Chapter 22 #2
At the thought of missing his birthday, my heart sinks.
I vow to make sure that everything will be ready for his party before I leave.
That reminds me, I need to speak to Emir’s mother about the logistics.
That might give me a softer landing when having to reveal that their little pride and joy is indeed the wheeler-dealer kleptomaniac that they all fear he is.
For now, I just need to keep acting as though nothing is wrong, keep a low profile and behave normally.
I promised Jackson that I’d stay under the radar, and that’s exactly what I must do.
Starting with returning all of the stolen jewellery and wads of cash (which could be laundered for all I know) and making sure that Garry doesn’t try to rip off Emir’s lovely mafia-esque family by overcharging everyone on this boat.
With the chessboard under my arm, I race up the two flights of stairs to see that lots of guests are gathered around the open bar area in eveningwear.
A welcome breeze wafts across the deck, instantly cooling me down as I search for Emir.
I pick my way through the crowd and notice Garry weaving in and out of the throng with a determined look on his face.
He is clutching a clipboard and pen and has something under his armpit.
I stop to see what he’s doing. He approaches a group of people and immediately grins broadly.
I can just about hear him over the music blaring out.
He’s asking if they need more drinks. He’s holding out a pen and pointing to the clipboard for someone to sign.
I see one of the men literally sign it without reading or asking what it is before they go back to chatting and Garry moves on to the next group.
He passes by the bar and signals to Astrid who is bartending to send drinks over to the group he’s just been to.
I follow him stealthily as he repeats the same actions over and over, until he reaches a table with Emir, Mehmet and his grandmother sitting playing cards. I watch Mehmet take the pen and, just like all the others, sign whatever is on the clipboard.
‘Hi,’ I say, causing Garry to jump a mile. ‘What’s this?’ I point to the clipboard. ‘Collecting signatures to save the dolphins?’ I joke. But Garry’s face drops instantly as he whips it behind his back.
‘Just in time. Where have you been? Can you get these lovely people a… what was it? A Virgin Mary, extra shot of tabasco, hold the celery, a dirty martini extra dry with a twist, no ice, and…’ He smiles at Emir.
‘A cloudy lemonade, ice, no lemon for the little gentleman.’ He turns back to face me, his eyes as deadly as a shark’s. ‘Chop chop.’
Mehmet reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wadge of notes, peels one off and hands it to Garry. Garry forces a smile, bows graciously and takes it, thanking him in Turkish before barging past me, muttering.
‘I’ll be right back with those drinks,’ I say brightly to them. I notice Emir has a dark expression on his face as he stares at Garry’s retreating back. ‘You okay?’ I ask.
He nods glumly but instantly perks up when I place the chessboard down on the table next to the cards.
‘Chess? Impressive. How do you feel about cards? Do you play?’ Mehmet asks, shuffling a deck of cards.
‘I love playing cards,’ I say.
Once I return from the bar, Emir has dealt me a hand of cards and explains the game we are playing. Numbers are my thing. There’s not a card game I can’t get my head around.
Except this bonkers Turkish one. It has me rattled all the way through.
It makes no sense. I’m appalled at the chaos.
The randomness. The consistent lack of rules.
And after I’ve been beaten yet again, with Mehmet and Emir laughing at me, the grandmother explains, ‘You’re thinking too logically.
Think out of the box, think laterally. Approach the game as though you want to lose. ’
‘But none of that makes sense.’
‘That’s the whole point,’ she says, shrugging. ‘It’s taken me five years, and I still haven’t won a game.’
A few failed attempts later, and I have a breakthrough.
‘It’s not dissimilar to chaos theory,’ I explain to Mehmet.
‘Where random and unpredictable behaviour is governed by deterministic systems or, in this case, rules.’ His brow furrows in response.
‘I know what you’re thinking, it’s a paradox of two notions that are commonly regarded as incompatible, and yet…
if you don’t overthink it, it somehow works! ’
‘I have no idea what you just said,’ Mehmet barks, erupting into laughter.
