by Rik Stone
Mehmet curled up and sobbed quietly.
“Why would my father do this to me?” he whispered, more into his chest than to Senturk.
But Senturk answered anyway, saying, “Look, Mehmet, we all have our troubles. I don’t know anything about yours, but I’ve lived with this lot long enough to know you can’t believe a word they say. Truth is, your father might well have bet with you, but then again Zeki might have kidnapped you. Wait and see how things shape up. Doesn’t matter what really happened – you’re stuck here for now.”
*
Mehmet’s eyes opened with the first light of day and he ached – everywhere. It had taken ages for him to get to sleep. When he did, his new surroundings filled his dreams. Suddenly, he became aware of children messing around the staging, organising themselves, for what, who knows, but when a boy climbed down the ladder with a sack over his shoulder, the others rushed him, diving into the bag, competing for the prime pieces of pita bread within.
The early morning breeze blew up the inlet and Mehmet stared out to the water in a daze. His jaw started to throb and a surge of panic coursed through his veins on remembering why. He’d had a horrible night’s sleep, but, at that moment, he’d have gladly returned to it. However, nothing could change what had happened, he knew. Sleep or not, he’d still be on that stinking staging – abandoned by his father.
The chill shook him as he looked around in the cold light of day. It was hard to believe, but the previous night’s darkness had veiled the truth: wooden stanchions covered in green slime, piles of … who knows what everywhere, foul smells of seaweed and moss acting as background to the awful stench of human waste. Filthy boys and girls were dressing, but clearly had slept all but naked. One girl squatted without shame and shit through the rafters. His nostrils took in a lungful of the foul air and if there’d been anything in his stomach he’d have brought it up for certain.
Mehmet could see what the girl did was part of a normal routine because the other children were soon to follow suit. Mercifully, it wasn’t long before they filtered from the staging in threes and fours, and climbed the ladder on their way to – where? – Mehmet couldn’t guess. He veered his attention and saw Senturk get up from his nest, stretch upward and go to the sack to fish out a couple of flatbreads and baklavas. He returned to the dry spot and beckoned Mehmet over, offering a share of the food. Mehmet took it, but after what he’d just witnessed, he couldn’t face eating it.
Then, out of a corner, Zeki made an appearance. A small boy was shadowing his every movement and when Mehmet thought about it, that same boy had been by Zeki’s side when he’d got down to the landing the previous evening. The boy was short with blond hair and blue eyes, but he was older than Mehmet.
“I don’t suppose Senturk has told you the rules yet,” Zeki said and his little blond shadow nodded as if in mediation.
“No, Zeki, he hasn’t told me anything,” Mehmet answered softly, not wanting to make him mad again.
“Not much to know; you wake first light and eat then in an orderly way you leave the jetty quick as you can. You complete business and come back. You don’t hold anything back; everything comes to me before you get a share. You keep your hair short. And last, before you go out with the others, you must be good with a blade. Senturk will teach you.”
Mehmet answered the only rule he’d understood. “Your hair is long,” he said and got a slap for his trouble. He lifted a hand to where his face glowed warm, but pride forced him not to cry.
“What I do is up to me,” Zeki said, scratching his head. “But you keep your hair short or everybody will be riddled with lice. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Mehmet said, longing for his mother.
Zeki took a baklava from the sack, bit into it and scaled the ladder with the food sticking from his mouth. The smaller boy followed suit and they both disappeared from sight.
“Who was that boy with Zeki?” Mehmet asked Senturk.
“His name is Oz. He’s Zeki’s little toad. The only thing you need to remember about him is he can’t be trusted.”
He fished out a knife from a small bag and gave it to Mehmet.
“But why would I need this, Senturk?”
“What Zeki didn’t tell you is that you’re now a thief. You’re part of a gang known as the Little Dogs. The knife is your defence and your weapon for attack. We rob the markets but don’t bother the traders; they’re protected. We only hit people who are buying and only those who’ve just arrived; that way we know they still have money. We gather around the target in a group and if he kicks up a fuss, we stab him in the legs or backside. They usually hold their arms out straight and let us do what we want, but if you ever do need to use the knife, don’t stab anyone above the arse. If you wound them up top and get caught, you’ll be done for attempted murder.”
