“A shqiptar whore stole your cash?” The sailor’s expression was devoid of sympathy, but amused. It was a start.

“Cash is about the only thing I’ve got left. You want to hear this?” He saw the insignia on the sailor’s uniform : U.C.S. UNITED CONTAINER SERVICES. Janson called to the bartender. “Get my friend here a beer.”

“Why not some Metaxa?” the sailor said, testing his luck.

“That’s a plan—Metaxa!” he called out. “A double! For both of us.” Something about the sailor suggested a man who knew the docks and waterfronts of the Aegean, and the unsavory enterprises that took root there.

Two glasses of Metaxa arrived, the colorless variety, flavored with anise. Janson asked for a glass of water on the side. With a disapproving scowl, the bartender slid an amber-colored glass toward him, with a few inches of lukewarm tap water. A bar didn’t stay in business by filling its customers’ bellies with water, unless you counted the water with which it topped off its bottles of liquor.

Janson began to tell his companion a tale of wandering into an ouzeri while waiting for the Minoan Lines ferry at the Zea Marina. “I’d just gotten out of a five-hour meeting, you see. We’d wrapped up a deal that had been dragging on for months—that’s why they sent me here personally, you see. The local reps, you can’t trust them. You never know who they’re really working for.”

“And what does your company do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Janson’s eyes darted around, settling on the glazed ceramic ashtray. “Ceramics,” he said. “High-fired non-conductive ceramic struts for electrical appliances.” He laughed. “You’re sorry you asked, huh? Well, it’s a filthy job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

“And the whore—” prompted the sailor, gulping the brandy like water.

“So I’m totally stressed—you know ‘stressed’?—and this girl, she’s all over me, and I’m thinking, what the hell. You know, I’m talking about release, right? And she leads me to some shithole, a few doors down, I don’t even know where, and …”

“And you wake up and she’s robbed you blind.”

“Exactly!” Janson signaled the bartender to bring another round of drinks. “I must have passed out or something, and she went through my pockets. Lucky for me she didn’t find my cash belt. Guess that would have meant turning me over, and she was afraid I’d wake up. But she took my passport, my credit cards … .” Janson grabbed at his ring finger, holding it close to the sailor’s face, drunkenly demonstrating the final indignity of having a wedding band removed. He breathed hard, a senior sales exec revisiting a nightmare.

“Why not tell the astynomia? The harbor police here in Piraeus know the whores.”