Conversation · Logic

"Thank you..."

The young man gulps like he's trying not to cry.

"Wait, does anyone feel that?"

"What?"

"The law is the law. If you avoid the Call we will consider you fugitives and hunt you down." (Arrest them.)

"I have to check out the church before I can decide what to do with you." (Decide later.)

"I understand, detective. I hope we can continue on an amiable path, right? No more misunderstandings, no more lies." He smiles cautiously. "Before you go, is there anything else you need?"

"Keep the lab, but I want a cut of your operation." (Proceed with both, become a partner.)

"Okay. That's cool with us, right?" He looks around.

"Yeah!" His friend nods his huge peroxide blond head.

"Ten percent."

"Don't be offensive, Noid. We could use a partner on the other side. It's safer with someone watching over the operation, keeping the... khm..." he clears his throat, "other cops out of our soup. How does 35% sound?"

You have more control than they do, the agreement should reflect that. You should push for 60%.

You could probably justify taking 70%. The risks are greater for you as a police officer.

"Deal."

"You deliver us the church and keep the law away from it and we'll give you your share, alright? Be sure to return every couple of months for your pay."

"Okay."

"Okay. We're all cool now, right?" He sounds hopeful. "What's the next step? What's gonna happen now?"

"Hang on, I thought I'd get some money quickly?"

"Come now, it'll take weeks to get everything set up, start making the produce, and deliver it around to the needy. This is a lengthy process."

"60%. I hold all the cards here, kids. I can lock you up and say this was all an act."

"C'mon man, you're killing us..." Andre runs his hands through the spikes of his hair.

"55%. I want the control stock in this or I simply won't be motivated." (Shrug.)

"C'mon man, you're killing us..." Andre runs his hands through the spikes of his hair.

"70%. I'm a police officer. I could be risking thirty years of service for this. Actually -- I should take 75%."

"C'mon man, you're killing us..." Andre runs his hands through the spikes of his hair.

"It's 75% or I'm taking you to the holding pen right now."

"Fuck this. Take us in or kill us. We're not bowing any longer."

He looks to his friend, then at you. "Sorry," he nods. "I'm with Noid on this. Take us in or do it for 50%."

Tough stuff. They're not kidding.

"Get lost, I don't want to see you again." (Evict them.)

The would-be leader looks beat. "Okay," he nods.

"Pack it up, Egg." The young man closes his toolbox.

"You're getting off easy. I'm letting you live."

He glares at you. "Yes. Thank you, officer."

"You should be glad. I'm not even arresting you."

He doesn't even look at you.

"No, please!" Egg Head presses STOP on the tape player. In the silence, you can hear the wind howl outside.

"There needs to be a club for anodic music in there. Everyone hates each other. Everybody hates it here, it's all just drugs and we're slaves and I can't... We are running out of time!" Without his smile Egg Head looks heartbroken. And older than you thought he was.

He looks almost as old as you.

"We need a win. I promise this will be a win! We won't cook speed in there, we'll do it clean, we'll do it true. We'll do it sober and real and beautiful. This will be a victory for the light."

This will be nothing.

You can hear the ice cracking underneath you. Outside on the pier the last century development crumbles in the wind, a grapeshot row of falling houses. And so does Rue Saint-Gérôme and Main Street. The Old Cinema is sinking underneath Villalobos...

"Wait, does anyone feel that?"

"What?"

"It wouldn't change a thing. It's too late. For everything. Just pack your bags and go." (Evict them.)

"No..." He looks like he's at least 45 years old. "What does that even mean?"

"No debate. Get lost, I'm not letting some druggies take over a church." (Evict them.)

"Man, that speech was beautiful. I think I've changed my mind." (Don't evict them.)

"Thank you..."

The young man gulps like he's trying not to cry.

"50% it is." (Agree with the deal.)

"Okay?" He looks around. There are no objections. "I want you to know there's no bad blood here."

"70%. Nothing below that."

"No. 50%. We do this even or not at all."

"Why should I profit so handsomely? I don't own the means of production, I don't wear the top hat. 25% is enough, towarzysz."

"That's fair of you." The young man nods, approvingly. "Towarzysz hard core."

"Let's do this clean. No speed lab, just a club for anodic music." (Proceed with the club.)

"YEAHH!" The young man's smile widens to inhuman proportions. His teeth beam in the floodlight.

He looks almost innocentic, with that Harmon-Wowshi player raised up high. Could this be the certainty a spirit-of-the-world feels?