Mehmet’s eyes burned. “But I don’t want to rob anybody or stab them,” he sobbed.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” said Senturk, “but that’s the way it is. You’ll get used to it and there are always plenty of Little Dogs around to help out. The ones here aren’t the only gang members. We have shitholes like this all over the Beyoglu district.”
“Is Zeki in charge of them all?”
“He runs them, yes, but every so often he takes a bag of money and goes to meet with someone.”
Chapter 3
Since Mehmet had been picked up by Zeki, enough time had gone by for another summer to begin and wane and by now he was used to living with the enforced whispering and the foul smells. He still yearned for his mother and occasionally thought of his father, but thoughts of him were generally of resentment. He could accept having never received his love, that’s the way things go, but to gamble him away…? No, that was something way beyond his understanding.
It became routine that Mehmet rose before the others and this morning, he leant against the steps that had been his introduction to the Little Dogs. Staring down the length of the Golden Horn towards the Bosporus Strait, he watched a rising sun cast an orangey-yellow flame. The flare hit the Galata Bridge and light fractured into an arc of split rays. He almost felt peaceful, until the spell was broken as the gang began stirring. They buzzed about, ate when the sack of food arrived, shat and then left. They were gone by the time Senturk woke and stretched.
“Where’s the sack?” he asked, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes.
Mehmet pointed and Senturk took out a couple of flatbreads.
“You?” he offered, while smoothing his hands back over his head.
“No, I’ve already had mine.”
Senturk tossed the spare bread towards the water and it bounced off the platform before going in. A horde of seagulls swarmed from nowhere and in a beat, the feast was devoured and they were gone.
“Okay, give me a minute and we’ll be on our way,” Senturk said, mouth full and chewing through his words. “Your first day at work,” he laughed.
First day at work; what that meant was today would be the day when Mehmet led an attack at a market – and he dreaded it. He’d been taught what there was to know, had become expert at handling a knife, passing a blade smoothly between hands while staying balanced and ready for action. He knew where to stab a man in the legs without hitting a main artery. And, holding the stare of a victim without looking away was no small feat. So, he knew enough; he just didn’t want to do it.
First day at work, but not his first robbery; he’d been taken around the markets since day one, but only to make up the numbers, to help swell the gang as they swarmed on a target. That was what most of the gang did, but today, Mehmet had to hold a knife to a man’s chest and Senturk said he was ready. He wasn’t so sure.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for me to be taking the lead? I would hate it if you were caught because I’m not ready.”
Clearly liking that, Senturk laughed so much he had to clutch his belly. “Nice try. You’re as good with that blade as I ever was. No, the only thing you need to prove is that you ca
n keep your nerve when you lead the pack.”
Like it or not, Mehmet knew there was no getting out of this one. They left and as always, checked the security of the immediate area on their way from the jetty. They disappeared into a nearby alley and then kept to narrow throughways until coming out onto a road where the Attaturk Bridge ended. After ten minutes of walking, they changed route, passed the Neve Shalom Synagogue, crossed over open land and came to a place where they knew the alleys wound through the area like the holes in a Swiss cheese.
One of the alleys brought them out to a small flea market and Senturk stopped Mehmet with a hand to the arm. “This one isn’t very big,” he said. “It’ll be an easy start for you.”
True, with only three sellers, it wasn’t even big enough to call a market, but there were plenty of people hanging around. The sellers had their wares spread out untidily on sheets; one had a few stone earthenware jugs, another, old paste jewellery, and the third, a couple of stacks of flatbread. Glancing around, Mehmet saw several Little Dogs lurking and wondered how they knew to be there.
Copying Senturk, Mehmet leant against a wall near to the man selling stoneware. At first the trader stared nervously at the boys, but then he nodded and grinned at Senturk, the grin revealing black, yellow and gold teeth.
