Read Online Dead of Night by Barbara Nadel - Free Book Online Page A

had finished,
     Tayyar said, ‘You know the Republican Party here in the US thought that song was some sort of patriotic anthem? Stupid George
     W. Bush. It’s a protest song, the voice of unemployed blue-collar America. This country and especially this city are not what
     people think they are.’
    ‘I know,’ Süleyman said as he lit up another cigarette and then breathed out smoke on a sigh. ‘I thought our hotel would be
     pristine. Real American super-clean!’
    Tayyar laughed. ‘What, the Lakeland Plaza? Are you serious?’
    ‘Yes. I’m appalled,’ Süleyman said. ‘The place is not filthy, but it certainly isn’t what I would call clean.’
    ‘Well no, it wouldn’t be,’ Tayyar said. ‘The Lakeland is only half a hotel.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Some of the floors are given over to people on welfare. The city put them in there.’
    Süleyman and İkmen looked at each other. All of a sudden, old fridges in some of the corridors made sense.
    ‘Oh boy, did the İstanbul Police Department get you a cheap deal!’ Tayyar continued. ‘People have been mugged in the elevator
     in the Lakeland. Watch yourselves!’
    ‘We will.’
    Tayyar did make several offers to them to stay over. But, reluctantly, İkmen and Süleyman both declined. The Lakeland Plaza,
     for all its drawbacks, was very close to the convention centre, and they did have an early start the next morning. A British
     officer was down to talk about a method of riot control called ‘kettling’.
    As ever the perfect host, Tayyar helped them to put on their coats and then walked with them out to the taxi he had called
     to take them back downtown. As he was walking beside İkmen, he suddenly clicked his fingers and said, ‘Goins. I knew I knew
     that name! Is this Ezekiel Goins anything to do with City Councillor Samuel Goins?’
    Martha didn’t often call on Samuel, but this time she’d felt that she had to. Lieutenant Diaz had brought Zeke home midway
     through the afternoon. As promised, the old man hadn’t gone to Brush Park to hassle Grant T. Miller. He really had gone down
     to be by the river. While he was there, however, he’d hung out outside the Cobo Center and then rattled on to that Turkish
     cop again about Elvis. By the time Keisha came home from school, he was agitated fit to burst, and so Martha had had no choice
     but to call out Zeke’s little brother.
    City Councillor Samuel Goins was fifteen years younger than Zeke. He was smart, rich, good-looking and successful. He had
     also become, after years of hard work and campaigning, the poster boy for Melungeon achievement. His campaigning slogan, ‘Not
     black, not white, not hillbilly – Detroiter!’ was delivered in an accent that wasvery far from his brother’s deep southern patois. The youngest of eight Goins boys, Samuel had worked in the Ford plant for
     a while, but he’d also gone and got himself an education.
    ‘Zeke, you really mustn’t hassle people like this,’ Samuel said as he took his brother’s hand gently across Martha’s kitchen
     table.
    ‘But he’s a Turk, Sam! He understand
meraba
,
gül
,
mavi
,
kismet
, all the words I learned!’ Zeke said through tears of anger and frustration. How dared that Martha go and bother Sam with
     all this! ‘Like us.’
    ‘Mmm.’ Samuel Goins nodded his large grey head and said, ‘Zeke, we may be kin to this man in one sense. But we aren’t like
     him and he isn’t like us.’
    ‘But he’s a Turk!’
    ‘Yes, which means that he’s a Muslim,’ Samuel said. ‘That’s a long way from being a Baptist.’
    ‘I don’t mind he’s no Muslim, Sam,’ Zeke said. ‘We being Melungeon, we can’t be prejudiced who we talk to and who we don’t.’
    ‘No, and neither should we be,’ Samuel said. ‘But Zeke, the poor man’s only here for a conference. He knows nothing about
     Elvis or Miller or any of the things that you talk to him about. You have to leave him be.’
    ‘But he’s a Turk. Türkiye!