I wrote it all down as a note for Kapotas – or reminder for me – come the morning, then rang the operator and asked where the last call had come from. He footled around a bit, then told me Limassol, the main port down south.
Then I went home to the bottle, leaving the Sergeant still standing there, trying to worry out what particular secret depravity needed two rooms and took longer than one day. It hurt him that he couldn't spot it immediately.
Back in the bar, Kapotas had reached the stage of having trouble sitting on a chair, let alone standing up. Apostólos the barman was watching him calmly.
I jerked my head. 'Get him a taxi, then you can shove off home. Leave the keys: I'll lock up the liquor.'
He didn't much like that, of course, but we both knew it was what Kapotas would have wanted. Apostólos went out and I helped the accountant to, give or take, his feet. 'Come on, the wife and three kiddies are wondering where you've got to.'
'I doubt it,' he said thickly. 'I doubt it. You're the only friend I've got, Case. You're a damned good chap as you British say. Damned good. Damned good.'
'There's a taxi waiting for you.' I helped him towards the door.
'I gotta car,' he remembered.
'Leave it till tomorrow. Taxi's easier. Don't worry about a thing.'
A taxi actuallywas waiting, but Regina Street would be their best hunting ground at this time, of course. Apostólos and I poured him in, got the address to the driver, and watched the tail-lights out of sight. I wondered if Mrs Kapotas understood the pressures of being a receiver.
Apostólossaid: 'You need not worry, Captain, about the bar. I will-'
The keys, chum. The keys.'
He handed them over.
I spent twenty minutes and an extra drink roughly clearing up the dead glasses, counting the money in the till and finding the way to lock the grille down across the shelves. When I got out to the lobby again, the Sergeant was already on night duty.
'It's only half past eleven,' I pointed out.
'I could not sleep more. And you have had a long day, I think.'
'Well, thanks.' I looked through the glass doors at the shiny street. 'I think I'll take a stroll around the block. About twenty minutes.'
Papa cleared his throat. 'If you want a girl, I-'
'Actually, I want a stroll.'
He just nodded and I went.
The night air was gentle, although the sky was clear and sparkling with a thousand stars you never see through Europe 's smoke-screen. I went out of the walled city and drifted along the wide bright street beside the dry moat and its little kebab stalls. It was pretty empty; just a taxi-driver leaning on his cab, a bunch of UN soldiers – Canadian, this time – staggering home leaning on each other, a cop loafing on a corner. A nice, unhurried Cyprus pace.
It would still be there tomorrow. So I turned back into the city from Metaxas Square and along Regina Street from the Regina Palace. Narrower, jammed with parked cars, and darker: just a ribbon of starry sky above and the neon lights of bars and strip joints down below.
I was almost at the Castle when a voice said: 'Mr Case,' and I turned towards the car parked beside me. Then a hand pulled my shoulder from behind and I turned my head back – just like sticking up a target. It's easy to say that now.
My vision smashed into a thousand coloured pieces, my jaw jumped sideways towards the car, dragging the rest of my head with it, and my knees just gave up and I started towards the gutter.
I didn't quite make it. Somebody caught me, hefted me, my face bounced on warm rough plastic, a door slammed and we were moving. This wasn't quite unconsciousness, just instant Sunday morning; zig-zagging between sleep and wakefulness, time tearing past or unmoving. I felt hands rumple me, but wasn't sure where my own hands were so I didn't try to do anything. Voices muttered, the car droned. Then a something was wrapped around my head and eyes, we stopped, I was picked up and put down and the car whined distantly…
I was alone in the dark. Carefully I levered myself up on one elbow, grinding it into the gravelly pavement. The world beyond my bandages was swinging in soggy orbits and my stomach swung in tune with it, so I stayed very still and thought of cool calm things… and slowly the feelings passed and I could sit up.
I unwound the bandages slowly – the bastards had used wide sticky insulating tape and it ripped out half my scalp as it came free – and looked around. I was in a narrow street of derelict houses, sitting a few yards from a complete roadblock of concrete blocks, oil drums and sandbags. A little bit of no-man's-land between Greek and Turkish areas.
Forty yards the other way there were lights, the sound of cars passing. I staggered out on to Paphos Street, a few yards from the Paphos Gate and a quarter of a mile from the Castle. Using two feet and a wall, it took me just under ten minutes, and I used the rest of my strength shoving open the front doors.
Sergeant Papa stared.
I croaked: 'Don't just stand there: open the damn bar.'
Five minutes later I was sitting at a table with the second Scotch in my hand and the Sergeant chewing his moustache and watching me – curiously more than anxiously. 'Shall I call the police?'
'Not for a minute.' I was running my fingertips gently over my face. There were sticky bits that I knew must be black streaks, and a small hard lump half-way along the right side of my jaw. 'I can't think what to tell them, yet.'
It's funny how you can feel that way: not wanting to do the simplest things until you're in charge of yourself again.
'What did they steal?' he asked.
I hadn't even thought to ask myself that. 'Money, I suppose,' and I started turning out my pockets.
My wallet was still there – and the notes still inside it. And a handful of coins, and my keys – to the Queen Air, my boarding-house room, flight briefcase. And papers: passport, aeroplane insurance, the champagne cargo papers (a whole bunch of them) cheque book, vaccination certificate…
'You know,' I said slowly, 'I don't think they've taken a damn thing.' Or had I been carrying something I'd forgotten about?
The Sergeant frowned. 'Perhaps they mistook you for somebody.'
'One of them knew my name.'
He shrugged helplessly. 'Then you did not have what they hoped for. Shall I telephone the police now?'
'What do I tell them? I can't identify anybody, not even the car. Nothing stolen – so it's just a simple assault, even if they believed me. The hell with it.' He nodded doubtfully. Then: 'Somebody telephoned for you, after you went out.'
'What did you say?' That you were out, but just for a walk and you would be back soon.'
"They didn't leave a name? Or ring back?'
'No.' After a while he added: 'Do you think it was…?'
'It sounds like it.' I finished the Scotch and stood up. And swayed and grabbed for the table. 'No, I'm all right.' But he stayed close, just in case. 'I'm sorry, Captain.' I was about to say 'Just Mister' but then realised he'd meant it as a compliment. 'Give me a ring about seven-thirty and I'll start cooking eggs. Good night, Sergeant.'
3
Next morning, Kapotas arrived at about half past ten looking in roughly the same state as the octopus in the kitchen only weaker. He was about the one man in Cyprus I wouldn't have swapped heads with; my own was merely sore, with occasional shooting pains. I still had the lump on the jaw, but for some reason it hadn't coloured up so I only looked a bit lopsided.