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the needle from his thigh and slapped the bare flesh. ‘A woman has only twenty to sixty nanograms. That’s what makes usdifferent. Who we are, and everything we are, lies in that little syringe. But were I to overuse this drug, I would suffer excessive liver damage and my testicles would shrink. I’ve seen it happen to other men, because it’s an addictive drug. I inject it once every two weeks. No more.’
    I said nothing.
    â€˜But unlike many drugs,’ Hayes continued, ‘my body can produce this drug naturally, under the right conditions. Your body will raise its testosterone levels depending on external circumstance, like it does with adrenaline.’
    â€˜So you’re chasing a high,’ I said.
    â€˜The greatest high,’ Hayes said, grinning.
    â€˜What do you do? Run? Box? Drive fast cars?’
    â€˜Those activities will raise adrenaline and testosterone levels, certainly. But I have a whole new way of doing it, and I don’t have to expend any of my precious physical energy at the same time.’ Hayes bent the plastic syringe and it snapped sharply.
    â€˜So what do you do?’
    â€˜I look a man in the face as he dies,’ Hayes explained. ‘It’s the greatest natural high, when you know that it could have been you.’
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    During the night I feigned sleep on the couch and listened to Hayes and Phoebe having mad sex in the room next to me. Somewhere else in the city there was a bed that I had already paid for and was not sleeping in. The clock in the kitchen told me it was nearing four in the morning.
    I thought to myself that I didn’t really know these people. During the evening we sat around the living roomdrinking wine and telling stories, and I watched uncomfortably as Hayes groped at Phoebe in front of me. Hayes suggested going out and Phoebe said she was lagged from the plane trip and they could do that tomorrow. Let’s just relax tonight.
    In the morning Hayes rose early and showered and dressed for work. He wore a crisp suit without a tie. I noted that he was wearing running shoes. He smoked a cigarette and made coffee for the both of us. Phoebe did not emerge from the bedroom.
    Hayes had mixed bourbon into the coffee.
    â€˜Today I have to meet with some corrupt city officials,’ Hayes said. ‘Big business, local government. The usual sort of scandal. Sooner or later you realise that every city in the world is Fat City. You should come.’
    â€˜I should come?’
    â€˜Sure. The interview will take about an hour. Then we can see some of the seedier parts of the city.’ He said this last part like it was a secret.
    â€˜I think I’ve already seen those,’ I told him. On my lips the coffee was sweet.
    â€˜You haven’t,’ Hayes said. He winked and turned away.
    The city was alive at eight in the morning. I had not showered or changed my clothes. There was a tape playing ‘Exile on Main Street’ in the deck as the car idled slowly in traffic. Hayes kept a cigarette behind his left ear like an architect might wear a pencil. He had removed his jacket.
    He sat behind the wheel and seemed largely oblivious to the other cars packed tightly around us. He was busily singing with Jagger, out of tune. After a while he gave up.
    â€˜Where we are right now,’ Hayes began, ‘was once a part of the kingdom of Funan. This was sometime duringthe second century, of course. Funan no longer exists.’
    â€˜Thank you for the history lesson,’ I said. I was tired and hungover and in no mood to play Encyclopedia Britannica.
    Hayes continued: ‘The French captured Saigon in 1859. Long story short, Ho Chi Minh led communist guerillas in a resistance against French domination. He declared Vietnamese independence after World War Two. Eventually Vietnam was divided into two zones, one for the Communist north and the other for the anti-Communist south, which was supported by the US. There was a