Conversation · Sleeping Dockworker

The worker stares at you, his eyes dry from sleep. A web of wrinkles covers his tanned forehead.

"I don't know what you're talking about, kind sir, but when I'm out, then I'm really out. No malt grains or whatever. No poetry-stuff. Just quality-time."

"Tell me -- was it a bliss free of ex-somethings?

The worker stares at you, his eyes dry from sleep. A web of wrinkles covers his tanned forehead.

"I don't know what you're talking about, kind sir, but when I'm out, then I'm really out. No ex-anything. Just quality time."

"You're right. Let's talk about something else."

"Brilliant." The worker blinks, as if trying to scare away the sleep.

"What about the dead body in the yard?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You seem cool with it. Do you have many of those hanging from the trees here?"

"You know, people die here every day. Someone's found in a ditch, another one falls in a manhole, a third one gets eaten by stray dogs." He respites.

"If someone has decided to die on top of a tree, then how is it my concern?"

"Well... little point asking you about the body, then. I got other questions."

"If you get lucky, I might even have answers for them."

"Someone has to look into it. Looks like I'm that someone. Tell me what you know."

"I can tell you this -- trouble's ahead."

You have a pretty solid feeling that the man's not just mouthing off. He's strong, but even he has reasons to be cautious here.

"What trouble?"

"You heard what I said. Draw your own conclusions. That's all I know, and I prefer to keep it this way."

The lieutenant gives you a little nod -- then makes a note in his blue notebook.

So Union people think he was a killer, he thinks -- even Sleepy here? This doesn't help a lot, but it's something. Good work, detective.

"The trouble is already here. Or how else would you call a dead man hanging from a tree?"

"They say your guy was a killer. Your tree-man. He has friends, same as him. Killers. There's only one thing they know well -- how to wreak havoc."

"You're saying things might get violent around here?"

"Wait -- who says that?"

"Everyone. It's a local rumour." He yawns suddenly.

Meaning: you're not gonna get more out of me.

It was probably his colleagues from the Union.

"I'm just trying to find out what you know about it."

"Yours?" (Point at the bottle and the spilt rum.)

"Indeed. Help yourself to some." He blinks. "Wait, no, it's empty. Sorry about that, pal."

"I already had some. It's a fine rum."

"Knocks you right out when you drown a bottle or two." He rubs his face, then buries it in his hands. You can hear a faint snore.

Say nothing.

He rubs his face, before burying it in his hands. You can hear a faint snore.

"Who's behind organizing the strike?"

"We are... the workers. The Union. We know what we need, what's right for us."

"You mean there's no leader?"

"Okay, I guess there's also Evrart, he's in charge of the Union. He's smart. Knows how to negotiate. He's got our back."

"Huh, alright. I guess that makes sense... somehow."

"Tell me about Wild Pines." (Point to the writing on his overalls.)

"That's the name of my employer. I work in logistics."

He doesn't sound too enthusiastic about this.

"That's wonderful."

"Logistics? No, it's a nightmare." He lets his head fall back on the table.

"How's that going?"

"How's it going?" The dockworker lets out a big yawn, then stares at the cafeteria's terrace doors. Some fingerprints glisten on the glass.

"Haven't you noticed what's going on outside?"

"Of course. It's a total madhouse."

"Good, then you understand the gist of it. We would all be better off without the employers and their employment."

"For one -- I could get some god damn shut-eye." He rubs his eyes, then lets his head fall back on the table. "Right to sleep, I say."

"I've almost never been outside of this building."

"Good." He doesn't dwell on the particulars of your existence. "We're in the middle of a strike down at the harbour. Trying to force some sense into the executive board of Wild Pines."

"For one -- I could use some more shut-eye in the mornings..." He rubs his eyes and sighs. "Right to work? Right to sleep, I say."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"We're in the middle of a strike down at the harbour. Trying to force some sense into the executive board of Wild Pines."

"I need you to answer some questions right now."

"Really? You woke me up for that?" The worker gives you a vacant stare, then groans. "Fine, what is it, officer?"

"You're alive? You looked out for the long count there..."

"Wait, what? I was just sleeping." He seems pissed off. "What do you want, officer?"