“And how do you know that I’m not from the police?” asked Tayyar, the question flowing from his mouth like a river. It fell out so fast, it stung Derda’s face and made his forehead break out in a sweat. As soon as he heard the word police, he forgot the rest of the question and Derda’s temples started to throb. He didn’t know what to say. First he lowered his eyes, then his shoulders collapsed like he wanted to be small enough to squeeze in between the thick tufts of the carpet under his feet. His head hung low below his shoulders.
“If someone asks you something like that, are you really going to say you’re going to shoot a man?”
Derda buried himself even deeper.
“Ok, then. Who is this guy? What is it you’re going to do?”
Derda’s voice barely reached his lips, but he just couldn’t get it through his closed mouth. Even as it was, he was only going to say, “I don’t know.”
“That’s exactly right,” said Tayyar. “Do not speak. Just listen. If you’re going to learn anything, you’re going to learn by listening.”
He shifted his legs, crossed them the other way, and lowered his arms. He held one fist at his waist and the other against his knee.
“Now this Hanif, he’s the kind of guy that, if we don’t shoot him, he’s going to shoot us. Only he’s not going to shoot me. He’s going to shoot Brother Israfil. He’s going to shoot you. He’s going to shoot up everyone you’ve got in that warehouse, you understand?” he said.
Derda hesitated. He didn’t know if he should respond or not. He just nodded. He did the right thing.
“Good! He lives on the coast, in Maltepe. Israfil will show you his house. First you’re going to learn everything you can about where and how he lives. Then, when Israfil tells you to go, you’re going to go in the morning and you’re going to wait there. You been out there before?”
He shook his head right to left. Tayyar leaned over the coffee table in front of him and started to mark on it with invisible ink. With a pointer finger as thick as the barrel of a gun.
“So there’s a road along the coast. There are houses on this side, and the sea’s on this side. There’s a sidewalk along the coast, too. You understand?”
He signaled his understanding with a rise and fall of his chin.
“Hanif leaves his house around noon, but you’re going to be waiting there from early morning. He leaves the house from the front door, he crosses the street, then he has his walk along the coast …”
As Tayyar spoke, Derda started to think that maybe it was possible that he had met the man across from him before. But it was just a feeling. A feeling that had a lot to do with the man’s face and physique, but most of all with his voice. He was sure that he’d heard that voice sometime before. But somehow he just couldn’t place it. Now he looked into Tayyar’s eyes as he listened.
“Don’t bring anyone with you. There’s a streetlight in front of the house. Cross the road there. You’ll wait on the sea side.”
For a second Tayyar felt the boy’s eyes glaze over and to test him he asked: “So, what is it you’re going to do?”
“I’m going to wait on the other side of the street by the sea.”
“Right. Good.”
Then Derda heard the sound of a pair of feet behind, a sound that got louder as they approached. It was Israfil, coming back. When he passed by Derda he grabbed his shoulders and said, “Listen up good to Brother Tayyar.” Then he sat in the easy chair diagonally across from him.
Tayyar continued, “Then he’s going to leave his house. He’ll cross the street to where you are, then he’ll start to walk. You’re going to get up and follow behind him.”
Tayyar suddenly broke his focus and turned to Israfil.
“Get the kid some sweats and some sport shoes. He can’t go around there like this, Hanif will know something’s up.”
“Ok,” said Israfil, “leave that to us.”
Tayyar turned back to Derda. Like he’d just thought of it, he straightened his back and took out one of the revolvers at his waist.
“There are six shells inside this. You’re going to approach him from behind and plug him with all six. Two in his head, the other four between his shoulder blades. Understand?”
“I understand,” said Derda, but his mind was all a blank. So he decided just to stay silent. He didn’t understand where the blades were. What blades? His mind had gone blank since the moment Tayyar had pulled out the gun; his eyes had been glued to it. And, as a consequence, his ears had gone blank, too.
The weapon Derda couldn’t take his eyes off was not just a Smith & Wesson 38-caliber, short-barreled revolver. It was the machine for Derda’s revenge. With that, he would make reparations for the past. Tayyar realized that Derda was daydreaming.
“Watch,” he said. He opened the cylinder and knocked the six shells into the palm of his hand. With one flick of the wrist the cylinder was back in place. He handed the empty weapon to Derda.
“Take this.”
Derda took the revolver.
“Now get up.”
He got up.
“Israfil, you get up, too.”
Israfil got up.
“Israfil, now just walk like you’re going for a walk. And you, track him from there at the door. Then like I told you, put two in his head, four in his back. Ok, come on, let me see how it works.”
Israfil started walking, plodding around the living room. Derda followed after him. Three steps later he raised the revolver and pulled the trigger. One time right after another.
“No, not like that,” Tayyar said. He got up and told Israfil to stand still. Then he pointed to a region of Israfil’s back with his hand.
“Look, this is where between the shoulder blades is. Not any lower. Ok, go
