Fiction: Istanbul State of Mind

By Suphi

I take the gun out of the drawer. I press the barrel against my temple. I start to squeeze the trigger. I’m not drunk enough to do it. I put the gun back in the drawer.           

I pass out. But the screaming and shouting coming from next door is loud enough to wake up the dead. I don’t speak a word of Turkish. I don’t understand what they’re saying. But it’s the same thing every time: Banging on the door. Door opens. Three or four men barge in and start yelling at a young woman. They leave. Sometimes she weeps a little after they’re gone. And I go back to sleep.

Next day I’m back at the bar. A dive in Beyoğlu where expats and tourists hang out. It’s early. It’s just me and the bartender. A backpacker with messy hair rushes in and hops on the stool next to me. ‘‘Sorry I’m late,’’ he says. I never seen him before in my life. ‘‘Who the fuck are you?’’ I ask. “Jack,’’ he says acting like I’m supposed to remember him. I don’t. 

‘‘I’m the tutor,’’ he explains.

‘‘What tutor?’’

‘‘The Turkish tutor. We met last week. You said you wanted Turkish lessons. You don’t remember?’’

‘‘You gaslighting me motherfucker?’’

‘‘What? No! You said you didn’t speak a word of Turkish. That you wanted to learn.’’

I tell him to fuck off. I order another drink. He gives me this whole sob story about how he had to come all the way from Kadıköy to meet me here and how long it took and how badly he needs the money blah blah blah. I gulp down my drink. He gives me his card. Asks me to call if I change my mind. I order another drink. He leaves.

I climb the stairs to my apartment. A glorified attic with a terrace sticking out. I take the gun out of the drawer. I press the barrel against my temple. This time I’m drunk enough to do it. I shut my eyes. I can’t do it. I lower the gun. I exhale. I can do it. I put the gun back to my head. I start to squeeze the trigger. A dove lands on the window ledge. We look at each other for a while. ‘‘Is that you?’’ I ask.

They’re banging on the neighbor’s door again. The dove flies away. The door opens. I put the gun back in the drawer. The screaming and shouting starts. I try to jot down phonetically what they’re saying. Then the yelling stops. I go out on the terrace. Four guys who look like trouble file out of her building. The first has the swagger of an alpha. The second must be a mechanic. He’s wearing one of those dirty jumpsuits with the address and logo of an auto repair shop printed on the back. The third has a walrus mustache so big I can see it from all the way up here. The last one is completely bald. 

I watch them as they get into their car and leave. Then she walks out on her balcony. Tears still streaming down her face. She’s got a black eye. She’s younger than I thought. Almost as young as my daughter was when she got killed. ‘‘So it’s you,’’ I whisper to myself. She turns and looks right at me. One of those ‘cry for help’ looks. Then she goes back inside. And her light goes out. I flip through my Turkish-English dictionary. I must have butchered the spelling cause I can’t find the words I jotted down. So I call Jack.

Jack hops on the stool next to me. ‘‘Should I fuck off again and come back next week?’’ he jokes. I apologize and buy him a drink.

‘‘So what made you change your mind?’’ he asks. 

‘‘I didn’t.’’

‘‘Oh great! Here we go again.’’

‘‘No don’t worry I’ll still pay you. I just need you to translate something for me.’’ 

I pull out the crumbled pieces of paper from my pocket and hand it to him. ‘‘What’s this?’’ he asks. I tell him about the girl. I tell him about the men harassing the girl. He takes a look at it. 

‘‘Well you certainly butchered the spelling but I think this one says ‘bizimle geleceksin.’ ’’

“Yeah one of the guys kept saying that,’’ I pounce. ‘‘What does it mean?’’

‘‘It means ‘you’re coming with us.’ ’’

‘‘And what did she say?’’ I ask pointing at the second line.

“ ‘Gelmicem, gelmicem.’ Sounds like she was refusing to go with them.”

“I knew it,” I say snatching back the papers.

“Knew what?”

“Isn’t it obvious? These guys are sex traffickers.”

“That’s quite a leap,” he scoffs.

“The fuck it is. I know it. I just know it.” 

“Well if you’re that convinced we should go to the police and…”

“No cops!’’ I say cutting him off.

“Why won’t you go to the cops?”

“Cops are useless. You want something done in this world you gotta do it yourself. But I’m gonna need your help with the language barrier.”

Jack jumps to his feet and starts putting on his jacket.

“What are you crazy? I’m not getting involved with some Turkish gang you suspect of sex trafficking.”

I take out a wad of cash and slam it on the counter. There goes my booze money for the rest of the month. Jack stares at it. “There’s a lot more of where that came from,” I tell him. He grabs it and shoves it in his pocket. “Why do you care so much about this girl?” he asks. “I don’t know. I just do.” 

I go to Bostancı and find the auto repair shop. I start waiting. There he is. He closes up and starts walking. I follow. I follow him into a dolmuş. We end up in some hookah bar in Üsküdar. The other three are there already. Playing rummikub in the corner. The Mechanic joins them. 

