Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [31]
He didn’t need to knock. He’d called Hasan on his cell phone before he parked. He figured they’d be watching for him through the peephole in the door, and he’d figured right. As soon as he reached the door, it opened up. He silently stepped inside. He’d just parted his lips to greet the other men when he saw the two bodies lying in the middle of the room, and so he let out a curse instead.
“Fuck!”
The young woman waited excitedly for several minutes after the man got out of the Ford Focus. That asshole, who was inevitably late for every appointment, couldn’t have been more punctual this time around; he must have been hungry for his lover’s skin. If it had been me who had called him over here, would he have come? If I were his mistress, and not his wife? She couldn’t be sure, and
so she banished the unpleasant thought from her head. Time was passing at a maddeningly slow pace. The fact that nobody was emerging from the house was a good sign. Or was it? What if something had gone wrong? God forbid … Her phone rang and she looked at the screen; she was relieved to see that it was Hasan. Still, she answered, just to be sure.
“Everything okay?”
“We’re all good,” replied the confident voice on the other end.
She hurried over to the car at the corner, got in, and wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel. She waited like that for several minutes. She felt her body trembling, but thankfully, it didn’t take long for her to calm back down. A smile spread over her face. She turned the key in the ignition.
She quickly made her way down the hill to Üsküdar. It was still dark out. Slightly anxious, she glanced at the gigantic tank and the police armed with machine guns standing guard in front of the station. A group of boisterous Gypsies gathered around a large bonfire turned their inquisitive eyes to the passing car and the attractive woman inside.
When the woman reached the pier, she parked in a spot that would allow for a quick exit. She didn’t plan on sticking around for long. She guessed that the truck would be pulling up to the house right about then. She took great delight in imagining the body being dragged along the ground, stuffed into the sack, and then tossed into the back of the truck. The sleazeball had finally gotten what he deserved.
The coolness and the soft breeze of the Bosphorus quieted her nerves. Finally, she was free.
She walked across the street, over to the girl standing alone in front of the Beikta motorboat pier. Looking at her, Zeynep found it hard to believe that this babe in the woods was only eight years younger than herself. She watched her, affectionately, for some time. The girl was lost in thought, gazing at the Bosphorus and the lights of the opposite shore. What was she thinking? Was she afraid? Worried? Probably. The girl didn’t notice the woman approach her.
“It’s all over,” she said in a gentle voice.
Startled, the girl turned around. For several seconds, they just stood there looking at one another.
“Zeynep …”
“Nee.”
“Are you sure? I thought maybe he wouldn’t show up …”
She reached out and gently caressed the girl’s cheek. “Yes, dear. It’s all over, finally.”
“Is an extra body going to be a problem?” Hasan asked the now ashen-faced Ali in a low voice.
Ali continued to stare at the bodies. Hasan was a little surprised that Ali, a veteran of the business, seemed so flab-bergasted by this minor glitch in their plans, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. Actually, he could understand where the guy was coming from. After all, they were all in this unexpected mess together.
Ali didn’t answer Hasan’s question, so the latter continued.
“It was an accident, I swear. It wasn’t planned. The goddamn guy was here when we arrived, just lounging in bed. Then he made his move—he pointed a fucking gun at us, the idiot. You can guess the rest. There was nothing we could do. We thought the house would be empty; we were taken by surprise.”
There