Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

She erupts in laughter, all the fatigue swept from her face. "What was that!? That's not even how words are used. What did you say? C'mon, say it again!"

"I said I wanted to have sex with you."

"No, you see, that's not what you said. You said..." But she's unable to finish, consumed with laughter.

"C'mon man, pretty please! One more time!"

Don't back down now. Say what you said again -- proudly.

"I said I want to have fuck with you."

"God damn right you did, you crazy asshole, you!" She wipes the tears from her eyes. "What kind of cop are you?"

"I'm a Cop of the Apocalypse."

"Has the time come already?" She raises an eyebrow.

"No, we still have some centuries to go."

"You're one intense cop. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"I wouldn't know. I have no recollection of anyone ever telling me anything."

"Okay, sir, I have to ask: do you really not remember? Just like that..." She tries to think of a likelier explanation, but fails. "You drank so much you lost your memory?"

"I don't think there's any more to it. I'm a joke of a cop, or I joked about being one, and I drank too much. I'm also old."

"I'm sorry..." She extinguishes her cigarette.

"It's gonna suck for you later when you have to interrogate me."

"And, for the record: No, I didn't do it."

"It's obvious. Someone did me over. I got fucked -- bad."

"No. There is a massive, otherworldly mystery afoot here. And I am at the centre of it."

"In that case, I think I might have a premonition for you..." The silence is foreboding as she extinguishes her cigarette.

"I'm sure I'm usually less intense. I don't know why this stuff is coming out of my mouth. "

"All right, then. Looks like I should go and prepare for what's to come. And thank you, this has been delightful. I do hope it happens sooner. Otherwise..." She extinguishes her cigarette.

"Yeah, I guess I'm pretty intense."

"Yes, we are mere minutes away from the total collapse of reality."

"Mere minutes? I should go and prepare then. Thank you, this has been delightful. I hope it does all come crashing down. Otherwise..." She extinguishes her cigarette.

"Cops walking around with no memory of who they are, saying what I just said... The end can't be more than two days away."

"Superstar Cop. I can no longer deny it."

"Okay, that's cool. Or... if I can just maybe ask you to elaborate on that superstardom a tiny bit?"

"I am a scion of Guillaume le Million."

"Or maybe you are Guillaume le Million? He'd be about your age now... Think about it! One thing, though..." She extinguishes her cigarette.

"I sincerely think I'm a superstar. It's a theory I'm developing."

"I have certainly been entertained. Thank you. Whatever you are, you should stick to it. Otherwise..." She extinguishes her cigarette.

"It means I'm a bloated old drunk with sideburns and disco pants. If I don't have a joke up my sleeve -- it's on me."

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. You're pretty... I'm sorry. I'm the Sorry Cop."

"Don't be, it was funny. And, anyway, who gives a shit? Who gives a shit about any of it?"

She appears to genuinely want you to understand it's okay.

"So what if you can't pull Grade A pussy anymore? There are other things in life -- more meaningful, more fitting for a man your age. This..." She gestures towards herself, draped in silver. "This is fata morgana. One thing, though..." She extinguishes her cigarette.

"I'm not sure I'm a cop at all. I sure don't remember being one. I think I might have lied."

"Find someone else to laugh at."

"I'm sorry." She puts out her cigarette. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"No, I don't want to."

"I might not know who I am, but I do know when someone's not telling me the whole story. What am I doing here?"

"Why don't I remember being a cop, or anything else?"

"I can see that."

"Good."

"Is it?" She raises an eyebrow. The cigarette sizzles.

She hasn't had time to put her make-up on -- this is her morning cigarette. She looks tired, her beauty waning faster than it ought to at her age.

"Do you know why?"

"Could it be because of the drinking?" She raises an eyebrow. The cigarette sizzles.

"I should get going now." [Leave.]

"Of course." She puts out her cigarette. "Be careful, officer. They don't like the police around here."

"Who in their right mind would let me be an officer of the law?"

"Don't be so harsh on yourself. They let almost anyone be a police officer."

A glib remark. Don't let it stand -- assert yourself.

Better let it go. Say nothing.

Retreat is not a winning tactic.

"Actually, I can see why they would entrust me with the law. I have the right character."

"A fondness for contradictory statements?"

"No. I realized you were withholding information. Something lit up in me. A killer instinct."

"Of course." She pulls on her cigarette.