The Gigolo Murder

by Mehmet Murat Somer

  “Okay.” I yawned.

  He thanked me again before hanging up.

  It had been a short call, but I was now fully awake. I went back to bed, hoping for the best. The covers were still warm. I pulled them up to my chin.

  I started imagining what I’d find when I opened the safe-deposit box the next day. It’d be just like a film. I’d walk in and open the box with my key. The name of the bank, branch code, and box number were all engraved on the key, after all. In order to ensure that I’d be able to stride right past the lines of envious bank customers, with a curt nod directed at the deferential manager, I’d have to follow the example of my mother, chin high, eyes straight ahead, and dressed to genteel advantage. I could only guess at the dirty laundry that awaited me. It might lead me not only to Volkan’s killer, but to that of loan shark Faruk as well. It’s true that the police were on the case, but they now had me to contend with as well.

  I turned over onto my other side, completely altering my train of thought. Volkan was just Volkan, and Faruk just Faruk. And both were dead. But then there was Haluk Pekerdem . . . Ah, that Haluk Pekerdem. I tried to picture him lying next to me. And failed. It just wasn’t happening.

  I was feeling sleepy again. But I thought I heard strange sounds in the flat. I froze and listened carefully. Yes, someone was in my flat. Perhaps even more than one person. Whoever they were, they hadn’t turned on a light. It could only mean trouble.

  I considered confronting them. I was half dressed and barefoot. It’s true that shoes aren’t necessarily required for Thai boxing, but this wasn’t a question of fun and games. It could well be a question of life and death. As always, the right shoes were essential. And then there was the damage that might be caused to my flat, my home. Life and property both hung in the balance!

  I was just sitting up when two shadows appeared before me. I’d have had to be blind not to notice the glinting barrel of a gun pointed right at me. Both of them wore ski masks. I guessed that they were male, strong, and young.

  The one nearest me seemed somehow more alert and in charge. Indeed, he spoke first.

  “Give me the key,” he hissed, waving the gun at my nose.

  I’d have to think carefully before springing to action. And springing out of a prone position would be no easy matter.

  “What key?” I said, buying time.

  “Don’t play dumb. The first question is always ‘who are you?’ or ’what do you want?’ I’d expected more of you. Don’t drag this out. And don’t try any tricks.”

  Well, at least he had a sense of humor. The voice was unfamiliar.

  “That last line of yours was a bit hackneyed,” I said, reaching for the lamp.

  He rapped my hand with the gun.

  “We won’t be getting married or anything. There’s no need for that light.”

  “But how I am supposed to see what I’m doing, sweetie?” I asked.

  I’d hoped to be able to spring out of bed and onto my feet. “Now if you’ll just allow me to get up.”

  He pushed me back onto the bed with his gun.

  “We know all about your special skills. It’s better you stay like that. We don’t want to hurt you. Just hand over the key . . .”

  Good for Okan. So, he’d sent a pack of his dogs after me. Or he’d hired some. Well, he did have the backing of the Hanoğlu family.

  “So,” I said. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just tell me where the key is. I’ll get it myself.”

  “Who sent you? Okan?”

  “You talk too much!”

  He pressed the gun into me, just under my chin. So that’s what’s meant by “looking down the icy barrel . . .” It was freezing.

  Actually, I was glad he hadn’t switched on a light. For one thing, he would have noticed the key on the nightstand right next to me.

  For another, he hadn’t yet considered that I had the home-court advantage. I knew the exact location of every stick of furniture in my flat, as well as the positions of every potential weapon. Anything I got my hands on could be smashed into him or his partner.

  With the gun sticking into my chin, I couldn’t see the other intruder. But I sensed that he was close to the foot of the bed. Right around where my knees were.

  I did a quick calculation.

  “It’s right next to me, by the table light.”

  As he reached toward the nightstand, he turned his head to look for the key. Big mistake! And mistakes are never handier than at moments like these.

