24. Confession

"You nuts?" Erdem rolled his eyes at the exposed beams overhead exuding a vintage, industrial charm. 

"I know I gave you the day off. And I'm sorry," said the other, his voice earnest. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent."

Not important. Not necessary. Urgent. A code for the business, with which so much as a single misstep could bring them all to a permanent end, whose charm was embedded exactly in the danger, and whose thrill ran in each escape by the skin of their teeth. A one-way ticket to hell, alas, that had signed so long ago for his soiled soul, scarred and battered. But it was also a hell of a ride he was willing to make amends for eternity. Knowing that every new batch they sold went into the dark lungs of beasts in men's clothes who once made him beg for death, Erdem Aktas crawled six feet up from the underground, and he was reborn from the ashes of his hate. 

"Give me two hours." He hung up; his arms braced on the round table of dark wood finish that had been buffed to gleam, reflecting the flicker of a candle-lit centerpiece. Raising the tumbler to his lips, he glided his hand to the side and threw out what was left over his shoulder. 

Over the long bar counter with rows of glittering bottles and glasses accentuated by a pool of soft light, Guiliana was bantering with a man who insisted on buying her drinks. Braided into a loose side chignon, her sun-kissed golden hair framed her classic profile, her teal blue eyes ashine, her bow lips an allure painted in red. She hugged the man, pecking him on the cheek. Perching on his shoulder, her fingers flicked, her nails the color of her lips. Swirling toward Erdem, she sashayed back to their table with a drink in each hand. 

"He bought me one, too?" Erdem jested, jutting out his chin while he sucked on his teeth. 

"Why, you wanna fuck him?" Guiliana thudded the drinks before him. "I paid for them, you little shit!" 

His giggle turned into a hiss. "You're probably the only one here who'd turn down a free drink."

"Nothing in this world is free. You pay one way or another, just with a different currency." She flopped in the chair across from the table, her brows raising as she squinted at the empty tumbler in his hand. "You finished it all already?"

"I did mention I wanted to drink." He offered a dismissive shrug. 

She snorted, "Still grumpy because of the girl?"

Erdem only downed the hatch of the drink she just bought. 

"Tell me more about her," said Guiliana, her eyes aloof, panning over the tables around them. "Young? Pretty?"

"Both, of course, and you know it." He slammed the tumbler on the table. 

Guiliana nursed her drink. Her wandering gaze faltered while a half smile perched on her claret lips. 

"I know, I know," Erdem continued, lying on his cheek, his arms sprawling on the table. "I know I never had a chance to begin with. But I'm still pissed off! Pissed off because I don't even get to fantasize anymore!"

Guiliana gave his arm a shake, "There, there!" She feigned pity, her voice a bit strained. "You can't expect him to stay single forever, right?"

"No, but I also thought I'd get a heads-up!" He straightened his back with a jolt and snatched the drink from Guiliana.

"Hey, that's mine!" She slapped his hand while he gulped down more than half of its maple-colored content. 

"I'll buy you another!" Whisking his wrist, Erdem sulked. "You'd expect it'd take time if it was anything serious," he chattered on, his head swaying like a pendulum for the theatricals. "But no! Two days! Two days! Can you believe this shit? And the bastard is grossly in love he can't even tell, it's disgusting!" He retched up a cough; his eyes roamed over Guiliana and fell on the TV screen behind her, on which broadcast the Gursel Horse Race. Held annually in honor of Mustafa Agca's deceased younger brother, Gursel Agca, it was attended by many if not all the important names. "Well, anyway, thank you, Guili, for coming out tonight," Erdem burped, leaning toward her. "I love you!" 

Guiliana chuckled as she pushed away his grinning face, which must look silly enough now. "Then, pay me for the drinks!" 

"I will, I will!" He raised an arm, scrambling to get off the chair. 

"No, I mean next time!" She pulled him down to his seat. "You're drunk!"

Erdem smacked his lips. "I'm not."

"Sure, you aren't." She tapped her earrings. "I'm hailing a cab."

"Is it because there's somewhere else you need to go now?" He eyed the TV. Taylan Dinc, of all the men attending, won the superfecta bet according to the crawl at the bottom of the screen. "Is it why you can come out and meet me today because your douchebag boss is at some stupid race with his wife?" 

