Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [32]
“We’re not trying to fuck with you, Ali. You trust us, right?”
Ali snapped to, as if suddenly awaking from a bad dream. First he looked at Murat, and then at Hasan, who was waiting for him to respond. The bewildered look in Ali’s eyes had been replaced by the resolute gaze of a man who knows exactly what to do.
“Okay, it’s all right. What’s done is done. Like you say, what’s the difference? So it was one body, now it’s two. You guys bag one of them, and I’ll go get another sack from the truck.”
Hasan and Murat glanced at one another. They could both tell that they were thinking the same thing: He’s gonna make a run for it …
“Let me come with you,” said Hasan. “I could use the fresh air.”
His suggestion was clearly not open for debate, and so Ali did not object. They didn’t speak at all on the way to the truck. Their eyes darted right and left, scoping out the surroundings, but there was no one to be seen. A taxi swiftly passed the truck and continued along its way.
When Hasan and Ali returned with the other sack, Murat had already tied the arms and legs of both bodies. It would be easier to bag them that way.
“I couldn’t care less how it happened,” Ali grumbled. “You got us into this mess, so you carry these bastards out of here. Anyway, I have a bad back.”
Hasan laughed. “All right, Ali. No problem.”
Murat wound the remaining string into a ball and stuck it in his pocket. The extra body was heavy; carrying that sucker wasn’t going to be easy. “Should we make two trips?” he asked, though he doubted Ali would agree to it.
He was right. “Let’s not take any chances. It’s almost morning.”
“I agree,” said Hasan. He glanced around the room, saw the tea glasses and the cigarette butts. “Plus, we’ve still gotta clean up the blood and all this other shit. You go first, Ali, make sure the coast is clear, and then we’ll bring ’em out.”
Hasan and Murat loaded themselves up with one sack each and walked to the door. They figured Ali would open it for them, but he didn’t. A few seconds passed before they turned to look at him. What the hell was he waiting for?
They froze stiff. He was pointing his pistol straight at them. A Glock 17, with a silencer. Hasan’s mouth fell wide open. Their guns were at their waists. But their hands were full.
“What, you take me for some kind of fool or something?” Ali said.
He sent the first bullet into Murat’s forehead. The young man toppled backwards like a felled tree beneath the weight of the sack he was carrying, hitting the wall before collapsing with a thud onto the floor. In a reflex Hasan opened his arms, releasing the sack from his hold. He cast a glance at Murat’s lifeless body before turning to meet Ali’s gaze, the latter’s eyes blazing with inexplicable rage.
Just one extra body … We didn’t do it on purpose …
He took a bullet right between the eyebrows and collapsed to the floor next to Murat.
Ali had a sour taste in his mouth when he slid in behind the steering wheel. He coughed up a ball of phlegm and spit it out the window. He cursed those fucking bastards who’d gotten him messed up in this bullshit. What the fuck—to knock off Kâzım Aa’s one and only son? Talk about gall …
They make a man sorry he was born …
He was glad now that he hadn’t met the client. Four bodies would be found in that house come morning. Four men who’d shot one another. Nobody would ever know he’d even been there. Nobody.
Especially not Kâzım Aa.
Close call, he thought as he pressed down on the gas pedal. Houselights had already begun to dot the twilight sky as the truck made its way downhill.
* * *
The young woman was standing with her face to the strait, watching a gigantic ship float by. Its lights looked so beautiful. She wondered what it was like to be inside, watching the shore from out there. Actually, all she wanted to do was go somewhere far, far away, someplace so foreign that everything she had experienced here would cease to exist for her.
“How are we going to pay those guys?” she said, her voice heavy with concern. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Zeynep. If we