Ionian gangster boy, p.2
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       Ionian Gangster Boy, p.2

           Mikey Simpson
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  Chapter 2 - Instinct

  Morgan had only been asleep half an hour in the back of the taxi, when the driver came out of the Gouvia Bay Hotel and opened the car door to shake him. The boy woke with a start and nearly jumped out of his skin. ‘What's going on?’ he asked.

  ‘The hotel! The one you asked about! We’re here!’ The man said as he summoned the boy out of his car. ‘Come! I will show you to my cousin.’

  Morgan was unsteady on his feet; his head swam with confusion as fatigue nearly overcame him. He looked at his watch and saw it was nearing two o’clock. He yawned, rubbed his eyes and staggered a little on the walk up to the hotel along a small path. On entering reception he stumbled over the step. Jesus Christ pull yourself together! He thought as he smiled at the plump lady who was wearing a black and white polker dot dress behind the counter.

  ‘Maria this is the boy I was telling you about, he wants a room for his holiday.’

  ‘How long you stay?’ She asked with a strong Greek accent.

  Morgan had not thought of all the finer details of his new life, but reckoned he would need a base for a while. ‘I’m not sure!’ was his reply.

  This made the two cousins raise an eyebrow and then the taxi driver spoke remarkably quickly in a local accent, expressing his thoughts using his hands. The owner of the hotel replied with a torrent of equally hot-headed jabber, before rummaging around on her desk to rattle some keys.

  ‘You come with me! I’ll show you one of our best rooms on the top floor! It’s good you see! With a view, and quiet at night. Come! Come!’ she beckoned him to follow her up the stairs.

  Half an hour later after a look at not just one room but three, plus a tour of the hotel with the taxi driver in tow, they were back at reception. The two cousins again were chattering away, Maria looking rather agitated by the tone her elder cousin was taking. Morgan felt a little awkward as he picked out a few words here and there and tried to piece their conversation together. Eventually Maria stopped talking to the taxi driver and spoke to him. ‘We are not officially open for the tourist season until next week. Therefore, the menu has very little to offer and the bar is not fully stocked, but you are welcome to stay.’

  Morgan didn’t know what to say. He only wanted a room to rest. All this was too much information in an already overcharged mind. He stood there silent to think, but before he could answer the old man jumped in again to talk to her.

  ‘All right! ALLRIGHT!’ She cut the taxi driver short raising her voice with a look that would set you in stone.

  ‘Spiro my cousin is right! Because the hotel is not ready for business, he has asked me to offer you the room at thirty euro a night.’ The man slammed his hand on the reception desk. ‘OK! Are you trying to drive me out of business,’ she scowled at him again. ‘The room is for hire at twenty Euros’ but no meal at night.’

  ‘What about breakfast?’ The taxi driver scowled.

  ‘OK! We have cereal or toast, it’s not a problem.’ Maria said with annoyance.

  ‘In that case, I will stay for one week,’ Morgan said as he approached them and shook her hand. ‘Efharisto!’ The phrase rolled off of his tongue with a Greek accent.

  Maria eyed the boy and looked him up and down before handed him keys. The room number was 245 and was the one on the top floor. He looked at it but was quickly asked for it back. ‘It needs maid service! You come back at five o'clock, and the room will be ready then.’ she said a little embarrassed.

  ‘But what about my bags?’ Morgan was a little uncomfortable at taking them with him, or equally so leaving them in reception for anyone to see.

  ‘Put them behind reception. It’s not England! Your belongings will be safe.’ the taxi driver said in a calm manner as he handed Morgan his safari bag from the cab.

  ‘All I will need is your passport for our records.’ Maria asked.

  ‘There’s no need for housekeeping. No paperwork, he’s Greek!’ Spiro advised in a serious tone.

  ‘How much do I owe you for the journey, Spiro?’

  Spiro hesitated. ‘Thirty will be fine!’

  Morgan opened his wallet and peeled thirty Euros from the bills and then added another ten. ‘Efharisto, for your help.’ The tip was the least he could do after giving Morgan peace of mind about somewhere friendly to stay.

  Spiro graciously accepted and then walked over to Maria gave her a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder to say goodbye. ‘kalispera, yia sas.’ he said to them and then said. ‘Morgan when you need a taxi, ask Maria, she will contact me!’

  ‘Entaksi,’ Morgan replied but something was bothering him as the old man with the suit and panama quickly disappeared. How did he know his name and how did he know he was Greek? He wondered.

