As the boy slowly put his hand into his pocket, Mickey smiled. 'There's a good boy.' He took the large wad of notes from the youngster's fingers and without counting it thrust it into his belt Then with a hard punch to the middle of the boy's back, Mickey said,'So now fuck off!'
The boy didn't need telling twice and as he ran into the street’ Mickey followed at a more leisurely pace, replacing his knife as he went
It was dark now, nearly midnight. The best time for his kind of business. Mickey grinned. Some of the bars had shut disgorging back into the city those in search of something a bit more exotic than alcohol. Soldiers, sailors, airmen, old men, impotent Russians - rich and curious boys usually came after the clubs had shut in the early hours. But not always. There were, he noticed, some rather noisy 'suits' garnered beside that shitty old hamam where Mina went sometimes. There'd been a bit of crying from over there earlier in the evening which had sounded weird and unnerved Mina with her first trick. But the place was in darkness now and as quiet as the grave. Mickey shoved a cigarette into his mouth and wandered towards the source of the laughter.
There were three of them. Two were youngish men, in their thirties, the third was probably about fifty. The fifty, who was for some reason wearing sunglasses, and the plainer of the two younger ones appeared to be taunting the tall, good-looking one who was laughing in that wobbly, drunken manner.
'Hello, boys,' Mickey said, putting on his best friendly smile. 'What's happening?'
The older man who could not, seemingly, speak English just shrugged. The young plain one said, 'Hello,' and then putting one hand on his drunken friend's chest he added, 'Tomorrow he is married!'
'Oh, is that so?' Mickey said. 'That's nice.'
'Yes!'
'So where have you been then, boys?' The tall handsome one stopped laughing just long enough to say, 'To drink and drink and drink!' 'Oh.'
'Yes,' the plain one said, 'it is the last time that my friend is a free man, you know?'
The older man said something in Turkish and they all laughed, including Mickey who said, 'Yes, freedom, right. So what are you doing now then?'
The plain one, who eventually gave his name as
Orhan, said. 1 don't know. Maybe look for some girls or... I don't know.' He laughed.
'Oh, some girls, eh? What, for all of you or just.. .'
Orhan laughed. 'I am married and so is Balthazar,' he said, indicating the older man who now stood in the shadows. 'No, for Mehmet only. It is his night.'
'Right'
Mehmet who was quite obviously heavily intoxicated, leaned against the side of a large, dark Mercedes and then giggled as his legs started to give way. Balthazar quickly ran to his aid.
Mickey wiped his moist brow against the back of his hand and then looked up at the star-filled sky. 'Well, if you want women,' he said, 'you've come to the right place.'
'You know some? Pretty ones?'
'Yeah,' Mickey shrugged. 'One or two.'
'They must be clean,' Orhan said, his face now quite set and serious. 'My friend cannot get a disease if he is to be married.'
'No. Course not' Mickey looked over his shoulder at the doorway of his apartment block and then cleared his throat 'Look, I may be able to help you out If you can give me a minute . . .'
Orhan looked doubtful but he assented anyway. As Balthazar strained to pick Mehmet up off the ground, Mickey sauntered back to the apartment As soon as he was inside the hall he took his mobile telephone out of his pocket
. ‘ ‘ ‘ It was only when she was standing outside Cengiz Temiz's cell that Zelfa Halman realised that she had omitted to put on any underwear. She looked down with horror at her unsupported breasts and groaned. But then this, or events like it, were not uncommon. Forgetting knickers or cigarettes or leaving the front door of the house open for burglars was all part of the being on call at night experience.
Although part of her work, from time to time, necessitated working with the police she did not have to come out to cells on a regular basis. Just being in the building made her shudder. It had never been this squalid in the cells operated by the Garda back in Dublin. The Irish half of her hated this hot, smelly squalor even if the Turkish portion did, on some level, understand it She had, in the past had many heated debates regarding treatment of prisoners in custody with the man who worked with this every day, the man whose prisoner she could hear screaming now. Quite where Mehmet Suleyman was at present she did not know and the rather oafish officers at her side either did not have that information or were not prepared to tell her. Perhaps they knew that their superior and this much older woman were lovers and were having a bit of a laugh, as it were, behind her back.
