‘My knuckles, actually.’
‘What happened?’
‘A friendly reminder from my last case,’ I replied.
‘Do you always get injured on these investigations?’
‘Lately, I’ve been unlucky.’ Or lucky, depending on how you looked at being cut out of a parachute and surviving the fall.
‘Oh,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘So, you are going to Incirlik tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish you better fortune there.’
‘Thanks, I hope you get your wish.’
‘Where is Special Agent Masters tonight? Nasor was disappointed.’
‘Her fiancé’s in town.’
‘She is getting married?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Please give her my congratulations.’
‘I take it you’re married, doc?’
‘No. In this country the husband must provide a dowry. I could not find one with enough goats and camels to satisfy my father.’ The doctor laughed. ‘Why do you think I am married?’
‘The veil. Isn’t it something married women wear?’
‘Yes, and no. And in Turkey, what you call a veil we call a türban. Wearing a türban can mean that you are married, or engaged, or widowed, or devout, or old, or any reason you choose.’
‘By “devout”, you mean fundamentalist?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you are devout?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m surprised,’ I told her.
‘Why?’
‘Because, in the West, we view Moslem fundamentalists in a certain way.’
‘You don’t have to worry – I am not wearing a bomb,’ she said.
‘I was getting ready to run.’
‘The West has much to learn about Islam. And perhaps it also has much to learn from Islam. But that is another argument. Turkey is a secular Moslem country. If you are in the public service, for example, you cannot wear a türban to work – it is against the law. Sometimes, when I am feeling close to God, I wear a türban while I am working, because I am not in the public service. When I met you the first time, I was not wearing it. I did not think it was something I had to warn you about.’
‘Not at all, doc. Just curious, is all.’
‘In Turkey, we are still an Islamic country, and most Turks follow the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, may his name be praised. My family is also from the country. My father and brothers are religious and wearing the türban in public does them honour. So when I am out walking, I always wear a türban.’
‘You don’t find the whole veil/türban thing a little, y’know – anti-woman?’ I felt uncomfortable asking the question, but Doc Merkit just didn’t seem to fit the mould as I perceived it, and I was interested to see what made her tick – bomb or no bomb.
‘Anti-woman? I am surprised! You are sounding like one of your feminists.’
‘Just trying to get in touch with my X chromosome, doc.’
‘The veil, as you call it – it liberates me. I am a rich, educated, professional woman. Istanbul is a modern city, but independent career women like me are still unusual and there is some prejudice. So this is another reason why I wear the türban. Men do not harass me; they think I am either married, or devout, or perhaps both. I can come and go as I please, unnoticed.’
‘So it’s a kind of camouflage,’ I said.
She thought about that before answering. ‘Yes – but it is also more. I am one of the faithful.’
The waiter arrived and asked if there was anything else we wanted.
‘Look at the time,’ said the doctor, suddenly aware of it. ‘You are getting up early tomorrow. You should get some sleep. I must go.’
I wondered why the sudden rush. ‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘The mini-bar back in my room is probably wondering where I am.’ The doctor began fishing around in her bag, I guessed for her purse. I said, ‘Let Uncle Sugar get this, doc. It’d be his pleasure.’
‘Are you sure?’
I nodded.
‘Thank you. Well, then . . . shall we go?’
The doctor and I made our way to the door, the waiter hovering and wishing us a good night. We stood outside the restaurant, beneath its awning, and looked on a changed world. Everything was covered in a layer of white. The flakes floating down from the green-black cloud layer above were smaller than I’d seen falling earlier, but there were infinitely more of them. Vehicles were marooned on the roads, which had mostly disappeared beneath the falls. A motorcycle parked nearby had a pillow of snow on the tank and seat at least a foot high. A cab down on a far corner tried to move but instead skidded into another parked car, the deadened sound of the impact reaching my ears as a brittle crunch. The doc was marooned on the Sultanahmet.
