One last wheeze and the body became a corpse.
It was only then that he paid any attention to the transvestite, his loyal partner, his quiet helper. The transvestite had abandoned the stepfather’s shriveled one-eyed snake and turned her head, with an expression of submission and blood splattered all over her hair and face. Her eyes shined with both fear and regret, but all the same, they told him: We are partners in destiny, made of the same clay — we are one. It was a look that proclaimed to him, If you want, we can run away from here, together — you hold the reins in your hands, I don’t care if the disaster you’ve created for yourself consumes me too...
He looked at the transvestite’s messy fake-blond hair, at her determined eyes, seeing the threatening gleam of her gaze that contrasted with her compassion; he looked at her bloody face, and at the blood-red lipstick smeared all around her full lips. Her scorching honesty, which aroused a sense of gratitude, and of indebtedness, stirred something else inside him — an unsettling truth. It was now obvious to him that he had walked through that door, and that there was no going back, and that now he stood on the threshold of yet another point of no return. It was a horrifying moment, when he realized that he derived pleasure from pleasures he had never experienced before. A moment when he surrendered to his true desires, the ones he had run from and hidden, hidden from and ignored. A moment of defeat at the hands of the realization that this startling, frightening, abhorrent passion existed within him too.
An extra body
by Bariş Müstecaplioğlu
Altunizade
Hasan took a puff from his cigarette. “Have you ever seen an anthill?” he asked. “I love ants. They’re just so damned hard-working, those little creatures. They can keep walking up and down the same path for hours, carrying all kinds of shit to their homes — twigs at least twice their size, things to eat, all kinds of stuff. And they never, ever get sick of it. Put your foot down in front of them and they stomp right over it, or walk right around it. It doesn’t faze them, not one bit; they never get tired of obstacles. I adore those little bastards.”
Just then, an ant zigzagging along the stone floor paused, as if aware that it was the topic of conversation; its legs trembled slightly, then it continued along its way.
Murat scratched his cheek and licked his chapped lips.
“They’re just animals, man. They don’t have a choice; they just do what they’ve always done, what the rest of them do. They’ve been around forever, but have they tried to figure out an easier way to carry those twigs? Pick it up with your mouth and carry it, just like your daddy did — geniuses, fucking geniuses! I mean, shit, man, thousands of years and the dudes haven’t made one bit of progress.”
Hasan scowled at the younger man. He felt an odd rage build up inside of him, a rage that he himself couldn’t understand, as if he were the butt of some nasty joke. “Ants are not common animals,” he said, stressing each word. “They’re a lot smarter than many of the assholes I know.”
Murat gave him an uncomprehending look and shrugged.
“Fuck it...”
Murat chuckled good-naturedly. “You want another tea, man? Your glass is empty.”
“No thanks,” Hasan replied. “I’ve had enough today. And you shouldn’t drink so much of that stuff either. You’re gonna get sick.”
“It’s not like we’ll die from drinking tea, man,” Murat said with a chuckle. “We’ll be dead long—”
“Whatever,” Hasan said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Just don’t drink so much.”
Murat’s eyes moved to the bed where Hasan was perched. “This is so fucked up. How are we gonna get this guy out of here?”
Hasan turned and looked at the figure lying on the bed. He was a bulky man in his thirties, with thick black hair, naked except for a pair of boxers. He had a chiseled face, the kind a lot of women find attractive. The hole in his head hasn’t cramped his style at all, Hasan thought, like it’s some beauty mark or something. His face was perfectly clean below the nose, but his eyebrows were crimson with blood, and his legs and one of his arms were covered in it too. Hasan’s hand went to his waist, out of habit, just to check on his reliable old Glock 35 and the silencer next to it. He’d never been able to shake off the anxiety he felt after a hit — fear that he’d forgotten his gun at the crime scene and the police would trace it back to him and nail his ass. The scenario had plagued him ever since his very first job.
It’s been decades, and I still haven’t made one bit of progress.
“You sure there’s no saw or anything up there?”
“No, man, I looked all over. I looked up there too. Not even a bread knife. I looked for a sack, but there’s nothing except these grocery bags. Barely big enough for the dude’s head. I’ve got me a good pocketknife here, but...”
Hasan smiled at the younger man’s joke. “So if we can’t cut him up, we’ll just have to lug him out like this. Let’s just hope Ali brings an extra sack.”
“Ali’s gonna be pissed...” grumbled Murat.
“Well, fuck that. What the hell can we do about it? It’s not like we did it on purpose.”
“Yes, I want him dead. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my entire life. No matter what, you absolutely must finish him off, not just wound him. He’d know I was behind it and that would be the end of me. You will make absolutely certain that he’s dead, right?”
“Don’t you worry, Zeynep Hanım. We’ve been doing this for years.”
What a fine woman, Hasan thought to himself. If I had a woman like that, I wouldn’t even think about cheating on her. Some guys just don’t know what they’ve got. Hasan felt jealous (and he knew it) of the man who’d managed to nab this tasty side dish. As the old proverb goes, money attracts money, and one woman attracts more women; it was like some kind of law of nature.
The young woman touched the bruise on her cheek with her index finger. Hasan liked her red lipstick.
“You see what he did to me? Bastard. Abuses me just because he can. But would he ever beat his wife? Of course not; he wouldn’t, couldn’t do it. He can only get away with beating me.”
“You should break it off with him, Zeynep Hanım.” Hasan let out a heavy sigh. “The best thing for you to do is get out of here, hide somewhere far away until we’re done with this.”
“My job, my life, everything I have is here,” said Zeynep, with an audible crack in her voice. “Besides, he would find me. There’s nothing, nothing that’s beyond his reach... You don’t know him. No, he would never let me leave him. I’ve tried, I’ve told him so many times. Why do you think he beats me? He won’t leave his wife, and he won’t let me leave him...”
She reached out and took the man’s hands in her own.
“He’s the one who made me do this.”
Hasan looked down at the soft hands resting on his wrists. He felt a slight stirring between his legs.
“Just three more days and it’ll all be over,” he said, looking the woman in the eye. “I swear.”
“We gonna get a bonus for this?” Murat asked with a laugh. He scratched at his palm; the surgical gloves were making him itch, as usual. He wished he was as lucky as Hasan; the gloves never made Hasan itch. Why did his skin have to be so sensitive? The next day his palms would be covered in a rash, and they’d probably swell too. “That’s the first time I’ve knocked somebody off for free in a long time.”