Mehmet tilted his head towards Senturk. “Do you know him?” he asked.
“The sellers are protected. We know them all. I told you that on your first day with me, remember?”
Mehmet nodded his head and set his mind to what he had to do, checking out passers-by that showed an interest in the displays. “What about that one?” he suggested, pointing to an older man who didn’t look capable of standing up for himself.
Senturk shook his head. “No, no money on that one.”
How he could have known that was a mystery to Mehmet.
The summer was all but over, so the winds should have cooled the city streets by now, but the warmth from a blistering sun basted Mehmet’s face. He relaxed, started to come to terms with what he was about to do. But then a man in a grey striped suit, who stood out in the crowd, showed an interest in the display. He was tall and had a face the colour of burnt sienna. His slim body looked fit and sinewy. Mehmet gulped. He no longer cared about robbing someone, but prayed it wouldn’t be this man.
Senturk nudged Mehmet and said, “He’ll do.”
“Err… no,” Mehmet replied. “I think we should wait for somebody else, someone a bit easier. This is my first time after all, Senturk.”
Senturk laughed as he pushed away from the wall. The Little Dogs started moving over from a nearby alley, but Mehmet stayed rigid, hoped Senturk would maybe do the job without him. But as Senturk moved, he grabbed Mehmet’s arm and pulled him along with him.
*
The Little Dogs crowded in and the buyers moved away quietly as if none of this was their business. Mehmet pulled his knife and pushed the blade against the man’s chest. The man looked surprised and tried to step away, but half a pace put his back against the wall. Mehmet’s confidence grew seeing his target lower his gaze and spread his arms in submission. The suit the man wore was old and wrinkled, like Zeki’s; he didn’t look well off at all, but Mehmet hadn’t chosen him, so if he had nothing it wouldn’t be his fault.
As Mehmet rifled through the man’s pockets, a thought crossed his mind: he could use the opportunity to practise the stare Senturk had been teaching him. But as he locked eyes with the man, he didn’t fold. Instead, he stared menacingly back, only for a moment, but long enough for Mehmet to find himself absorbed by an unnatural darkness that frightened the life out of him. He felt evil had invaded his soul. He had to get away.
His arm dropped. The knife slipped from his grip. He made to run, stubbed his toe and kicked a small urn up into the market traders other jugs. Shards of pottery splintered off in every direction and he was lucky none of it had stuck in him as he moved through it. The stoneware seller couldn’t say the same; shrapnel sent him scurrying. But then he got to his feet and began flailing closed fists at Mehmet while spitting a string of obscenities.
Mehmet’s woes were yet to end. Ducking down while moving, he stomped on the paste jewellery, powdering it underfoot, and then, to round off the mishaps, he kicked the final trader’s flatbreads everywhere. The trader reached to grab him, but slipped on the breads and fell forward onto the concrete, but as he fell he caught Mehmet’s ankle, bringing him down too. Mehmet couldn’t move. He’d been caught and the police would arrest him. But then a vice-like grip took hold of his arm and he was up and running again. Senturk had come to the rescue.
The other Little Dogs must have taken the panicked moments as a signal that the police had turned up and had already run for it. Mehmet and Senturk were quick to follow, running with all the strength they had, gaining their freedom with every step. But when Mehmet turned his head, he caught a glimpse of the tall, scruffy man. He was giving chase – and quickly closing the gap. Mehmet looked sideways, expecting to see Senturk in a panic, as he was himself, but Senturk was almost wheezing with laughter.
Over his shoulder, Mehmet heard the vendors shouting and saw them waving their arms in the air; their goods were useless, scattered everywhere, broken or inedible. He was about to lose his freedom, but he couldn’t help it – he began laughing along with Senturk and his pace slowed. However, the laughter died and renewed fear gave him the strength to spurt forward and run harder when a hand clawed at his shoulder. Then the sound of ripping material was followed by Senturk going backwards, but as quickly, he surged forward and was by Mehmet’s side again.