I put the problem to her. ‘How am I going to get you home, doc? The only things moving out on the roads are idiots, and walking a few miles in this doesn’t seem such a good idea, either.’
‘Yes. I don’t know,’ said Doc Merkit, neck craned out, checking up and down the street.
I could only think of one solution, but even as I voiced it I wasn’t exactly sure of my motives. ‘My hotel is near,’ I offered. ‘We could go there for a while.’
‘And if the weather doesn’t improve, yes, I will take a room for the night.’
‘Good idea, doc,’ I said. There you go, problem solved. In truth, there weren’t many alternatives.
We were standing outside the Hotel Charisma only a few minutes later, brushing the snow from our shoulders and stamping it off our feet. The falls were getting heavier. The foyer was empty. A handwritten sign explained that the front desk would be unattended for twenty minutes. I wondered when the sign had been placed there.
I went around behind the bench, removed the key to my room from its hook, and led the way to the elevator. No one saw us going through the foyer, which was a relief. Being seen by any locals heading up to my room wouldn’t have looked so great on the doctor’s résumé, blizzard or not. As the elevator climbed we stood like a couple of strangers, watching the floors light up one by one on the control board, both of us suddenly quiet.
My room was medium-sized – basically, all bedroom with a large king-size bed dominating the space, an en-suite off one corner and a sofa bed in the corner opposite. There was enough room left for a compact circular dining table with two chairs, a television cabinet, a closet, and a kitchenette in the short hallway to the front door. But it was warm and free from snowfalls, unlike the street outside, which, I gathered from glancing out the window, was now totally obscured by windborne flurries. I told myself that having the doc stay over was legitimate.
‘If you want to freshen up, the bathroom’s in there,’ I said, giving its location a nod. ‘There are plenty of clean towels.’
‘Thank you.’ She headed towards it.
‘I’m going to fix myself a drink. Can I get you a soda?’
‘Yes please. Coca-Cola, if you have it.’
‘We have it,’ I confirmed as the door closed. Then, a little louder, I said, ‘I’ll also call down to reception and book you that room for the night, just in case.’
I made the call and it rang through to a message bank. I left the booking, went to the mini-bar, freed a couple of Johnnie Walkers, and poured them into a glass over rocks. I took care of the doc’s drink too. Then the cell in my pocket started ringing. The number on-screen told me it was the United States calling. It wasn’t a Washington number, nor was it any of the numbers my ex-wife or her lawyers hide behind, so I pushed the green button. ‘Cooper.’
‘Vin, it’s Katie – Katie Dean.’
‘Katie. Hey . . .’
The doctor came out of the bathroom. I pointed to her drink on the table, put my hand over the phone and told her, ‘Sorry, gotta take this. Make yourself at home.’ I sat on the end of the bed. ‘Katie! How you doin’? How’s Deano?
‘Vin, I’ve been trying to reach you. Tyler’s . . .’
I caught the pause and I
knew what the problem was even before she managed to get the words out, but the news still stopped me like a bullet.
‘Vin, he died four days ago.’
‘Katie . . . What happened?’
‘Complications arising from the last surgery, supposedly.’
‘But he was doing fine,’ I said.
‘No. He was just tough.’
‘Jesus.’
‘No one from the hospital’s prepared to make any kind of official statement yet – because of the whole class-action mess we’re caught up in. One of the doctors told me, off the record, that when they did the oesophagectomy to remove the cancer, there might have been a small tear in the suture line. Tyler went back into hospital ten days ago, but he just got worse. I don’t think there was anything anyone could do. They did an autopsy. I overheard one of the nurses talking about massive infection.’
‘Christ . . .’
‘He didn’t suffer, Vin. He was unconscious or asleep most of the time. I called you at home a few times to let you know what was going on. And then I got your message.’
There was a pause and a rustling sound. I pictured Katie pressing the handset against her forehead, her eyes clamped shut. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice cracking now, ‘We buried him today, Vin. It was a good service.’ In the background, I heard one of the twins crying and another woman’s voice giving comfort – Tyler’s sister, probably. Katie and I talked for another twenty minutes, mostly about how much she loved her husband.
