Mehmet Somer - The Gigolo Murder

I was more pleased than usual to hear from Selçuk. I’d be indebted to him once again, this time over Volkan Sarıdoğan, whose demise obsessed me only because of my dream man, Haluk Pekerdem. I replied to the letter, attaching two photographs: one of me as a man and one as an all-out vamp. Beneath the pair of pictures I wrote “before” and “after.” Just as I was about to hit the reply button, I remembered that the letter had come from the son. There was no need to confuse the dear boy, or undermine the morality of that little family. I had no way of knowing if he’d yet come face-to-face with the facts of life. Detaching the pictures, I sent just the message.

It was high time Ponpon got out of bed and fixed us breakfast. The handfuls of vitamins had whetted my appetite. It didn’t matter how many crackers, cookies, and biscuits I ate, I never felt full. I put on a CD, planning to turn up the volume every five minutes. Dalida’s rhythmic “Salma ya Salama” reverberated throughout the flat. The rain had stopped, and for the second morning in a row the sun shone brightly.

Before I’d had to ratchet up the sound another notch, Ponpon appeared, sleepy-eyed but with a cheery “good morning,” singing out each syllable.

As Dalida finished the second chorus, Ponpon, wrapped tightly in a kimono, back straight and face free of makeup, began heading for the bathroom with tiny geisha steps, the floorboards groaning under her delicately placed feet.

While she took a shower, I began making phone calls. First I called Selçuk. It took a little while before they put me through, but Ponpon’s morning rituals would last for some time to come.

“There’s the fugitive!” boomed Selçuk. “Where have you been? Unless you’re hot on some trail, you never think to call. Who knows what you’ve been up to, or where.”

“I haven’t been up to a thing. I’ve been here at home. I’ve just been going through a bad patch.”

“So that’s it! Just tell me what I can do for you. Whatever you need, just spell it out.”

The sincerity in his voice, his eagerness to help me whenever I called, touched me deeply. But that doesn’t mean tears came to my eyes.

“I was going through a bad patch in my personal life. It’s all past now; I’m trying to get it together,” I began. “I just wanted to sort out my thoughts and feelings, spend some time alone.”

“But now you’re okay?” he said hesitantly, unsure what else to say. “It happens sometimes. To all of us.”

“How true,” I concurred. “Anyway, the worst is behind me.”

“Good… good,” he said. “I’m glad.”

“I got your New Year’s message,” I said, changing the subject.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all. Now that the boys are using the Internet, the wife and I are learning it, too.”

“They must be growing up so fast. They’re nearly full-grown men by now.”

“You should come and see them. Çetin is thirteen and Metin just turned ten. Really, come by for dinner one night. You’ll have a chance to see the boys and we can talk about old times.”

“Aren’t you afraid to have me over?” I asked. “Don’t you worry I may set a bad example for the boys? You never know, I may even fancy one of them.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he laughed.

I had to laugh, too.

“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” I said.

“I should have known,” he responded. “Here we go again…”

I filled Selçuk in on the Volkan Sarıdoğan murder, and gave him some background on Faruk Hanoğlu.

“I know it’s not your job, but I’d appreciate any information you could get,” I said. “I’m quite intrigued by the whole thing.”

“One thing I do know is that nobody likes the guy. He’s a real shady character,” said Selçuk. “We also know about his loansharking. A troublemaker if ever there was one. I’m sure we’ve got a fat folder on him. Doesn’t have many friends.”

“They say there’s no proof linking him to the murder.”

“That’s nonsense. If there wasn’t any evidence, they’d find some.”

I shivered. He was right. The police would surely have “found” some incriminating piece of evidence.

“Put your feelers out, if you would.”

“If it’ll help get you out of that depression, I’m happy to,” Selçuk promised.

“And,” I continued, “about that murdered fellow…”

“Will do. His family, his friends. I’ll gather what I can and have it sent to you.”

“Thank you; you’re a real friend.”

“An underappreciated real friend.”

We said good-bye and hung up.

I had time for one more phone call before Ponpon took over the house. I called Beyza. Though sleepy, she still answered all of my questions.

“I’m looking for some more information about that Volkan of yours,” I began.

“Actually, he’s a real piece of shit.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“Well, he was great in the sack. That much I’ll give him. But as a human being, he was worse than useless. The things he did! Not just to me… to everyone… See what I mean… But I… How can I put this: He had a tainted heart. Always up to some evil. Things that helped no one but himself… Actually, it wasn’t him who thought it all up, it was that brother-in-law of his. He was the real piece of shit.”

“Tell me a little about him. I’m intrigued,” I urged her.

“What more can I say,” Beyza snapped. “He’s a minibus driver, too. But a real asshole. You know the type, not a toilet or sewer he hasn’t jumped in. If you ask me, he’s a cesspool of a person himself! So he takes a good look at Volkan: young, handsome, full of airs. He pulls his strings, pushes his buttons, and gets him right where he wants him. Not that it was difficult. Volkan was devoted to his brother-in-law, saw him as a real father figure and all that crap. Seems he was raised by this brother-in-law, learned all about life from him and so on… You know, the classic story. Volkan kowtowed to his every whim. But the guy’s a real piece of shit… I did mention that, didn’t I?… A total sleazeball and greedy as all hell… He starts working on Volkan, softening him up, brainwashing him… ‘That one’s good for some cash, sleep with that one, too’… He’s the one who corrupted the boy. And I bet he’s responsible for what happened to him! It’s the brother-in-law they should have killed.”

“How can I find him?”

“What for! Haven’t you been listening to me? What good would it do?”

“I just might uncover something,” I said. “There’s something funny about the whole business, but I haven’t put my finger on it yet.”

“It’s clear as day. He wanted too much money, or threatened someone or something. It would be just like him. Someone wasn’t taking it and that was that…”

“I’d still like to talk to him.”

“You know best, sweetie, but don’t say I didn’t tell you. He’s not the talking type. I think he works the Bosphorus minibus routes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Completely slipped my mind. He’s a big guy with a mustache… an unshaven, badly dressed piece of shit. Zeki or Zekai or something was the name.”

“If he hasn’t cleaned up, he shouldn’t be much trouble to find,” I said, half joking.

“Cut the wisecracking,” snarled Beyza. “If you find him, let me know. I got a word or two of my own for him. The way he ruined poor Volkan… And be careful. He’s a real piece of shit.”

Ponpon emerged from the bathroom singing her lungs out.

Finding Ziya Göktaş, Volkan’s brother-in-law, was a piece of cake. When I phoned the association of minibus drivers they were more helpful than I’d expected. They didn’t know why I was calling, but clearly assumed from my questions that I was a reporter. The secretary did her best to be polite, addressing me as “sir” and answering my questions one by one, a real nightingale.