Conversation · Acele

"What's smack?"

"The D, man, gotta hit that D!"

"What's... 'the D'?"

"What is going on?"

"Diamorphine, girl. Quit clownin'. We need a hook-up for that D..." He breathes in through his teeth.

"Diamorphine? But that hasn't been around for years -- five or more, like, seven years maybe? Everybody just does hunch now."

Interesting.

"Really? What's that?"

"Hunch is like ten times stronger than diamorphine and waaay more lethal. I think the name is... B-hydroxy-something."

B-hydroxy-phenothiazine. Somewhere in the soggy remains of your factual memory, you know the name. From the streets.

It's the dark lord himself, put into chemical form. Even I don't suggest it.

"Okay." The lieutenant stops hopping. "That's... that's real bad. Someone should definitely look into that..."

He rolls his collar down to normal human level and pulls out his familiar notebook. "We're from the police, by the way."

"Oh, of course." She doesn't look surprised.

C'mon. She must have known it the moment you walked up to her.

"Yes, and we have some questions for you."

"Right."

"Uh... we'll be back later." [Leave.]

Something about the way she says it makes you think she's not bothered by any of the cop-show questioning.

"Kim, she seems legitimately confused. Tell her what this D is."

Say nothing.

"Wow!"

"Tryin'a score some dope, man. Tryin'a score some smack -- you got any?" He hops from one foot to the other.

Let the lieutenant do his thing.

"Sorry, mister, I don't really do drugs. Especially with people I just met."

Why would a categorical no need a conditional no to support it?

"Don't we have a bit of a logical inconsistency here? A categorical no" and a conditional no? Poor logic is a good sign of lies."

"It just means that even if I did do drugs, I would not do them with a person I just met." She looks confused.

"Maybe we should get acquainted, then?"

She looks up, not entirely sure what that means.

"Oh, I see. I'm not good enough for the lady. She's accustomed to more gentlemanly folk. Well, so be it." [Leave.]

"What's with the not doing drugs thing? You done enough already? So many nice drugs left undone..."

"Sorry?" She looks confused.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry I asked." [Leave.]

"I'm going to have to accept your apology, aren't I? What else is there to do? Now tell me about stuff, who you are, what you're doing here, things like that."

"Where do I start?"

"I mean: we buy drinks, and, right there in the liquor store, we get those bad boys in us, and then you tell me what you mean when you say party!"

"Thing is, I haven't said party..."

"Um, yeah, and I would like to ask some questions now. So, questions."

"Uh huh..."

"You will once you get those bad boys in you."

"... and neither have you. Had you let me in on the script of this play before you performed it, I could have gone along. As it stands, the entire line of questioning has been compromised."

"We have nothing left to do but hope this was a play on your part -- and to move on. Now." He turns to the young woman. "We have some questions for you."

"Like what?"

(Whisper.) "Kim, stop it, you're spoiling everything!"

"Sorry, I have stuff planned for tomorrow. Gotta run around, try to make some money."

It's not that she has to run around and make money, it's more like she's concerned about her well-being. It is also not entirely because she's afraid of you. You can't really put your finger on it.

"I mean: we get drinks, come back here, sit on the frozen sea ice and drink until we start talking about fucked-up emotional stuff. The worst."

"You know, that sounds kinda nice..."

"No, it doesn't."

"You." The lieutenant turns to you. "If you were intending to use an unorthodox questioning technique for this branch of the investigation -- which, by the way, is tangential at best -- you should have let me in on it."

"As it stands, I'm going to have to thwart your plan by explaining to the woman that we are police officers."

"Oh, of course." She doesn't sound surprised.

"Uh... we'll be back later." [Leave.]

"We have some questions for you."

She's waiting.

Odd. Something about the way she says it makes you think she's not bothered by any of the cop-show questioning.

"... but I shouldn't, really. I have stuff planned for tomorrow. Gotta run around, try to make some money."

It's not that she has to run around and make money, it's more like she's concerned about her well-being. It is also not entirely because she's afraid of you. You can't really put your finger on it.

"Goddamnit, why's there no one to drink with by the seaside!" (Raise your hands in lamentation.)