The call ended, I dropped the cell on the bed beside me and put an empty glass to my lips. I’d drunk it dry unknowingly during the call. Another tumbler was pressed in my hands. Johnnie to the rescue. I gave Florence Nightingale the best smile I could manage under the circumstances.
‘Medicine,’ she said.
‘You’re the doctor.’
‘Yes, I am the doctor. Do you want to talk?’
I felt bad that Katie hadn’t been able to contact me when she wanted to, but it came with the job. Tyler was a buddy – as good as they came. I had a soft spot for Katie too. Things would be tough for her and the kids, but she had a small gardening business that was doing okay the last time we talked about it.
I told Doc Merkit about meeting Tyler while on exercise in the States, back before someone decided Saddam was mixing WMD cocktails for his neighbours. Tyler was with the 1st Armoured Division. He scared the crap out of me when his tank accidentally ran over the front of a Humvee I was a passenger in and squashed it flat.
I told her about the time he met Katie. In response to a dare, he’d filled in for one of his crew who had part-time employment as a male stripper for a local novelty agency. The job that night was to entertain a bridal party and Katie happened to be one of the bridesmaids. Tyler decided to ignore the bride and was all over Katie like hives instead. The bride-to-be complained. The crew member he was filling in for got fired; Tyler got laid. He and Katie were married within three months.
Last of all, I filled the doc in on Tyler’s cancer and the fight with the DoD over the claim that his condition was a direct result of long-term contact with depleted uranium, the ammunition his tank fired in Iraq.
It was well past midnight when the Johnnie ran out. Outside, the snow was still falling. I called down to the front desk and finally managed to raise someone, who informed me that the hotel was booked solid. Doc Merkit and I were snowed in.
‘I’ll take the sofa bed, doc, you take the bed,’ I said, pulling it out.
‘No, you are the man. You must take the bed. And I think you need a good sleep after this bad news.’
‘No, no, I –’
‘I insist.’
I gave her a shrug. ‘Well, doc, if you insist.’
‘I do. I will take the sofa.’
‘So, my comfort comes first. I could get used to this country.’ I was slurring my speech and the words ran into each other like a pile-up on a foggy interstate.
She smiled. ‘Please, can you call me Aysun? That is my name, you know.’
‘Sure, doc – I mean, Aysun. Do you want to take a shower or something?’ I asked, sitting down heavily on the bed.
‘You go first. I will remake this bed and tidy up a little.’
‘Okay.’ I was beyond arguing. Remake the bed and tidy up a little . . . ‘How many goats and camels are needed for that dowry?’ I enquired.
‘More than you have,’ she replied as she grabbed a handful of Johnnie Walker empties and placed them in the trash.
I managed to make it to the bathroom. Ten minutes later I was showered, teeth brushed, and sobered up a little. But when I exited, all the lights were off and Doc Merkit was lying in the sofa bed, breathing steadily with sleep. A shoulder was uncovered, along with a bra strap. The veil was gone. I pulled the sheet over her, Aysun’s breathing staying slow and deep.
‘Night, doc,’ I said quietly. I sat on the side of my bed and listened to the night. All sound seemed to have been vacuumed out of it. The falling snow also took the electronic edge off the streetlights and turned it golden, shafts of which slanted up through the windows.
I thought about Tyler and Katie as I climbed between the sheets. My head hit the pillow, but it might as well have been a blackjack.
I woke up suddenly and for no reason. Or so I thought. The numbers on the bedside clock told me I should still be asleep. I wondered what had woken me up.
‘Are you okay? You were yelling in your sleep.’
It took me a moment to remember where I was and whose voice the accented English belonged to. Doc Merkit . . . Aysun. I peered at the sofa bed in the corner. There was enough light to see that the doctor wasn’t in it.
