Conversation · Washerwoman

She nods, rinsing another piece of cloth.

"There's got to be something here. Tell me."

She waves her hand southwest. "Over there you can find... more of the same. Shacks and trees growing wild. That's the Pox."

Between here and Jamrock, a dusty sea of old trees, all covered in industrial soot. Small houses under them, an overgrown park...

"The Pox? What's that?"

"An old military hospital and its surroundings." She looks toward the buildings to the south. "Or it used to be, during the time of the Suzerain."

"After the war it was turned into a goodwill hospital for shell-shocked veterans and folks looking for some quiet in the old sanatorium gardens."

"Now the area is criss-crossed with nameless streets and makeshift cinderblock houses. Shacks as far as the eye can see."

"What happened to the hospital?"

"The good will ran out." She tightens the scarf around her neck. "The staff left and the place was shut down. It's long gone by now."

"It feels like I've heard the name somewhere, but tell me more."

"I was asked to get your signature." (Hand her the envelope.)

"Aye? What's this about?" She takes out the documents and squints her eyes. "Come now, I can't read all this scribble. Tell me what it says."

Test the waters here. Say that there's nothing to be worried about.

"It's just a real estate deal. Nothing ominous."

"A deal with who?" She narrows her eyes, then scoffs. "It's the Débardeurs Union, isn't it?"

"Uh, no. It's... someone else altogether."

"I don't believe that. Police showing up here, collecting signatures -- this has Union written all over it."

"Yes, it's the Union."

"Thought so." The old woman inhales sharply. "So what do the Claire brothers want this time?"

"Uh, actually, never mind. I won't bother you with this."

"Nothing good ever comes from paperwork, in my experience." She nods.

"Nothing good ever comes from paperwork, in my experience." She nods.

"Aye? What's this about?" She takes out the documents and squints her eyes. "Come now, I can't read all this scribble. Tell me what it says."

"I had a few more questions about Ruby..."

"What more do you want to know about that poor girl?"

"I heard she was a heavy drinker with anger issues. You ever witness that kind of behaviour?"

"Nothing of the sort." She shakes her head. "Sure, she was no stranger to the bottle... she fit in, that way. But I only knew her to have a beer on the beach while watching the sunset..."

The sun sets for everyone.

"She isn't what you'd call a drunk. Even offered me some, from time to time. Said it was part of the camionneur life. But I never saw her lose control of herself, the way some people do."

"Enough about Ruby, I had other questions..."

"Yes, let's hear those other questions." She looks around as spring snow starts falling -- lightly on the fishing village.

"Why do you think she left the bullet there?"

"How would I know? She's a gruff one, but not violent. She doesn't go around toting a gun." She looks back toward her shack, thinking.

You could ask her about your hunch. That it was a desperate measure. See if she thinks Ruby fits the bill.

"I have a possible explanation in my mind."

"Aye? Do tell." A seagull flies overhead -- obviously a bad omen.

"It's an exit plan."

"Exit from what?"

"This..." (Spread your hands.)

The lieutenant stops writing for a moment. He looks at you, then at the old woman.

"No..." She tilts her head to the side, looking up at you, deep in thought. "She's a fighter."

Not a quitter. Like you sometimes get, son.

She really believes that.

"The world."

"Her life."

"On second thought, I'd rather not say. It's not something I want to think about."

"That bad, is it?"

Your hand twitches. A single bullet hidden from sight. Remember the way it slides into the barrel. The muzzle of the loaded weapon pointed at your heart -- it feels familiar, doesn't it?

She planned on fuckin' shooting herself in the goddamned head.

"Did she have any technical equipment with her, like radio stuff?"

"Not that I know of, though she was into nice music. She once showed me a few mixtape-milieus she'd made." She brushes her forehead with the back of her hand. Water drips to the ground.

"Although I guess she was pretty handy with the mechanical and technical stuff. Even fixed the heater in the shack. You should be thankful for that."

She may simply have kept the equipment elsewhere.

"You said she left on Monday?"

"Yes, early, with the dogs -- around 8 o'clock, I think."

She probably heard the lieutenant's Kineema drive by and it woke her up, just like it did you.

"Kim, she must have heard your Kineema."

"Yes. That is a downside of having a 130 kilowatt engine." His voice is tinged with pride. "It lets the bad guys know when you're coming."

She probably heard the lieutenant's Kineema drive by.