Conversation · Working Class Woman

"No. Absolutely not." Her words come out quick as gunshots.

"Right, thanks."

She gives you a short nod and shifts her attention back to books.

"Okay. So where are they?"

"Are you a police man or a nanny?" She's definitely disturbed by now.

"I police whatever I want. Where are they?"

"They're not missing, sir."

You know where they are. They're at home. Smoking. Giving the ladder of vices a chance.

What if something horrible has happened? What if they're dead. That's the bad vibe you got before.

No, they're at a disco. Getting down. Stupid disco dancing teenagers.

"They are at home, right? Smoking cigarettes."

"What? That's just -- my daughters are perfectly fine. They're with their friends down in Jamrock! There's nothing to worry about."

She's getting upset. Her voice has risen, as she tries to convince herself that her daughters are safe.

"They're almost grown up now anyway. They're past the age they need me protecting them from everything now."

What is this doubt you have then? Something has happened here.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe they aren't missing after all. Tell me something else..."

"Hmh?" She adjusts her scarf, cheeks rough and ruddy from the wind.

"I'm afraid the danger is now greater than ever. Tell me, how old are they?"

"My youngest girl, Jolie, is just shy of sixteen. Jennie, she is turning eighteen next month. But we shouldn't even be talking about them!"

"And can you describe me their appearance? Any features that stand out, something to make identifying a little easier?"

"Why do you need to know this? Haven't I repeatedly told you that they are not missing? That they're in Jamrock, safe and well, at some stupid party."

Did someone say... party? You could use a party. Hunt it down!

"It's for the investigation. I'm trying to be professional."

"There is no investigation here, I can tell you that!" She picks up a book and tries to concentrate. A flock of seabirds passes by.

Okay. It must be asked then -- what are you doing here? Why are you pursuing this? Is it a hunch?

"You're right, let's not talk about your daughters. I don't know what got into me."

"I could do with a party.. A killer party, not a lame-o one!"

"A 'killer' party? What is it with you and pulp staples? My god. Please, no more talk about my daughters. They are fine!" She picks up a book and tries to concentrate. A flock of seabirds passes by.

"I know where they are. At the disco, dancing nasty."

"What if something awful has happened... what if they're in the sewers."

"Okay, great. Just making sure."

"Mhm, I see. Thanks." She tries to read again.

"Nanny. Where are they?"

"You were right that I'm a cockatoo."

"Excuse me?"

"I went and read up on them, just like you said. And I even decided on what kind of a cockatoo I am. Want to know?"

"I don't know, the most talkative one?" She's ready to put that question aside.

"No, I'm the funeral cockatoo."

"The what now?!"

"The fuckupatoo. It's the one who always fucks everything up."

"No, you're not. Don't think that..." she says, slowly shaking her head. The wind brings a strand of hair to her rough face. "You're the cockatoo who offered to find my stupid husband. Let's leave it at that."

She doesn't want you to be the fuckupatoo.

"No, you're not. Don't think that way..." she says, slowly shaking her head. The wind brings a strand of hair to her rough face. "You're just a regular talkative cockatoo and let's leave it at that, okay?"

"The bang-bang cockatoo. It's the most common one."

The woman looks baffled by your personal revelation. "You truly are one strange cop, aren't you?" she says, slowly shaking her head.

The wind brings a strand of hair to her rough face. "I have a strange cop offering to find my stupid husband. What a day..."

"The Major Majestic cockatoo. It's the most impressive one."

"The funeral cockatoo. It's the most depressing one."

"No, I'm the bang-bang cockatoo."

"No, I'm the fuckupatoo."

"Forget it. It's too personal."

"Some things are officer." She nods. Her cheeks are red from the cold.

"No, I'm the Major Majestic cockatoo."

"Maybe your cockatoo is missing?"

"I don't mean to disrespect, sir, but you are being a bit of a cockatoo here."

"For what it's worth -- I agree. But cockatoos can't be stopped when they get like this. It's better to indulge him at this point."

"What do you mean I'm being a cockatoo?"

"Nothing. Go read up on them if you're so interested. There's a great book in the bookstore."

Maybe you should check that cockatoo book again... What if the cockatoo is your heraldic bird?

"You're being sarcastic. Let's talk about something else." (Move on.)