'Open the door’ she said to the heavily scarred individual to her left.
As he moved forward, keys in hand, the other two, a man and a hard-faced woman, removed their batons from their belts and held them up.
'You won't need those,' she said as she surveyed the scene around her with a jaundiced eye.
'He's raving, we might,' the woman replied shortly.
'If any of you do anything over and above restraint I'll make your boss's life hell and then you'll be sorry.'
The man with the keys opened the door and then stepped back smartly. 'Doctor.'
Probably since the dawn of time and certainly since what is known in Europe as the Dark Ages, reports have circulated regarding so-called wolf-men. Whether these creatures are transmogrified people such as in the werewolf legends or simply individuals who have either been raised by wolves or who have gone wild in some way depends in part upon where geographically these individuals have been found. In nineteenth-century Romania, for instance, a demonic or supernatural explanation would have been logical. In a police cell in the middle of Istanbul in the dying days of the twentieth century madness seemed the most likely explanation to those now observing Cengiz Temiz's bizarre, howling behaviour. When not screaming and hurling his now bloodied arms against the walls, Cengiz raised his shaggy head up to the ceiling and howled.
'How long has he been like this?' Zelfa asked as she attempted to make eye contact with the distressed man.
'Couple of hours.'
'A couple of hours!' She was furious and, although she didn't take her eyes off Cengiz for a second, she made her feelings very clear to the officers at her side. 'Why wasn't I called before? Too busy eating kebab and dribbling over girly magazines?'
'But, Doctor,' the female officer began, 'I am—'
'I include you in that too.' Zelfa's Irish directness was quite unaffected by what this woman obviously felt was a tremendous insult.
Cengiz screamed like a banshee, hurling his considerable bulk pogo-style into the air. Making certain one more time that one of the small syringes she had taken from the drug cabinet before she left the hospital was at the top of her bag, Zelfa turned to the man at her side and said, 'I want you and the others to restrain him while I talk to him.'
As she stepped into the cell, the stink from Cengiz's unwashed, sweaty body nearly knocked Zelfa flat Babbling and raving, Cengiz had wet himself more than once and had also, she noticed, thrown food and drink up the walls. Somewhere down the corridor the sound of another prisoner joining in with the screaming reached their ears.
Holding one open hand out in greeting, Zelfa moved forward. 'Hello, Cengiz, I am Dr Halman, I've come to help you.'
'Aaaahhh!'
Keeping her eyes on both Cengiz and the two officers who were now closing in on him, Zelfa also took in that the man was shaking. Whether this was from shock, fear or just sheer exhaustion she did not know. What she could see of his wounded arms indicated only superficial grazing.
As the first officer got a lock onto one of Cengiz's arms, the other one pulled him down to the floor. As his face hit the mess beneath him, Cengiz howled. Quickly, lest his breathing should be impaired, Zelfa moved forward and shifted his head to one side.
'It's all right, Cengiz,’ she said, 'I only want to talk to you and then try to make you more comfortable.'
'I want my mummy and daddy!'
'Yes, I know, and if you can be quiet for a while perhaps we can do something about that.' Then looking the officer directly in front of her straight in the eyes she said, 'This place is a fucking disgrace!'
'Inspector Suleyman said he should be put here,' a female voice from the other side of the room said caustically.
'In view of what happened to another disordered prisoner down here last year I doubt that Inspector Suleyman wanted you to let him harm himself!' She looked up into the woman's sneering face and added, 'Inspector Suleyman has the wit to know that when someone is bleeding he is usually injured!'
The woman said something which could have been
'Well, you should know' or words to that effect, but Zelfa chose to ignore it. The last thing she needed right now was a dissection of her private life.
Now a little quieter than before, Cengiz's eyes were full of sad tears. Zelfa sighed. Why Cengiz's fingerprints had been on Ruya Urfa's spectacles and jewellery she didn't know. More recently, a pair of his shoes had been found to match dusty footprints in the hall of the apartment as well. But looking at him now it was difficult to credit this man with a coldly calculating poisoning. In order to do something like that one would have to know many things: what cyanide was, that it could be disguised within almond halva, that it would work very quickly, that it was a good idea to do it while everyone was either at or watching on television a passionately anticipated football match. This had to be beyond someone like Cengiz. And for a moment, before she took hold of her emotions once again, Zelfa felt very angry with Mehmet for putting this poor creature through this terrible ordeal. Not that Mehmet, given the evidence, had any choice in the matter.
