Blood From A Shadow (2012) Read online

  I didn’t move, and the bar tender kept on ignoring me. Three different small groups were still actively eyeing me, until a vicious looking shit sidled up beside me.

  “Good night, sir,” he said. “You want something here, want to buy?”

  “Not here, up those steps in five minutes. I have no money here. I can get money if you have what I want”. I pulled out my pockets to show I wasn’t stashed with American dollars. If they were going to cut my throat, they would be prepared to wait until I did have cash in my pockets.

  “It is not safe, sir. I am afraid to go up these stairs.”

  The slippery bastard wanted to bring me somewhere else. His English wasn’t as polished as the Genome Sequencing student, but his street trading English was good enough.

  “You’ll make it safe if you want to make some money,” I said.

  “Yes, yes, of course, Uncle, I will help you,” he said.

  He started to move back to his gang, I gripped his elbow.

  “Stay here, don’t speak to anyone else. Leave when I say so,” I said.

  He looked over to his boys, pulled a face that meant something I couldn’t read, and relaxed beside me. I waited for a few minutes, until most of them lost interest in me, then I directed him to the door.

  “If anyone follows us out this door, you are a dead man. And no-one makes any money, get it?” I said.

  He turned and shouted something to his pals, and I pushed him out. The men outside looked to him for direction, he nodded and they parted, we carried on. The unlucky nice girl stepped out again, looked at us. I had turned her down for him? She screeched her derisory abuse at me, and was satisfied. The gang of teenagers hovered, but my new guide said something, quietly, and they melted away.

  We started up the steps, I pulled him into the shadows and wrapped my biceps around his neck. He had a sticking knife in his belt, I pushed it in his ear, drew a trickle of blood.

  “If anybody comes up here, I’ll tear your head off, understand?” I said.

  “No person will come, Uncle, we are on ourselves,” he said. “What do you want to buy? I only have good stuff, no shit. You want Twin Towers? White Ball? Wicked? How much dollars you have?”

  I let him go, pushed him further up the steps, they might be circling around behind us. I ran up to the freeway, yanked him along, crossed to the other side. He looked back to his natural cover, I kicked him on, he was worried now, the prey was the predator. I found a doorway, pressed him up against the wall, the point of the knife lifting him to his toes.

  “I need a gun, a pistol. You are going to get it and bring it to me, yes?” I said.

  “Yes, Uncle, of course. I will help you. How much dollars you have?”

  I had no idea how much a black market gun would cost here, certainly less than in New York. It was Duffin’s money anyway, I didn’t care.

  “500 Turkish Lira, not dollars,” I said.

  I could see his default position was to haggle the price, so pushed the knife deeper into his skin, almost to breaking point.

  “Ok, ok, Uncle, this is not a problem. I will get good gun, clean, no trouble. I will take you there now. You have money with you?”

  “No, I fucking don’t, you piece of shit! You’ll bring it to me at the Hippodrome. Be there in one hour, on your own. That little round house in front of the Blue Mosque, with the dome and eight pillars, got it?”

  “Yes, Uncle, you mean the German Fountain?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck it’s called, just make sure you are there and on your own. If you bring anybody with you, I’ll fucking kill all of you, understand? And make sure it’s a proper gun, with two boxes of ammo. I don’t want some rusty piece of Turkish shit that doesn’t work, Ok?”

  I kneed him in the balls, he couldn’t double up because the knife was already halfway down his throat.

  “Yes, Uncle. Turkish guns are good, not like American shit. But bring the fucking 500 Lira, or my friends will cut your balls off later and leave them in your throat, ok?” he gasped it out.

  He hadn’t survived this long in that place without some guts, and I had to admire that. He even had the balls to be offended when I had said “Turkish Shit”. Artie had told me not to insult Ataturk or the Turkish flag, said they were a proud people, like Americans. I needed to respect this shit, not make our usual mistake of selling these people short. I should have learnt that by then, if nothing else.

  “Ok, it’s a deal. Just don’t try to screw me around and there will be more money for you, another job, understand? Attack me and there will be no more money!”