Angling her head, she only smiled. "Hi, I need a cab at Grapevine & Dice on Annex and drop off at 10th Mount Pleasant Cres, and, what's your address again?" She turned to Erdem. 

"14th Roxborough East."

"14th Roxborough East." 

Wearing the same grin, silly and innocuous, Erdem heard a ripping wail that ricocheted in his head. Mount Pleasant Cres. She was going back to the Ministry of Health to meet her Taylan Dinc, who, after having spent the day in public with his plain, old wife, would come back to his office and fuck her at night. Erdem threw the last dregs down his throat. 

"It'll be here in a minute," said Guiliana, tapping her earring. "Let's go, kid. Can you walk on your own?"

"Walk on my own, can I?" Erdem scowled, groping at the empty space before him. "I can use another drink!" 

"You can use it next time." She caught him as he tumbled and held him under his arm, the way she always held him when he was just a kid, drugged and defiled and crying too hard to be on his feet. 

"Guili," leaning his head on her perfumed shoulder, he purred to her ear. "Guili."

"What is it, kid?" Guiliana led him out into the cold street washed by the rain. 

Their cab pulled over, and the door on the back slid aside. Warm air gushed out, cradling them both like a mother's hug of which they had both been deprived. 

"You deserve so, so much more, Guili, my darling." 

She froze for a heartbeat. A suspicion of a smile flitted in her eyes as she buckled him into his seat. As the cab glided back into motion, she leaned to the other side on the back seat and stayed quiet for the most part of the long drive. "You asleep?" she asked, her humming voice soft like a kiss. 

Silence fell into place against the splashing rain. 

"So, listen, erm," so unusual of her as she stumbled through her words, she whipped her head to the window. "About your boss, he and I, there used to be, erm, we used to," her voice cut off into a sigh. "I was the first girl he started seeing after he got back from the army, and I hurt him a great deal, after everything he had already been through. But…" Another lull, a small sniffle. "There are things I must take care of, burdens that's mine to shoulder, and why I had to do what I've done, what I'm about to do. I'm sorry I've kept it from you. I guess I knew from the start that we're too worlds apart to ever have a shot, so I didn't tell you while we were dating. And then, you met him, and you're so daft about him. I was too hurt, too afraid, and too cowardly… You see, kid, I deserve exactly what I've got." Another sniffle that might have gone unnoticed, followed by a click that could be the compact mirror she flicked open to check her makeup. 

The driver pulled up. "10th Mount Pleasant Cres, Ma'am." 

"Thank you. Please assist my friend if necessary when he gets home." Grace resumed in her voice while a beep from the scanner ducked the credits for her share of the fare from the elegant, pendant screen embedded in the latest bracelet. The door slid open once more to an eddy of icy rain and the chill of the night, of the real world, which devoured the clacks of her stilettos on wet flagstones. 

Erdem opened his eyes to so many threads woven and tangled before him in so short a time, no less. It had taken him too long and too much to opacify his time at Serhat's agency, and the rugged memory lane was too perilous a trek for him to attempt. Shivering to a crushing weight in his chest, he drew a long breath and diced. 

Letters into syllables into words, they swirled up like ashes from the grave at his summon, concocting each other as they took shape. Before Guiliana left the agency, she had been seeing someone she would tell no one about. Erdem saw her cheeks suffused with color when she read a text or got off the phone, and the involuntary smile that betrayed everything. But he didn't push her to tell. He kept it to himself because he wouldn't want her to be in trouble. Stipulated in their contracts was the clause that forbade them from dating, given how they were all dishes on the menu exclusive to the capable patrons, and it was the room for fantasy they reserved for the fans that made the money rain. 

At the New Year's Eve Party where Warshon paid off his contract, Guiliana was indeed there, sitting half naked on the lap of Lord Qusbecq…

"Stop the car!" he cried. "Now!"

The driver did as bid. 

The instant it pulled up, Erdem reeled out and heaved up his stomach, his hands clutching those wobbly knees. 

"Are you okay, sir?" asked the driver, tossing a glance over his shoulder. 

Erdem wagged his flaccid arm, his breath rasping in his throat, his head droning. The pelt of rain seeped through his hair, and a piercing cold slithered down his nape. He retched again, his eyes bulging.

