Diyarbakir

     Iesha again found it difficult to breathe...this guy was lying right on top of her. She tried to talk.

     "Shuuuuush!" ordered Loyal. The car below had stopped. "Don't talk."

     "Gad zukes!" muttered Iesha.

     "Shuuuush," he reiterated. Someone was coming up the steps. Loyal could hear him. Meanwhile, the car moved off again in the direction of the dolmus, which could still be heard thump-thumping down the road whith its bent wheel. "We've gotta go," he whispered. He dragged her to the other side of the wall where he could see the New Hotel across Ataturk Square. Their best chance was to descend and make a run for it. But how? Their time was running out.

     "What are you doing, you meany?" she protested.

     He held on to her wrist and tried to nudge her over the side. "I'm going to lower you," he suggested. "Hurry."

     "You're going to..."

     Hanging on to her wrist, he prodded her over the edge, where she dangled some eight to nine feet above the ground below. He looked back over his shoulder.

     "You son-of-a..."

     Loyal dropped her as soon as she opened her mouth. He eased himself over the side on his belly and hung by both arms. As he let go, he saw the head of his pursuer appear at eye-level across the top of the wall. He could not know if he was seen. He landed upright and on his feet. Iesha was picking herself up.

     "What the..." she started to say, but Loyal clamped his hand over her mouth and pinned her body firmly against the cold, basalt blocks of the wall. He held his breath and looked upward, while holding a finger over his lips for the benefit of Iesha. He was aware of the warmth of her body and the soft contour of her breasts and thighs. She felt like a woman. She felt good. He was mad at himself for such thoughts, especially under calamitous conditions. He backed off, remembering that she was a hooker for all he knew...and a black one at that.