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eyes widened at the sight of me, and I put my finger to my lips as I tiptoed to the bed.
    I waited until the punter’s grunting accelerated, then placed the front sight of my Yarygin against his arsehole.
    I didn’t know if that triggered his orgasm or simply gave him a heart attack, but he squealed, yelled and farted all atonce. He rolled off Gulbara, at some considerable pain to both of them, and covered his rapidly dwindling erection with both hands. Gulbara was less modest, probably as a result of fucking strangers morning, noon and night, and simply reached for her cigarettes on the floor.
    I did my best not to stare, and motioned Shairkul in the vague direction of the mattress. My smile was not guaranteed to inspire confidence in any of the trio.
    ‘Let’s all make ourselves comfortable, and then we can have a little chat.’

Chapter 6
    ‘Letme put my fucking trousers on!’
    This from the fat pig; Gulbara didn’t care who checked out her goods as long as there was a cash purchase. He reached for his clothes, and I shook my head, waved the Yarygin, and he sat back up. I’m not an admirer of the male nude, especially when it’s fat, furry and about thirty kilos overweight. But you never know what people have in their pockets; a four-centimetre scar down my right forearm taught me that the difficult way. Besides, being naked with a gun pointing at you loosens the tongue. Not to mention the bowels.
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Who the fuck are you? Don’t you know who I am?’
    ‘If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?’ I said in my most reasonable voice. He was recovering now, and wondering what the play was. I could see him reasoning he’d already be dead, if this was a hit. Maybe he believed he was important enough not to get robbed by some street hood. And I wasn’t working the irate husband badger game with the girls. So just who the fuck was I?
    I decided to confuse him a little further.
    ‘You’re a good citizen, right? Helping this unfortunate young woman back on to the straight and narrow, right?’
    He answered by leaning over Gulbara and spitting on to the floor.
    I leant forward and gave his kneecap a little tap with the Yarygin. His reflexes were OK, I had to give him that.
    ‘Dumb arsehole!’
    I shook my head and looked disappointed.
    ‘I’m not dumb, I’m the one with the gun. And as for being an arsehole, well, we’ve all seen yours. So I’ll ask again. Name?’
    He remained silent, and my patience was shrinking faster than his prick. We could have gone on playing tough guys all night, but I’d better things to do.
    ‘Relax, I’m law. Murder Squad. I don’t give a fuck if you get her to give you a blow in the centre of Ala-Too Square. I want to talk to her, not you. Your name, then you can fuck off.’
    Pride meant he didn’t want to tell me. The Yarygin and being bollock-naked meant he would.
    ‘Gasparian. Khatchig.’
    Armenian. That accounted for the furry back. And the attitude. We Kyrgyz don’t hate the Armenians as much as we hate the Uzbeks or the Uighurs or the Kazakhs or the Tatars or the Russians, or, to be honest, anyone who isn’t Kyrgyz and most people who are. But there are a couple of gangs from Yerevan working the heroin routes from Afghanistan into the American military airbase, and our home-grown bad guys don’t care for foreign competition.
    ‘So what is this? You’re looking for a sweetener?’
    He mimed cash with thumb and forefinger, and reached down for his trousers.
    ‘Empty your pockets. Slowly. Finger and thumb. The other hand. And if anything naughty comes out, you’ve just had your last come.’
    He nodded understanding. A wallet thick with
som
. Car keys: he drove a BMW, judging by the fob. A fancy mobile. And a switchblade with a pale horn handle. His ID said he was telling the truth, at least about his name.
    ‘Kick the knife over here.’
    He did so, and I looked around for something to pick it up with, to avoid smearing any fingerprints. The only