Guiliana reported to work at the Ministry of Health soon after the party. In two short years, she was promoted to chief secretary. Everyone thought she would rise further in rank. But for whatever reasons she had again shielded from everyone, Erdem included, she stayed in the Ministry of Health. 

No fucking way she's in love with the weasel, so why?

A dry retch of only bile and acid. Erdem wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist as he slowly straightened. 

Something she needs from Dinc, something she can only get by staying in the Health Ministry. 

He raised his head to the sky, hurt that she never trusted him, not really. And yet he didn't blame her, couldn't, as he was in no position to, as he, too, could never confide to her what he had done over the seven years. Apprentice to Dr. Qusbecq, alas, he was also the claw of the Phantom Lord who managed the data for his operational logistics. He could never confess to Guiliana how he thrived for the change to stand on the other end of evil, never again a recipient. 

He clambered back inside the car. 

A tray propped out holding a bottle of water. 

"Thank you, sir," Erdem opened the bottle. "You're too kind."

"Thank your lady friend," the driver chuckled. "She'd paid for the whole ride and tipped me thirty percent." 

Erdem nodded in reply, his lips pursed with a smile no more than skin deep. 

On the radio the driver had switched on, Mustafa Agca was being interviewed at the Gursel Horse Race. "Oh, my friend Taylan always has the best luck," he spoke in his usual charisma, his voice deep and steady. "Also a kind man, I'm sure he'll donate a generous sum to a good cause." 

Leaning to the side, Erdem cupped a hand over his mouth as he stifled a snort. "Sir, a change of plan," he said. "Take me to Phoenix Square. I'll pay the extra." 

What is it you're after, Guili? – he brooded on the way, flipping every stone scattered in the sand of memory, trying to uncover what he might have missed to little avail. A long sigh came hissing through his throat like air whooshing out of a deflated tire. 

He found Warshon in his office. Standing astride next to the window overlooking the throbbing heart of Konstinbul at night, the man pivoted to the door as he must hear the approaching footsteps, his brows drawing close. "What happened? You look like hell." He went into the bathroom and threw a towel at Erdem. 

Who caught it backhanded. "You think it's easy playing drunk in a bloody storm?" Erdem plopped into the couch. "I need a big raise," he drawled on the adjective. 

"Twenty percent good enough?" 

"Now you're trying to brush me off." He tilted back his head, his eyes rolling at the edge of the ceiling. 

"Put it on recording if you think I'll go back on my words," the other intoned, perching on the edge of his expansive desk, his arms crossed by his chest. "You'll get your raise after it's done." 

"For that much," Erdem smirked as he did the number in his head. "I can down a bottle in five minutes and throw up my soul." 

Warshon scoffed, one brow jutting over the other. "Your soul comes that cheap?" 

"Would be if I had one." 

A soft chuckle. "You're cranky, kid, don't think I haven't noticed." He frowned at the blur of the rain out of the window. "You don't have to tell me. It's your affair, and I'll let you deal with it on your own time and on your own terms. But now, business. Can you pay attention?"

Erdem sat up. Looking the other in the eye, he nodded, his arms dangling from his lap. 

"I need you to approach Murong Kai." 

"The one you made to expose the vaccine scandal?"

"Yes."

"Why not just go and ask?" Erdem scowled. "An emergency room doctor, he was a nobody, and you made him famous! He owes you."

"Fame is dangerous without the power to keep the world from peeping at where you wouldn't like them to look." Warshon motioned for him to look at the giant LED screen in the Phoenix Square outside with a sweep of a forefinger. 

Erdem turned his head. An ongoing investigation on the vaccine scandal meanwhile took place across the Huron Sea. 

"With all the many eyes on him, Murong Kai must be scared out of his wits and hate me to the guts by now. And rightfully so. A seasoned doctor he may be, he's a greenhorn in politics. And I tricked him into holding the conference, saying that journalists would do the digging in his stead," he paused for a sigh. "You don't expose something and look for the evidence afterward. Those journalists will never find anything substantial."

Words buzzed but made so little sense. Erdem nudged a little, his thumbs stroking his chin while the other fingers interlaced. "I'm too drunk to follow." He gave his head a shake. "So, they didn't embezzle the funds for the vaccines?" 

