Conversation · The Deserter

What are you doing, he's thinking. We almost got him here.

Not now. Stop yourself.

"Khm." (Cough.)

"People change shoes, detective..." He turns to the old man. "It was you. You were there, weren't you, crawling in the Whirling-in-Rags..."

He leans closer. "What were you doing? Some kind of reconnaissance? Preparing the scene? Listening in on her?"

"Tryin' to rack your brains..." He squints at him, eyes gleaming with hatred: "You're desperate to report something back to your masters. They must have really loved that dead fuck..."

"What do we do now, we're not getting these prints to match..."

The kid stares at you slack-jawed.

He thinks -- what are you doing. We almost got him here.

Not now. Stop yourself.

"Khm." (Cough.)

"Yo, people change shoes." He turns to the old man. "You were sneaking around, right? Casing the joint or what?"

"Yes. You were in the Whirling-in-Rags. What were you doing there? Sneaking?"

"Tryin' to rack your brains..." He squints at you, black pearls gleaming with hatred: "You're desperate to report something back to your masters. They must have really loved that dead fuck..."

"What do we do now, we're not getting these prints to match..."

"What are you talking about?"

Not now! Don't melt down now, you're so close. Rewind this back to the previous thought and just say that.

"What do I do now?! I'll never get these prints to match."

"You're desperate to report something back to your masters." He squints at you, black pearls gleaming with hatred. "They must have really loved that dead fuck..."

"Who cares about shoes, we got you without the prints too."

"Corrupt henchman of paedophiles..." The old man shakes his head. "You're desperate to report something back to them, aren't you? Your liberal masters. They must have really loved that dead fuck..."

"The size fits, but not the sole..." The lieutenant leans in to inspect.

The maker is called Sansarique -- and the size is 42-44.

The maker is called Sansarique -- you see their V-shaped logo -- but can't make out the size.

"Fine. Let's leave it at that."

"You fascists have the tenacity of a limpet." He wipes dirt off his running shoe.

"Show me the soles of your shoes please."

Exhaust him with proof. Pile it all on him, get a confession.

"Did you kill him?" The kid puffs his chest. "Fucking tell this cop."

Now. Push him now.

"What does that mean? Did you kill him?"

(Step closer:) "Did you fucking shoot him?"

"The corpse in ceramic armour, hanging behind the Whirling-in-Rags. Did you shoot him?"

"A beautiful, strong man sent here by the honourable private military company Krenel."

"What?"

"I've said enough. Did you kill him?"

"He died in the arms of a lover, guarding her and the fragile, beautiful corporate interests of Wild Pines against militant labour."

"Are you being clever? What is this socially abhorrent joke?"

"Watch your mouth, Mr. Dros." The lieutenant squeezes the handle of his pistol.

"Okay, I mean the paramilitary death squad."

"I'm absolutely sincere. Now, did you use that rifle to shoot him?"

"He was sent to protect fair, just, beautiful corporate interests in an ugly labour dispute. He was murdered."

"The fascist death squad who took a bullet in the mouth on the night of March 4th."

"You know who I mean."

"The worm, there?" He spits southward, then points at your armour: "In the monster-armour you took from him."

Say nothing.

"It is him, isn't it?" He flashes a gap-tooth smile. "An ugly piece of work, that boy..."

"It's to protect myself."

"You don't have to explain to me..." He flashes a gap-tooth smile. "An ugly piece of work, that boy..."

Nod.

"An ugly piece of work, that boy..." He flashes a gap-tooth smile.

"The worm, there?" He spits southward, toward the coast. "In the monster-armour?"

He heard you. He just wants to hear you say it... you're in!

"So you're saying you killed people, after active fighting stopped?"

"What did I just say..." He keeps shaking his head, erratically suddenly. He brushes something out of his eye...

What did I just tell you? Don't drop the ball now...

Oh no, you were wrong. Don't listen to your hands for god's sake, you're too close...

"I know you want to tell me -- have you killed anyone with that gun in the last week or two?"

"I don't want to tell you anything, you grotesque murderer."

And why did you think that was a good idea? Don't listen to me -- I'm wrong all the time.