I’m just on the verge of winning my first game when Garry approaches. ‘Clogsy, you’re up. You need to prep for dinner service. Chop chop.’
‘I’ll be there in just a second. And can you stop calling me Clogsy, please?’ I say, not taking my eyes from the game. If I do, I’ll likely lose my train of thought.
‘NOW!’ he bellows, half scaring me to death.
Emir jumps so violently that all the cards scatter across the table and onto the floor.
Garry howls with laughter. ‘Your face, Clogsy!’ he shouts over the music.
‘Priceless.’ He shakes his head, grinning, until he casts his glance around to see that no one else is finding this interruption remotely funny.
Emir bursts into tears, causing Mehmet to rise from his seat like Poseidon from the ocean, his face like thunder.
Garry Gee backs slowly away from us, palms up, his face full of terror as he notices Mehmet’s fists balled and ready to swing for him. ‘I was just having a laugh. I thought it was funny.’
I fling my arms around Emir to comfort him. Eventually, after he crawls onto my knee and I smooth his hair and rock him gently back and forth, his tears subside. ‘I have an idea,’ I say gently. ‘Why don’t we see if there’s some of that weird chewy ice cream in the kitchen that you love?’
He wipes his cheeks and trains his big, glassy eyes on mine. ‘With some baklava on top and chocolate pieces in and some jellies sprinkled over.’
‘Of course. And then I’ll get the captain to take us straight to the nearest hospital so that you can have your stomach pumped before you die of sugar poisoning.’
Emir giggles. ‘Just the ice cream then.’
‘Deal.’
As I bend to pick up all the cards that are strewn everywhere, I tell his grandmother and Mehmet that I’ll take Emir with me, and we’ll meet them back in the dining room. ‘By the way,’ I say, ‘if you don’t mind me asking, what was it that you signed on the clipboard?’
Mehmet shrugs. ‘The bill, I guess.’
‘Bill for what? Dinner isn’t finished. And your dad and Cassandra are covering the food and drink.’
He shrugs again, seemingly unbothered as he talks about how hungry he is. The grandmother murmurs in my ear on her way past, ‘See? No idea about how to run a business. No clue at all.’ She raises her eyes skyward and follows him down the staircase to the deck below.
Emir jumps down from his chair to help me pick up the last of the cards, and by the time we’re finished, the whole upper deck is empty. ‘Come with me,’ I say, taking his hand. We make our way over to the bar.
‘What are you looking for?’ Emir asks, watching me flick my eyes over the shelves, opening and closing doors to root through cupboards.
‘The clipboard,’ I say.
‘That clipboard?’ he says, pointing to a pile of tea towels. I peer at the pile and instantly notice the corner of the clipboard poking from underneath.
‘You’d make a great detective one day,’ I say, whipping it out to take a look.
I scan the pages, flicking through receipts, payments, card payments, muttering to myself.
‘So, it was the card machine he had under his armpit. Look at all these bills. None of them makes sense. How can he charge people for a trip to a Greek island when we haven’t been there yet?
It’s like he has no idea about charter and berth taxes. ’
‘What are those?’
‘I’ll explain later. And look at this!’ I bat the paper with the back of my fingers.
‘He’s charging customers’ credit cards automatically without a breakdown and just getting them to sign for it while they’re a bit pissed…
because he’s the one plying them with drinks.
Oh, my God. It’s so obvious.’ I grab Emir’s hand.
‘Come on. He’s not going to get away with this. ’
‘What are you going to do?’ says Emir, scampering alongside me.
‘Somehow, I’m going to ring head office. Maybe the captain can do it for me on his thingy… his radio thing. After all, this is urgent business.’
‘But first, the ice cream, yeah?’
It causes me to halt abruptly, sniggering. ‘Of course. Ice cream before fraudulent behaviour and barefaced theft… every time.’ We are still laughing as we swing by the kitchen to ask for some ice cream. The chefs speedily prepare a bowl and sprinkle the jellies on top as requested.
‘Be quick now. And you must promise to eat your dinner too, or I’ll get into a lot of trouble.’
Emir nods. ‘Like that horrible man?’
