Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  “You have a week to increase it to ninety. Send an envoy to those who don’t cooperate. Tell them it’s the last warning and their only chance. The next message will be delivered by Iblīs.”

  “Yes, Reis.”

  “I want the Aegean and Mediterranean regions to be mine within four months. The Black Sea, Eastern, and Central Anatolia regions by spring. Make sure they understand their choices. They can prosper with me or rot. If I don’t have control over my own country, how can I gain control over Europe?”

  “Yes, Reis.”

  “What else?”

  “The Asani cartel is still choking in blood. I think we should…”

  Talha stopped listening as Slater, completing a half-circle around the table, stopped behind his back. Propping his elbow on the backrest of Talha’s chair, he rested his chin on his palm. He whispered, his breath touching Talha’s neck. “You have a rat in your nest, Master.”

  What?

  Slater unbent. Passing behind the tall chair, he scrutinized people sitting on the other side of the table. Someone spoke, but Talha didn’t listen. Looping Slater’s words in his head, he missed the reports from three lieutenants before Slater finished the whole circle.

  Who? How does he know? Talha’s attention bounced from one face to another, as his mind scrolled through the backgrounds of every man present in the room. Some of these people he’d known for years. Many times, he’d trusted them with his life, yet it could be anyone.

  Twelve people. Nineteen provinces. Two regions. One common goal which could easily become a stumbling block—money and power. How many of those who he called comrades would want to eliminate him to create a power vacuum? How many of them would want to fight for the right to stand at the top of the hill?

  Any of them… Talha had to admit, but another thought inhabited his head. What if Slater is messing around? What if he is lying to breed strife? Why should I trust him when all he does is mess around?

  “Talha?” Dinçer called, demanding his attention.

  Maybe this is what Slater wants? To isolate me. To instill paranoia in my mind. To make me doubt my lieutenants. Talha observed Dinçer’s serious face. His black hair, short at the temples and longer on top, looked like he spent at least half an hour messing with it. Shaking his head, Talha refused to think it could be him.

  “No?” Dinçer’s brows rose.

  “No, what?” Talha said, dumbfounded, catching more curious eyes on himself.

  Dinçer mouthed, “What the fuck?” but repeated himself, “We are talking about approaching the Kaya Cartel from the Mediterranean region and offering them the deal first. They are huge. If we swallow them, the rest will fall to our feet.”

  “Great. Do it.” Getting angry at himself for allowing Slater to ruin his concentration and get into his head, Talha rubbed his forehead.

  “Then, are we done?” Dinçer repeated. “Do you have anything else on your agenda?”

  “No...” Talha tried to get back into business mode but couldn’t. Slater’s words unsettled his mind throwing it into the loop. Tonight, ten people would leave Istanbul. The rat might be among them. Getting up, Talha said, “Actually, I have. Tonight, I’m having a small party here, so I expect you all to honor me with your presence for a quiet dinner. You are more than welcome to bring a plus one if you please, but keep in mind that escort girls will be the light and color of the night.”

  “Girls, nice!” Someone exclaimed as the laughter rolled in the room. Talha sensed a few hard, unhappy glares yet no one dared to decline his offer.

  “Dismissed.” He finished and strode out of the Grand Hall. Passing Slater, he whispered, “Follow me.”

  Striding down the carpet road, Talha approached his bedroom, pulled the door open, and gestured for Slater to enter. The door slammed behind him as he stepped into the dim room. The smell of bitter almond and nutmeg enveloped him, calming him down.

  Strolling across the room, Slater slumped onto the messy bed, his eyes shimmering with curiosity and something else, something similar to mockery.

  “Speak,” Talha ordered.

  “Oh, Slater will, but the information isn’t free, Master.” Slater stretched the words, his smile building.

  Hands balling into fists, Talha blew the air out of his mouth. The single line said by the reaper irritated him. “Speak.”

  “As you wish, Master. Slater will name the rat, but Slater wants something in return. It’s only fair, Master.”

  Talha’s throat closed as the familiar rage that lack of control always stirred in him throbbed in his fingertips. Getting sick of the reaper’s games, he asked, “What do you want? Money?”

