Conversation · Racist lorry driver

Oh no, not too happy.

Remember, bröther, you say the hard things -- the gööd things. Most folk haven't got the stomach for it.

But this guy does. He's a bulwark, a Defender of the Evening Lands. He may know how to turn back time...

"Okay, what else have you thought up?"

"So, lately we Occidentals have experienced an unfortunate downturn: when members of the superior race cease to believe in their innate superiority, they stop competing for resources."

"Yeah? What's the problem with that then?"

"The problem? The damn kipts are showing a real good game lately! Same with the mesquitos. And all the other intruder species out there, breeding like rabbits. They're on the precipice of cultural victory."

Cultural victory? What is this then?

"Uh-huh..."

"It's true." He pushes on. "Also, you need to realize the dangers of mixing races. Who knows what might happen if people don't stay in their birthplace? You might end up with a new sub-race, with unknown characteristics, leading to extra competition. That's why you've got to control the offspring."

A sudden vibration passes through your small intestine. Like a buzzer.

It's calling you out onto the field! This man, he's on your team.

Say nothing.

"Wait, what's this cultural victory?"

"It's what the kipts of Boogie Street are going for -- right under our noses. And the others too, on the radio. Heard any chansons lately? Heard any mottettos or lieder? No. Dominating culture is how they plan to win. They say so themselves."

"Okay... and?"

"This concerns you, policeman, so you better be vigilant. The kipts are showing a good game lately, same with the mesquitos. And the other intruder species out there, breeding like rabbits. They're on the precipice of cultural victory."

"Yes, I can really tell you're a prime example of superior design."

"Open your eyes. Haven't you noticed something different lately? An unfortunate downturn, maybe? When members of the superior race cease to believe in their innate superiority, they stop competing for resources."

Race is a simplistic means of social classification based on easily observed attributes, hunches and pseudo-science.

"To be honest, I can't really remember what that means. Please explain."

"On second thought, let's talk about something else."

"Suit yourself, officer. Hide your face in the sand if you so wish." He spits on the ground.

"Oh, so you're just a racist. Makes sense."

"I'm not just racist. Look, I've read books," he gestures with his cigarette for emphasis. "The science of racial theory has all been proved, even if some people don't want to accept it."

"Sheep don't bury their heads, ostriches do. You mixed up your metaphors."

"Whatever, go back to your college class, bino."

"I'm trying to turn back time. Can you help me, bröther?"

"I know you've been giving me the run-around. Fess up, where's the lady driver?"

He smirks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then why are you smirking?"

"Listen up, fuckwit. You don't scare me. You cops don't run Revachol West. You don't run Martinaise. You don't run shit."

"So who does -- you?"

"No." The lieutenant turns to the lorryman. "He means La Puta Madre."

A legendary -- and not in a good way -- crime boss from Jamrock. Controls what is probably the most powerful organised crime outfit in Revachol West.

Looks like the lieutenant has a plan. Let him do this.

For a moment the lorryman is silent. Then he spits on the pavement. "Yeah, him."

"What are you doing, Kim? Let me handle it."

The lieutenant looks at you sceptically but does not object.

"I ain't saying nothing."

Isn't saying nothing saying something, or did I just blow your mind?

"Who is the lady driver? You won't get into trouble."

"I'm not in trouble right now -- and I don't have to tell you a single thing. Now fuck off."

The lieutenant looks at you. "How do you want to proceed?"

The man drops the near-finished cigarette lingering between his fingers. He reaches for a new one, with a confident look.

"Yes you are. Or you're coming to the station."

"No I'm not. I'm not coming anywhere -- and you're not taking me there. Now fuck off."

"So you are saying something."

"What?"

"Never mind. Just answer the question."

"If you don't know, I ain't telling you shit."

"It's a double negative. Not saying nothing means you're saying something."

"You really got him there, detective."

"How about you fuck off? I ain't saying anything."

"You want me to get violent with you?"

"What? Here on the street? You won't." He shakes his head. "Now fuck off."

"I'm your brother, remember?"

"Like fuck you are. Why's your partner a multi-ethnic rainbow man? Why'd you not arrest Siileng? Fuck off, I ain't telling you shit."

"Who's La Puta--"

"Then I presume you're familiar with his peones?"