Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [51]
“Looks like you guys have been chillin’ out,” said the new arrival. “That’s good. Honestly, I can’t stand those high-strung types.” He stuck his hand in one of the pockets of his baggy hip-hop pants and removed a folded piece of paper. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He unfolded the paper, mumbling to himself as he read it. “Ekber en, right?” The old man nodded. “Great. And you, you must be Tufan Tokgöz.”
“And who the hell are you?” asked Tufan.
“Shhh,” said Ekber Bey. “Excuse him, your Holiness, Azrael.”
The young man let out a giggle. “No, Ekber Bey. The big boys don’t do the bookkeeping.” He took out a pen from another pocket. He looked at it, then at the paper, and then he motioned for Tufan to approach.
“So who the hell are you?”
“Who, me?” He scrunched his brows together in thought. “Oh man,” he said, finally, “you guys rule. Not many of you hotshots think to ask me my name. Hmm, what shall I call myself this time?” A smile spread across his face, he looked to the sky. “Okay. Fine. Cheese. That’s right, my name is Cheese. How’s that?”
Perplexed, Tufan looked from Ekber Bey to the young man, who was again motioning for him to come over. Tufan didn’t know why, but he was gripped by a sudden fear; his knees quaking, he walked over. From behind Cheese’s shoulder, he could see the two cops still standing by the boats. Cheese noticed the expression on Tufan’s face.
“Don’t mind them,” he said. “Now turn around for me.”
Tufan stared at him blankly.
“I said turn around … Ha ha ha! You nasty little thing, you. That’s a good one. No, that’s not what I had in mind. I’m just going to use your back to write something, if you can stand still for a minute, that’s all. All right? Now turn around.”
Tufan turned around. Cheese placed the piece of paper on the dealer’s back. He started writing. He stopped, looked at the pen, shook it up and down, and started writing again. Then he stopped again. He brought the point of the pen to his mouth and blew a few warm breaths onto it. He tried writing again. He let out a swear word. He looked over Tufan’s shoulder.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a pen on you?”
The old man shook his head.
“I’m not even going to ask you,” he said to Tufan. “Well, there’s not much to write anyway. I can just punch a couple of holes next to your names.” He shook the pen once more. “Fucking supply department …” He pressed down on the pen and punched two holes in the paper. “All right, you can turn around now.”
“What the hell’s going on?” asked Tufan. Not that he couldn’t sense it, he just wasn’t quite ready to admit it.
“What’s going on?” Cheese opened his eyes wide. “What the hell’s going on, you ask? Wait, let’s see now, what’s going on.” He moved his hand to his chin, squinted his eyes. “Hmmm. There’s going to be a car crash on the avenue in a little bit. Classic midnight drag race. I’ve got one more pickup there.” He sighed. “A father on night duty out looking for a pharmacy. Unfortunate case, that one. Just became a daddy. The punk who hits him survives though.” He sighed again. “Five minutes after that I have to go down to Kadıköy; a wino on the docks is going to have a heart attack. Now wait a second …” He looked at the paper. “That’s right, then I have to cross the Bosphorus. A whore in Beyolu … What? … Haaa haaa haaa! A huri? Oh, that’s a good one. I’ll have to tell the sisters about that. But anyway, then I have to go to Etiler, and so on and so forth. Ah, but if you’re asking what’s going on in the world, now that’s a tough one to answer. There are tons of officials, and they’re all fully booked.
“Oh! Wait! I’m sorry,” Cheese said suddenly, interrupting himself. He covered his mouth in feigned surprise. “You still don’t know what’s going on here, that’s what you’re asking about. Oh, sweetheart! Innocent babe in the woods! But c’mon … you’re on to us now, right? C’mon, say it.”
Several moments passed before Tufan finally managed to croak out the words, “I … I’m … dead?”
“Bravo!” replied Cheese.
“B-but …”
“See there, the ambulance has arrived.”