Mehmet’s stamina began dwindling. He wouldn’t be able to keep going for much longer. He saw an alley ahead and pictured the two of them giving their follower the slip. Senturk had other ideas and kept running in a straight line. But as they came alongside the alley, he unexpectedly raced ahead and pushed Mehmet sideways into it. The pursuer hurtled past. Whether the ruse had put him off or he just got fed up wasn’t clear, but the chase seemed to end at that point. They’d made it, but a new worry came to bear: what would Zeki do to him for this?
They ran through a few more alleys before slowing to a walk. Senturk began laughing again, but when the laughter eased, he said, “Zeki won’t be very happy with you. Our total profit for the day is minus one knife.” He twisted to look over his shoulder. “And a ripped shirt.” Mehmet flinched and Senturk laughed.
A spot of blood ran down Mehmet’s cheek. He wiped it away and felt a small gouge. It was probably from when he broke the jugs. He ran a finger over the nick and wondered if he would get a scar. If so, he would look like most of the other boys. The idea appealed and he walked alongside Senturk with the swagger he’d been trying to learn for ages.
*
They wandered the streets, messed around, laughed over what had happened and joked as young friends do, but it turned dark and the dreaded time came: they had to return to the staging and face the music. Down on the jetty, Zeki was waiting, arms folded over his chest, a mean expression on his face; at least that part was normal.
“Ah, at last, you’re back. Let me see the booty then.”
Senturk melted into the darkness of his corner. Mehmet peered over his shoulder, hoping he’d come back and support him – he didn’t. Other than the water lapping against the stanchions below, silence reigned.
Suddenly, the figure of a tall man emerged from the shadows behind where Zeki stood. Mehmet froze. It was the man he’d tried to rob at the market. The light from the candles flickered across his face and Mehmet felt even closer to the devil than he had earlier. He trembled and the pain from the cut on his cheek worsened.
The man moved nearer and leaned over him; his breath blew hot and sweet against Mehmet’s face. But then, instead of using his might against him, the man shook his head and handed Mehmet the knife he’d dropped. Without a word having left his lips, he patted Zeki’s arm, nodded and left the landing.
Zeki sniggered. “If today had been for real, by now
you would be in jail. Be sure of yourself next time.” He gave Mehmet a cursory slap across the side of the head and walked away.
Mehmet skulked over to Senturk. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, feeling betrayed.
“And if I had, what would you have learned?” he said, all the time shaking with laughter.
Chapter 4
Icmeler, Turkey, 1954
Beyrek Ozel settled back in the private compartment of a train heading for Istanbul. He didn’t like going to the city, but he had to make sure he kept total control over his businesses. But the rabble there, the noise, the perpetual smog and the stink of piss in the streets – he hated it.
When the club he’d set up in Icmeler with Otto Mitrokhin prospered, he’d moved out to those rural suburbs and found there were no crowds and people never laid filthy hands upon him. But he wasn’t willing to give up what he’d fought for in the city, so he kept his base covered by leaving his most trusted captains to run things. Although, on reflection, he was sure his wife, Gizem, would take the credit for those decisions.
“Move out? Yes. Leave your people to manage? By all means. But you must keep each of your activities isolated from the other,” she had insisted. “If anyone has the cunning to take over one of the operations, only one business will be lost, and you can always get it back another time.”
‘You must do this’ and ‘you have to do that’. Who the fuck did that woman think she was? Her words made sense, sure, but he had every intention of doing what she had said anyway. During their marriage she never suggested anything; always told him what he had to do. This woman failed to recognise just how important he was. He sighed and veered his thinking. He hated the train journey into the city almost as much as arriving. Why? Because he’d sit for hours thinking of Emel and Levent, and he didn’t need that.
The thought of Emel still obsessed him; he loved her. His mind drifted, wondered about the parts of his life he might change given the chance. Strangely, it was the killing of Levent that brought pangs of regret, and why not? For so much of their lives they’d been like brothers. But Levent shouldn’t have upstaged him with Emel the way he had. He’d made a fool of him. Then Gizem had gone and told him he must take him across the Bosporus; it all got out of hand.
