Conversation · Call Me Mañana

"Actually do you know anything about the Hardie boys?"

"Los Ardies?" He smiles. "They're an independent militant group. A bit too high-strung, but it comes with the responsibility."

"They're sort of like you. Preserve the rule of law and all that. Except it's Evrart's law." He takes a swig from his flask. "But, really, they're just like you."

Is he actually comparing you -- an officer of the law -- to some neighbourhood vigilantes?!

Come on. He's just trying to keep the peace.

Let it go.

"There is only one law, friend -- and that's me!"

"Why not? Must be nice being something else for a change. The rest of us are just folks."

"I need to know what's behind these gates. I'm exploring."

"My friend, I respect the right to roam. The open range awaits..." He gazes over the roundabout with a glint of longing.

"I need to get past the gates and speak with your boss."

"Oh. Good, good! What matters do you want to discuss with Evrart?"

"I can't disclose any details of an on-going case."

"So mysterious. So intriguing." The man gives out a jolly chortle. "Either way, the road in front of you is wide and open."

"He might have information about a killing that took place behind the hostel."

"Evrart's got a lot of knowledge about a lot of things, aye. Doesn't often dole it out, though. But sure, why not..."

"There's been talk of suspicious activity at the harbour."

"Suspicious activity? How very troublesome... yet, take a look around. Strikers, protests, scabs -- isn't it all so very suspicious?" He smiles widely.

"Hey, you're the man in boots at the gates -- Cuno said you know about the armour."

"I'm a bit short on money right now. Can you give me some of it?"

"Sure thing, my friend, I can help you out." He flips a coin toward you.

Let it fall on the ground.

"Oh, sorry, friend. Didn't mean to throw it like that... it's a thing we harbour folk do. Comes naturally."

"Don't worry. Much appreciated." (Pick up coin.)

"Right, always glad to help out! We're on the same branch, you and I. Not like these slithering scabs."

Say nothing, pick up and pocket coin.

Leave the coin where it landed.

"Man of honour." He raises his eyebrow. "I respect that. We were talking about scabs, yeah?"

Try to catch it.

The coin lands into your hand as if it has always belonged there. The swallow returns.

"Appreciated."

"Always glad to help out the RCM. Shame I can't do more -- things are meagre at the moment, due to..." He nods toward the protesters.

"You know -- the winter's fat is slowly running out and all. Still better than scabbing, though."

"The Union has problems getting by?"

"Nothing to worry about, really. The jam's a bit of a mess, cargo can't get in or out. The rationing is a bit stricter, is all. Supplies should last the strike, though."

"Every little bit helps, you know."

"I'm always glad to help out when possible -- not like these slithering scabs." He looks at them in disbelief.

"Gotta spend money to make money."

"Aye, you lost me there, honcho. But it's okay as long as you're not a sorry-ass scab." He looks at them in disbelief.

Say nothing, pocket the coin.

The coin narrowly slips by your out-stretched fingers and falls to the ground.

"Oh! I'm sorry... didn't mean to throw it like that. It's a thing we harbour folk do, passing around cargo and such."

He rubs the back of his head. "Was not meant as... provocation or ridicule."

Lieutenant Kitsuragi picks up the coin and hands it to you.

Say nothing, pocket the coin.

"Right, always glad to help out the RCM! We're on the same branch, you and I. Humans, I mean, not slithering scabs."

"I almost had a heart attack..."

"I'm really sorry, friend. Frittte's nearby, get some nosaphed." He points to the boutique just right of him. "Good stuff. Helps against heart attacks too."

"Appreciated."

"The Measurehead thing didn't go well for me. Could you help me with that somehow?"

"Sorry. Busy surveying the situation." He takes a swig from his flask. "I'm sure you'll figure something out. You guys have all sorts of gadgets these days."

"Wire tapping. Telescopic batons. Futuristic circuit-bending to infiltrate harbour machinery. Maybe you could even knock that Kvalsund crane over using some remote controls..."

He stops to think. "Or... calling in tactical air support! You guys have air support, right?"

(Turn to Kim.) "Wait, we have air support?! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we don't. We don't have air support -- or any of those other things."

"I get it, hush-hush about the secret technology." He pats the side of his nose with his index finger.

Something changes in his disposition. A merciful smile in the corner of his eye.

"All right, I may have some advice for you on how to deal with Jean-Luc there -- out of solidarity to the RCM. It's low on technology, however."

"Yes?"

"First -- don't fight him. Obviously. Second, get him to share his theory by being subordinate. Admit your lack of expertise. Basically grovel. That's how I'd do it," he tips his beret and concludes: "You're welcome."