Conversation · Composure

"Whoa-whoa. Let's back off before you get too agitated."

"What is there to be agitated about? The unholy ghoul?!" His hand trembles with rage. "I love him there. He reminds me of everything we fought for. At least we killed that Frissel and his kingsmen..." He's overtaken by a coughing fit.

Just nod.

"I remember him..." He points to his black eye. "I remember him from La Noce -- not him personally, his make and model. There were tens of thousands of them. I thought we took them all out before the liberals came to their rescue. We missed one..."

"That one." With his shaky finger he points to the city, toward the crater near the plaza where a lonely pine tree stands.

There doesn't seem to be a single person under the pine today. Not even Gaston, alone.

"There's no one there..."

"Fat and plump, like a pheasant..." He does not hear you. "Just begging to be popped off." A grin stretches across his face and he says very softly: "Please, Mr. Dros. Shoot me."

He whispers with such predatory hunger it borders on longing.

"Let's definitely back off now. Calm down."

"Calm down? I'm not angry..." His hand still trembles. "I adore him. He reminds me of everything we fought for. At least we killed that Frissel and his kingsmen..." He's overtaken by a coughing fit.

"You'd like to kill him?"

"Not yet. I like to look at him strut around, place the cross-hair on his medals." The smile lingers. "Right on his face, and just... fiddle the trigger. Think about it. Let the bon-bon melt in my mouth..."

A treat. Better served for later... he's a pleasure delayer.

"Save the treat for later?"

"He is a juicy bon-bon, that one. A real treat. For the black day -- the blackest. When I put that gun in my own mouth. I think: no, don't waste it. Put this lead in that cock René. For the boys he killed -- and then I look at him throw those balls and I suddenly feel..." He lets out a wistful sigh.

"Better. I even hid one bullet so I'd always have one. For him..." The lines on his face straighten as he looks inland. "Haven't seen him there lately... must be down with arthritis. Old cunt..."

Hearing it may destabilize him -- you sure you've gotten everything from him?

Momentarily he's worried for him. He reminds him of himself. The same hatred. The same... you try to think of another thing -- but no, it's just the hatred.

They are veterans of the same war. Somewhere west, in Coal City his enemy is lying in a dark room, on a metal slider, not breathing. Like he will too. Soon. Half of the war between these men is over.

With an agitated gait Satellite-Officer Jean-Heron Vicquemare paces the jetty, 22 kilometres East -- in Martinaise: "What could he possibly be doing there for so long," he says.

"Policework?" Patrol Officer Judit Minot replies, with a tinge of hope in her voice. A tinge of warmth too, against the cold air rising from the water...

He's drunk, she thinks. And we all know it. Still, she's just trying to see it in a generous light...

Nod.

"He is a juicy bon-bon, that one. A real treat. For the black day -- the blackest. When I put that gun in my own mouth. I think: no, don't waste it. Put this lead in that cock René. For the boys he killed -- and then I look at him throw those balls and I suddenly feel..." He lets out a wistful sigh.

"Save the treat for later?" the lieutenant asks cheerfully.

"Sometimes Cuno likes to look at the baggie before he does it. Just look at that fat baggie..."

"A real treat. For the black day -- the blackest day," he says, almost salivating. "When I put the gun in my own mouth, I always think: No. Put this lead in that cock René. And I go to look at him throw those balls. And I suddenly feel..." He breathes out.

Just nod.

"Fat and plump. Like a pheasant, just begging to be popped off...." A grin stretches across his face and he whispers: "Please, Mr. Dros. Shoot me."

There doesn't seem to be a single person under the pine today...

"Now I don't know about..."

"Disco... whores?"

"I don't even care about those whores anymore..." He stares despondently into the reeds. "Get it over with. Take me in."

René must have been quite a loss for him. Maybe you could still get him to talk about things that don't require as much rage... because it's not there anymore.

"Whores..." is all he says. Even that word has to be pushed through his teeth with great force. The rage seethes too hard.

He could be referring to Joyce in her youth. They must have listened to disco when they came here... but it's hard to say.

Or maybe it's just his body and mind giving up on him, at last...

"I'm glad we talked about this. Now..."

"Glad we talked about what?" Another erratic gesture. He's trembling...

"Glad? It's all gone..." He stares into the dust at his feet. Grey and dirty spring grass all around.

"You mentioned the Union is social-democratic -- and Mr. Claire a farce of a social-democrat."

"I don't want to talk about god damn social democrats. Traitors is all they are. Brain dead..." He waves his arm, agitated and despondent at the same time.

René still presses on his mind.

"Another hideous disappointment..." He pokes at the ash: "Unions are the real enemy; the true enemy of the proletariat, placating the masses."

Disappointment -- so personal. He displays a familiarity with the Union's top brass.

"Who's a disappointment -- Evrart Claire?"

"That deformed toad? I wouldn't expect him to wipe his own ass. I mean the brains of the operation. The smart one."

Edgar!

"You mean Edgar, Evrart's brother?"

The old man chortles with a nod. "He talks a big game about uprising and social base -- they must have sent the smart one to some University in Le Jardin where it's 'alienation' this and 'hegemony' that..."

He's been sweet-talked by this Edgar. They must've met in person for such animosity to have developed.

"Okay, got it."

"First against the wall with them," he sputters. "First against the wall. For keeping the mills of capital going. They should go before the owners."

"You've talked to Edgar?"

"First against the wall with him..." He's stopped poking at the ash now, just shakes his head.

"The Claires wouldn't miss a man hidden in their own back yard -- not all this time. Nothing happens in Martinaise without them knowing."

Of course. Maybe the Claires asked him to...

Don't go straight for the kill, exhaust everything else first, soften him up...

"What did you talk about?"