  He took his field bag and placed it under the desk with the safari bag to the front to hide it, then took out his ipod before he looked around for Maria. She had gone, and the rest of the hotel was quiet and deserted. He guessed he could go and have a look around the resort to see what the shops and cafes had to offer. He needed a cigarette anyway so he wandered from the hotel, down a lane not knowing where it would take him. Minutes later he stopped along the lane and unwittingly turned his mobile on before taking a deep drag from his cigarette. On the corner in front of him was a grand looking building called the Molfetta Beach Hotel. It had signpost that directed him down to the resort beach, along another lane which had an open space to his right. He smoked the last remaining tobacco and then squashed its stub in the dry gravel underneath his feet before looking more closely at the open space. It was a football pitch of sorts and beyond it through shrubs and olive trees was a beach and sheltered bay. The boy smiled and walked on briskly down to the sea front where he surveyed what Gouvia had to offer, it was quieter than he had expected with few sunbathers taking advantage of the glorious afternoon sun.

  Ten minutes later he had made his way out to the deserted headland where he had a clear view of the sea. He sat down on warm pebbles and crossed his legs to admire the panorama before him, to his left there were secluded bays and a vision of a white Greek church set out from the waterfront along an elevated pathway, while over on his right was the Kontokali marina packed with a whole range of crafts and vessels. Somewhere in there were his fathers boats. They were now his rightful property, however prooving it would be another matter.

  Morgan laid back to soak up the sun, and it wasn’t too long before beads of perspiration appeared on his face ‘Phew!’ he said out loud as he unzipped and removed his black tracksuit top and pulled off his t-shirt. Lying back down on his garments he made himself more comfortable, although he could feel his keys and mobile phone digging into his back. As he lay with his eyes closed, he could feel the Nokia vibrating. ‘Oh no!’ he said as he realised it was receiving messages. His thoughts immediately returned to the murder of his father; he turned onto his side and rummaged into his pockets for its contents. As he lay on his front sunning his back he quickly scrolled through the missed calls of which there were twelve in total. The first was taken at six o'clock an unknown number. There was a call from Jake the chef at Burdett’s thirty minutes later and then the rest came from two unregistered numbers. He pressed the red button to cancel a reply and another alert instructed him that he had six new messages. He breathed deeply and then looked at the first one. It was from the police. ‘We would like you to call inspector Andy Sanders, of Sheffield Central ASAP.’ The number was listed. The next was from Jake. ‘Please call, something terrible, has happened at the bar! Hope you’re alright, police are looking for you.’ Another was more interesting, it was from Vince a London business associate of his father’s. ‘If you need anything give me a call.’ The next three were alarming. ‘Don’t think you can run, eventually we will find you!’ and ‘your father’s assets belong to us now; don’t think of making any plans to stop us keeping them! Finally ‘You’ll soon be joining your father!’ Morgan dropped the phone onto his clothes and lit another cigarette; the messages had d
one the trick and intimidated him.

  He thought back to Corfu Airport and all the police action. He now knew the Italians the commander was talking about had been sent to pick him up. ‘Jesus Christ!’ He said in anguish as he sank his fingers into his hair to pull it in frustration. What could he do if they knew he was here? Surely they couldn’t take everything away from him if he had the legal paperwork and deeds to property? He was anxious, and these legal aspects only calmed him a little, he knew possession was nine tenths of the law and if these grease balls forcefully gained access to the assets it would be difficult to remove them. Morgan smoked some more and then tossed the cigarette away onto the pebble shore, he grabbed his mobile, stood up and threw it as far as he could into the sea. He had made a mistake by not destroying it in England. Now not only would the mob be after him but there would also be heat from the cops. He was beginning to wonder if coming to Corfu had been a smart idea after all. He knew now he wouldn’t be safe there.

  Half an hour of contemplation in the heat of the sun had driven Morgan's head to boiling point. He was half naked. However if he was going to keep cool, he would need to strip and take off his jeans. He looked around the beach to see only a hand full of sunbathers. Some way off in the distance, and a couple walking a dog towards the marina, before deciding to slip them off and wear only his boxers. Moments later he ran through a clump of dried seaweed, and dived into the crystal clear azure water of Gouvia bay. He swam around for a bit and watched some yachts anchor out at sea; it was indeed a perfect place to have a marina. Once he had cooled his head, he had to admit, if he were going to die, here would be better than being tracked down in England.

  Once cool Morgan gingerly crept out of the sea and returned to his solitary place on the beach, he smoked another cig and noticed the blood from under his fingernails had been kindly washed away by the Ionian Sea. He smiled and laid back. From now on he was going to enjoy himself one day at a time, if he were challenged he would deal with danger but until it happened he would keep his head down and try to fathom out what the hell was going on. For now all he could hope to achieve was to feel more at ease, he sighed laid down to dry out and fell asleep under the warm Corfu sun.