"Oh they most certainly did," Warshon replied, his voice unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world while they both knew the opposite held true. "But they're also smarter than souveniring the evidence of their crimes for nosy scribblers." 

Erdem gnashed his teeth, jittering to behold the plot yet to unfold. 

"Keiren Zaman," Warshon went on in his lazy croon, his head rolling, his eyes half closed as if he were only waking up. "Polls showed a majority of voters from the Third World South support the Republic regardless of who our candidate will be after hearing the scandal. Zaman would love to see it to be true, and he'll be the power that safeguards Murong Kai's unintended fame." 

Erdem looked along the tip of his nose and held the other's gaze. "So would Mustafa, no?"

Silence ensued while a quizzical frown narrowed those onyx eyes deep set in the shadows of his elegant brows. 

"Why, you can't tell me?"

"I will when we get to that." He shrugged. "The question you should ask for now is how." 

"I suppose Murong Kai and Keiren Zaman are the hows?"

An approving smirk frolicked on those sensuous lips. Erdem swept his eyes to the heel of a wall. 

"Ozal is designing an accident for Zaman," the other continued as he whirled to the whisky cabinet. "For the purpose of a medical emergency that gives us the chance to tamper with his medication and gets him hooked on Ice. That's what Ozal knows. What he doesn't," he paused, clucking his tongue while his eyes roamed over his collection, "is that Murong Kai will confess to Zaman that he did what he was told under duress. And he changed his mind now upon realizing that he needed Zaman to back him on the scandal. While I don't believe Zaman's involvement will ramp up the odds for the Commonwealth journalists, we can have the candidate repeat the rhetoric, condemning the Commonwealth over and again to the point the truth won't matter anymore. A consensus among the people that the vaccines were indeed questionable, which holds no one accountable in the end, will unite the voters in their distrust of the Commonwealth, so to speak."

Erdem dipped his head. Anticipating the role he was to play, he twisted, his breath lodged in his throat. "And why should Murong Kai play along?"

"Because you'll put on a show with his daughter." Pouring himself a twenty-year-old single malt, he looked over his shoulder. "Hendricks'?" 

"I threw up half a stomach on the way over." He did, but not because he couldn't hold his liquor. A truth and yet so partial it meant to tell anything but the truth, one that mattered. 

Those sensuous red lips pursed and smacked. Warshon went behind his desk, his larynx bobbed while he nipped from the rim of the glittering glass. He pulled the top drawer and slapped a file before him. "Murong An, or Cindy Murong, she went to the same high school with my baby sister. Sweet as Yesfir, she's rich, beautiful, and a Qusbecq. She couldn't help being a bully to the less fortunate and made the three years a hell for poor Cindy."

Erdem rose to his feet. Drawing back his chin, he opened the file, his brows raising. "How did you get the time to dig up your sister's high school drama?" 

"I didn't." Leather shrieked as he slumped in his chair, long legs crossing each other. "The Lord keeps tabs on all his children to be sure they aren't bullied or exposed to wrong ideas, so to speak. I borrowed some of his work." 

A snort rattled in his throat, so caustic as if the liquor he had drank and puked. Erdem stopped on the page of Cindy Murong's picture, her drab eyes staring back at him, her flat face round and chubby. He winced in the same breath an ineffable pity drew its claws on the inside of his cranium, seeing her pathetic life unfold in a glimpse. "What am I supposed to do with the poor girl?"

"Vittorio Lori will announce his endorsement for Zaman at his concert tomorrow night," Warshon crooned, taking another sip. "Cindy is his fan and I have sent her a front row seat ticket as a give-back gift from the store she frequented. I know she's a fan because like every austere Tamen dad, Murong Kai used after his daughter. The watch case he wore to the press conference had Vittorio Lori's face all over it. I had to remind him to take the damn thing off before he stepped into the limelight."

"Or it could be the dad." Erdem pulled a face and shrugged. "Pipsqueak could be secretly on my side of the spectrum." 

Warshon loosed a laugh. "If it's indeed the dad you find there at the concert, I guess we'll have to figure out something else."

"Fuck, I'm going to the concert?"

