The Cure

"Been in a toilet since then," Alex said, "both of us."

"What? I assumed you'd shagged yourselves to death."

"You were only right about the death part," George said.

"What about Stavros?" Nik asked.

"Ask him," George said, jabbing a thumb at the approaching figure.

"Did it work," Nik yelled.

"Where?" Stavros replied, shocked, "haven't seen a Turk here in years."

"No, Stavros." Nik moved to shout in his ear, "did you get to fuck?"

"Tit fuck? No, can't see the point when you have the real thing," he chuckled.

"We'll take that as a yes," Nik said, "so what happened to you two? Either Psomas screwed up, or we got the date wrong."

Alex looked at George who shrugged 'who me?' "You had the damn lunar calendar, George," he said.

"I have, a Chinese one. Some guests left it. They couldn't be wrong—their lives depends on that."

"Show me," Nik demanded. George fished a credit card sized calendar out of his wallet with Bank of China on the reverse, and Nik traced the hanzi "Èr ling yī liu," he said. Liu is six. "This calendar's from 2016, George."

"Does it matter? The lunar calendar's the same every year," he protested.

Nik reappeared from the bar with Pamina's smart phone, scrolling its screen. "Twenty-fourth of February 2016—full moon," he announced, "but the same date this year is a new moon. See here."

George scratched his head. "All nonsense, anyway. Daft old Hippocrates—never would work."

"Maybe so, my friends, but I've cracked the cure. This only works if you drink your woman's," Nik announced.

As one, three voices rose to ridicule Nikos Karalis as Pamina sidled up to the table.

"Come on Nik, time for your little nightcap."

"Works for me," he said, winking over his shoulder.