Conversation · Titus Hardie

"I analysed the evidence and it pointed to you. Nothing personal."

"You aren't much of a thinker, are you?" He sticks his giant index finger right in your face.

"Look, I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."

"What's going to happen to the Hardie boys now?"

"First, we're gonna find Dennis..."

"I'm going to find Dennis," he interjects. "I'm going to find him and then I'm going to kill him."

The tone of the statement is so matter-of-fact, it's as though he were talking about picking up a morning newspaper on his daily walk around the block.

"Frontier justice -- I like it!"

The lieutenant shakes his head but doesn't say anything.

Go ahead then. Maybe they'll only break his legs.

"Mhm," he nods without really listening. "We're hunting that rat down -- let it be known what happens to cowards. And then..." He thinks for a moment.

"I guess I'll take a closer look at our Union members. There's bound to be some ambitious fellows there who'd love nothing more than advancing social democracy by bustin' some heads."

"Might even ask Tibbs if he's tired of replacing windows and maybe wants to have some fun with his brother." He pauses. "Anyway, don't you worry -- as long as Titus Hardie's standing, there will be Hardie boys."

He's right. The numbers are replaceable. In an organization of thousands of men, there are plenty who'd join.

"That's not going to bring back..."

"Your guy, your responsibility -- do what you feel is right."

"Any idea what I should do now?"

"Judging by the sight of you..." He looks at your bandages. "I'd suggest crawling into bed with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a big tit in the other."

"Yeah, go pay Monica a visit in Jamrock. She's got a knack for making men forget about their worries. Biggest pair of milkers in all of Revachol."

"Or go pay your partner a visit in the hospital. I hear he got shot up pretty bad."

"We don't have time for that grief shit," the kid suddenly interjects. "Cunn and Pig are gunning it. We got a case to solve."

"Cunn and what-the-fuck now?" He stares at Cuno, scratching his head.

"Easy E, let the kid be. This is a day of mourning and I don't want it turned into a joke... you chasing the kid around, the kid calling you a f******t. We don't need that shit."

"Right." The man sips on his milk.

Cuno keeps silent too.

Fuck it, let 'em have their day, Cuno thinks. Doesn't have to be a joke. Cuno was just sayin' we need to solve this shit...

"Hell, you both look like you could use some feminine company right now."

"Thank you for your advice, Eugene. And you too, Alain. I do always appreciate a good use of the expression 'milkers'."

It sincerely amuses him -- how hard these guys typecast themselves.

"You're welcome, binoclard," Titus' response is completely unironic. "You're all right in my book."

"So long, fellows. Be good so I don't have to come back here again." [Leave.]

He gives you a quick two-finger salute.

"You look after yourself now, copper," he says with a warm smile. "Death passed on you today, but men don't get that lucky twice."

"Coppo loco." He looks at you and nods. "Good luck in Jamrock. Scars make the best tattoos, they say."

"Thanks for getting involved, man. Not a lot of cops would step in that line of fire, but you did."

"And if you ever feel like the uniform is holding you back... I've got a few vacancies. You'd make one hard Hardie boy, copper."

And Titus Hardie himself would make a good officer. That man was born to lead.

"Bye, Titus." [Leave.]

"The RCM could really use a man like you, Titus. Think about it."

"I will, coppo. That's a promise." He puts his can down. "Now scoot, 'cause the Hardie boys got some mourning and drinking to do."

"Take it easy on the drink. The danger has not passed -- this town needs you on your feet."

"Good point, binoclard." Hardie looks at his beer. "We'll keep the vol under 12% tonight."

"Fuck off, asshole, can't you see we're mourning here?!"

"God, why are you still here..." He's getting quite drunk now. "I'm sick of seeing you cops around."

"And I was wrong about your big dick too... you don't have a big dick." He stares disappointed into his beer.

Seeing you approach, the bruised man clenches his fists.

"Careful. Looks like we got a situation here." He gives you a knowing nod.

"Those guys are what Cuno calls the f*g army," he whispers. "They think they're a big deal around here."

He really hates the Hardie boys. Laying off speed for a few days hasn't changed that. Titus ignoring him doesn't help either.

"You slimy piece of shit..." He surveys you. "You're lucky you got shot, 'cause I've a mind to tear you to pieces right now, but..."

He did not appreciate you blaming him for the murder -- but then again you probably saved his ass later, so he says...

"In the light of your..." he searches for the right word, then finds it, "badassery... I'm even willing to forgive the fact you tried to pin a murder on us."

"I guess what I'm trying to say here is, thank you for intervening, fellas -- that was mighty brave of you." He extends his hand.

"Situation defused," he declares with undue authority.

He's so proud of himself, you're tempted to believe that he just defused the situation.

Titus' hand is covered in bruises and half-plastered. Still, this hulking lump of man is glad to be alive.

(Shake it.) "No need to thank me, just doing my job."

"Well, cheers anyway, copper!" He raises his whiskey bottle in salute.

(Shake it.) "I superstarred the shit out of that."

"Dick Mullen on steroids..." A sad smile passes over his bruised face. "Glen would have liked you had he gotten to... never mind."