Derdâ’s take from her first film—admittedly the title was a little long—was only five hundred pounds, although the film had earned Mitch and Stanley 4,300 pound sterling. It was the first time she was ripped off in the performance world. In the real world, she was deceived all the time but she never knew. Five hundred pounds made her feel like the richest woman in the world. But cheating his master to buy more meth made him feel guilty, and he needed something stronger to silence his pangs of conscience—he needed heroin.
In three weeks Derdâ appeared in four more of Mitch’s films and had sixteen new customers arranged by Stanley. She gave them the most unforgettable thirty minutes of their lives. She had no inkling she’d become a star lighting up the dark face of London, whose eyes searched everywhere for her. She was a woman of mystery. They paced behind all the covered women on the streets hoping they might find her. And they laid plans to track her down. But Derdâ didn’t care. All she wanted was to disappear into London with the 3,600 pounds she had stashed in the hood above the stove and her English vocabulary—now close to four hundred words—that she kept locked in her memory. She had to escape from the apartment building. She was ready. The time had come. She’d just go. She wasn’t scared. What could happen out there that was any more dangerous than what happened in her own apartment? But she had to plan carefully. First, she had to finish her association with Stanley. Bezir might go see his neighbor and make him talk, and if Stanley knew where she was, it would all be in over. It wouldn’t be hard to make Stanley talk. So she wouldn’t say anything to Stanley or Mitch. She’d asked their help for just one thing. Two weeks ago, she asked them to buy her clothes and a pair of shoes. That was all.
Derdâ would just disappear. She didn’t think she’d have trouble finding somewhere to stay. And she’d find a job, too. Maybe she’d move to another city in England, or to another country, somewhere far from Bezir. Anywhere really. Meanwhile, Bezir had completely changed—he’d grown distant and even more silent. And he didn’t beat Derdâ anymore. He never laid a hand on her. Sometimes he didn’t come home for days on end. All of this made Derdâ worry about timing her escape. Best to disappear as soon as possible.
That night she couldn’t sleep. Two hours before the early morning prayer she slipped out of bed as silently as a snake. She watched Bezir for any sign of movement as she quietly backed out of the room. She put her black chador on over her nightgown in the other bedroom, then went to the kitchen. She got her money and dictionary out of the stove hood. Then, with a last look at her dark apartment, she opened the door and slipped outside and left the door halfway shut behind her. She couldn’t make the slightest sound; she wouldn’t use the elevator. With a final glance at Stanley’s door she started tiptoeing down the steps. Then she remembered something. She went back up to the twelfth floor and opened the fire hose box just opposite the elevator. She’d oiled the hinge the day before so she knew it wouldn’t creak. She pulled a bag out from above the thick, red, tightly wrapped hose—she’d almost forgotten all about it. She’d stashed her new clothes here. Then she turned around and walked away, never to return.
Twelve floors later she found herself at the building’s main door, the same one she’d raced through to follow Bezir carrying Ubeydullah in his arms. It was ten minutes later before she figured out how to open it. You had to press the white button on the wall to automatically open the door. She started at the heavy clank of the lock, then she pushed open the heavy door and darted out.
She walked down the dark garden path and stepped onto the sidewalk. Which way? The street seemed so long. She looked right and then left. She saw an indistinct figure in the distance, a man with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets coming toward her. Derdâ was filled with fear. She turned and started to run the other way.
The indistinct figure stopped where the garden path met the sidewalk. He waved at Derdâ to come back and looked up at the building. Then he set off down the garden path. When he arrived at the entrance, he took a piece of paper out of his pocket and used his lighter to check the address and building number. He entered the four-digit password onto the security panel beside the door. There was a metallic clank and he pulled the door open.
The elevator was waiting at the ground floor. He stepped in and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. The elevator door slowly opened and the ceiling light switched on automatically. He checked the numbers on both doors in the hall. He approached the door near the stairs and pulled a screwdriver out of his jacket’s inner pocket. As he lowered it to the lock, he realized the door was ajar. He slowly nudged it open and peered into the dark apartment. He put the screwdriver back in his pocket and drew a gun before he stepped into the apartment. He crept down the corridor, passing the living room and the kitchen. Both were empty. The bathroom was empty, too. There was a closed door at the end of the corridor. He reached out for the handle but before he got there the door swung open. He was face to face with Bezir.
In a flash Regaip pulled the trigger, killing Bezir instantly. He was afraid, at least partly. He did
