Conversation · Jean Vicquemare

"Did you?" He adjusts his tie. "Or did you literally not recognize my face? We've been partners for how long, Harry? Don't answer that -- you don't remember."

"I don't like being lied to!"

"I didn't lie to you -- no one lies to you. You were so fucked up on booze you couldn't recognize your own partner."

"What's a shitkid?"

"You. Shitkid -- that's you."

Despite all that you've done -- the deserter, the phasmid, the case?!

"Despite all that I've done?"

"No -- because of all that you've done."

Better not to piss him off by arguing.

Good idea. It doesn't look like he thinks you're in a position to correct him on the shitkid issue.

Maybe you've deserved it?

"My jacket... no one else seems bothered by it..."

"Harry, you're a cop with 'Pissf****ts' on his back! Do you have any idea how hard the liberals are going to fuck us for this?"

No, no, no! You've sensitivity tested this!

"Okay, I see. Yes."

"Harry, there are probably pictures..." The full gravity of the situation dawns on him.

"They're going to fuck us to death."

"Yes," Trant Heidelstam says. "There could have been cameras. This needs damage control."

"There weren't any cameras around." He stares at his boots. "They don't have cameras..."

"Cuno's liking this tense shit."

"Don't worry, many people have seen me like this. No one said anything."

"Pissf****t. Singular."

"What is that, FALN AC? What's with all the performance gear? Are you back in high school?"

"What does that say on your back..." He squints. "'Pissf***ts'... what the fuck* is wrong with you?!"

"What does that say on your back? 'Fuck the World'? So you've turned into some kind of... nihilistic rock-and-roll world ender?"

"You look like a fucking clown, Harry. Not like a funny police officer, but like a real-life, full-time, pie-in-the-face, unicycle-riding circus employee."

"Harry... you're bleeding all over the place. You're half dead."