Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [29]
“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 zmir, 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.
He slipped the key in the lock. So let’s see if she’s been a good girl and