"Clipped to the back." He swept a forefinger at the file. 

Erdem flipped to the last page and found a front row seat ticket. 

"Two seats next to you, you'll find Yesfir with her friends. She always gets her tickets from Serhat, who always has those seats reserved for her."

"Your Highness indeed," Erdem scoffed, bobbing a curtsy to the air before he flung himself down on the couch again. "Her demi on one hand and her bully on the other, the Murong girl will be thrilled."

"Lucky for her, she'll have a sweetheart to talk to."

Erdem rolled his eyes, stretching apart his arms as he let them dangle from the backrest. "Should have asked for a bigger raise."

"If Yesfir picks on her, teasing her for being alone at a concert, you'll stand up for her. Put an arm around the girl to make a statement."

"But Yesfir knows me." 

"So? Both you and Murong Kai work in healthcare. Why should it be a surprise that you're a friend of his daughter?"

He smacked his lips in reply, his brows raising. 

"And if Yesfir ignores her altogether," Warshon continued, his hands steepling. "You can still be her friend, take an interest in her, ask her out for a drink, and wheedle her into talking about her family, into the false conviction that they don't care about her enough or they wouldn't have made her go through three years of private school with the children of the Republican elites who will never accept her. And you'll spur her into coming up with a solution to test her family."

Propping his nape on the backrest, Erdem squinted at the ceiling fixture with multiple thin arms of dark metal finish extending outward at various angles, and the glass-encased bulbs spaced in a starburst pattern, simple, elegant, unlike the sleight of hand in everything that went on beneath it. A sneer tugged on his lips. "You wouldn't want me to hurt her, would you?"

"If you actually hurt her, it wouldn't be a test." 

"What would, then?"

"Keep her away, take her to wherever she wants to go, and help her make videos of her being kidnapped. While you tell her it's only to get a reaction so she will agree to your terms, I'll blackmail the dad into compliance."

Erdem withdrew his eyes from the ceiling. "I'm still confused." Leaning on his lap, he massaged his temples. "Why exactly are we doing this?"

"I need Keiren Zaman to be on our pawn," Warshon paused for another sip. "Not Qusbecq's. Not the Conservatives. Ours. So through him, we can delve into something substantial." 

"Can't we just keep it simple?" A silly question, Erdem realized it the moment the words slipped off his tongue. 

"I'd be intrigued to learn how." The other offered a half smile, lazy and mirthless. "Do we talk to him with full honesty? Hey, Keiren my man, the Phantom Lord wants you to help him dig up some dirt! How's that for a preamble?"

"That was stupid. My bad." Erdem put up both hands halfway. "I just thought maybe there're simpler ways." 

"Simple never means easy," the man mused, the tip of his forefinger skimming the rim of the glass. "You're asking for easy." He flicked his gaze across the desk. 

Erdem fidgeted, his eyes down, tracing the reflection of the ceiling fixtures caught on the polished marble floor. A great deal of complicated designs went into the outcome of a simple appearance. He bit his bottom lip. 

"We want Zaman to be our pawn," Warshon continued; his eyes returned to his glass. "But no pawn ever considers itself a passive piece or dispensable, and you need to respect its autonomy. When Murong confesses he was sent under duress, Zaman will naturally investigate who's behind it. He'll suspect Mustafa first. But as you pointed out, Mustafa would also benefit from seeing the Commonwealth lose the race through scandal. Whether it's Mustafa or Zaman, it makes no difference to Murong Kai. Yet the doctor comes to Zaman for help, when he could have bargained with Mustafa instead—offering to get Zaman addicted to Ice if Mustafa were truly behind it all. And since it couldn't be Mustafa, or men from his side, Zaman will direct his suspicion to his own campaign. Should he fall from grace during his term, who would be the greatest beneficiary if it wasn't Arslan Qusbecq?"

Words shredded and spun into knots that fastened his tongue. Erdem rubbed his brow sore from frowning. He knew the deep rift between Warshon and his Lord father. He knew also a plan that was brewing behind this business, one that was even more sinister than the vice of Ice. He didn't know, however, that the grinding would still catch him off guard when the gears of the scheme began to turn. "I know you and Lord Qusbecq don't get along," he observed at length. "But how will turning his running mate against him help prove your suspicion? And what exactly it is you suspect, if you don't mind?"

