“Madam Khunthong,” he said. “These boys already believe lies, and those lies are killing them. A silly story becomes a rumor, which becomes a legend, which becomes a reality. Our boys are dying in their sleep, killed by malevolent spirits that take advantage of their naivety and susceptibility. Once you believe enough in something, it becomes real. Believe me. I have inherited a whole dimension through belief. These young men are afraid to go to sleep because, in their dreams, there lurks a woman who can suck out their souls. And in their sleeping hours she becomes real. And in their dreams she kills them. And they believe they are really dead. So they have no option other than to die. Here!”

He held out one of his bones.

“This is magic,” he said. “It looks simple but it is blessed. It contains enough karma to ward off any evil spirit woman who walks the night. It’s a false belief sent into battle a false belief.”

She looked into his eerie green eyes.

“Are you sure this will work?” she said.

“I know it will,” said Siri. “There’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll have to charge for them.”

She laughed.

“I knew it,” she said. “Porn told me it wasn’t a scam but I—”

“It’s not,” said Siri. “It only needs to be a hundred kip or a baby chick or some embroidery. It’s a token. You can use whatever you earn for any projects you have running. But it can’t be free, you see? Quite rightly, we Lao have learned not to trust anything free. For this to be credible it has to have a price.”

Daeng awoke with the sky as black as blindness outside the window. She turned around to see a familiar empty space on the mattress beside her.

“Siri, are you in the bathroom or in the other world?” she shouted.

There was no answer.

He was in the other world.

“You’re a being of extremes,” said Siri.

“I can’t think what you mean,” said Bpoo. He had finally shed the ‘Auntie’ skin. He was dressed in a man’s three-piece-herringbone suit with a tie and flip-flops. He sat opposite Siri at a metal table in a conventional police interview room. One wall had a long mirror that would have been disappointing if it wasn’t two-way.

“I suppose I’ll have to take my own credit for getting you out of skintight lamé and unwalkable stilettos,” said Siri. “But now you’re overdoing the macho. I expect you to pull out your rubber hose and start beating a confession out of me. There’s middle ground, you know? I’ll probably miss your elaborate sets and rampant symbolism, but I’d be quite happy to meet you on the bank of the Mekong over a metaphorical baguette.”