I don’t have the heart to lie to him. Garry is despicable. ‘Yes. But not as much as Garry Gee. He’s in a lot of trouble. A lot of trouble.’
‘My father says that anyone who steals from him sleeps with the fishes.’
‘Sleeps with the… What does that mean?’ I hope it doesn’t mean what I think it means.
He shrugs, sliding down, his little tongue darting out to lick his lips. ‘Finished.’
‘Can you tell the chefs that I’ll come by later with a tip for them, please?’
They are both standing, shaking their heads vehemently at us, a look of fear in their eyes. Emir translates quickly as he skips away. ‘No need. They say I can have whatever I want, whenever I want.’
* * *
Dinner service is backbreaking toil, even with Garry, Astrid, me, Shaun (yes, Shaun putting his energy into something other than shagging staff members for a change) and Tiffany all on duty pulling our weight.
I have tried several times to approach Emir’s parents about both his party and the jewellery without success.
Finally, as the crowd thins and people make their way to the bar or the upper deck, his mother sidles up to me at the rear of the dining area.
‘Why don’t we put Emir to bed for you? He’s shattered anyway, and then we’ll come meet you at the bar later to discuss the thing,’ she says under her breath.
‘Great. Yes, sure.’
As soon as they’ve gone, Garry Gee corners me. A quick glance around tells me we are alone in this area of the boat. All the diners and staff have gone. ‘What was all that about?’ he snaps.
‘All what about?’
‘Don’t mess with me. I heard you. What’s the “thing” you were talking about?’ he says, his tone increasingly threatening.
I gather my courage, take a deep inhale and stretch to my full height in an attempt to ground myself.
‘Ooh, I wonder what it could be,’ I say in a fake jovial manner.
‘Maybe the thing is a complaint to head office against you for upsetting her son earlier. Or maybe it’s against Astrid for pushing him into an ocean full of sharks.
Or maybe it’s to do with you going around charging people for things they haven’t had!
’ My voice is getting louder and louder as the anger builds, swirling in the pit of my stomach.
I see his face flinch at the accusations as he steps closer. ‘You have no proof of that. How dare you,’ he growls.
‘No proof?’ I yell now. I’m sick of his bullying ways.
And I’d quite like some company on this deck but I can’t see anyone around.
The music is thumping out from the bar area, and it’s starting to feel incredibly dark and isolated here in the dining room.
Hopefully, the captain is on deck and will come to investigate.
‘I’ve seen the clipboard. I’ve seen how much you are charging.
There’s a word we use for what you’re doing.
Theft, it’s called. You’re not only overcharging for food and snacks but also for equipment hire and non-existent port taxes.
You’ve totalled up people’s bar bills and we’re only halfway through the trip! What the heck is going on?’
Garry’s face turns puce. He’s livid. He raises his hands as though to wring my neck, causing me to freeze as I stare back bog-eyed, before he slowly lowers them. ‘Hand them over.’
I shake my head.
‘Hand them over, right now.’
‘Hand what over?’ I say, playing for time. He has me trapped between two tables. ‘The fraudulent ticket stubs? The copies of receipts, the dodgy banking books or the ledger for an audit that you couldn’t possibly get past a qualified accountant without them calling the police?’
‘I’ve been running these gulet trips for fifteen years!’ he bellows. ‘How dare you waltz in and try to take over! You’re only an almost qualified accountant for fuck’s sake!’
‘Everything okay in here?’
I look over Garry’s shoulder to see Mehmet, and wilt, relieved.
‘Need some assistance?’ Mehmet pushes up the sleeves of his shirt and flexes his massive biceps.
Garry gives me a panicked look.
‘No. I’m fine. Garry was just leaving, weren’t you?’ I say, holding my ground.
Mehmet screws his eyes, flicking his gaze back and forth between Garry and me, assessing the situation. He’d have to be a social and emotional void not to detect the volatile atmosphere. He holds out the crook of his arm. ‘Coming?’
‘Yes,’ I say determinedly, barging past a livid Garry Gee as Mehmet continues to pierce him with a death stare.