kylis pressed a button on his phone and flipped it closed. Pandelis did not look up from his writing.
‘It’s a no-hoper,’ said Kylis. ‘For God’s sake, give it up, Papa. There’re other sites that’ll do just as well, without all the complications.’
‘You miss the point, my boy,’ said his father. ‘Or rather, two points. One is, if we play a careful game, this land is ours for free. No upfront capital cost, and a very significant saving. And secondly, we are aiming at a discerning market, a wealthy clientele. And wherever they come from, those kinds of people are not going to pay premium prices for property on zoned building land with a view of more houses just like theirs. They want a real view; they want the sea. And that’s what we’re going to give them. What do you think, Pandelis?’
Pandelis closed his diary.
‘Kylis is right,’ he said. ‘Give it up, find another site. Without Alfieris, it’s hopeless. There’s too much risk. For some reason, he’s run out
on you, and these buffoons won’t act without his say-so. Give it up, Papa. Look elsewhere. I’ve heard of a site further south where the developer’s gone bankrupt. It’ll be cheap; the permissions are all in place. We could drive over and have a look.’
‘No!’ Paliakis slammed a fist down on the table, rattling the silverware on the china plates; a red flush of anger spread up over his cheeks. ‘Am I the only one who sees the obvious? They gave us the solution! They practically advised us what to do! Forget Alfieris: we don’t need him. In fact, not using him is another big cost-saving. Maybe he was never to be trusted; I always had my doubts. You two, I hope, I need not doubt.’
He glanced towards the kitchen, where Grigor was slicing tomatoes for the evening’s salads and Sonya was drying glasses on a cloth. Of Sotiris there was no sign; but Paliakis, anxious he should not be overheard, kept his voice low.
‘The solution is both simple and very cheap,’ he said, ‘and what is more, there need be no delay. A little boldness and a little vision are all we need. So pull your chairs up close, and I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do.’
Sixteen
‘I’ve been meaning to call you,’ said Dinos.
He led Petridis into the salone of the small apartment, spreading his arms to invite Petridis’s approval.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what do you think?’
‘It’s great,’ Petridis said. It wasn’t his true opinion: he found the modern, Scandinavian-style furniture unattractive; the red-upholstered sofa trimmed with pale beech was too plain, the light from the angular, chrome lamps was too dim, the stainless-steel kitchen was too clinical, and the pictures on the walls – all geometric lines on primary colours – he could make no sense of.
Through sliding glass doors, the view from the balcony was of rooftops and more apartment blocks, of the lighted windows of quiet streets, and, at a distance, where the starry sky grew black, the undulating line of the mountains. On the balcony, two wrought-iron chairs were pulled up to a table, where Dinos had left his glass – a long, clear drink poured over ice – and an expensive mobile phone.
‘You want a gin and tonic?’ asked Dinos. ‘Or Scotch? There’s cold beer in the fridge.’
‘Nothing for me,’ said Petridis. ‘I just called in to give you this.’
He held up the roll of banknotes he’d found in his trousers. Dinos looked at the money, then at Petridis, and laughed.
‘What’s that for?’ he asked. ‘Go and sit on the balcony, man, and I’ll get you a drink.’
‘It’s yours,’ said Petridis. ‘You gave it to me to look after, the other night.’
Throwing back his head, Dinos laughed again, and clapped Petridis on the back.
‘Island boy,’ he said, ‘you’re something else! Go on, sit down, have a drink. We’ll have a couple here, then go and find some girls. I’ve got a yearning for something blonde. You had yourself a Swede yet? I know a bar where they hang out and man, they’re easy pickings! Sit down, I’ll get you a beer. And this’ – he snatched the money and stuffed it into Petridis’s shirt pocket – ‘is yours.’ He turned towards the kitchen. ‘Pass me my drink, will you?’
Petridis stepped on to the balcony and picked up Dinos’s drink, dropping the cash on to the table in its place.
In the kitchen, Dinos crouched by the fridge, choosing the coldest beer.
‘Heineken OK?’ he asked. ‘I seem to remember you got through a few of those, the other night.’
Petridis stood Dinos’s glass on the counter.
‘Your money’s on the balcony,’ he said. ‘I have to go.’
Dinos popped the top of the can, and held out the beer to Petridis. When Petridis didn’t take it, he stood it on the counter, and picked up his own drink.
‘Where’re you running off to in such a hurry?’ He drank from his glass, grimacing as he swallowed. ‘I overdid the gin,’ he said. ‘I should use more tonic. So – are you on duty, or what?’
‘No,’ said Petridis, ‘but I have plans. I just came to bring your money. That’s all.’
Dinos leaned back on the counter and, regarding Petridis quizzically, folded his arms.
‘Is it really possible, island boy, that you don’t get it? Or has someone told you to give it back? I wouldn’t want to think you’ve been discussing our private business.’
‘No one’s told me anything,’ said Petridis. ‘It’s your money, I’m returning it.’ He checked his watch. ‘I have to go.’