  When he awoke nightfall was arriving, he yawned and rubbed his eyes before looking out into the bay. There on the horizon was the last remnants of the day’s sun, glowing orange and setting fire to the underside of patchy cloud, it slowly went down to calm Greek music of playing mandolins from the Molfetta Beach Hotel. Morgan listened to the soothing sounds drifting around the bay as he felt the night air turn cool. Reluctantly he got dressed and made his way back into the resort up the lane from the beach and along the main street. Taking in the variety of shops that sold all the essentials to provide for a enjoyable family holiday. He noticed a few bars and restaurants were not set up for business yet. However a smaller kebab shop was doing a brisk early evening trade. He succumbed to the mouth water aroma of charcoal grilled pork, and chicken being prepared for some locals. As he sat outside the grill house, a man welcomed him with a menu. ‘You want something to drink?’

  ‘Which lager's have you got?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘Amstel, Heineken, Budweiser, Mythos!’

  ‘Mythos will be fine!’

  ‘Large or Small?’ the man asked as his eye wandered, to watch two blondes walking by. ‘Swedish girls!’ he nodded his head in delight.

  ‘Large would be good I’m thirsty,’ Morgan realised; he’d probably spent too much time in the sun.

  A few minutes went by as the man saw to customers in his shop chatting with his colleague who worked the grill. Morgan looked through the menu and watched the waiter pull four bottles of Mythos from the display fridge; he quickly pulled the caps off and poured one into two glasses on the counter. The others he placed on a tray glasses hugged the neck of each bottle to accompany two meals. The man expertly carried the tray whilst returning to the tables. Here, he spoke to two middle aged Greeks and gave them lager's before returning to Morgan. The waiter poured golden liquid from the distinctive green bottle.

  ‘Good choice! Mythos is the best local lager.’ he sat the half full bottle down on the table and then straightened the nearby chairs. Fifteen minutes later the man brought Morgan another. The lager was indeed the best he had tasted for a long time, and it certainly quenched his thirst. It was a whole half an hour after Morgan had arrived when his stomach reminded him, it was time to eat. He raised his arm and attracted the waiter attention, who approached with a note pad and produced a pen from behind his ear. ‘You like to eat?’

  Morgan had no idea what to order, he fancied a snack rather than a meal. ‘I want something small like a sandwich wrap, like those two guys sat over there.’

  ‘Well you’ve come to the right place then,’ he laughed. ‘You want Pork Gyros, in a pita bread with mixed salad & tzatziki, or Chicken Souvlaki in a pitta bread with mixed salad or a Donna Kebab?’ He asked.

  ‘The Souvlaki sounds nice.’

  ‘You want one or two? They are small but filling,’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll have two and some chips.’

  ‘What about another beer?’

  ‘Go on then but make it a small one,’

  ‘Entaksi,’ the waiter scribbled the order and then walked back towards the kebab shop, shouting the order to his fellow worker.

  Morgan consumed his eagerly awaited meal while watching a few gecko lizards camouflage themselves in nearby shrubs. Eventually they climbed up a wall to disappear through a crack. Suddenly he had an idea to take advantage of his situation. He would, such as the lizard have to change his appearance, to keep one step ahead of his pursuers. He smiled and washed down the last of his food with a gulp of lager before leaving twenty Euros to include a tip for the waiter. Five minutes later after a little searching he found Claudia, an Austrian opening her hairdressers for the evening, she was in her twenties a trendy punk with three shades of colour in her hair. She welcomed him in and sat him down in the swivel chair whilst turning a cd player on to play club music from the underground scene in Vienna.

  She placed a towel around his neck and clipped it into place before spraying it ready for a cut. ‘How much would you like me to take off,’ she asked with very good English.

  ‘The lot,’ Morgan replied.

  She looked rather shocked and surprised as she bunched her hands around the weight of the bob. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, recognising the cut of the hair was well maintained and the hair itself in excellent condition.

  Morgan nodded. ‘I’m going to be stopping here indefinitely, and the heat is just too much to keep it long. I’m afraid it will have to go.’ He said in a determined tone.

  ‘Well OK, what would you like me to do?’

  ‘Short back and sides and leave an inch on top, the parting will have to go!’ Twenty minutes later he knew all about her and the reason why she had come to Corfu. When he left he felt like he had known her forever. She on the other hand, knew remarkably little about him. Other than he was searching for work in the resort. And that now he looked entirely different, from the person who had entered the shop.

  ‘Kali-spera,’ He said as he left to walk to the nearby chemists, where he purchased some blue contact lenses. An hour later he had a hand full of carrier bags that contained new clothes. He purchase two Lacoste polo shirts, one navy blue and one back. A red Ralph Lauren shirt and some Timberland walking sandals. Also more importantly a khaki pair of swimming shorts. All would come in handy and keep him cool in the hotter climate.