  The blow to his kidneys with my strong right hand surely cracked two ribs. The other man took a reverse kick to the face and was buckled over and bellowing.

  By the time the gun was pointed at me again I was on my feet and standing right between them. It’s my favorite position. Nothing’s more fun than leaping into the air and smashing a leg into one assailant, a turned foot into the other. Throw a midair spin into the equation, and it’s sheer joy.

  I did it!

  When I landed, there was now a gun in my hand.

  We stood there, at the corners of a triangle. The partner, who hadn’t yet spoken, was now unarmed and no doubt dumbstruck at the loss of his weapon.

  “Enough already!” said the one in charge. “Put it down.”

  “You put yours down,” I said. “My gun’s as good as yours.”

  As I took a step back, I checked the safety catch. It wasn’t on. They meant business. Still, it seemed a heavy weapon for a job like this. I’d have chosen something smaller, lighter, more elegant—chic shiny steel beats dull black any time. After all, they weren’t on safari! They’d set out to break into a flat and shoot at close range, if necessary, a person—not a wild boar!

  Stamping his foot like a petulant child, “Drop it!” said Mr. Take Charge.

  My gun trained on him, his on me, I reached over and grabbed the key.

  “Drop it!” he said.

  “Hah, you’re repeating yourself !” I scolded. Then I bluffed. “I recognize your voice.”

  He said nothing.

  I shoved the key into my underwear. These days, I sleep in designer label boxers left over from my old lover. Not only are they manly, they’re sexy as hell. I mean, if Madonna can get away with it, why can’t I?

  The key was cold. I tingled.

  “Don’t push us,” he said in a low voice. “We don’t want to hurt you. This has got nothing to do with you. Give me the key and we’ll forget all about it.”

  The other one was still rubbing his nose. Not being in possession of a weapon, he concentrated on licking his wounds.

  There would be that can of pepper spray on the dressing table, if I could reach it. It looked like an ordinary can of deodorant. I’d bought it when self-defense techniques became all the rage after the explosion in purse snatching. I’d never actually used it, though.

  Actually, I had no idea whether it would do any good. After all, the three of us were breathing the same air, and in close proximity to each other. No, I’d have to rely, once again, on my skills in Thai boxing.

  Chapter 31

  When they came to, they had been stripped of their ski masks and were stretched out on the floor. Arms handcuffed behind their backs! It hadn’t occurred to me that rabbit fur handcuffs could be used for such serious business, but voilà! It sure beat fussing with clothesline . . . And as for me, I was wrapped in an embroidered red kimono on loan from Ponpon, legs crossed as I sat directly in front of them. One of the guns was in my hand, the other resting nearby.

  The first one to open his eyes was the partner. A supporting actor, I said to myself. An extra, even. He’d also been the first to pass out.

  “Hello,” I said. “Are you alright?”

  He floundered for a bit, then stopped when he realized he’d been cuffed.

  “Argh?”

  “What a big baby. You keeled over at the first blow. You’re just not built for this line of work.”

  He tried hopping to his feet. And failed, managing only to rock in p
lace.

  “Argh?”

  Either he was a complete idiot or he simply didn’t understand me. I’d kicked him in the head, but surely hadn’t cause brain damage. No, I couldn’t have!

  “Speak up, ayol!”

  Wide-eyed, he stared at me.

  “He can’t talk. Don’t bother . . .” said the other one.

  I hadn’t noticed in the darkness, but now that they were open and the lights on, I saw that the one in charge had huge, dark blue eyes. Liquid eyes, as though he was on the verge of tears. His thin lips made him look suitably tough, however.

  “He’s a mute,” he clarified.

  “Well then, I guess you’ll get to do all the talking,” I said.

  “What do you want me to say? You’re in big trouble, and it’s getting bigger all the time. There are only two of us. You polished us off. Bravo! But what about the next time? And the next? How much can you take? How many can you handle?”

  “My, don’t you talk pretty,” I said. “I could listen to you all day.”

  “Go on, keep making fun. When you finally realize what you’re up against, it’ll be too late.”

