‘Officer Shomko, I’ve got a business proposal. You seem a helpful guy. I was just out looking for somewhere I might get a drink, meet some Kazakh ladies. I don’t know this city and I don’t want any more dealings with police. How about another few tenge, you show me somewhere I can get what I need.’

I showed more notes. The two men consulted one another, Shomko saying I was his, the young man negotiating his cut. Shomko took the money off me and thrust a handful of tenge at his colleague, who got out of the car with a final glance of disdain in my direction.

We drove to a place with a ‘24 hour’ sign blinking by a small door into the back of what looked like an office block. There was no indication of what was available around the clock, but a vent beside it poured an inverted waterfall of scented steam into the night air.

‘You are married?’ he said, as we waited for someone to let us in.

‘Divorced. You?’

‘Divorced. You like Kazakh women?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do not marry a Kazakh woman.’

‘Okay.’

We were buzzed in, hit by the smell of menthol and eucalyptus. A second door led to the front desk of a sauna and massage parlour. A girl lay sleeping on a sofa at the side under a coat. Four men played cards in a side room. A middle-aged woman sat behind the desk watching a Russian reality show. Shomko spoke to her about entry fees.

‘What does he want?’ the woman asked.

‘What do you think he wants?’

‘What’s so special he gets a police escort?’

They haggled over his cut. Shomko quoted me a price.

‘You trust this place?’ I said.

‘It is the best.’

‘Are you sticking around? How do I know I don’t get busted coming out?’

He said he’d wait, folding the money into his pocket. I told him to get a girl himself, paid for both of us. The woman rolled her eyes and told Shomko to shower. She gave us towels and keys for the lockers.

Eyes in the steam watched us pass. There were dead branches in a basket by the door, leaves on the floor. I heard the rustle of birch branches against skin as men swiped themselves.

‘Go steam. Your girl will collect you.’

‘Okay.’

Shomko got changed into a towel and disappeared. I went towards the steam then doubled back to the changing room and prised open Shomko’s locker.

His wallet contained some kind of prayer card, Viagra and ID for the National Security Committee, which made my heart sing. Lt Aslan Shomko from the regional department of the NSC, essentially the old KGB with new insignia and less ideology, so it covered a lot of policing, border control, drugs. There were betting slips and numbered tickets: Bolim Lombard. Lombard was Russian for pawn shop.