Conversation · Working Class Woman

"Please, let's do."

"Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do, thanks for the tip." (Get task.)

"Wonderful. The store is open."

Maybe you should... What if the cockatoo is your astral captain? Or your heraldic bird?

"Ma'am, I was asking about your cockatoo. Is it missing?"

"I don't even have a cockatoo. And guess what?"

It's a trap. Never ever say what.

"What?"

"Even if I had, it wouldn't be missing."

"Alright, cockatoo not missing. I just wanted to make sure."

"Great." She turns her attention back to the bookstand.

"Just one more question: what did you mean by me being a cockatoo?"

"Great. Got it."

"Wonderful."

"That's all for the moment. I'll let you read." [Leave.]

The woman before you nods and returns to her reading.

"Protect and serve, madam! I found your husband."

"God damn it, I already told you -- my husband isn't missing!" She crosses her arms.

"Well, I found him nevertheless. I'm that good."

"Very well, then. Where is he?" She's getting impatient, her hands now picking on a random book cover.

"There." (Point to the working class drunk down near the sea.)

"Excuse me?!" She blinks. "I don't follow."

There's something else hiding in her voice though -- a trace of worry.

"I found a working class drunk and I thought he might be yours."

"Right, 'cause working class women come with alcoholic husbands." She glances over your shoulder towards the drunk. "You know what?"

Remember, about that what -- never-ever say what.

"I'm not saying 'what'."

"You were right. I do have an alcoholic husband. Although not that one."

Hah! Blam! Knew it.

"But didn't you say your husband was kind and helpful?"

"I did and he is." She takes a step back. "He's also an alcoholic."

"So is he missing as well?"

"No, he's not. Or maybe he is, I don't know. He's probably in the park, or in Jamrock somewhere. Drinking with his friends." She looks away.

"I haven't seen him for... Well, to hell with him!" She has completely forgotten about her books, staring blank into the distance instead.

There. She's worried now.

"Kim, is it just me or do we have a missing person's case here?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," he replies, before turning to face the working class woman.

"Ma'am, just to be completely clear -- do you want to report it to the police?"

"Report what? He's just out, drinking with his friends... I'm sure the police has better things to do than to chase down local goofballs."

"Not at all! The RCM is ready to chase down every goofball in town. We care about you!"

She sighs, but you can detect a slight hint of gratitude and relief from her face.

"Alright, go ahead. Do you have any questions?"

"Honestly, I just think missing persons cases are mysterious."

"They're not all they're cracked up to be, officer."

He's right. Missing person cases most often involve runaway teenagers or demented old people. The victims usually turn up by themselves after a day or two spent missing. There's not much searching to do.

"Why not?"

"Because people either show up on their own or you'll never find them," he says with a flash of teeth.

"But isn't that mysterious?"

"I'd say there's nothing mysterious about incompleteness. It's in fact rather unpleasant."

You're wrong there. Incompleteness is the essence of mystery.

"Well, I still want one. I want a missing person's case!"

"All right then..." He sighs. "He has questions now."

"What kind of questions?"

"Okay, I don't want it. Let's move on." (Don't take the case.)

"Great, let's do it."

The working class woman doesn't say anything, her eyes still fixed on something invisible in the distance. Some seagulls fly over her head.

"Okay, I get it. They're kinda boring, right? Because eventually everyone returns home on their own."

"Or they don't -- and you'll never find them," he adds with a flash of teeth.

"You're right, unfortunately our forces are limited. I'm sure he'll return on his own." (Don't take the case.)

She just nods, still staring into the distance. Some seagulls fly over her head.