I’m not one to stay put out with anyone, barring a few names I won’t mention here. It was time to offer the peace pipe. I walked up to Huseyin’s cab; he pretended to be adjusting the rearview mirror, but I knew for a fact that he had seen me.
“Hello, Huseyin,” I said.
Lowering his eyes and turning his head, he looked at me. He was tense and hesitant.
“You’re not cross with me still, are you?” I smiled.
He got out of his cab and stood there sulkily, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Aren’t I?” he asked.
A sulky child, he scratched at the ground with his left foot, his eyes never leaving mine.
“There’s no reason to be, is there?”
“You…” he began, the informal sen slipping out before he switched to the formal form, “know best, I suppose.”
That he’d remembered my insistence on good manners was a point in his favor.
“You hit me in the patisserie in front of everyone…”
My response was brisk and pleasant. “You asked for it, hitting on me all the time. Everywhere I looked, there you were. On my tail every second of the day.”
“I can’t face the other guys,” he complained. “After they heard about it, they all laughed at me. Thanks to you, my reputation’s shot to hell.”
“Surely you exaggerate. And I didn’t hit you. I knocked you flat with a couple of well-placed kicks to the head. That’s all.”
“That’s all, huh, baby.”
He pretended to have tacked on the “baby” by mistake. I knew all his tricks; he was quite the performer. Now he was pretending to be embarrassed, peering out at me from below his heavy eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I gave him a friendly thump on the shoulder.
“All’s forgiven,” I beamed.
Then I extended my hand, taking care to remove my glove first, of course.
“Still friends?”
He took my hand without hesitation. His was rough and cold.
He made an “uh-huh” sound, which I interpreted as a response in the affirmative.
Smiling sweetly, I asked if he would be willing to help me out. Raising his head, he looked into my eyes.
No, that’s not what I was after.
“I need some information about a couple of minibus drivers. I haven’t been able to find out much. When I ask about them, everyone talks them up. I’m not entirely convinced. You’ve got sharp ears. You might overhear them saying things they wouldn’t say to my face. Could you keep your ears pricked for me?”
“Not more of that detective business, I hope. I got the stuffing knocked out of me last time.”
He’d once done an errand for me, just the innocent delivery of a package, as a result of which a bunch of thugs had worked him over. Now that’s what I call a thrashing, not the couple of kicks I’d delivered.
“I’m afraid it is detective work,” I said. “A driver was murdered. I indirectly knew both the guy who was killed and the one who’s been accused of killing him. But there doesn’t appear to be a motive, and the driver didn’t exactly have clean hands.”
“You don’t mean that minibus driver from Sariyer, do you?”
“Volkan Sar?dogan!”
“Yeah, that’s him. Everyone’s talking about him. If he’d been so famous when he was alive, he could have retired. Life’s funny like that.”
“What have you heard?” I pressed him.
The phone rang. There were no other cabs. Gesturing for me to wait, Huseyin went into the taxi shelter to answer the phone.
When he returned he was smirking. Just two words from me, and he already was becoming insolent.
“I gotta run,” he said. “But I’ll stop by for a tea later, if you want. You can tell me all about it.”
Here we go again.
“He’s got a brother. A druggie they say. And a brother-in-law. Okan and Ziya. Ask around,” I shouted after him as he drove off.
He gave me a military salute in his rearview mirror, flooring the accelerator of his Sahin taxi, even managing to lay a little rubber.
I suppose he thought I’d be impressed.
Chapter 12
By the time I opened the door to my flat I’d forgotten all about Huseyin, my mind having flown back to Haluk. I was too horny to sit still. But it wouldn’t do to sleep with just anyone, either. I know plenty of girls, and indeed real women, who are able to shut their eyes and pretend that whoever is screwing them is the man of their dreams. But I’m not one of them. I want to focus on whoever I’m in bed with. I expect both my mind and my body to be possessed by the same man, or, on rare occasions, very rare occasions, woman.
The house was filled once more with the tantalizing smells of Ponpon’s cooking. I didn’t like the thought of a roll in the hay with her around. If I were alone, I’d be able to do as I wished.
Before I had the chance to drop a subtle hint, Ponpon apparently read my mind and broached the subject herself.
“I’m going to the sauna. Would you like to come?”
I didn’t know what to say. Ponpon and I have totally different approaches to saunas. She thinks it’s a practical way to burn calories; I take a more sensual approach. Naturally, we go to different saunas: Hers are the sterile ones; mine are more like overheated dungeons.
“I just reek of onions,” she said, untying her apron, “and I’m all sweaty. I thought it’d be nice to get rid of some toxins. And peek at a few prowling willies while I do it.”
Anyone else would have used the verb “grab” or even “gobble,” but it was just like Ponpon to satisfy herself with a peek. She wasn’t far from what they call “asexual.” I’d never known her to get horny. If she did get down and dirty with someone, it was always done in the name of love. Then she’d bitterly regret it for days afterward. After a series of blood tests and negative results, she’d finally relax and shut up. A period of repentance lasted for what we creatures of fleshly desires would consider an “eternity” before she’d “sin” once more.
“I’m a little tired,” I lied. “I thought I’d lie down.” My second sentence was closer to the truth, if lacking in detail.
“Of course you are, dear,” she exclaimed. “I can stay here with you if you’d like. It’s not like I have to go to the sauna. Just say the word and I’ll stay.”
“That’s alright,” I assured her. “I’m a big girl now. I’m not afraid of the dark. Go on, have fun.”
“I’d better hit the road before my sweat dries, then. All primed, as it were,” she sang out.
Once Ponpon was out of the house I switched on the PC and began clicking though my collection of rare porn. Some of the men looked a bit like Haluk. I searched for them, and found one. His name was Taylor Burbank. He had a mustache in some pictures, a beard in a few others. So be it. Through squinted eyes he still reminded me of Haluk Pekerdem. That would have to do for now. I began undressing.
And the doorbell rang. Just as I got started. Ponpon must have forgotten something. Not bothering to switch off the computer, I raced to the door, wrapped in a pink jacket. I’d get whatever she wanted and send her on her way.
When I opened the door it was Huseyin who stood across from me. I’d rather not have met him at the door nearly naked. I struggled to cover myself with the jacket. Unsuccessfully. I concealed myself behind the door.
“Here I am,” he announced.
He was staring at me.
“It was a nearby drop. I came right over. I was afraid of getting stuck at the rank if I went back there.”
“You did well,” I praised him.
Opening the door all the way, I ushered him in.
“Wait right over there,” I said. “I’ll go put something on.”
“Don’t bother,” he said with a wink. “It’s fine with me; I could get comfortable too.”
We’d just made up, and I had work for him, so there was no point in overreacting. Ignoring his remark, I headed down the hallway, certain he was watching my ass and sighing as he did so. Spotting Ponpon’s kimono, I threw it on and returned to the living room.
He’d wasted no time settling into my favorite armchair.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.
“Whatever’s easiest… Nescafe?”
“I’ll be right back.”
“And bring me a glass of water, okay?”
Not only the familiar
Handing him his coffee, I put on some soothing music. The fourth, fifth, and sixth discs of Haydn’s Opus 33 Quartets.
“That’s nice,” he said.
I smiled but didn’t feel the need to furnish any further information. He could always go over and look at the cover of the CD if he was curious.
“So tell me what you know,” I prompted.
“I hadn’t heard of any of the three. That is, until they appeared in the newspaper. You know how we read all the papers to pass time at the rank. That’s when I first heard of the guy. Actually, it’s Nazmi the Catamite who knew them personally. He used to be a minibus driver, too. Working on the same route. Knows them from way