I sit nearby but with my back to them. The waiter brings me tea in one of those small hourglass shaped cups. There’s a newspaper and a pen on the table. I grab the pen and pretend to be solving the crossword puzzle. Instead I’m jotting down words that keep coming up in their conversations. A while later a man with a big scar on his face who looks like he runs the joint walks over to their table. He hands the Alpha an envelope full of cash. Then they leave. I follow the Alpha home. Turns out he and the Mechanic are roommates.

I invite Jack over to my place. I show him the crossword puzzle. The words that kept coming up in their conversations. One of them is orospu. Jack translates that as “whore.” All the others are slang for money.

“You still think it’s a leap?” I ask Jack.

“Yes I do actually. Repairing cars and playing rummikub every night? They don’t exactly strike me as criminal masterminds.”

“The auto repair shop is a front,” I tell him. “So is the hookah bar.”

“How do you know that?” he asks. 

“The guy that runs the hookah bar handed the Alpha an envelope full of cash. Now why the fuck would he do that?”       

“I can think of a number of reasons. Look you could be connecting all sorts of dots that might not even be there. Or things could be getting lost in translation,” he insists.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” I rebut. “Let’s go and ask her.”

I ring the bell. She cracks open the door. Her black eye has now taken on a piss yellowish hue. Jack introduces us in Turkish. Her name is Melek and Jack tells me she says she’s sorry about the noise and that it won’t happen again. I have him tell her that I’m not here about the noise. That I’m here about the men. That I can ensure her safety. She panics. Mumbles something in Turkish and shuts the door.

“What the hell happened?” I ask.

“She asked us not to get involved. That there would be trouble if they even knew we were here.”

“Did she say who ‘they’ were?”

“No but that doesn’t matter. What matters is she asked us not to get involved. Don’t you      think that someone who was in that kind of danger would’ve welcomed your offer of protection instead of slamming the door in your face?” replies Jack.

“She’s scared you idiot! Don’t you get it? We have to save her…” I rage trying to ring the doorbell again.

Jack grabs my hand to stop me. 

I twist his arm around and slam him against the wall face first. He grunts in pain. I let him go.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jack whisper screams grabbing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re crazy man! I’m outta here,” he says running down the stairs still rubbing his shoulder.

I wake up at the bar. Actually the bartender wakes me up. It’s closing time. I start walking home. Then I see them. The Alpha and the Mechanic storm out of Melek’s building followed by Baldie and Walrus dragging her to the car. I scream at them. They don’t hear me. They push her in the backseat and speed off. I run after them. She turns around and looks at me. One of those ‘cry for help’ looks. I run as hard as I can. I run until I collapse. The car turns the corner and disappears.

I pick myself up. I walk back but I look up at my apartment and notice some shadows moving behind the curtain. There’s quite a few of them. Then a man parts the curtain with a gun to peek out. I get out of there. I go to the warehouse where I keep my gear. I tuck a Smith & Wesson 686 under my belt. Boot knife. I also get the 12-gauge sawed-off shotgun and sling it on my shoulder. Throw on my black trench coat to conceal it. 

I go to the hookah bar. They’re not there. I start waiting. Scarface pulls up in his car. Parks and walks in. I confront him. I keep saying “Melek” to let him know I’m looking for her. He gives me a dirty look and waves me away like a fly. I smack his hand out of my face. He goes behind the counter. I go to grab his elbow. He pulls out a tire iron with his free hand. I draw my gun and shoot him. Twice. He falls against the shelves. All the hourglass shaped glasses shatter into a million tiny crystals. The whole place clears out.

Suddenly Baldie bolts out of the kitchen with a döner knife. Before I can even get off a shot he charges me like a bull and slashes my arm. We both land on a table. Rummikub tiles scatter all over the floor. The gun flies out of my hand. I stumble back to my feet. Blood gushing from my arm. Baldie lunges toward the gun. Before he can get to it I swivel the shotgun around and pump a round into him. He levitates and then flies back against the wall.

I pick up my gun. I notice Scarface slowly crawling toward the rear exit. Smearing a trail of blood and broken glass behind him. I walk over. Flip him on his back. My big black boot on his throat. I can’t tell if he’s cursing me out or gurgling on his own blood cause I’m stepping on his neck too hard. Whatever. I shove the barrel of the shotgun down his throat. Knock his front teeth in. And blow his head open like a watermelon.

I take his car keys. A crowd has gathered out front. I walk out with pieces of brain matter on my face. Blood pouring down my arm. And a shotgun in my hand. Everybody parts like the red sea. I get in the car and turn on the ignition. I see Walrus from a distance. He’s running towards us. Pedal to the metal. It takes a while for him to realize that someone is actually trying to run him over. He tries to get out of the way but it’s too late. I plough into him. His body twists and turns in the air before smashing through the window of a bridal shop. 

