Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

She remains unconvinced...

"No. I deduced that I'd thrown my shoe out the window from the direction of the shards."

"Extraordinary." She pulls on her cigarette and nods.

She doesn't actually think it's all that extraordinary.

"No. My mind keeps coming up with titbits of information -- all sorts of facts, trivia. Gives me a detective-y vibe."

"Of course." She pulls on her cigarette.

"This is your morning cigarette. I deduced this from your lack of make-up. Also -- you party. A lot."

"Not as much as you..." She pulls on her cigarette. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be glib. I'm sure you're very good at your job."

"Never mind. It's more likely someone made a mistake somewhere..."

"I'm sorry. I was being glib." She pulls on her cigarette. "I'm sure you're a great cop."

No, she's not! Reassert yourself by being flirtatious.

"No. In the course of our conversation I have masterfully suppressed the urge to throw up. This is a sign of professionalism."

"Thank you, sir." She smiles, lazily. "I mean that."

"No. I think I saw a sadness in you when you told me about the hanged man. Others would have missed it."

"But I wasn't sad." She tilts her head.

That feels like a jab, but honestly -- you deserve it. Plus, it would be rude to reprimand her.

"God damn right, I'm a policeman! And don't you forget it!"

"Okay, cool. I won't."

She means it. She wouldn't defy authority, however sweaty and bloated it may look.

"Good. Now, how did you know I was a police officer?"

"First I have to ask: Are you okay, sir?" All of a sudden, she looks genuinely concerned. "You look like you're about to throw up... Can I bring you something?"

She's right. Something wants to come out -- through your mouth. But you can keep it down because your body does not control you.

"I'm fine. Answer the question."

"Sir, you've been here for three days. On official police business, as you put it."

"What kind of business?"

"Sir..." For a moment it looks like you're going to blow, but you manage to keep it in. "You've been here for three days. On official police business, no less."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to vomit."

"Okay."

"It's a small wonder I'm able to even formulate this very thought. But I'll be fine. How did you know I was a cop?"

"I feel wretched. Tell me, how do you know I'm with the police?"

She's right. Something wants to come out through your mouth, right in front of her, right here... It makes you put your hand on your stomach and swallow.

"No need to be alarmed. I was just getting into character, you know."

"Okay." She breathes in the silvery smoke.

Whoah! Something wants to come out of you -- a bit of vomit? Thankfully you keep it down, because your body does not control you.

"How did you know I'm a police officer?"

"Sir, you've been here for three days. On official police business, as you put it."

"You're shitting me!"

"I'm not. Unless you've been shitting us all this time..." She takes another drag.

"Wait, I know! I'm a businessman. Chief executive officer, right?"

The young woman shakes her head slowly.

Officer could be an artistic statement. You're already prone to those.

"Okay... Chief technical officer?"

"No..." She looks you in the eye. "You're a police officer, sir."

"'Officer' is my stage name, right? I can see myself as a middling disco artist called 'The Officer.'"

Officer could be an artistic statement. A claim to official renown.

"Ah yes, officer... about that."

"Yes, sir?"

"How did you know I'm with the police?"

"Unless you've been feeding us a set of well rehearsed lies, you've been here for three days. On official police business no less."

"Officer." The woman nods to you, still smoking her cigarette.