“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’.
“Talha, it’s not what it looks like…” Salik paled, sweat beading on his narrow forehead. He gawked around, searching for support in the familiar faces, but met no sympathy. Only questions.
“What’s going on?” someone asked. People drew to the small bower, and the warm night became stuffy.
“Isn’t it?” Talha said without a smile. “I think it’s clear as a day. Dinçer, take him to the basement.”
“No! No, Talha! We are friends, aren’t we? Listen to me!” Screams choked in the night as Dinçer dragged the man away, but no one paid any attention to the prisoner. All gazes were glued to Talha.
“Gentlemen, I’ll be waiting for you in the Grand Hall in ten minutes to announce the Royal Game.”
THE MANSION QUIETED DOWN as the events drained people of merriment and intoxication. Even Slater stopped smiling as he propped up against the wall of the Grand Hall. No one interrupted Talha’s long explanation about the betrayal and setup. No one said anything when Talha commemorated the names of those who died in the mosque. A few people requested to see the phone, but at the end of the meeting, everyone agreed that Talha had the right to invoke the Royal Game.
Pressing his palms against the wooden table, Talha looked every man in the eye. “We need five people in the jury. Please, draw lots.”
The transparent jar, containing black, glossy spheres stood at the farther end of the table, opposite to Talha.
Approaching it, Güvenç tugged the first sphere out and screwed it open. Looking inside for long five seconds, he announced, “The walī [24]of the slain.”
After Güvenç stepped aside, each man except Slater, Dinçer, and Talha took the remaining balls that divided them between the jury or the walī of the slain.