They exchange a glance. “Livers and kidneys.”
“She bet five kidneys in a game of blackjack yesterday-”
“I did not. It was three kidneys.”
“You use human organs as betting chips?”
“We use commodities. Sometimes it’s gold, sometimes livers, sometimes kidneys, sometimes pig belly futures.”
“I wanted to talk about something else,” I say.
They look at me expectantly. I keep looking at the gun and the splinters of glass on the floor. I let too many beats pass and miss my cue, perhaps deliberately. Now that I’ve found the Twins, I realize that any meeting with them would be futile without more background.
Lilly says, “Let me show you around. We haven’t taken you on the standard tour yet.”
The other, Polly, remains at the table while Lilly and I climb the stairs to the top floor, where I came in. We start at the beginning of the photographic display, with a Chinese man in top hat and tails standing in a Chinese street that looks like circa 1930s. He is young, with a cigar in his hand and a shine in his eyes that promises a ruthless and successful future. “That’s Grandfather. He was a very strong man-you can see it in his eyes. Strong men castrate their sons, a psychologist told us ages ago: that’s what Peter the Great did to his son. That’s what Grandfather did to Daddy. Daddy was an alcoholic and a gambler. Grandfather saw what a dead loss he was, so he put almost the whole of the property and his fortune in a trust a few years before he died. Daddy couldn’t touch it except for living expenses, otherwise he would have gambled it all away.
“It still is in trust, otherwise we would have gambled it all away. That old bastard gave us such a piddling allowance, we had to scrounge around for years and years until we discovered organ trafficking. We knew at once we were just made for it. Imagine what it does to your worldview when you can see profit in everyone you meet. We felt the same excitement Grandfather told us about, to be perfectly placed in an industry that’s about to take off.”
“What industry was he in?”
“Armaments. At the beginning of the Second World War.”
She gives me the big Chinese smile. Is she joking? Trying to scare me? Or is she just insane? Or-scariest of all-simply telling the truth? I see a world in which we size each other up not for sex appeal but for the resale value of our livers.
We stop in front of a cabinet in the same blackwood.
“Opium pipes?” I say. “With all the bits and pieces.” Behind the glass must be the most complete sets I’ve seen, each one a work of art. I missed them on the way in. “They’re exquisite,” I say.
“They’re called layouts. Each one includes two pipes laid on each side of the mother-of-pearl inlay. The bowls are made of Yixing clay. The miniature cupboard at the end is for the opium and whatever one used to thicken it, quite often just aspirin.”
“They look well used.”
“Mmm. Grandfather smoked every Friday night. He started in Shanghai, of course, and continued over here. In those days the British didn’t take it seriously, even though it was already illegal. He forbade my father to smoke it, though. He said it was harmless so long as you were strong enough to use it sparingly. So Daddy became an alcoholic instead. Do you think that was an improvement? To die from opium addiction is, of course, a disgusting death-but not as bad as coughing up your own liver.”
“That’s how he died, your father?”
She twists her head to indicate she didn’t like the question. “People with strong affections develop fetishes. I can’t tell you how many Polly and I have about gambling. And the other things we do.” A smile. “Grandfather loved everything to do with opium-he even grew poppies in the greenhouse. When you love something, you want it every way you can get it. But he was so strong, he never let the opium dominate. I have a luck charm tattooed on the top of my left thigh. Maybe I’ll show you one day.” She has come significantly closer.
There is a sound on the stairs. Polly appears, daggers in her eyes.
“You see what I mean about twins?” Lilly says. “Insanely jealous. She’s not attracted to you at all. She just couldn’t stand the thought of my having you. Isn’t that right, love?”
Polly walks over to kiss me on the cheek. “She doesn’t want you either. Neither of us likes sex. She’s just provoking me. She’s angry that I didn’t die just now, aren’t you?”
“Same to you with knobs on,” Lilly says, and sticks out her tongue.
They are standing on either side of me, and the experience is making me feel faint. I am quite certain they know what they are doing. (I hope you will not laugh at me, DFR, when I explain to you that these women are not human at all. They are a variety of pawb or ogre that lives in human bodies, native to Southeast Asia. I didn’t want to test your credulity by mentioning it before, but now I trust the matter is obvious. FYI, there are plenty of demons masquerading as humans all over the world, many of them in high places-political leaders, captains of industry; they are quite unaware of their true identity but often betray themselves by a tragic lack of depth.) The combined force of their malevolence is quite debilitating. I think the game of Russian roulette was set up for my benefit, a shock tactic to disorient me.
A buzzer sounds. They exchange a glance. Polly goes to the door to press a button. “Yes?”
“Polly? Lilly? It’s Sam. Just popped by to say thanks for the other night.” It’s a woman’s voice with a British accent.
Polly and Lilly share a glance, then Polly squeals into the microphone. “Sam! Darling! How wonderful. ”
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything. My chauffeur just came back from the shops and-you know what gossips Filipinos are-he told me he saw the most gorgeous man standing outside your gates, so I won’t come in. I just wanted to say thankseversomuch for such a wonderful party-you two still know how to throw them-and how, loves.”
“Of course you must come in!” Polly squeals again into the mike. “Stop being so absolutely disgustingly polite and British. You know we both adore you to bits!” She presses a button, exchanges another glance with her sister, and shrugs.
The three of us wait in silence until there’s a knock on the door. Lilly opens it, and a tall blond woman in her thirties enters, brimming with health, smiles, and money. Everyone squeals except me: “Darling!”
“Darlings!”
“Oh, darling, you look absolutely fantastic!”
“So do you two! Ohmygod, you’re wearing the same clothes! It’s like seeing double. And after all these years.”
“Guess who’s who,” Lilly says.
“Yes, guess.”
“A glass of Pimm’s if you get it right.”
“Two if you get it wrong.”
Laughter. The woman called Sam throws me a glance.
“Oh, gosh, forgot to introduce you. This is-Detective-ah-”
“Jitpleecheep,” I say.
The blond woman shakes my hand. Blue Brahmin eyes check me out: what caste do I belong to? I’m a cop and Eurasian, not her level at all. “So pleased to meet you.”
“Enchante,” I say, Buddha knows why.
“Well,” Sam says, “an absolutely gorgeous policeman who speaks French, only you two could pull that off. Where on earth did you find him?”
“He took us to Monte Carlo. Didn’t you, Detective?”
“Well,” Sam says again, definitively upstaged, “how interesting. Look darlings, I must be off. TTD, you know.”
“Oh, it’s always things to do with you. Won’t you stay for a Pimm’s, love?”
“I really can’t, loves. I’ve got to go down to the snake pit to buy a birthday present for James. He’s terribly sensitive about these things, and he has done rather well on the derivatives market lately, so he does deserve a little TLC.”
“Are you going down into the city?” I say on impulse. “I’m going that way myself.”
“Well, of course,” Sam says, “I’ve got the driver waiting up top. Are you ready?”