  “Master doesn’t learn,” the liquid voice drawled, ringing with displeasure. “Slater keeps saying, but Master never listens. Slater. Doesn’t. Need. Money. Slater will name the rat, but Master stays with Slater tonight. Master has to stop running. Tonight, Master, you stay with Slater.”

  “It’s a party tonight,” Talha reasoned. “A lot of people will be here. Some will stay over.”

  “Tonight, Master, or no deal.” Slater’s face darkened, which only intensified his bright, hungry eyes.

  “Fine,” Talha said through gritted teeth. “If you say the truth, I’ll spend the night with you. But listen carefully, if you drop fake accusations or can’t prove your words, I’m going to burn you alive and watch you squirm. Is it clear?”

  “Crystal.” Slater grinned.

  Someone knocked, and the door creaked open. Darting a glance down the corridor, Dinçer stepped in.

  “What the hell is going on, Talha? What are you, in love or your girlfriend is pregnant? You daydreamed during the meeting. And a party?” Disregarding Slater’s presence, he ambled through the room. “I had plans for tonight.”

  Talha didn’t know what to say. The grain of doubt, the reaper planted, gave the first sprout. Instead of answering his friend, he pressed Slater. “Name. Now.”

  A superior smile touched the plump mouth as the reaper slowly, playfully, dragged his lazy gaze over Dinçer.

  “No games.”

  Smile dropping under Talha’s deathly glare, Slater slurred mimicking Salik’s speech, “Fine. It’s Toothless.”

  “Are you talking cartoons?” Dinçer’s gaze fixed on Slater, disapproval tugged the corners of his lips downwards. “I don’t care who you are, but get up from Reis’ bed right now. Where are your manners?”

  Talha laughed as the realization hit. “You don’t even know his name. How can I believe you? I must be out of my mind.”

  Slater paled, shooting to his feet. “Slater never lies, Master.”

  “Let’s pretend I believe you. Tell me, why on earth did you attend the meeting? Did you do it with Behçet? How many people know who you are? Why on earth do I need a reaper who is a walking target?”

  “Don’t worry, Master. Slater never attended Behçet’s meetings. Slater wasn’t interested. Only your people know,” he pointed toward Dinçer with his chin. “Should Slater kill them?”

  “No. Why did you attend now?” Talha narrowed his eyes. The events didn’t make sense to him.

  “The rat is in the house. Master is careless. Slater should protect.”

  “Oh my god…” The splitting headache, settling, made thinking difficult. Approaching the window, Talha opened the wooden leaf, letting in the smell of heated dust.

  “Am I missing something?” Dinçer frowned. Body tensing, his feet took a defensive stance.

  “Slater says I have a toothless rat in my house,” Talha’s face refused to drop that tight, jaw-numbing smile.

  “A toothless rat?” Dinçer repeated.

  “Salik,” Talha spat out the name.

  “Salik is the rat?” Dinçer considered the words for a moment before he burst out laughing. “You say he rats us out to the cops? Impossible. Also, Salik is an old friend. You talk nonsense.”

  “Not cops, no.” Slater’s restless fingers fumbled over his black pants as if he was looking for the comfort
the weapon provided, except today he didn’t carry anything. “To Behçet Asani.”

  “It’s very comfortable, isn’t it? He is dead, so he can’t confirm or deny anything you say.” Talha smirked.

  Pushing away from the windowsill, he circled Slater then stopped behind his back. “Why should I believe you? Salik and I have been working together for years. He had always been loyal. Do you have any proof?”

  Palms clasping around Slater’s throat, Talha counted his pulse. Slow at first, it quickened as the seconds ticked. The thought that it must be fear disappeared, as the familiar color of arousal touched Slater’s cheeks. Talha dropped his hands.

  “Slater never lies, Master,” the reaper croaked, slowly turning around. His eyes, burning with desire, fixed on Talha, pupils blown.

  “Fine,” Talha gave up, hoping Dinçer didn’t notice Slater’s arousal. “Can you prove your words? I can’t kill a person based solely on your word.”

  “No?” Slater’s head tilted to the side. “Too bad. Master should start trusting Slater.”