  “I already know all about them. Now tell me who sent you.”

  He was smarter than the other one. Instead of simply writhing around, he was checking out his cuffs while trying to turn onto his side.

  “I tested them out. They’re sound,” I said. “Strong enough, anyway . . .”

  “That’s enough. You’ve had your fun. And we can see that you’re a good fighter. Now take off the cuffs and let us go.”

  “Go? Go where?” I asked. “We were just getting warmed up.”

  “Look,” he said. “What are you going to do? You can’t kill us, so you’ll have to let us go. So don’t push me. Take off the cuffs!”

  The liquid eyes grew even larger, and filled with malice.

  “Maybe I’ll call the cops.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. You’re in trouble, too. And you lied to them.” Bending his knees, he tried to sit up. From a seated position, it wouldn’t be all that difficult to stand up. And if he stood up, I’d have to chase him around the flat. A light kick sent him sprawling. It was safer that way.

  “First, you’ll talk!” I said. “If you don’t, I’ll keep you here, like a dog or a cat. Both of you! It could go on for days or weeks. I wouldn’t mind one bit.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Just try me!”

  Picking up the second gun, I went to the office. I immediately found what I’d come for: duct tape.

  When I returned, the one with the functioning vocal cords was still babbling. I wasn’t having it. I stuck two lengths of tape over his mouth. That shut him up. Then I wrapped tape around his ankles. His range of action had been severely curtailed, giving me the peace of mind to roam freely about the house.

  I was just about to go when I decided that the fur cuffs weren’t all that dependable, and I wrapped some tape around their wrists as well. I appraised my work: Yes, it was pleasing to the eye and completely secure.

  The sun would be rising soon, and I was getting hungry. Not a single crumb of that scrumptious pear dessert remained in my stomach.

  “Now, I want the two of you to lie there, nice and well-behaved. I’ll be around if there’s anything you want to tell me . . .”

  Silly me. Their mouths were taped.

  “Scratch that last bit. Anyway, I’ll be around.”

  I’d finished off Ponpon’s breakfast offerings. It was too early for vegetables cooked in olive oil, and there was no more cake, börek, or poğaca. I decided on a classic breakfast of toast, jam, and a two-egg cheese omelette . . . or would soft-boiled be better? Yes, definitely soft-boiled.

  The bread toasted while the eggs boiled. I had to check on my guests from time to time. There was no telling what they might get up to. Back and forth I went, from the kitchen to the bedroom, where they lay side by side, like a couple of sacks of potatoes. What I needed was some music, low enough that it wouldn’t disturb the neighbors but high enough to mask any grunting and groaning. Furthermore, music was an integral part of my morning routine. Nothing beats Handel, but melodious baroque harmonies would never camouflage the sound of me shouting at them, or perhaps, even, of furniture being shattered. My eye landed on Dusty Spring-field’s double album Something Special. I hadn’t listened to it for ever so long. I must have missed it, for it was playing a moment later.

  This time I managed to rescue the bread from the minioven before it burned. It smelled wonderful. Placing my eggs and tea on a huge tray, I carried it to the bedroom. No change, except that they seemed to be eyeing my tray a bit hungrily.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” I said. “You’ll get some chow and your freedom.”

  I get a pang every time I listen to “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?” What a voice. Pure emotion, and no histrionics. It’s my favorite Dusty piece, along with “The Windmills of Your Mind.” Marmalade-slathered piece of toast in hand, I went off to play it again. No one writes a ballad like Michel Legrand, with the possible exceptions of Burt Bacharach and Michel Berger.

  Once upon a time I’d presented someone with what I considered a highly meaningful compilation cassette consisting entirely of different versions of this song. The lyrics “What are you doing the rest of your life? . . . I have only one request of your life, that you spend it all with me . . .” seemed to encapsulate perfectly all of my hopes and dreams. The idiot found the song too “heavy” and gave the cassette to someone else. Naturally, that was the end of our relationship.