I crash into a garbage can. Trash and stray cats flying all over the place. Women screaming. Alarms blaring. I wanna make sure he’s dead though. But when I open the door to get out I realize I hurt my knee real bad. Fuck it. I limp to him. He’s groaning. Wrapped up in a bunch of bloody wedding dresses. Two bullets to the head puts an end to the groaning. I hear sirens. It jolts me out of my daze. I speed limp back to the car and screech out of there. 

I drive to the Alpha’s place. I limp up the stairs. I bang on the door. Someone looks through the peephole. I reload the shotgun and blast the door off its hinges. I hear Melek start to scream in one of the backrooms. I kick in what’s left of the door and step over the Mechanic to get to her. He grabs my ankle. I try to blow his head open too but the shotgun is jammed. I toss it and pull out the gun. Two bullets to the head ends the grabbing.

Melek keeps screaming. I limp across the dark hallway. I reach her room. The Alpha tackles me from behind. I fall down. He lands on top of me. I turn around to get up but he sits on my chest and starts chocking me. I can’t fight him off. I’m about to lose consciousness. I pull the knife from my boot. I stab him in the jugular. Blood splatters all over my face. Melek goes into shock. She stops screaming.

I push him off me. He’s still writhing. A bullet to the head would end the writhing but I’m out of bullets. I drop the gun. I pick up Melek. Neighbors retreat back into their apartments and lock their doors as I make my way down each floor. When I step out of the building I’m greeted by the man who parted the curtain in my apartment with his gun. I put down Melek to deal with him. But somebody sneaks up from behind and puts a bag over my head. They throw me in the back of a van. I struggle. A needle to the neck puts an end to the struggling.

I wake up cuffed to a bed. IV dripping in my vein. Bandages around my knee and arm. But there’s no TV or furniture of any kind. And only one tiny window with steel bars. It looks like a cell converted into a hospital room. An elderly man in military uniform is standing over me. “My name is Dr. Breman,” he says. “I believe you met… well let’s just keep calling him Jack.” I lift my head and see Jack standing by the door. I barely recognize him in that dark suit and slicked back hair.

“Where am I?” I whisper.

“An undisclosed location,” he says.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Your name popped up in our system a while back so we had to start monitoring you.”

“What system?”

“The one that throws up a red flag when one of our old killing machines is about to malfunction.”

“Malfunction? All I did was save a poor little girl from…”

“You still think that’s what you did?” comes the rhetorical question. He turns to Jack and says, “So much for your boss’ little experiment.”

“What fucking experiment?” 

“A failed experiment,” he replies. “You see if it were up to me I would’ve either neutralized you or thrown you in a mental institution. Pump you full of drugs. Turn you into a vegetable for the rest of your natural life. But some of my more utopian colleagues insisted that we could just plant Sancho Panza here with you and that he could gently guide you out of your Don Quixote complex before you shot up all those human windmills.”

“I told you. All I did was save a poor little girl from sex traffickers. She lived all by herself and those bastards were…”

Dr. Breman throws up his hands and turns away from me. He walks over to Jack and gets right in his face. Jack looks down. Then he turns back to me.

“Melek did not live all by herself. She was married.”

“Bullshit! I never saw any husband around,” I protest.

“That’s because he’s barely ever there. He works on cargo ships. He’s gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time. But in between those trips he likes to get drunk and give her a black eye.”

“So they were taking advantage of her husband’s absence. I saw them kidnap her right from her home you know!! I saw it with my own eyes!!”

“What you saw was a bunch of Turkish guys being very pushy. But a kidnapping it was not.”

“All that talk about whores and money?” 

“Locker room bullshit.”

“Envelopes full of cash changing hands?”

“He owned the hookah bar. That envelope was rent money.” 

“Fuck you!!! So who the hell were those guys then? A bunch of good samaritans?” 

Dr. Breman leans over and gets real close.

“The men you killed,” he whispers, “they were her family. They were trying to get her to move back in with them. To get her away from an abusive husband.”

I shake my head.

“The guy who’s throat you slit right in front of her? That was Melek’s father.”

I keep shaking my head.

“The one you shot through the door. That was her uncle.” 

 I’m tuning him out. He can keep talking all he wants. I just turn and start gazing out the tiny window.

 “The other two were her older brothers. One of them sometimes worked the kitchen at the hookah bar. Spins a mean döner by the way.”

I just keep gazing out the window. Dr. Breman heads for the door. “What are we gonna do with him?” asks Jack. “We’ll either neutralize him or throw him in a mental institution. Pump him full of drugs. Turn him into a vegetable for the rest of his natural life. I haven’t decided yet.”

Dr. Breman leaves. Jack follows. But he steps back in. “I’m very sorry about your daughter,” he says. He lingers for a moment. Then walks out. The door is shut and locked. I keep gazing out the window. I keep gazing. And gazing. And finally. A dove lands on the window ledge. We look at each other for a while. “Is that you?” I ask.