Jean Vicquemare
Rhetoric
Visual Calculus
You
Empathy
Half Light
Logic
Judit Minot
Cuno
Esprit de Corps
Trant Heidelstam
Reaction Speed
Kim Kitsuragi
Authority
Electrochemistry
Composure
Suggestion
Conceptualization
Physical Instrument
Drama
Perception (Sight)
Interfacing
Hand/Eye Coordination
Savoir Faire
Pain Threshold
Inland Empire
Encyclopedia"The bells aren't ringing because you have brain damage. Trant," he turns to the blond, "this is where you come in -- how bad is it?"
"The bells aren't ringing because you have brain damage, Detective God. Trant," he turns to the blond, "this is where you come in -- how bad is it?"
"Well... He doesn't have visible tremors. He talks without slurring. He can drive a boat. He's standing, reasoning. All good signs. But -- complete retrograde amnesia, episodic and semantic..."
Meaning: you forgot both who you are and the definitions of 'money,' 'isola,' 'pale,' and so on.
"As displayed in the station call, our interactions with him, and -- I don't want to be a 'snitch'," he makes air quotes, "but also mine with him before, when Harry did not seem to know who I was... It's all very interesting."
"Yes. Interesting. I have my theories, but I would like to hear Harry's thoughts first. Harry," he turns to you, "what do you think happened to you? Neurologically? Psychologically? And -- why not -- socioeconomically?"
"He did present this theory to me -- once before. I had trouble believing it then, but he seems to be convinced. And I've seen him work. His methods are... unorthodox."
"With all due respect, lieutenant -- you're bewitched by the shitkid. It happens. What doesn't happen is a cop wiping his own memory to solve a case."
"In fact, it's not possible to wipe one's memory -- at all. Even with the amount of Potent Pilsner he downs every hour. He's simply lying. Or insane. Or both."
"Detective Vicquemare... I'm not saying he's the Son of Lung. But lying? I mean -- he has blacked out before..."
"Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders." She pauses, remembering. "One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural."
The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.
"Interesting. So at first he dipped his toes into it. Prepared. That's where he would have gotten the idea -- yes. Practice. And then he used alcohol to 'get there', so to speak..."
"Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is not a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here..." He gestures toward the scenery.
"Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed flat against it. Total input."
"Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."
"Okay, Trant, thank you. That's absolutely meaningless. You really are a lefty dink. Will he or will he not be able to work in the Major Crimes Unit? Is he a cretin now? I want to know that."
"He is not a cretin. And he is able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."
"For now?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I misphrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"
They can keep that pension, you're rock solid. You can put your clothes on hard.
"No -- now we discuss THAT." He points to the water. "What the fuck did you do to our motor carriage?! Why is it there, Harry?"
"Yes. Your motor carriage. White and blue. Under the sea. With fish and clams and other sea-shit."
Now that you look where he's pointing -- to the northeast -- then yes. There does seem to be a motor carriage in the ocean. Strange. How did it get there?
"Oh -- well, if it wasn't you then it's okay. You only let someone steal our 45,000 reál police vehicle, drive it into the sea -- and then just left it there."
"For the record, you pressured us into getting it. 'It'll be cool Jean, we'll have wheels, rapid response...' I was fine being an equestrian cop. I hope you're fine driving a bicycle."
"Don't answer that." He exhales to calm his breathing. "Your badge, Harry. Show me your badge."
In a rush to demonstrate your badge, your eager fingers can't sustain a grip on the smooth plastic, and the badge slips out of your hand.
"He has it. It's his badge. I can confirm."
"You lost your fucking gun!?" He looks around. "I knew it. I knew he lost it. Didn't I tell you? I told you he lost his gun too."
"I would say it's very bad, yes." He turns to you. "You lost your service weapon -- while drunk. And then you couldn't find it, because you were still drunk?! You're drunk right now, aren't you?"
"You were never supposed to lose it in the first place. Not lost is your gun's natural state, you drunk bum."