  “Yes, let me go now, Uncle. I will help you with this thing,” he said, before sloping off across the freeway to the streets I could never go to again. I watched from my doorway to make sure his crew hadn’t crept up on me. No movement, I was about to go, then the spitting girl appeared in front of me again. Bright eyed, brazen, in my face, no fear. If she had been born in the US, I guessed this one would have been high maintenance, would have known her worth, partied with the best of them in Manhattan.

  “You want business with nice girl now?” she smiled.

  Yes, I wanted business, but not what she had in mind. I took her by the elbow and jogged her back to the bright lights of Beyoglu, away from Tarbalasai. Two yellow cabs drove past, the third stopped, I put her into the back in front of me.

  “The Hippodrome, driver,” I said.

  She giggled, folded herself against me. Her whole body was freezing cold, but soft. I couldn’t think about that now, though, I was going to kill a man tonight.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Didar screamed and waved at the driver, he reset his taxi meter to zero and changed direction.

  “He fucks with you!” she shouted to me.

  We were outside the Blue Mosque in fifteen minutes, she took the driver’s tip off me, slipped it in a hidden pocket. I pulled 800 Turkish Lira out of an ATM. I was going to need cash tonight, the ATM rumbled, then dumped the notes out. Good, Lutterall could go fuck himself now, trace the card whatever way he wanted. She broke her neck to catch the pin number as I tapped it in.

  He wouldn’t be on his own, they would be greedy, wouldn’t miss the chance. I told Didar what I wanted from her. Meet the guy, bring him past my hotel, tell him I was waiting with the money, lots of money.

  “Ok, but you not fuck with me, ok!”

  She was a cheap street whore but I knew what she meant, and I wouldn’t cheat her. She would be well paid for her time. This thug must know her, and she risked getting roughed up later, by him or her own pimp, but at least she would have my 400 Turkish Lira. She was content with that, had been paid less for worse.

  We waited in the side street behind the hotel. Her parents were Kurds, but Didar was born here in Istanbul, in Tarlabasai neighborhood. She had never seen Kurdistan, hardly left her own neighborhood, never mind Istanbul. She knew I was bringing trouble, but she was as easy and calm as a girl waiting with her friends for a bus to the mall. Never been to school, started picking up English words from the tourists who had been leasing her body since she was 14. Her English was pretty good now.

  “You know this guy we’re waiting on?” I said.

  “His name is called Punka, I know this mother fucker, he is Gypsy, they cause much trouble for us Kurds,” she said.

  “So he is in a gang, has many friends?” I said.

  “Yes, yes, they are all in gang, these Gypsies. They make much stealing, get the blame on Kurd peoples, the bastards!”

  “Are there Kurd gangs too?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes, of course, we must make gang to save ourselves, you know? Kurd peoples are made like shit by all these peoples, the Gypsies, the Turk. The Turk think we are animals, not real human. Keep us in poor places like Tarlabasai. The husbands like pay money for girl like me, but say we are all shit people.”

  Her plastic raincoat just covered her short skirt and flimsy tee-shirt. Bare legs and high heels. She pressed against me for warmth.

&nbs
p; “Kurd peoples are good, no trouble. I am whore, yes, of course, no problems. I have six little brothers and sisters, the Turk do not permit my father to work, my mother is always sick. How can we get money to eat, to live in this place? Tell me that, Mr rich America, how?”

  “I’m sorry. It must be tough,” I said.

  “Yes, yes, tough, you are right. But people in Tarlabasai are good, we help the old, the sick. We have nothing but we help each person. The Turk and the tourists have too much, everything they want, too much money, too much food, yes? Phones, watches, cars, houses. All this they have! But they help no person, only themselves! If we take even little crumb from their table, the police come to beat us, send us to prison.”

  “Do you know the drug gangs, the gangs that send drugs to Europe? Do you know who they are?” I said.

  She recoiled from me, looked up and down the alleyway.

  “No, you do not ask me these things. You want me to have neck cut?” She made the throat cutting motion with her right index finger.

  “I will pay you a lot of money, Didar, you can move away from Tarlabasai, take your family.”

