The sun had risen to it s zenith in the sky, its heat transmogrifying the light into waves and waves of waves rippling in the distance, the water slowly boiling into the sky, dust particles lingering trapped underneath the whitewashed ceilings, dripping back to the floor, light beams between wooden shutter, cacophonous, Yuri opens the door.

The world notices Yuri, you could tell be the way he walks tall, swaggering, with ready fists and thick forearms, his shirt was unbuttoned to show his prodigious chest hair, which he groomed and brushed, and he knows this. His stomach protrudes handsomely out of his Jeans. He is not the tallest but his chest is wide and he is stocky and well balanced.

He gestures and his three cronies fall behind him following down the dusty streets, past the old men sitting on the steps drinking tea, or smoking from magnificent bronze water smoking pipes, children or pickpockets dodging past or crowded in gangs, and their elders at business, or just watching or waiting for some opportunity to address itself, this was not the most unsavoury part of town, but the youth were many more, and they had the energy to keep themselves busy.

They knew Yuri was not one to be messed with, they would pay Yuri sometimes if the fit would take him to want some more money, but what need of money did he have now, he had access to all the cash he could ever desire. He nods to his acquaintances in the Agora, he is infamous with the stallholders, the bloom of the youth watch trying to gain some justified profit from this great abundance of fruit and vegetables towering, and heaved in huge delicious piles upon wooden carts staffed by what would seem like swarthy thieves. The air was thick with the rotting perfume of it all.

People and Power are bought with cold hard cash here and no business was more profitable than that of smuggling, or piracy. The margins involved in processing this were far more generous than the rate of return on any legitimate concern because the purveyors of this service were always known for their finesse and ostentatious aesthetic.

Yuri grins at JK

“Turkish women are the most beautiful, they are the most fabulous cooks and they will not, dare not turn to some whimsical lust or turn into whores who will sleep with any man anywhere. I have because of my wealth many beautiful wives, their eyes are dark, their lips are full, their breasts heave, they will do everything to please me and they conspire against one another for my gorgeous favour, HA, HA”

He rumbles, his hand reaching to clasp JK’s shoulder a little too tightly, JK thinks perhaps this is his naturally grip, always a message, there is always underlying communication in body language, he looks right at JK, searching JK’s face or JK’s eyes, Yuri senses fear, it is what he is used to, he likes it, it makes him fear more comfortable, a man of the law would show no fear, only cunning, this was Yuri’s unconscious test of all the people he met. He could kill someone and feel nothing; it was only physical locomotion, an action.

JK is feeling quite uncomfortable, he always felt as if he were transparent in these places, he preferred his lies always, they told him that he was good at maintaining a front, that he had a natural talent, the coffee house assaulted the senses with its bucolic strangeness, he was tired, he had no time, the convoy had arrived days later than expected, the Ship was about to leave. He takes a sip of his tea and munches a few chunks of exquisite Turkish delight. This makes him feel slightly somehow better and he notices how nice the weather is outside

Yuri starts to beat his chest, his voice getting noticeably louder

“Turkish coffee is the best cafe in the world, see how dark and strong it is, it is only for real men”

JK understands the significance. He did not really want to meet Yuri. He had asked was it not simpler to quickly and efficiently deliver the goods and receive the money, preferably somewhere quiet, the port at night, surely somewhere in the whole of the city would be quiet at night, they had assured them that place was crawling with millions of Turkish opportunists and that it was far too dangerous a cargo, in case HM Government is exposed as being the supplier and what hope for our nation if its own government was scandalised, it would lead to bloody anarchy. He had to meet Yuri here and arrange this, take him to the cargo and insure it gets on the bloody ship then accompany the bloody cargo to fucking where it was going, right, got that Jocko?

They walk out through the bazaar, monkey’s scamper along roof tops, and clings to protruding Masonry, and a crowd of gypsies play accordions, their wild women whirling and stamping their bare feet. One of them cries and starts to sing, to howl in some guttural tongue.

This is what JK could eat at the moment, a nice piece of tongue, a whore’s special tongue, and he licks his lips

Yuri places his arm around JK’s shoulder as they walk

“Enough of this small talk, there is business to be done”

JK feels the gun pressing into his ribs and Yuri asks him

“How much monies?”

Then out of the corner of his eye JK is strangely aware of a man’s face as he strides towards him, hustling people out the way, he reaches into a pocket and produces a gun, he aims

“BANG”

One of Yuri’s henchman falls to the ground, people start to run or hide,

“BANG”

Another falls knocked head over heels by the impact

Yuri pushes him to the ground and JK falls face first on to the dusty road, he tries to take cover, he looks up, and Yuri is charging at one of the gunmen, and launches himself at him connecting with a vicious flying head butt. The man crumples to the ground.

Yuri has a gun now; he turns and shoots someone else who is still standing dead, JK shouts “11o clock”

Yuri sees the other gunman, he can feel the blood thundering in his head, and his heart pounding and he runs at him waving the gun like some sort of club, and the man turns and flees.

Yuri is after him like the swiftest gorilla ever seen, he sweeps through the crowds barging them with his proud belly and sweeping them away like he was swimming with his arms.

JK is on his feet now, the danger has passed, he can tell because he feels calmer, he has learned to trust his instincts up to now, and up to now he had been lucky.

He gets up one of the gunman is unconscious his nose broken, JK quickly brakes his neck; those were orders, no witnesses, no collaborators, only tools which do they their bloody job. Finished, he stalks to some corner, some hidden shadow to await the return of Yuri.

He does not need to wait long, Yuri is dragging the culprit by the scruff of his shirt back to the square, he takes him to the centre of the bazaar and he throws him to the people, who surround him and beat him to death. Their displeasure at his recent attempt to put them all in the line of fire requires some vent, an anger like hurricane.

Yuri turns to JK, and he looks frightened, worried and hisses to JK

“They were, Masada”

Look, he shows JK a Bagel