Yasemın Aydinoğlu - Istanbul Noir

Maybe he’d have a chance once that asshole was out of the picture?

He gave her a suggestive look, and was glad to see her smile back at him. Yes, he might have a chance, maybe just a slight one, but that was better than nothing. He inhaled the scent of perfume that filled the room.

Once he got this job out of the way...

Then again, with a shared secret like this, she’d hardly want to play hard to get, right? Besides, she’d need someone to look after her, to protect her and take care of her. Women — they’re so damn sexy when they’re helpless.

“Do you have any extra keys to the house?”

“Yes. I’ll give you one before you leave.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be empty?”

The woman nodded. “There are three couples who use it. We don’t know each other. We let the landlord know when we’re going to use it, and he tells the others, or he suggests another time if it’s not available. He makes sure there aren’t any scheduling conflicts. Everybody keeps their word; confidentiality is essential to all of us.”

“I’ll call you when we’re done, Zeynep Hanım ,” Hasan said with a smile. “You have nothing to be afraid of. You’ve got me now.”

The young woman took another puff from her cigarette. She crossed her legs and her skirt hiked up, but she didn’t move to pull it back down.

“Zeynep,” she said, with a slightly warmer smile this time. “You can just call me Zeynep.”

Murat walked to the window and looked outside. It was dead quiet, not a soul in sight. He glanced over at the “Culture Palace” construction site, where he saw a pack of four large dogs walking by, like some kind of inner-city gang; the big white Labrador that appeared to be their leader walked with a limp, one of its legs shorter than the rest.

The house must have looked calm and peaceful from the outside. Who could have guessed what was really going on inside — that a man had just been shot dead between these very walls? And that the same fate awaited another? But then, Murat couldn’t tell what the darkness outside concealed either. Who knew, maybe at that very moment someone was being strangled, raped, or tortured inside the walls of the silent construction site. A bird alighted on the roof of the half-finished building. A dog barked from afar, and another howled in response.

“Nice piece he’s carrying,” said a voice from behind him.

He turned around. Hasan was standing next to the body, checking out the deceased’s gun.

“SIG Sauer. Loaded.”

“Probably afraid of some jealous husband,” Murat guessed.

His partner didn’t respond.

“What if he’s an undercover cop or something?” Murat continued, with a scowl.

The two friends looked at one another anxiously.

The man’s clothes were piled carelessly on top of an armchair. Hasan started going through them, his fear growing as he searched, until finally he uncovered a wallet. He took out the man’s ID, and an expression of relief spread over his face. He looked at Murat. “We’re all good,” he said.

Just then Hasan’s phone rang. He removed it from his pocket and looked at the screen. Just as he had expected, it was Zeynep. It rang one more time before going silent.

“Our prey’s on his way,” he said in a low voice, but loud enough for Murat to hear.

“A white Ford Focus. Let’s take our positions.”

“You got it, man,” said Murat. “Ali’s on his way too.”

“What exactly is it you idiots want me to do?” Ali asked. He took a swig from his beer and rolled the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing it. An old Turkish folk song played on the radio.

“You just need to get a clean vehicle,” Murat explained from the backseat. “Nothing that’s hot. Get it from someone reliable. But nothing too expensive either. We may need to get rid of it. Once we’ve nailed the guy, you come and get him. Then we’ll dump the body.”

“Your real job is to be our guide,” Hasan added. He looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to Ali.

“We’re not from around here, you know that. If it were Ankara or İzmir, we’d know the place like the back of our hands, but we’re new in Istanbul. Our client’s talking about a house in Altunizade. On Sultan Selim Avenue. We don’t have time to go scoping out the area. And then we need to find a place where we can dump the body once we’re done. Someplace far away, you know, safe. That’s what we need you for.”

Ali nodded. He took another swig of his beer. They were parked along the side of the road. A van drove by.

“That street’s crawling with police. In cars, on foot, in armored vehicles even. The Riot Police headquarters are over there, and the Juvenile Police Station is right next to it... How are we supposed to get a body out of there? It’s too risky.”

“Find a truck,” said Hasan. “We’ll take the body out in a trash bag and toss it in the back. Nobody’ll suspect anything. Besides, it’ll be the middle of the night. One of us’ll keep a lookout, for headlights and stuff.”

There was a short silence.

“I don’t like doing a job when I don’t know who I’m doing it for,” the young man mumbled.

“Man, but you know us ,” said Murat. He was about to say something else, but then Hasan shot him a look and he decided against it.

“Our client doesn’t want too many people involved. She found out her lover’s married, she wanted to leave him, but the bastard won’t let her go. He beats the woman day and night. The poor thing’s all messed up, her face, everything. It’s kind of like charity work. You’ll get your money straight from us. You trust us, don’t you, Ali?”

Ali turned and looked at Hasan. He’d done a lot of jobs with these two cronies, and he’d always been dealt a fair hand. He thought the plan over for a moment, and then nodded. It wouldn’t take him half a day to get them a truck. Easy money, he thought. He remembered the tip he’d received on the following week’s horse races; he could really use that money right about now.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

The Ford Focus pulled over in front of the house and the driver took a quick look at himself in the rearview mirror. These rendezvouses still got him all worked up. They’d had sex probably more than a hundred times in this house, on the stone floor, in bed, in the tiny bathroom, breathless, their sweat mingling, but here he was with butterflies in his stomach, as if it were the first time all over again. He was in a good mood. The last time they’d met, he’d really roughed the girl up, taking his rage at some two-bit cheat out on her. But tonight he would be gentle, win her over again, mend her broken heart. And of course he would be duly compensated for his kindness.

Deciding that his hair looked okay, he smiled. He ran his fingers over his goatee.

It’s going to be one fine night, he said to himself.

As he walked toward the house, he thought about what he’d say if she brought up the whole divorce thing again. He was determined not to leave his wife — no way. Fire ran through his veins at the mere thought of her moaning beneath another man; no way that was going to happen. His lover had to accept him just the way he was, period. If she insisted on whining about it, he’d simply remind her of the beatings she’d already been given. He’d shut her up, somehow. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that; he didn’t want to beat around the bush, so to speak, with such unsavory topics. He imagined his little angel looking at him amorously, like she used to when they first hooked up. He missed that.