  Dinçer laughed, earning a dark glare from the reaper. “Go and tell this to Behçet, you renegade. No one will ever trust you here.”

  “Is that so?” Slater’s facial muscle tensed, making his expression insane with the mix of anger and lust in it. “Master will. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Master will.”

  “Enough,” Talha cut him off before Slater could say something inappropriate. “Prove your words now.”

  “As you wish, Master…” Slater hissed. “Two weeks before the mosque shootout, Toothless met Behçet. They talked for forty minutes before they shook on a deal.”

  “Which deal?”

  “Toothless is being late to the mosque, so Talha doesn’t get support in time. Toothless helps Behçet to kill Talha, and they share Istanbul.”

  “Didn’t you say you weren’t present in any of Behçet’s meetings?” Dinçer interrupted.

  “Slater wasn’t invited, so Slater remained in shadows.”

  “Eavesdropped?” Dinçer scoffed, and Slater grinned.

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you even want him, Talha? He is a traitor. He will betray you too.”

  “Let’s imagine I believe you,” Talha ignored Dinçer’s remark. “Can you prove this?”

  “Proof…” Slater stretched the vowels as he shuffled up to a window and peered out. “I’ll bring you the proof tonight.”

  “Don’t show up without it,” Talha said, bringing his attention to his friend. “Help me to arrange the party. I’m running out of time.”

  Without a word, Slater stole to the door, but Dinçer’s hand seized his elbow. “Wait. I want to ask you something.”

  Slater snarled. “No one touches Slater.”

  “Sorry.” Stepping back, Dinçer gave the reaper space. “In the mosque, there was a teenage boy. Do you know him?”

  “Yes,” was Slater’s only reply, but contempt poisoned his beautiful features.

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have him.”

  “Little Ifrīt[21] is alive?” Slater’s eyes hardened.

  “Ifrīt?”

  “Behçet was greedy. Iblīs wasn’t enough, so he found Ifrīt.”

  “I haven’t heard of him.” Glancing at Talha, Dinçer shrugged.

  “He wasn’t fully active,” Slater explained, his expression a mix of boredom and annoyance, as if the topic irritated him.

  “Why did he want someone else?” It was the first time he’d heard about Ifrīt as well. If the boy was at least half as capable as Slater, maybe he didn’t need Iblīs. “Did he want to get rid of you?”

  “No.” Pure, boiling rage resounded in a short reply. “Behçet wanted little Ifrīt around all the time. So young, so pretty. Boys like him are harder to break than girls. Still, they are so delicate, so innocent.”

  Is this jealousy? Talha guessed, peering into Slater’s features. Did he kill Behçet because of Ifrīt?

  “This is sick. I don’t believe you,” Dinçer deadpanned.

  “Your call.” Slater’s tight-lipped smile grew, turning evil, and Talha knew he didn’t lie.

  “How old is he?” Red spots of anger popped over Dinçer’s neck as he squared his jaw. “What’s his name?”

  “Why? Do you want to fuck little Ifrīt too? Not that I care…”

  “You are sick and should be put down.” Fingers twitching, as if wanting to touch the familiar coolness of steel, Dinçer scowled.

  “Enough,” Talha raised his palm. “Reply. Now.”

  “Savaş. He is fifteen.”

  “Fifteen? This is sick.” Stabbing his fingers into his hair, Dinçer spun on his heels and tugged at his scalp, messing his already disheveled hair.

  “When were you going to tell me? Is it the boy with the Uzi who shot at me?” Talha crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t like secrets, not when it came to work.

  “Well, yeah…” The man sighed, then confessed, “I didn’t know if he would survive. The bullet fractured his jaw. He had major blood loss and spent the last weeks in coma. There was nothing to report. He woke up yesterday, but refuses to talk.”

  “Put him down,” Slater said without compassion. “Little Ifrīt is nothing without his pretty face.”

  “Shut up. No one wants your opinion.”

  Talha’s headache intensified as he listened to the two men fight.

  “Keep an eye on him. If you can’t convert him, put him down. Now, help me with the party.” Talha said, finishing the conversation. “Slater, you go get your proof.”