  When he reached the hotel, it was again deserted although the light had been left on in reception. Morgan saw there was a note with his name on it and room key 216 like a paper weight lay on top. He picked it up, collected his belongings from under the desk and walked up four flights of stairs to his room. Half an hour later he sat on the terrace looking down on the main street below, it was quieter than he had expected as he watched the tourists milling around the bars, dodgi
ng the occasional scooter. In his room, his luggage lay to one side with his shopping bags strewn across the tiled floor.

  Morgan observed his new world smoked one more cigarette and smiled to himself as he ran his fingers through his short cut hair. He was looking forward to tomorrow, to becoming a new person and being able to experience the freedom of adventure in a foreign land. He would start to build a new life and get to know the people of the resort. Like a gecko, he had started to shed his old self by manipulating his image and identity. He had given himself the chance to blend in with holidaymakers and workers and a chance to evade whoever came after him.

  The boy looked at his watch it was now ten o'clock and decided to get his head down, so he could get an early rise the next day. He lay on his bed looking at the field bag, before closing his eyes. He had a head full of emotions to deal with and just needed to rest, he dare not open it until the morning.

  The next day Morgan awoke to the sound of swallows flying in a cloudy sky, their calls filtered through a gap in his French doors that he hadn’t closed properly. He was a little fuzzy headed due to his deep sleep and the affects of the few beers the night before. His mouth was dry, and he was thirsty. He yawned and stretched before rummaging through his new clothes, to rip the price tags off. Ten minutes later he had a cold shower brushed his teeth and dressed before examining the field bags contents, he could put it off no longer.

  Morgan aligned the numbers in the lock and pressed the button to release the flap, with a flick of the wrist the bag opened to reveal three separate compartments. He pulled the paperwork out which contained a cluster of letters tied together with a ribbon, the second compartment had a note book in it and the third contained a Mac air book and an iPhone with chargers. For a moment, he wondered how his father could be so organised and prepared for such a shocking ending to his life, but then his father was not a normal businessman. The notebook referred to many operations of smuggling, drugs, guns and even people in certain parts of the world. It referred to money laundering and the accumulation of assets such as breweries and vineyards in Eastern Europe plus many other business ventures. There were logbooks of assets, which belonged to him as well as third parties, names of people who ran the businesses along with contact numbers in Spain, Italy, Greece, American and South American amongst many more places in North Africa. Morgan's curiosity flared as he quickly began to lay out in an alphabetical order bundles of paperwork, deeds and a notebook, to assess his situation further. He then quickly saw the relationship with many of the different clientele, who would often visit his father’s restaurant in Sheffield. The list of names was incredible. Some were people from the establishment who wanted to make a lot of money quickly by investing in an illicit trade. Others were business people who needed a cash injection into their troubled businesses. Many would never regain control from mafia involvement. Other information was about other mafia families who sought security through partnerships to build wealth. Finally, he looked through the notebook and concentrated on the information that related to Greece, he picked out the deeds and piled them together. The majority of property here on the island was owned by his father, who had built up a selection of villas for rental under the company of Burdett Premium Villa Rentals - Greece limited (BPVR Ltd) which alone had eight luxury places scattered around the island at beauty spots, another in Crete and one more in Cyprus. He also had eight yachts, which Morgan knew about registered to a company called Poseidon Boat Rentals Greece (PBRG Ltd). There were a number of other business concerns with two restaurants in Corfu and a nightclub called Ionian Stars in Ipsos plus an Import business that dealt with British goods distribution throughout Greece.

  Morgan was shocked and found it hard to absorb all the information. It must have taken his father a lifetime to build up these contacts and networks. It explained why he had always been busy, cultivating new relationships and business partners. Some he had no doubt would be rivals, but somehow his father had managed each relationship or agreement separately to avoid conflict. That was until yesterday when it had all gone horribly wrong. Either his father had been double-crossed or someone had got greedy, trying to climb the ladder to success too fast.

  Morgan was now more worried than ever, not only would the mafia family trying to kill him want this information, but rival organisations could also strengthen their power by knowing their enemies assets. The police would also value the information for shutting down organised crime and cleansing their ranks of spies. He had seen enough; he placed everything back in the bag apart from the laptop and iPhone, which he placed on charge. He spent ten minutes tidying the room, placing his clothes in a set of drawers, and hiding his wallet with all the cash cards in the tank of the toilet sealed in a plastic bag.

  To make sense of everything and to plan for his survival he needed time to think and to do that he needed something to eat. As he walked out of the room he checked the time, it was only eight o’clock. When he walked through the deserted reception he admired his appearance in the wall mirror. He looked like a proper tourist. Armed with his wallet and alternative cash card with Morgan Nikolaos on it, he ventured out into Gouvia, today he would find his way around and equip himself better for his life in Corfu.

