Arabesk

have to go to Madame Kleopatra's.'

'No Mehmet, we need to go to Mina's.'

'So we just go marching into a brothel-'

'No. Mina works independently, like they all do round here now,' he paused to look over his shoulder, 'opposite Madame's. She might have the baby there but if she hasn't then her mother will have it at the hamam. Either way, if we can get Mina on her own then I think she'll probably tell us the truth. But we have to get past Mickey first'

Suleyman sat down on the small broken wall of the graveyard and put his head in his hands. 'And Mickey is?'he asked patiently.

'He's an English nippy. He's also Mina's pimp. And he takes heroin.'

Without lifting his head, Suleyman murmured, 'Fantastic'

'It's probably Mickey who took the baby. He's always looking for new ways to make drug money,' Cohen said as his voice rose in the excitement of the moment 'Perhaps he even killed Mrs Urfa too.'

'Unless Mina did, or Mina's mother or any number of other people up to and including the man forensic evidence has placed at the scene of the crime.' He stood up quickly and put his hand to his head. 'What am I doing here?'

Cohen, suddenly angry at being doubted by his friend, reached up and grasped Suleyman by the shoulders. 'Look, Mehmet,' he said, 'that picture on the television shocked me. I know I've seen that shawl and I know where. Can we afford to ignore that? I mean, you play this however you want to. If we have to go to Madame's, well then I suppose we have to do that. You're the boss, after all. But we need to check it out, don't we?'

Suleyman sighed. 'Yes, we do. I want to see this baby – if, indeed, it's still there.'

'And if it isn't?'

'We will meet that eventuality if and when it arises.'. He strode off back towards the road, 'Come on.'

Mickey Anderson threw his arm heavily around the young boy's shoulders and smiled. Behind him, clad only in a thin nylon negligee, his 'property' sneered at the back of his head before going to her room.

'So was that the best lay you've ever had or what?'

'Excuse me?' the boy replied as he attempted and failed to understand Mickey's colloquial English.

'Don't matter, kid,' Mickey said through several layers of food-encrusted beard, 'just give me the five million you owe me and you can get off home to your mum.'

The boy frowned doubtfully. 'Five million?' he said. 'But you say-'

'Ah, but this says seven million and rising,' Mickey said as he quickly pulled a knife out of his belt and held it up to the boy's head. 'Seven, kid,' and then resorting to one of the few Turkish words he knew he whispered, 'Yedi, to you,' into the boy's ear.

As the boy slowly put his hand into his pocket, Mickey smiled. 'There's a good boy.' He took the large wad of notes from the youngster's fingers and without counting it thrust it into his belt Then with a hard punch to the middle of the boy's back, Mickey said,'So now fuck off!'

The boy didn't need telling twice and as he ran into the street’ Mickey followed at a more leisurely pace, replacing his knife as he went

It was dark now, nearly midnight. The best time for his kind of business. Mickey grinned. Some of the bars had shut disgorging back into the city those in search of something a bit more exotic than alcohol. Soldiers, sailors, airmen, old men, impotent Russians – rich and curious boys usually came after the clubs had shut in the early hours. But not always. There were, he noticed, some rather noisy 'suits' garnered beside that shitty old hamam where Mina went sometimes. There'd been a bit of crying from over there earlier in the evening which had sounded weird and unnerved Mina with her first trick. But the place was in darkness now and as quiet as the grave. Mickey shoved a cigarette into his mouth and wandered towards the source of the laughter.

There were three of them. Two were youngish men, in their thirties, the third was probably about fifty. The fifty, who was for some reason wearing sunglasses, and the plainer of the two younger ones appeared to be taunting the tall, good-looking one who was laughing in that wobbly, drunken manner.

'Hello, boys,' Mickey said, putting on his best friendly smile. 'What's happening?'

The older man who could not, seemingly, speak English just shrugged. The young plain one said, 'Hello,' and then putting one hand on his drunken friend's chest he added, 'Tomorrow he is married!'

'Oh, is that so?' Mickey said. 'That's nice.'

'Yes!'

'So where have you been then, boys?' The tall handsome one stopped laughing just long enough to say, 'To drink and drink and drink!' 'Oh.'

'Yes,' the plain one said, 'it is the last time that my friend is a free man, you know?'

The older man said something in Turkish and they all laughed, including Mickey who said, 'Yes, freedom, right. So what are you doing now then?'

The plain one, who eventually gave his name as

Orhan, said. 1 don't know. Maybe look for some girls or… I don't know.' He laughed.

'Oh, some girls, eh? What, for all of you or just…'

Orhan laughed. 'I am married and so is Balthazar,' he said, indicating the older man who now stood in the shadows. 'No, for Mehmet only. It is his night.'

'Right'

Mehmet who was quite obviously heavily intoxicated, leaned against the side of a large, dark Mercedes and then giggled as his legs started to give way. Balthazar quickly ran to his aid.

Mickey wiped his moist brow against the back of his hand and then looked up at the star-filled sky. 'Well, if you want women,' he said, 'you've come to the right place.'

'You know some? Pretty ones?'

'Yeah,' Mickey shrugged. 'One or two.'

'They must be clean,' Orhan said, his face now quite set and serious. 'My friend cannot get a disease if he is to be married.'

'No. Course not' Mickey looked over his shoulder at the doorway of his apartment block and then cleared his throat 'Look, I may be able to help you out If you can give me a minute…'

Orhan looked doubtful but he assented anyway. As Balthazar strained to pick Mehmet up off the ground, Mickey sauntered back to the apartment As soon as he was inside the hall he took his mobile telephone out of his pocket

. ‘ ‘ ‘ It was only when she was standing outside Cengiz Temiz's cell that Zelfa Halman realised that she had omitted to put on any underwear. She looked down with horror at her unsupported breasts and groaned. But then this, or events like it, were not uncommon. Forgetting knickers or cigarettes or leaving the front door of the house open for burglars was all part of the being on call at night experience.

Although part of her work, from time to time, necessitated working with the police she did not have to come out to cells on a regular basis. Just being in the building made her shudder. It had never been this squalid in the cells operated by the Garda back in Dublin. The Irish half of her hated this hot, smelly squalor even if the Turkish portion did, on some level, understand it She had, in the past had many heated debates regarding treatment of prisoners in custody with the man who worked with this every day, the man whose prisoner she could hear screaming now. Quite where Mehmet Suleyman was at present she did not know and the rather oafish officers at her side either did not have that information or were not prepared to tell her. Perhaps they knew that their superior and this much older woman were lovers and were having a bit of a laugh, as it were, behind her back.

'Open the door’ she said to the heavily scarred individual to her left.

As he moved forward, keys in hand, the other two, a man and a hard-faced woman, removed their batons from their belts and held them up.

'You won't need those,' she said as she surveyed the scene around her with a jaundiced eye.

'He's raving, we might,' the woman replied shortly.

'If any of you do anything over and above restraint I'll make your boss's life hell and then you'll be sorry.'

The man with the keys opened the door and then stepped back smartly. 'Doctor.'

Probably since the dawn of time and certainly since what is known in Europe as the Dark Ages, reports have circulated regarding so-called wolf-men. Whether these creatures are transmogrified people such as in the