  GHOSTLY HANDS OF WARM, gentle breeze caressed Talha’s skin under his shirt as he stood in the garden behind his mansion. The Ney flute music streamed in the air, as orange light, coming from torches and the massive fireplace in the center of the garden, glinted on the glasses and plates. Long tables, covered with white silk, circled the fireplace.

  Peals of laughter rollicked in the night, as the men drank and smoked shisha and hashish. Slender bodies of belly-dancers, hiding behind transparent scarves, entranced the men in the millennium-old dance of seduction. Golden coins and glass beads, embroidered into their clothes, sparkled and attracted gazes to the soft curves of their bodies, dressed in nothing but bedlah[22].

  Seeking Salik, Talha passed from one table to another, encouraging people to drink more, and therefore stay longer. As he passed the unlit area, he saw a long, pale leg wrapped around Güvenç’s hip as the man pinned a woman to a tree. His heavy pants joining her high-pitched ones. Talha strolled away. The only place he hadn’t searched yet was the hidden bower, deeper in the garden.

  “Midnight,” Dinçer said, approaching him from behind. “He isn’t coming, and you can’t stop people from leaving.”

  “I know…” Talha growled his annoyance. “Go, find Salik. Make sure he is having fun and doesn’t want to leave. Get him drunk, if needed, but don’t let him leave.”

  Cheek jerking, Talha marched through the garden and found a smaller young woman dressed in white, with an almost non-existent top and a transparent skirt that bared her legs with every sway of her hips. Her coal eyes had reddish, demonic glints of the open fire in them. At any other time, Talha would have dragged her upstairs into his bedroom, but not today.

  “Come with me.” Grabbing her wrist, he tugged her toward the bower; her white bedlah swishing with every step taken as she staggered after him barefoot.

  “What are you doing, Master?” The liquid voice, coming from behind, stopped him on his tracks.

  “You are late.” Talha faced the reaper.

  “You didn’t really miss me, as I can see.” Giving a hard stare to the dancer, Slater circled them, eyeing the woman up and down. “She is pretty.”

  “Wait,” he ordered Slater before addressing the woman. “See the bower? Go there and make sure my friends are having fun. No one can leave, you understand? Do that, and you will be generously rewarded.”

  With a quick nod,
the brunette sashayed toward the torch-lit area.

  “You are late,” Talha repeated, facing Slater again.

  The reaper stood with his hands curled up in front of his chest, his nose tugging at the air. “Master didn’t fuck the woman. Good.”

  Trying to ignore the remark, Talha asked, “Did you bring the proof?”

  “Yes,” Pulling a thin Smartphone out of his pocket he offered it to Talha, but his hand froze half-way. “Master stays with Slater tonight. No women.”

  Without answering, Talha snatched the device out of the Reaper’s hands. “What am I looking at?”

  “Behçet’s phone.”

  Talha sighed, thumbing the screen. “It’s locked.”

  “Try Ifrīt,” his acrid words drowned in the whistle of appreciation coming from the bower.

  Lifting a brow, Talha typed the name. The phone chimed, unlocking.

  Talha concentrated, scrolling through contacts, messenger history, phone records, voice messages, and installed apps. Entering the cell phone provider’s app, Talha requested the call detail record.

  “Fuck my life…” he breathed, as pieces of a puzzle clicked together, revealing the picture of betrayal. Someone named ‘Toothless’ had a long and entertaining discussion with the owner of the phone he held. Talha didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that the reference Mardin'in Piçi [23]was about him, and that Slater was right. Toothless set him up.

  Without sparing Slater a second glance, Talha stormed toward the bower. Five men, including Dinçer and Salik, sat around the table drinking whiskey. The woman he’d sent danced close to the fire. Seeing Talha, Dinçer got up and stood by his side, question in his burning gaze.

  Showing him the display, Talha thumbed the name Toothless.

  Salik blinked with heavy lids as his phone chimed. Pulling it out of his jacket’s pocket, he stared at the screen. Merriment gone, he sobered up.

  “Take his phone,” Talha ordered, ignoring the concerned gazes of his lieutenants. Leaping toward the traitor, Dinçer fetched his phone, showing Talha a screen that said ‘Behçet Asani’.