  Minutes later he was walking along the lane in the direction of Molfetta Beach, there was a warm breeze and an overcast sky littered with dark grey clouds. As he walked he liked the feel of his sandals they were comfortable and practical with an ankle strap, which would enable him to move quickly if necessary. He walked another hundred feet until he found a great looking Cafe, which had a covered veranda and tables that faced the lane to the beach. Just in time he made it undercover before there was lightening, and a loud clap of thunder. It signaled a downpour of rain the likes he had never seen before. Without invitation, he picked up an English paper and sat outside the French doors to the cafe. He pulled his Marlboro's from his pocket and lit one, before crossing his legs to watch the rain run like a stream on its way down the lane to the sea.

  A young Greek girl came out to watch the downfall. ‘kali-mera,’ she smiled uncertain of his nationality.

  ‘Kali-mera, could I order?’

  ‘Ne,’ she said producing a pen and pad from her smock pocket. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘A Coffee and something light to eat.’

  ‘You like cappuccino and a pastry?’

  ‘Yes!’ he nodded before she disappearing back through the French doors in an industrious manner.

  Eventually his ordered arrived a large cappuccino and a chocolate croissant, which he devoured in no time as he let the world pass him by. He caught the young girl’s eye and ordered another coffee.

  ‘You are busy?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘A little, my father bakes in the night and makes everything fresh. I need to stock the displays.’ she smiled.

  ‘How old are you?’


  ‘It’s good to work in the family business from an early age; you’ll learn a lot from your father,’ Morgan said.

  The girl looked a little puzzled at his comments, coming from a boy only two years senior of her age. It led to an awkward moment as she left a receipt under the ashtray.

  ‘Lovely weather, just like being back in England.’ He commented to the girl as she returned to his table. He nestled the paper in his lap as she placed the cup on the table.

  ‘It won’t last long; we are expecting a heat wave starting at the end of the week,’ she smiled and then turned to look at the doorway. An unexpected voice talked from behind. ‘Like the weather the papers bring unwelcome news,’ the shop owner and father pointed to the paper Morgan held in his hand.

  The boy turned around to acknowledge the man sporting a moustache with a white bakers smock and cap covered with patches of flour.

  ‘Hello, I was just saying it was raining just like back in England,’ the boy laughed.

  ‘Like I say, unwelcome news everywhere just like the weather,’ the m
an repeated himself before returning inside the property. ‘Catherine come inside; we need to stock the counters with sandwiches and cakes,’ he shouted to his daughter.

  She gave a glum smile. ‘George, my father is worried this morning. All he talks about is the mafia caught at the airport yesterday; he says they bring terrible luck like the killings in Italy and England at the weekend. He’s not happy!’

  ‘Catherine! You’ve got work to do!’ he shouted from in the back where the ovens were.

  Morgan was left alone to browse through the paper; on the second page, he found the related news. It was about a mafia war in Milan. There had been a car bomb and a series of shootings of mob people and officials that was spiraling out of control. The authorities were struggling to deal with the aftermath of violence which had now spread to Sicily and who knows where next! he read. He browsed through the dead and recognised names from his father’s records.

  ‘They bring trouble to our shores!’ The baker George returned to sit with the boy.

  ‘Sorry!’ Morgan replied.

  ‘They are here already and more will come. The Mafia are looking for someone, and they never rest until they are hunted down.’ George announced.

  ‘The island has problems?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘The police are edgy and will stick there noses into everything. You’ll see they’ll be round before too long, checking paperwork and asking for money. Mafia, all Mafia even the authorities,’ he started to get agitated whilst he drank an espresso and lit a cigar. ‘You’re lucky you’re only here on holiday, to live here will be hell until the someone they're looking for surfaces.’ George spouted.

  The two figures watched the rain pour down, as an occasional scooter would drive by. He confirmed his opinion ‘It’s bad for business all this trouble, like the weather!’ Just then the telephone rang in the store and the well-built man rose to answer it. ‘If there's anything else you need ask Catherine.’ The baker walked back in the store.

  Minutes later the rain eased, and the sun came out. Morgan paid, leaving a little tip and ventured out onto the lane to idle the day away. He entered into a long walk through Gouvia and down into Kontakali where he found the entrance to the Marina, he was met by the glare of a solemn faced security man in a sentry box guarding the entrance. However, it couldn’t put him off investigating the place further, so he walked down a long lane past the guard onto the main cafe and shops of the marina.