‘You were yelling,’ she continued. ‘You said, “There! Shoot! Shoot him! They’ll cut his head off!”’
I couldn’t see her, but from the direction of her voice, I knew the doctor was standing in the darkness over by the kitchenette.
I rolled over so that I was facing her. ‘It’s a dream I have every other night. Something that went on in Afghanistan. But it’s okay – I know what happens in the end.’
‘What happens?’
‘I live.’
The doctor came out of the shadow. Her skin had taken on the golden colour of the light coming up from the street below. She took another languid step towards me. I remembered how she’d worn a blue lace bra the day Masters and I had called in at her office, but now her underwear was plain, conservative. Maybe the formal approach also extended to her underwear when she left the house. ‘I cannot sleep,’ she said.
The light played across her upper body as she floated across the room. For sure, a crazed Taliban fighter was going to step out of the bathroom any moment and prove this was just another dream. ‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.
‘I have been thinking . . . there is a reason I am here.’
The light moved up to her breasts, which were full and too large for her bra. They bulged around and below the cups attempting to restrain them. The doctor knew how to walk, a hip thrusting gently forward with each step, swaying on a waist on the narrow side of slender.
‘A reason for what?’
‘I am a 31-year-old virgin,’ she said.
‘You’re kidding . . .’
‘You do not believe me?’
‘I’ve just never met one before.’
The doctor stopped beside my bed. My eyes wandered down the length of her body to where the light peeked through the wide gap between her legs.
‘It is still snowing. We are here and cannot leave. Do you know what “Insha’Allah” means?’ she asked.
That there was a good chance I was about to get lucky? I thought.
‘It means “God has willed it”. But if you do not want me, I will understand.’
I understood enough to peel back the covers. Little Coop was so excited he was doing the Little Coop equivalent of back-flips: swelling to five times his normal size and turning purple.
She slid in beside me, her legs cool and smooth
against my skin. We kissed, tentative and slow at first, but then the fire kicked in. We broke and came up for air as her hand moved down my belly. Her fingers wrapped around me and squeezed playfully. She whispered, ‘I know all about this, but I have never felt it. It feels good.’ Her fingers then proceeded on a voyage of discovery. ‘And big.’
‘You say all the right things, doc,’ I said.
‘Aysun, remember?’
I went on my own reconnoitre and slipped a hand beneath her bra. I peeled back the cotton cup and ran the tip of my tongue over one nipple before circumnavigating the other, and she shivered. I ran it down her belly, up the inside thigh of one leg and then the other, teasing her. She pushed her groin towards my face. I took the hint and hooked a finger inside the elastic of her underwear where she was warm and wet, and pulled the fabric aside. The tip of my tongue touched the skin of her perineum and Aysun went crazy, grabbing my hair and pushing me down into her. I didn’t resist; I buried my tongue between the lips of her vulva, which made her freeze as if any movement on her part would spoil the electricity surging through her body. She tasted sweet and salty. Her muscles relaxed, so I found her clitoris and kissed it hard like I kissed her mouth, and she let go of my hair and dug her fingers into the bed. Her hips began to thrust, driving my tongue deeper inside her. She was in control at first, and then her rhythm became ragged, like she was losing it, and her breath caught in her throat as I worked on her. Then Aysun suddenly shook and wrapped her legs around the back of my head, jerking me into her clitoris until the current ran from her limbs and she quivered off and on with the echoes of the orgasm racking her.
I lay down beside her, the doc on her back, breathing deep and slow and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.
‘Not bad for a first-timer, Aysun,’ I said.
Between breaths she replied, ‘I have practised.’
‘Practised?’
‘Yes. I have . . . toys.’
‘They must come with some pretty explicit instructions.’
I propped myself up on an elbow and tickled her stomach, following the muscles with my fingers. I tried not to acknowledge to myself that in the dim light she reminded me of Anna. ‘Be honest, doc,’ I said. ‘I’m a long way from Hollywood. This has to be sympathy sex.’
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