Carlos the
Jackel
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
Known on
Facebook as Carl David Phillips, he was nicknamed
Carlos the Jackel as he was always in trouble and
I knew instinctively, at just 40, he would meet a
violent death.
I was spending the winter in Chania, Crete when
one evening in December 2013 my Greek girlfriend
Georgia and I decided to go to a Chinese
restaurant.
Our quiet evening was interrupted by the arrival
of an Irish man who immediately sat next to us
and started talking, with typical Irish charm, as
though he had known us for years. I was
manipulated and, as I was inviting Georgia, ended
up inviting this charming rogue too.
Carlos spoke fluent Greek and when there was
seasonal work, spent his time on mainland Greece
scrapping away barnacles from boats. He was a
specialist and in demand but it was only seasonal
work so in the winter he was out of work.
He had hair raising stories to tell about being a
mercenary in Africa and claimed that he had
killed 17 men but now he had lived 8 years in
Greece.
He was good amusing company and after the meal
accompanied me back to my nearby flat.
That was the start of a daily platonic friendship
that lasted about 5 months and ended badly as the
Jackel cleverly stole cash from me.
He was lonely and had time on his hands. No money
and no work so he lived on his wits. Then he
acquired a cute homeless dog so he had a new
faithful friend in his barren chaotic homeless
life.
As time went on I began to trust him and depended
on him to escort me here and there. He started
telling locals I was his mother and I was
flattered as I had no children.
The highlight was his 40th birthday party with a
careful selection of homeless Greeks. He wrote on
Facebook 12/2/14 it was the best birthday in ten
years and sober. We all ate well and I had an
interesting time. He wrote on Facebook in January
2014 that he had been 18 days alcohol free apart
from Ringo in Paris, I had never met a homeless
person or that matter since.
Then his dog was stolen by the king of the
gypsies and it was then I knew he would be beaten
up one dark night trying to get his dog back.
He helped me get a difficult to get Greek post
office account which was, years later, taken over
by a Greek bank. So I got a legitimate Greek bank
account which I thought would come in handy. He
told me he had an estranged daughter in the UK
who he was desperate to see but he had no money
for the passage. I guess that was why he stole
cash from me in the end.
I was later shocked when I saw on Facebook in
2016, I presume put up by his daughter, that he
had died in Volos but have no details. I never
found out what fate had in store for this
enigmatic character and despite being conned, I
think of him fondly.
Written
in Nightingale 11/10/24
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