  Inside the complex was the Marina supplies shop, packed full of essentials for boating. It was like an Aladdin’s cave so he purchased a few things he might need. At the checkout, he had accumulated a black lightweight waterproof jacket and fleece, a knife, sunhat, torch, binoculars, a book on sailing around the Greek islands and a throw over bag for carrying everything to the beach and on excursions. He paid again with cash, before sitting outside the marina restaurant to order lunch. Tomorrow he must get cash out of the bank, and for the first time use his new Alpha card.

  The afternoon passed quickly by the Marina as he thought back to weeks spent boating. He had always had a passion for sailing encouraged by his father. Long boating trips during relaxed summer breaks were the times the two of them bonded. This was the time of his childhood when his father had prepared him for adulthood. During those trips around the Balearics and the year after the Greek islands along with trips to Morocco and Tunisia, he would learn such a lot about human nature. Time away from England played an important part of his upbringing; during these trips valuable lessons were learnt in how to meet people from different backgrounds and cultures. Most important of their time alone concentrated on physical and mental development, psychology and gun craft.

  Now years later Morgan understood his father’s lessons, they were not what he would call enjoyable memories. However, it was best to think of what he had learned as a game, like chess the one who studied the enemy longest and learned their tactics would be able to protect themselves. The one, who waited for the true character of people to be revealed, would be able to identify enemies. The one who could remain invisible the longest could have the element of surprise and could take time in handing out punishment to ultimately become the conqueror.

  As Morgan finished his lunch he had finally been able to clear his head and come to terms with his circumstances, he now felt more comfortable with the fact that he probably was the most hunted man in Europe. He felt more at ease with the decision not to run any further and for the time-being watch and do nothing. Wait for things to happen rather than chase targets. One day he would be able to fight back.

  As he sat at the café he sighed and watched the rain clouds being blown away. This breeze caught the sails of boats in their berths. He had been assessing his father’s crafts and others in the Marina. Nearby there were around thirty vessels. Eight, twenty five meter yachts that would be used by tourists, who craved the gritty hands on type of sailing. A large variety of motorboats and cruisers were also on display; most would be for hire to the wealthier clientele who wanted a powerful engine and a high standard of facilities. Millionaires or blue chip companies would privately own some. Then there were the other berths where the speed and power boats sat for easy access. People who hired these wanted a cheap thrill, or wanted to impress a girlfriend or family member, they could be hired for a half or full day, some of these craft cost as much as a yacht depending on the size and engine. Yes, all in all the marina was a place for the rich to hang out. Little did they know about the other side of the industry, about the smuggling and trafficking. Hence the presence of guards and the coast guard who had two gunboats stationed near the marina entrance.

  It was mouth watering for Morgan to see the sight of so many boats. It reminded him of his youth, with his father sailing. Many a journey, in many of Europe's more exclusive marinas, he now imagined was for illegal purposes. For a time, he concentrated on his book about sailing around the Greek islands. He drank a few beers as the sun burned through the cloud, and lit up all the colours of bunting and flags of origin draped on each boat. One day he would be back on one, with just the natural elements harnessed in the sails. He would again feel the salty breeze in his hair.

  At around four, o’clock a welcome distraction left a row of nearby yachts, which displayed the blue and white cross and stripes of the Greek flag. It appeared that the Swedish girls who past the kebab shop the night before were workers at the marina. After a choppy day cleaning the hire boats, they were now walking their way back to Gouvia. Perhaps if he finished his last beer quickly he could catch them up along the lane between the two villages. He’d spent enough time watching the Poseidon Boat Rentals offices to get a feel of the people who ran it; he would come back another day and try to gain access to his property. A few moments later he had placed his book and waterproof in his bag and put his hat and shades on to protect him from the scorching sun.

  Quickly he started to walk after the girls in the direction of Gouvia, he dodged puddles of water, which had collected at the sides of the lane and watched how the tarmac evaporated moisture as it collected the energy from the sun. Half a mile later he was gaining on them. They left Kontokali’s shops and restaurants, they ventured along a straight part of the lane with fields and shrub land on either side. Here the crickets danced and made their song that reminded him of his childhood in a warmer climate.

  He watched the girls from behind as their hips swayed side to side, as they talked and laughed with one another. One was a true blonde and the other a more dull blonde. They were around his age, a little smaller than him at five feet seven, and they were hot. Their figures were a delight and as cars passed by you could see, just like the other night men looking at them. Occasionally they would get a peep of a car or scooter horn from their admirers; they would just wave and laugh. The clothes each wore were similar, khaki shorts and white trainers like a uniform, they had nearly the same shade bikinis under tied blue shirts, and they carried small bag packs. If he were to guess he would say these girl
s were sisters, sisters with assets to drive men crazy in the heat of summer, he quickened his pace to catch them. A few minutes later they entered Gouvia and luckily for him, they entered a bar across the road from his hotel.

