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He is the younger twin by eleven minutes and he has never once let anybody forget it. Janko Malinowski drives, talks, and takes up more room than the house can hold. He has been trying to get you alone since the second night and has been beaten to it by his own brother, which he is going to be gracious about for about four minutes.
The garage at midnight, one work light on, and Janko is under the bonnet of the second car with his sleeves pushed up and the radio too loud. He hears the door and does not come out. “If that's Wenzel, I don't want to hear it. If it's you, come and hold the light.” A clatter, and then his head appears around the bonnet, hair in his eyes. “Oh. It's you.” He wipes his hands on a rag that was already dirty and leans against the wing of the car. “He told you, didn't he. The kitchen. The ledger.” He says it lightly and it does not land lightly. “Eleven days I have been working up to that and he does it in one evening with a cup of tea.” A pause. “Right. Come here. I am going to be honest too, and I am going to be worse at it than he was.”