  My trip down memory lane ended with my breakfast. On the way to the kitchen with the tray, I gave the mute a good poke with my foot.

  “I know you can’t talk, but I can always get you a pen and paper. Your friend’s too pigheaded. Think it over!”

  I was dying to have a long shower, look over the files sent by Cihad2000, and get to the bank promptly at the stroke of nine to see what was in that box. While I had plenty of time, I was too paranoid to turn my back on my guests. Yes, they were bound and gagged, but even so.

  I needed someone to watch them for me. Ponpon would pop over in a jiffy. But she’d panic in a situation like this. I could call Hasan. He was a cool character. But he was having troubles of his own, and it wouldn’t do to get him mixed up in all of this, too. I decided on İpekten. She was strong, dependable, and bold to the point of being a bit rash. What’s more, she adored this kind of thing.

  I didn’t hesitate to call her on the spot, especially knowing that she’d still be up. She answered on the second ring. There was no need to go into details. I simply told her she was needed.

  “At your service, my lord,” she said. “Give me ten minutes to fly to your side, hubby!”

  İpekten’s a real scream. She always finds a way to make me laugh.

  The prisoner with the voice had begun squirming.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Ready to talk?”

  He blinked.

  Kneeling next to him, I ripped off the tape in one swift movement. It was something like a beard waxing. I had to muffle his shouts with my hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I knew full well how much it would hurt . . .”

  “I’ll get you back one day,” he hissed.

  “Sure you will. We’ll talk about that when it happens. Right now, you’re all mine. So speak up.”

  “I haven’t got anything to say,” he said. “I have to pee.”

  I froze.

  “What?”

  “I need to get to the toilet. Or do you want me to go on the floor?”

  I hadn’t foreseen this. It never happens in films or books, so I had no clue how to proceed. I thought for a moment.

  “I’m not freeing you.”

  “What do you expect me to do, pee right here?”

  No, I didn’t want him peeing in my bedroom, not right on my pale pink carpet.

  “Look, just free my legs and you can walk me to the bat
hroom.” That didn’t sound like a bad idea.

  I went off to fetch one of the guns. I’d wrapped the tape around the cuffs of his trousers, not on his bare skin. I wouldn’t get to wax his legs.

  “Take it nice and slow. You can’t imagine the consequences if you try anything funny . . .”

  “I know what you’re capable of . . .”

  Ducking under his arm, I helped him to his feet. He leaned all his weight against me, and I nearly lost my balance. Despite the late hour and all the tussling, he still smelled faintly of aftershave.

  Gun thrust into his back, I walked him to the bathroom.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it!” I said.

  With bruising coming out on one of his cheeks, the other one seemed strangely pale. “You’ll have to help me,” he smirked. “I can’t get my pants down.”

  I hadn’t thought about that one either.

  With his arms cuffed behind his back, he was helpless. Not only would he expect me to lower his trousers, I’d have to point his willie at the toilet bowel, and even give it a good shake when he was done.

  The doorbell rang just in the nick of time. It must be İpekten.

  I hesitated for a moment. Then I hastily unfastened his belt and pulled his trousers and white briefs down to just below his knees.

  “Aren’t you going to hold it?” he asked, with a filthy grin. I smacked him full across his bruised cheek.

  “Sit down to pee!” I shouted as I marched off to open the front door.

  Chapter 32

  Just as I’d expected, it was İpekten.

  There she stood, grinning ear to ear, enormous eyes filled with curiosity.

  “Here I am to the rescue!”

  A toss of her Wonder Woman mane of hair was enough to restore calm. The girls all imagine themselves to be up on the latest fashions. Some of them model themselves on my idol, Audrey; others are still stuck in their seventies Bearded Barbie phase. But İpekten is something else. She slavishly follows Harper’s Bazaar’s picks of the month, from hairstyle and color, skirt length and matching accessories, right through to scent, makeup, and length of nails and shade of polish. Even the shampoo and soap in her bathroom gets a monthly update!