In the Crosshairs

My first overseas trip was to Adana, Turkey and it had members of my chain of command concerned as only eight of us were going and my previously erratic behavior had given them reason to fear that I might run afoul of authorities, consequently I was required to watch Midnight Express three times to ensure that I understood exactly how bad Turkish prison was.

All preparations finished I proceeded across the Atlantic and was met at the airport by Joe Mac. Now Joe Mac was just out of the 82nd Airborne and a bit of a wild beast and I was 19 years old on my first trip overseas and while I had been practicing my partying skills this was my first time in the big leagues. We made it to the hotel which was much plusher than I expected. I dropped bags and had a serious scrub before meeting Joe in the hotel bar where he was sipping a tall cold one and when he saw me he ordered another Efes Pilsen, the local brew, for me. “Jimmy” he said, “you are gonna love this town. You just stick with me and you will live large. Once we get a good buzz on we go the belly dancing bar”. I said ” Dude the one place MSG Pogue said I was absolutely forbidden to go to is a belly dancing bar” “Of course Pogue said that dumbass, Christ his name is Pogue” Joe retorted. At this point he told me to give him a hundred dollar bill, which denomination he had informed me to bring all of my money in. I complied and he turned and began talking to the bartender which eventually resulted in his handing me a thick wad of Turkish lira. “I got you way better than the usual rate because the smugglers love US $100s. They are the universal crime currency” he informed.

Then the bartender came over with two drinking glasses on a tray with a bowl of ice cubes and tongs. He set them down and Joe explained “This is Raki, Turkish Ouzo, tastes like licorice and kicks your ass” That was cool with me because I had drunk Ouzo before and lived so I should be all right. Joe dropped a cube in each glass and they ran milky just like Ouzo so we clanked glasses and had a drink. It was smooth and way sweet and I drank half and smacked my lips. I looked at Mac and poured the rest down my throat and chased it with a sip of the beer. He looked back and said “Well now that is one technique” and followed suit himself. We then sat and enjoyed the rest of the Efes and eventually he jumped up and said ” Let’ do it” and started down the two story gigantic Gone with the Wind style staircase. We left the hotel en route to the one place I was forbidden to go, lit up on potent liquor and flush with lira exchanged on the black market, a pretty good start so far in my book.

Most of the walk to the belly dancing place was a very warm, fuzzy blur for me but eventually we maneuvered down the stairs underground and were led to a table where I got my first look at the place through the haze. There were thirty or forty tables with maybe ten occupied by Turks, some sitting with quite attractive ladies. There was a classic band dressed properly for the occasion in flowing silks, sitting on pillows and playing the requisite slightly, twangy music. Out in front of them was exactly the dancer you would expect swaying and swiveling quite nicely. About then a management-looking guy walked up to our table and welcomed us to his establishment saying “Gentlemen may I perhaps get you some sort of refreshment?” We decided two Efes Pilsen would cut the dust and he was soon back with our beverages. At this time he motioned toward a group of tables back by a service bar where a group of pretty ladies in evening wear were gathered and inquired “Would you gentlemen perhaps like some company?” “Well now that depends on what kind of company you are talking about.” Joe replied. “And what kind of money we are talkin.” The manager nodded and explained “These are very classy ladies who will come and sit with you and drink and enjoy conversation.” I piped up with the most important question “And when we leave they come with us?” “Well now that is really up to the lady. If she likes you, well perhaps.” our potential procurer informed us. When we did the math on the price and it came to around $60 for conversation and no guarantee we wouldn’t be leaving alone, we decided to forego company for the time being.

We had a couple more beers and were once again doing exchange rate courtesan math in our heads and it was tipping more their way when all hell broke loose. The whole room began filling up with green and white suited police boiling down the stairs and rousting everyone and looking at their papers. They started across the room from us and were yelling and pushing customers and employees and swatting anyone who didn’t jump quick enough. I looked at Joe and said “Jesus Christ my first night here and we’re going to Turkish prison. Damn dude what’s going on?” He said “Just be cool man. Be cool.” And then he began explaining the caste system of the Turkish Police. ” OK the guys in all green are the spuds, they do all the crap work. The next guys are the green with white trim, they’re like the NCOs the do most of the barking out orders. The top dogs are the ones in white with green trim, they mostly stomp around and occasionally smack somebody in the face. You could see the hierarchy in action as the scene unfolded, papers were checked, faces were smacked and every once in a while someone got drug up the stairs by the neck.

They worked their way across the bar systematically rousting customers, staff and even the band, but hadn’t even given us a glance. Joe leaned over and said “I think they are just gonna ignore us ‘cuz we’re Americans. It’s not like it’s hard to tell or anything” And it appeared he was right because even though about ten people, including the bass player from the band, went upstairs and didn’t come back they didn’t even say a word to us. Pretty soon one of the nattily attired top cops had a few final words with our friend the manager then slapped him on the back and the rest of the cops boiled back up the stairs and my ass unpuckered for the first time since the whole thing started.

Later that trip we were taking a taxi from Incirlik AFB back to our hotel in downtown Adana and as usual the ride was a wild one given the relaxed attitude toward traffic regulations of most of the drivers. The only noticeable rule was that whoever’s bumper is in front has the right of way. We were enjoying a couple of cold beverages on the ride as it had been a long, hot day and had survived to close to the hotel when we came up on a traffic circle where a motorcycle cop was standing next to his parked bike staring imperiously. He was clad in all green motorcycle leathers remarkably similar to the German Polizei and had the expected Ray-Ban Aviator shades preferred by jack-booted Nazi thugs, I mean cops, worldwide. He didn’t appear to be directing traffic or anything but when our cab pulled toward him I saw him make a small gesture toward our driver who completely missed it and kept going right past him and through the circle. I looked back and the motorcycle cop was beside himself flipping down his visor and jumping on his bike while screaming in Turkish.

I looked at Mac and said “Dude is he coming for us because of the beers. Shit this is a Muslim country what if he’s one of those radicals and Bam there we are in Turkish prison again.” “Would you shut up about Turkish prison you dumbass” Joe barked “We are not getting popped, but this driver might wish he had stopped for our boy”. Right about then the Green Hornet came buzzing right up next to the driver’s window and started whacking the driver with some kind of riding crop and yelling at the top of his lungs. The poor victim driver pulled over and barely had time to grab his papers before Officer Friendly reached through the window and just snatched the driver out of the car while simultaneously cussing and beating him? well.

Joe and I sat stone still in the back seat with our beers hidden under our shirts until the cop got in a few more shots on the driver then kicked him a couple of times before stepping away and grabbing his radio. He rattled off a few rapid fire phrases and then stepped smartly toward us. I was certainly expecting to get thumped just like the driver, and couldn’t have been more surprised when he leaned in the window and said

“Gentlemen, please allow me to apologize for this unpleasantness, the driver is the son of a dog. I have taken the liberty of calling you another taxi and there will be no charge for your ride.”