  “Move to where? This is our home, we have friends in Tarlabasai. No other place is safe for us. You want me to kill my family?”

  Shit, I didn’t mean to offend her, I didn’t mean anything, I just needed to finish this, then I would never see her again. We stood quietly in the dark, waiting. I would send her to get the Gypsy soon. She leant into me again, she was warming up now, her scent coiled around me. It was sickly cheap and musky, more like a man’s, but it sure worked on her. And I was wrong earlier, she was already beautiful. And she sensed me. I didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t look, didn’t touch, but she knew.

  “You want go in hotel room, before Gypsy come? Only fifty dollars, cheap for you, Mr America. I make you forget all your trouble in this moment, yes?”

  Her beautiful eyes and mouth and voice were irresistible, but I wouldn’t have enough money to dilute my guilt if the Gypsy were to cut her throat when I was gone. I couldn’t do it.

  “Maybe some other time, Didar. I need you to go and bring your Gypsy to me now.”

  She shrugged away from me, clicking her heels down the cobblestones, leaving her perfume and my senses hanging in the dark.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later I heard her shouting at him, “Gypsy Mother Fucker!” Good girl, that was the tip-off that he wasn’t on his own. They were coming into the darkness of the side street, away from the bright lights. I had told her I would hide behind the dumpster half way up the street, she would make sure the Gypsy was closest to me, but that wasn’t my plan. I had a discarded half brick from the dumpster. As soon as I heard her, I vaulted on to the dumpster and then over the fence into the yard of a restaurant that fronted the Hippodrome. The back door was open, steam and kitchen noise belching out. I walked through the kitchen, carrying the Gypsy knife and the brick. The chef and waiters were about to make something of it until I fired a 20 Lira note on the chef’s cutting board. “Ok, we don’t speak to police,” he said.

  I peered out the front door. Two men standing at the corner, pulling guard on the Gypsy. One was a big hard head, hair shaved short around a bald patch at the back. The other was wiry, held something under his jacket. I marched up and cracked the hard head with the brick. The brick crumbled and he fell, without a sound. The wiry one threw a gun on the sidewalk and ran off, also without a sound. A Czech Rami, concealed carry pistol, 3 inch barrel, 14 in the magazine, 1 in the chamber. Worth 500 Turkish Lira of Duffin’s money to me, any day. The guy moaned, his scalp was red with brick dust and blood. I kicked him hard in the ribs, he grunted and rolled over.

  Up ahead, Didar was fighting and spitting at Punka the Gypsy. He was fully occupied with her, struggling to keep hold of the wild cat, didn’t see me running. He had her by the hair with his left hand, trying to drag her head up, keep away from her bites. She pulled her head down, clawing at his stomach and torso, taking his punches on her back and shoulders. I leapt on him, smashed the pistol into his right side, swept his feet from under him. He fell with Didar still on top of him, still biting and clawing any flesh she could reach. I had to trail her off, blood streaming out of both her nostrils, red mucus and tears spread across her face, some of it his.

  I had to close this down quickly, the side street was behind the hotel and other restaurants, I didn’t need Kaffa’s cops on the scene.

  I stuck the Rami in his mouth, my right knee on his throat, smacked the back of his head against the cobblestones, half turned and held her out of range with my left hand.

  “Both of you stop right now! You are here for my money, stop right now or you both walk away with nothing! Hear me? Understand?”

  That did the trick, she stood back, although the fire still blazed in her eyes. I frisked him with my free hand, pulled an old Russian Makarov pistol from his waistband. 9mm cartridges in a plastic bag.

  “Is this it? You piece of shit! Do you want my money or not!” I took the gun out of his mouth, pushed his nostrils back, he looked like a pig.

  “Yes, good gun! Bulgarian, this killed many men. Good gun. What you want?”

  “I want ammo that fits the gun, you prick! They made these fuckers so that they wouldn’t take American ammo, as if we would fucking need them, piece of piss!”

  I didn’t care anyway, the Rami was all I needed gunwise, but I wasn’t finished with him yet, had to keep him scared. Didar circled around above him, stamped her heel in his right ear before I could stop her. He screamed.