"I want to see if dear old Arslan and Mustafa rock in the same boat, that all the campaigns for their differences are just to pull wool over everyone's eyes." The man sat straight in his chair, his hands steepling. "It's gonna be a tough road ahead, Erdem. Are you in?" 

"Too late and a little hypocritical to ask now that I'm knee-deep, don't you think?" Erdem winked, clucking his tongue the way Warshon usually did, his lips lopsided. 

The other loosed a laugh. 

"Say, boss, if I didn't agree to be your apprentice even years ago," Erdem continued, his voice more measured than expected. "Would you send me back to Serhat for a refund?"

"Serhat doesn't do refunds," the man deadpanned. And while Erdem was still pondering how to respond to the cruel humor, he went forth, "I paid off the fines to break your contract because I saw something in you. It would be great if I could convince you to use your talent for my gain. But even if you choose not to, that's still better than letting it rot in hell."

A twinge of pain wrung his head, kneading his brows while strangling him of his breath. Guiliana was wrong about him. She was wrong that he didn't just see him as a means to an end but an end in himself. He saw his humanity, and that was enough, enough a reason for him to want to fight and die for. "Keep saying that I might have to fall in love with you again."

Warshon chuckled, shaking his head. "And I'll tell you again to dream on."

"Don't be too sure. I'm pretty and I know it. I can bend you." He offered a wicked grin. 

"I have no interest in feeling out that filthy mouth."

"Give it a try, maybe I can cahnge your mind."

"Erdem," He rose to his feet, his hands in the pocket of his suit pants that accentuated the thin waist, his chiseled face elegant yet unsparing. "I appreciate the gratitude. But you shouldn't confuse it with anything else, not before, not now, or ever." Deep and final, his voice cut, his eyes drilling like icicles. Behind him, lightning split across the night. 

Erdem pursed his lips and released a guttural laugh. "So grim and dour, you should see your face, boss." He waggled an arm. "I was just messing!"

Warshon snorted. 

A relief disguised as contempt perhaps. Erdem shoved aside all that which ran the risk of dampening his eyes. His elbow stretched as he checked the time. "Well, it's almost three. Are you going home?"

"How many appointments do I have for the day?"

"Fourteen, including two minor surgeries in the afternoon." He smacked his lips. "Starting from eight, you won't be able to leave here until I'm halfway through the concert."

"Fuck."

"Well, everything was canceled yesterday because of the girl," he teased, perking up to overwrite the sad undertone. "You asked for it."

A soft smile flickered in his eyes – so breathtaking yet short-lived and exclusive, it tore apart the heart of the unintended audience. "I'm just gonna nap on the couch," Warshon took his blazer off the back of his chair. "You're welcome to crash here so long as you can keep your hands off me." 

Erdem groaned out two dry cackles. "I'm hungry." He clapped his midriff. "Wasn't shitting when I said I puked out half a stomach." 

"Let's grab you a bite then." Snapping the blazer, he let it glide over his broad shoulders. "I feel bad having to drag you back here after I just gave you the day off."

"Don't you need to sleep?"

"Half an hour won't make a difference." 

Folding his arms about his chest, Erdem nudged to his feet and trailed behind him to the elevator. The news loop on the TV screen played again the interview with Mustafa at Gursel Horse Race from nigh on twelve hours ago, with the latest update that the winner of the superfecta bet, Minister Taylan Dinc, had announced to donate all the prize money to the Bellerophon National Health Fund. 

A snort escaped from Warshon's lips dripping in disdain. 

"Do you think Dinc donated the money to stay in Mustafa's grace?" Erdem probed. 

"As the Minister of Health, his donation to the Health Fund is nothing surprising if not expected. However," he paused, drawing in his chin, his eyes lifting, so cold they might as well leave the screen in hoarfrost. "The Fund also finances Mustafa's Eternal Project. A little too convenient, eh?" 

"So, Taylan Dinc is likely part of Mustafa's circle?" As he heard himself, Erdem stiffened. Could it be the reason Guili wouldn't leave the Ministry of Health? 

The elevator opened its door with a ding. Warshon proceeded inside, his hands sliding into the pockets of his pants while he shrugged. "We'll see."