  As Morgan approached the bar he could hear music pumping along the street, as he entered he saw a plaque hanging over its entrance, the place was called Rooftops. On first impressions it had a youthful feel to the interior and was playing some entertaining chilled out dance music. Morgan liked it immediately; he had found his first bar with any kind of life and soul. Without any hesitation, he ventured to the bar and placed his bag by a stool. Five minutes later he had a cold beer and was nibbling at a bowl of nuts, watching Premier League football from the weekend. He saw Manchester United had won again and gone top with Liverpool a close second in the league table. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the girls talk to the bar maid, whilst sucking on the straws to satisfy their thirst. Behind them was a small dance floor and a DJ box. In the back was the toilet. He finished his drink, and they noticed he was looking at them; the waitress immediately came over to serve him.

  ‘What can I get you?’ she asked in a Scandinavian accent.

  ‘One more beer please, but could you make it a Mythos? I’m not too keen on Amstel.’

  She nodded and delved into the big metal fridges behind the counter. ‘Here you go, the coldest I could find from near the bottom,’ she said as she placed a receipt in a shot glass nearby. ‘Have you just arrived?’

  ‘No I came in yesterday on an early flight and then fell asleep on the beach,’ he pointed to his red nose as evidence.

  ‘Everyone's the same the first day, although I thought I was back home when I woke up today,’ She pointed outside at the damp footpaths.

  ‘How long you out for?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure! The season hopefully, but it all depends on finding a job,’ Morgan gestured with his hands before pulling back on the lager.

  ‘The names Erika, and those two over there are Suzanna and Jenny, they work in the resort.’

  ‘Do you know anywhere where there are jobs going?’

  ‘None at the moment, but it’s the start of the season. Once more tourists arrive everyone will set workers on!’ she smiled and then shouted over the music to the girls to come over. ‘Let me introduce you to my friends. They might know of something!’

  With no encouragement, the two blondes came over. ‘Hey’ they both said as they pulled stools up. ‘You are English?’ they asked, surprised to find a Brit in a mainly Scandinavian resort.

  ‘Yes! My names Morgan’

  ‘Oh that’s good, Morgan. Now we have someone to practice our English on. Let me introduce Jenny,’ she smiled at her friend. ‘And my name is Suzanna,’ said the true blonde who had blue eyes and freckles on her face.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Susanna asked as Jenny got themselves some more drinks and talked to Erika in Swedish.

  ‘Northern England!’

  ‘I know that silly, I can tell with your accent. Which part?’

  Morgan was surprised that she had already worked the UK’s geography out. There was no way to disguise it, so he told her. ‘I’m from Yorkshire.’

  ‘I thought so,’ she spoke in Swedish to Jenny and then Jenny smiled. ‘We had an English teacher from Leeds he had an accent like yours. However then he left, and we were taught by an American.’

  It was true; the girls spoke eccentric English with an American twang. ‘That's brilliant! So what brings you to Corfu?’ He was interested in keeping the conversation going.

  They laughed again. ‘Don’t you know silly!’ Suzanna winked. ‘The same as you!’ she sucked on her straw a little suggestively. ‘To work!’ She had been listening to his previous conversation. A moment later she jumped from her stool and left the group chattering. When she disappeared to the toilet she caught Morgan watching her.

  As the night wore on Morgan got to know they were from Stockholm, they were eighteen and had just finished school which was compulsory until that age. Their family was intermarried like many in Scandinavia with British people, like their grandmother Margaret and a few aunts and uncles. They were into football and supported Rangers football club.

  ‘Wow, so you guys Know a lot about the UK? He asked.

  ‘We have been to visit family and have been on school trips there. We as a nation like the British!’ She looked him closer in the eye as it was obvious drink was taking its toll on all three of them.

  Morgan stumbled as he went to the toilet and this time he looked back at the group. Through a busy bar, he could see Suzanne watching his every move. A few minutes later he washed his hands in the toilet, and as he was due to leave noticed the condom machine, well it couldn’t hurt to be cautious. He thought inserting two-euro coins to receive a packet. He quickly placed the silver sleeves into his back pocket. When he returned to the bar, a round of Sambuca had been bought by Jenny to celebrate their new friendship. Morgan downed his and ordered another. By the time it got to Eleven o’ clock Jenny had had enough and bailed out. She whispered in Suzanna’s ear and made excuses for the two to leave. Suzanna on the other hand was going nowhere, she spoke to her friend in Swedish to provoke a wide eyed drunk expression on her friends face. She laughed and said. ‘Good night.’ before swaying a little as she left the now crowded bar.

  Suzanna turned to face Morgan and smiled. ‘Get me another one, and tell me all about yourself.’