  “Fuck Didar!” I shouted. “I won’t tell you again! Quit it! Anybody dishing out pain around here is going to be me, understand? Now get over against that fucking wall until I tell you to move!”

  She strutted around us, head held high, threw her hair up with both hands behind her head, proud and victorious, then posed against the wall, hand on thrusted hip. Shit, she was going to be trouble.

  “You think I’m paying you 500 fucking Lira when you try to fuck with me? You’ve lost both your guns, shitface, and your 500 Lira, how does that work for you, huh?”

  He was a tough guy, I knew it, but he was almost in tears now.

  “Please Uncle, I do not know this,” he whimpered. “I pay good money for this gun, I do not know about bullet. I borrow money to get good gun for you. If I do not pay money to gangster, they hurt me bad! I have wife and babies to feed, what will they do? Please Uncle, I try to help you!”

  Didar snorted a laugh behind us.

  “I’ll give you another chance, ok?” I said. “I need information, you get it for me, you get 1,000 Lira. Don’t give it, you walk away with nothing, understand? I’m keeping both guns.”

  The fear in his eyes switched off. 1,000 Turkish Lira is over $500. What information was worth that much? What risks would there be for him? Could he con the money off me, with no risk to himself? Didar was interested too, 1,000 Lira too much to pass to the Gypsy, she moved closer to make sure she didn’t miss out. I let him up, but kept the pistol stuck in his ribs.

  “There was an American here, like me. He was killed. He was buying drugs from a gang. They were sending heroin to the United States. I need to meet this gang. I have the money to buy the drugs now. To do the deal, understand, takeover? You tell me who this gang is, get me to meet them, you walk away with 1,000 Lira. That’s the deal,” I said.

  Punka and Didar weighed each other up.

  “Ok, 1,000 Lira each, so you don’t tear each other’s throats out. How about it? I am walking out of here in ten seconds,” I said.

  They spoke in Turkish.

  “Speak English only,” I said. Less chance they could double cross me if I knew what they were saying.

  Didar spoke first.

  “I do not know this thing now. It take time to talk to peoples.”

  Punka agreed, “I will ask my friends, but Istanbul is big city. Many gangs, not easy. And dangerous. Dangerous to ask question of other man’s business.”

&n
bsp; Yeah, it sure was a big city, but Ferdia McErlane would be hard to miss, somebody would have heard about him. And what was a big city, anyway? Just a bunch of streets and neighborhoods tagged together. These two would find out tonight, and the people I was looking for would know how I found them, safer for me than following Kaffa’s leads.

  “Ok, get working, but remember, either of you tries to cheat me and you know what will happen, understand?”

  I flourished the Rami under their faces.

  Didar attached herself to my waist, receptive, yielding again, but kept her eyes on Punka.

  “Do not trust this Gypsy,” she said. “He bring gang to steal from you.” She breathed softly in my ear, but loud enough for him to hear.

  “Please Uncle, I was afraid,” Punka said. “I only ask if you want buy drugs, you start fight with me, make me go with you. Say you will kill me if I not bring gun. My family will die if I not there to bring money for food. Gypsies get beaten when we go outside Tarlabasai. I only bring friends to keep safe. All the Gypsies see you like devil, they was afraid you hurt me. Istanbul is not like New York.”

  That was good, it would suit that they feared me, and I wanted that message to go out all over the city, but I didn’t believe this guy in front of me was really afraid of anything. He had survived too much in his life already.

  “Ok, we are going to my room, you two are getting your cell phones out, start talking, I’m keeping my eyes on both of you. One of you tries to fuck with me, I’ll shoot both of you. See how your families eat then, ok?”

  They looked like two teenagers being chastised for not tidying their bedrooms.

  “I need information about an American, looked like me, had marks like these.” I pulled my coat and sweater down to expose the burn and shrapnel scars from my grenade. Punka looked, then looked away. But her eyes flashed, gave her away. She had seen these marks before, she had seen McErlane, I knew it. And I sure knew he would never have turned her down.