Conversation · Tommy Le Homme

"Maybe. But not another person's life."

"She shared this with you?"

"Believe us. It really is."

"I just can't, man. I'm not naive."

"I can't just 'let it go', it's part of a police investigation."

"What does she look like?"

"A young-ish woman. Gruff, but... in a cool way."

"What colour hair?"

"Blue and violet, dyed." He answers reluctantly. "It was violet when she got here. Blue before she went."

Then she may have dyed it again.

Maybe she dyed it red? Titus said Ruby's hair is red...

"What colour hair?"

"Who is she to you?"

"A friend? An acquaintance. I don't know... She was the only person in this damn jam I could talk to. She's someone I don't want to rat out to the law, okay?"

"Man, I was hoping she'd catch a break." He shakes his head. "All I can say is: she isn't around here anymore. She isn't some mastermind evil-doer. And I don't know where she is."

"I don't mean to pry, but I need your help -- looks like she may be involved in drug trafficking."

"I don't mean to pry, but I need your help -- she may be involved with the drug business."

"Okay, let's change the subject then."

"You seem like a man who knows about drugs."

"Ah, man, me and narcotics go way back." He folds his hands behind his head and leans back. "Had some good times surfin' the psychic waves of my own consciousness, you know?"

"But..." he pauses, letting the memory dissipate. "Those days are behind me. There are other addictions in my life now. Why the inquiry, my man?"

Just be straight with him.

"Let me be straight with you. I'm trying to figure out who's smuggling drugs out of Terminal B."

The lieutenant steps in: "We have a credible lead, sir. Someone on this roundabout is waiting for a bulk shipment from the harbour -- to load it on their lorry and drive it to Jamrock."

"Not me, man, no way. I don't need any trouble. Shit's bad enough anyway. This jam's got folks up in arms and I'm afraid it's headed toward a conflagration."

"Wait, then why are you still hanging around?"

"Gotta guard the stuff -- bosses don't look kindly on missing cargo. And it gives me time to work on my rhymes."

A rhyme-smith? This is quite credible -- it goes with his cadence and way of speaking.

Working on these 'rhymes' clearly leads to muscular atrophy. Make sure you don't get hooked on poetry.

"Who do you think could be conducting the drug trade then?"

"Look, man, I try to stay away from the criminal underbelly of Revachol. I'm a guest here. You really need to find another man to probe with those questions."

We wouldn't say he's lying, sire.

It's not a lie, it's... something else. Impossible to say what at this point, but there's something in him. Some trepidation.

"Do you finance those 'other addictions' with drug trafficking?"

"Hey man, that's serious criminal talk. Are you trying to pull some sort of an... entrapment thing on me?"

Entrapment is a practice whereby an officer of the law induces a person to commit a criminal offence that the person would have otherwise been unlikely to commit. Usually through some trickery, persuasion or fraud.

"What? No, of course not."

He rubs his jaw. "Then what's your deal here?"

So much for subtlety. Better get straight to the point.

"Entrapment? What's that?"

"Entrapment is where a law officer gets a person to commit a criminal offence they otherwise wouldn't commit. Often through some trickery or fraud."

"Yes, it's like... trying to trick a person into doing something criminal that they'd never do."

"I wouldn't do something like that!"

"Then what are you trying to accomplish?"

"Hey, if it yields results?" (Shrug and give the thumbs up.)

"So, you do realize entrapment doesn't work if you announce you're going to do it in advance?"

"Seems like a wonderful way to spice up some boring cases."

"I need to get high. And I'm looking for a dealer."

"Got any smokes on you?"

"Nope. Don't smoke." He nods toward the big lorry behind him...

"Some of the other drivers do, though. There's still a few around, waiting for the Jam to disperse. Or waiting for the sweet release of death."

You really need them smokes. Need 'em! Gotta get some. You sure he's not lying to you? You can't trust a lorryman.

Hey -- isn't he, like smoking right now? The smell is in the air.

"Guess I'll ask around then."

"You could also check the kiosque down the street. Frittte." He points towards the harbour. "With three t-s. Revachol is weird..."

"You lying to me? Being all stingy with the smokes?"

"Man, relax. I quit, been clean for some time. There are some commitments you have to honour." He looks at you with compassion in his eyes.

"It's a bad habit. You ought to quit, too."

He's seen your kind before. As a lorry driver he's familiar with every addiction, compulsion, and self-destructive habit known to a man.

"You've got a point, but now is not a good time to quit. I've got a murder to solve."