  They drank for a while longer, but the pace dropped off as Morgan made up a fictitious lifestyle about himself. The information about going onto a University course on linguistics specialising on certain subjects was based on the truth, only that now he would never be able to go. He lied about his family and made up a scenario of a happy home and a small family. He was always careful not to mention any connections with the wine bar or his birthplace in Corfu. The subject soon turned to musical tastes and then boyfriends and girlfriends. Morgan realised that Suzanna had split with her boyfriend months before deciding to come in search of the sun and adventure.

  It was way after twelve when they became intimate. Suzanna’s blue eyes were captivating, and her body alluring now he could see her bosom through an increasingly unbuttoned shirt. She was stunning and totally into him. At first he was a little guarded and distant to her advances, but this seemed to encourage her. She moved her body closer, and they looked into each other’s eyes before kissing, moments later she had her hands on his bum and felt the condoms in his pocket. Suddenly she broke off and ordered another round of drinks. Morgan paid for them as she pulled her chair closer.

  ‘Yamas.’ Suzanna said as she knocked it back and then as they both faced each other placed her leg in-between his. She lent forward again, kissed him a lot deeper using her tongue whilst stoking the inside of his leg with her hand. ‘Lets go!’ she whispered in his ear, but as she stood it was easy to see she wasn’t going far.

  Morgan paid his tab and asked Erika. ‘Where does Suzanna live?’

  ‘She lives down a lane on the other side of the main Corfu road. You’ll never find it without a taxi and help with directions. You’d better take her home with you!’ she smiled. ‘We know she’s safe, take her!’

  “What!’ Morgan said. Even though, it had been his intention to seduce her, he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to get anybody involved in his traumatic life.

  Erika looked a little puzzled.’ You mean you don’t want to take her?’

  Suzanna placed her hand behind his neck and spoke softly to him. ‘Take me, I’m yours,’ She looked him in the eyes and pulled at his hand. As she pulled at him, he had trouble picking up their bags.

  A few minutes later he had managed to navigate the hotel stairs holding onto her and the two bags he was carrying, he fumbled with his key and eventually unlocked the door, as she pushed on it, both of them fell onto the floor, Morgan slightly on top of her. She kissed him passionately and wrapped her leg around his waist. ‘Make love, to me!’

sp; Morgan kicked the door shut, and they embraced pulling at one another's clothes removing a garment at a time on the way to the bed. He undid her bra and cupped her breast, her pert nipple hardened between his finger and thumb. ‘I’m good at tricks she said pushing him back onto the bed. Her hair tickled his stomach, as she welcomed him through her lips. Nothing had felt this good in ages he thought. She worked her magic on his body, coiled like a spring ready to explode. Affectionately he grabbed her to lay her on the bed, she was a vision he thought as he climbed between her legs. She sighed and pulled him close, kissed him and wrapped herself around him. Their two bodies in the heat of passion moved together in frantic motion. Moaning with ecstasy, sweat dripped off their bodies, as if the room was a sauna. Eventually they fell entwined into an exhausted sleep, he had expelled some of the demons of hate from his soul.

  The next day Suzanna was a little embarrassed with the circumstances of their first meeting. She glowed red as she left the bed to take a shower. ‘Be careful the waters cold at this time in the morning,’ he shouted just before she shrieked with surprise at its temperature.

  Morgan yawned and slumped over as he sat on the corner of the bed, holding his head in his hands to ease a hangover. He pulled on his boxers and ventured over to the dressing table mirror and winked at his reflection. Last night had been exactly what he needed. All the frustration of his youth; being tucked away in the boarding school had overflowed, as he sought to please his companion. He had missed being around girls and women as he grew up. It had been difficult to build a relationship with his father's business demanding so much time at holidays and weekends. Yet one more reason that he had kicked against being a part of his fathers plans. Morgan sighed then looked again in the mirror, the new image works he thought overjoyed at his newfound sexual freedom. It felt fantastic!

  ‘Suzanna, you fancy breakfast?’ he called.

  ‘I’ve no time; I’m late for work, Jenny will be mad!’ she said as she stepped out of the shower water dripping off her body. With a quick rub down from a towel she paraded in all her glory before quickly putting on her uniform.

  ‘You haven’t got time for a coffee?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘Or a breakfast! How do you think I stay so thin! You can let me have one of your cigarettes,’ She took one from the packet on the side table, lit it and then hurried out of the room. ‘Might see you in the Bar, later?’ she smiled as her bag swung over her shoulder and she ran down the staircase, leaving smoke behind her.

  How can she do that he thought nursing his head, it must be an occupational hazard of working here, he thought whilst getting himself ready. The time was ten o’clock and the resort outside the window was busy welcoming another sunny day to the island.

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