– I know you and your boss only sleep with white prostitutes, and that you only like three positions – and none of those are nice ones fir the girls. Am I right? Don’t answer – I am right!

She raises a third digit.

Both of the Triad men begin to look uneasy.

– I know you and Peter there, used to work fir a man who cut the throats of more than forty victims and he was set to kill another thirty-seven and every one of those was for good reason and you were on the second list, weren’t you?

– Excuse me?

– Rumour is you killed him, Bee states.

– Who have you been talking to? The older Triad has pulled out his gun.

– The actual story goes – that you and yer wee pal Raymond over there both have a very pretty price offered for anyone who can deliver your head. Have you heard those stories, ladies?

She looks over at the two women and holds up seven fingers, one for each point.

Closes her fist.

Bee has the room’s full attention.

Her fox whiskers are long and they can see her red mouth move below them. Her eyes flash intermittently from grey to black when she becomes angry.

– I know your money goes into movies, Bee says.

– We like to support the arts.

– Snuff films.

– No, Mr Ram!

– Yes, and some commercial films. That’s where your passion is, no? You like to see Triads looking good onscreen. We do too! My husband and I have watched each brilliant film over and over. We understand you really invest in the films. You enjoy watching the fights, the clothes, the music, the girls, the bars… the whole swagger of it! I understand it! It’s a part of your – more romantic side?

– You think that’s us being romantic?

– If ye’ve seen as much death as I have, Raymond, then aye. I’d say it’s quite sweet.

– Thank you, I think.

– You don’t show films of you taking girls out of clubs who aren’t ever seen again and who are certainly not acting in your commercial films and what we’ve also heard is that you’ve been up at the Red Room – looking around?

– We were just taking in the view!

– Don’t, Rab says.

Bee nods, agreeing with her husband.

– You know in yer wee Triad initiation ceremony, when ye sacrifice a fucking goat or a chicken or whatever, then ye drink some ay its blood with the wine – then yer altar is cleansed with incense and after ye say yer wee oath – and then that gets burnt… disappears into ash, doesn’t it, but it doesn’t mean even one part of that oath is allowed to be forgotten, right?

– No.

– No, it’s not!

Bee clicks her fingers as testosterone begins to heat up the room.

– You won’t kill us, Mrs Fox.

– Ooh – d’ye double-dare me? Bee whispers.