He took a step towards the door, but Dinos, with a hand placed on his forearm, held him back.
‘Before you go,’ he said, ‘let’s you and me sort this out, George. The money’s a gift to you. A gesture of respect, if you like. A token of our working relationship. So pick it up on your way out, use it and enjoy it.’
Petridis’s expression was startled.
‘Working relationship?’ he asked. ‘What working relationship?’
Now Dinos’s laugh was derisive.
‘Don’t play that game with me, George,’ he said. ‘We’re friends now, right? Don’t play hard to get with me. I’m not a rich man, you know that. I’ve paid what I can afford. There’s no reason to be greedy.’
‘Greedy?’
‘Look, I knew your predecessor a long time. We worked well together, and I’m sure you and I can too. I don’t ask for much, just tip-offs so I can be first to the nationals. That’s where the money is, in my game: exclusives. It’s not money for nothing, agreed, but it’s easy enough. Exclusives only come from the inside. And I’ll look after you, whenever I can – concert tickets I’m always good for. Perk of the job.’
‘Perk of whose job?’
‘Mine, and yours. That’s the point, surely? For God’s sake, George, I thought you understood all this when you gave me the name on the hit-and-run!’
‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘No harm done. Has Gazis been getting at you?’
‘Gazis has nothing to do with it.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about him. He’s nobody.’
‘He’s my superior officer,’ said Petridis, stiffly, ‘and I am bound by duty to report this conversation to him.’
Dinos laughed.
‘Oh, he’s a superior officer all right! Whiter than white! What do you think, George, all your superiors are like Gazis? All your colleagues aren’t on the take? Why d’you think they put on the uniform in the first place? Come on – this is a joke, isn’t it? Drink your beer, and let’s take ourselves out somewhere. Forget Gazis. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You have to take care of yourself.’
On Petridis’s thumb, beneath the ragged edge of a sticking plaster, the site of the scorpion-fish’s sting throbbed.
‘No,’ said Petridis. ‘It’s not about me. My job is to care for the community.’
‘Community! Were you drinking before you got here?’
Petridis drew out his wallet, placing a banknote on the counter as he spoke.
‘I’m giving you this back, too: the twenty you gave me out at Loutro. That makes us square. See you around.’
Dinos took the note; Petridis turned again towards the door.
‘Don’t go rocking any boats,’ said Dinos to Petridis’s back, ‘because that would be stupid.’
Petridis turned again and faced Dinos; he took several steps towards him, so the two men stood very close.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, ‘we’ll make our last deal. You don’t say anything to Gazis tomorrow about my being here – not a word about the time we spent together – and I won’t rock any of your boats.’
Dinos’s eyes brightened.
‘Tomorrow? What’s happening tomorrow?’
Petridis set his face to cover his indiscretion, but the blood flushing his neck and cheeks betrayed him.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, or whenever you see him, is what I meant.’
‘Liar!’ said Dinos. His smile was broad. ‘Come on, tell me. What’s going on tomorrow?’
‘I have to go.’
‘Tell me,’ said Dinos, ‘or you might find I let something slip to Gazis. Accidentally, of course. Which makes me wonder if now might be a good time . . . I have something interesting to show you.’
Smiling, he crossed to the balcony, glancing back over his shoulder at Petridis, like a coquette. From the table, he picked up the mobile phone; as he returned to the kitchen, his eyes were on the phone’s diminutive screen, his thumb working the keypad, scrolling through images.
‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘This’ll bring back memories.’
He held the phone up to Petridis’s face. On the screen, a video clip was playing. The focus was poor, the background dim, but the man in the foreground was definitely Petridis, the woman clearly Haroula. Petridis recalled the scene only vaguely, like the remnants of a dream: Haroula on her knees, her face in Petridis’s exposed crotch, his hand on her head, pressing down, and in the background, people laughing, applauding.
The clip ended. Petridis’s face was hot with shame, and anger.
‘There’re more,’ said Dinos. ‘The stills are brilliant. You want to see them? I could download them to my laptop; we’d get the finer details. We could post them on the web! Email them to your friends! Would your mother like to see them? Your grandmother? That girlfriend of yours? The Chief Constable? That would bring a smile to his fat face, wouldn’t it – a new recruit getting the treatment from a known prostitute. Come on, George – let’s have a look at the rest!’
‘Fuck you.’
Again, Dinos laughed.
‘Not me,’ he said. ‘I’d say the one who’s fucked – in every sense, my friend – is definitely, unquestionably, you. You want a drink now? Because you look to me like you could use one.’
Petridis’s eyes glistened with the start of tears, and to hide them he turned towards the door, but Dinos, with a predator’s instinct, sensed weakness.
‘Hold on, there, George, not so fast. We haven’t concluded our business.’
Petridis faced him; stripped of any maturity by his misery, he seemed no older than a schoolboy.
The Taint of Midas Page 16