'You can sit him up,' she said as soon as she could see that Cengiz's breathing was becoming calmer.
The two officers grunted as they raised Cengiz onto his haunches. Their prisoner was a big man and he was also exhausted, quite unfit and therefore a dead weight.
'Now, I can give you some medicine—'
'No! No, not—'
'Ssshh! All right, all right,' she said as she gently placed her hands across his and looked up into his face. 'You don't have to have it. If you are a good, quiet boy and—'
'I hate it here!'
She smiled. 'Yes,' she said, 'so do I. But if I can get you moved to a cleaner place so you can get some sleep then we won't need to give you any medicine, will we?'
'Don't want medicine!'
'No,' she said, 'of course you don't and I will not give it to you provided you try to get some sleep.'
One of the officers holding Cengiz cleared his throat There was, Zelfa noticed, a look of extreme alarm upon his face. He, at least, had counted upon the medication to give him an easy shift. Well, fuck you! Zelfa thought as she smiled at Cengiz again.
And, almost as if he saw and understood her thoughts for himself, Cengiz started a long, slow grin back at this strange, pale little saviour.
Mickey made the two other men sit in the kitchen as he took their wobbly friend through to the bedroom.
'Help yourselves to raki if you like.' He pointed to a bottle on top of one of the greasy work surfaces. But the men did not answer, they just stood very straight-faced and quiet Now inside the apartment they were much more subdued, with the exception of Mehmet.
When Mickey opened the door, Mina was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, studying her face. She turned, scowling, until she noticed that her client was considerably better looking and cleaner than her regulars.
'This is Mina,' Mickey said, a smirk spreading over his hairy features. 'All right?'
Seemingly drinking in every gram of Mina's considerable figure, Mehmet grunted his assent.
Mickey smiled. 'OK, mate,' he said, 'no violence or weird stuff and we'll all be friends.' Then clapping him firmly on the back he whispered, 'Enjoy yourself.'
As soon as Mickey had closed the door behind him, Mina pulled the straps of her negligee down to reveal her breasts. 'Hello,' she said, 'can I—'
But before Mina could articulate just what she was offering this unusually urbane new client, Mehmet Suleyman had his hand over her mouth and his gun to her head.
Chapter 7
Hell, it is often said, is a state of mind. Sometimes, however, the infernal zone can take on an all too physical manifestation. For Mehmet Suleyman it was a police station full of people yelling their own agendas. Given the conflicting nature of the individual needs of the various groups, the result was chaotic.
Erol Urfa, who had been called in some time before to identify his daughter, was edgily awaiting her reappearance from the room where she was currently being examined by a doctor. Resplendent in a black and red velvet suit, he had come in with his manager, what appeared to be all of Tansu's family and, strangely from Suleyman's point of view, Ìsak Çöktin. With the exception of Çöktin, the party looked as if they were dressed for cabaret which was what, in a sense, they appeared to be providing with their deafening babble of anger punctuated by occasional forays into tearful relief.
There was one group, however, that Suleyman was anxious to interview. Semra Arda, her daughter Mina and the English pimp all needed to be formally interrogated. The two women wept continually while the man just shook soundlessly within his handcuffs: Suleyman hoped their states were transitory although, logically, he knew it was unlikely. As soon as Cohen had appeared at the hamam and inquired after the baby, Semra had broken down and admitted that the child in her care was Urfa's. When Mina had been arrested she had denied this. There was a lot to sort out, and that was without the problems now being presented to him by both Cohen and an irate Zelfa Halman.
'We can't leave Madame to die alone,' Cohen said as he leaned tiredly against Suleyman's desk.
'Well, you'd better try to find out who her doctor is and get him over there,' and then dragging his hands wearily down his face Suleyman said, 'Why she isn't in hospital is beyond me.'