Free Mykonos After Midnight by Jeffrey Siger Page B

but that sort of thing was said about virtually everyone who made it big coming out of the former USSR. Besides, Wacki didn’t care. He’d worked with that sort before.
    The caller said Teacher needed a contact on Mykonos to help establish a “business presence” there, and he’d been recommended by “mutual acquaintances.” Wacki jumped at the chance almost before it was offered.
    In the Silicon Valley world of United States business,Teacher would be called an “angel investor” by the companies she helped. But in Teacher’s world no one would couple that word with her name. Doing business with Teacher involved a lifetime commitment. There was no way out unless she ended it.
    The story indelibly linked to the loyalty Teacher demanded involved an Albanian mafia chieftain who built a hugely successful digital pirating network using Teacher’s money and contacts. One day he decided he’d shared enough of his profits and, relying on the protection of his small army of muscle, told her to go fuck herself. Less than a month later he watched as his wife and three children were doused with gasoline and burned to death. One by one. But he wasn’t killed. Instead, his every other toe and finger were snipped off with pruning shears and his penis and tongue burned with a blowtorch.
    The man now paid on time. And no one had crossed Teacher since.
    Wacki wasn’t worried about Sergey. He’d seen his kind before. Pretty boy tough guys who came to Mykonos thinking they’d show the island hicks how business was done in the big city. The lucky ones might get to open a small place, one that largely supported the landlord and a host of politicos with fingers up to their elbows in pretty boys’ pockets. But the big clubs, the ones capable of pulling in 100,000 euros a night just to get in the door during peak season, were an off limits business to all but select locals and their political protectors.
    How Teacher expected to get a foothold in that closed market was a mystery to Wacki. He’d just have to take care that whatever blame there was for failure––and he had no doubt there would be failure––fell on Sergey. He’d enjoy watching the arrogant prick get his balls fried.
    The thought gave Wacki pause. He decided he better call Teacher and put some distance between himself and Sergey in her mind. Just to be sure she knew whom to blame when nut-frying time came to Mykonos.

Chapter Nine
    Teacher stared at the computer screen as she listened to Wacki complain about the “asshole” she’d sent to replace him as “her man” on Mykonos.
    They’d spoken only twice before. Once to satisfy herself that Wacki was the right person for what she had in mind and, later, to confirm the terms of their arrangement. Her conversations always used a secure teleconferencing hookup that allowed her to see the caller, but not the other way around.
    It was obvious to Teacher that Wacki did more than dress the part of a pimp, he was one in every sense of the word. Pimps were quite useful in a world filled with johns, and for what she had in mind on Mykonos, an absolute necessity. But Wacki was no leader. For that role she had her Sergey. Wacki’s part was as a humbled number two itching to report on number one’s failings.
    “So sorry to hear of your stumble on first meeting Sergey. I’m sure the two of you will soon be on fine terms.”
    “But why do you need him when you have me? He doesn’t even speak Greek and knows nothing of how things are done on the island.”
    “If I recall, you are not native to Mykonos and had to learn its ways. I hired you to help Sergey learn what you know. Not to question my judgments.”
    “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare question your judgment. I was just curious.” There was a decided quaver to Wacki’s voice.
    “Good. Because I’m relying on both of you for the success of the project.”
    “Thank you for your confidence in me.”
    “Just understand that Sergey is your boss.”
    There was a