Conversation · Gary, the Cryptofascist

It's difficult to say what the lieutenant thinks of this historic apology. His face does not belie emotions.

"I'm so fucking sorry I kept calling you yellow man in my head." He says silently. "Seolite officers commanded the Suzerain's navy. Most of them sided with the King, when..." He shakes his head.

"GARY! WHAT'S GOING ON?!"

"LATER, MORELL! I'VE GOT APOLOGIZING TO DO."

"No -- you've got explaining to do." The lieutenant's tone is icy.

It sounds like he's wearing some kind of armour under his clothes -- you can't tell it's there just from looking at him. Probably stolen from the corpse in the yard near where he lives.

Okay, he keeps shifting uncomfortably, but you can't make head or tail of this sound -- and honestly it's rude to stare, so stop.

Is he? He's looking comfortable enough -- maybe it was just beads? Sounded like beads. But what kind of beads might a man like Gary be hiding beneath his clothes?

"Gary, are you cross-dressing by any chance?"

"Why would I do that, officer?" He furrows his eyebrows.

"To explode the gender binary. You should be more open about your views, though. Let those beads hang out."

"But, officer…" He shakes his head slowly. "I'm not wearing any women's clothes."

"To feel closer to the fair sex. Ain't no shame in it, man!"

"Because you're a dangerous subversive, obviously."

"Are you currently sporting some anal beads?"

The lieutenant leans in confidentially. "You wouldn't be able to hear if he were wearing anal beads," he whispers.

"Please excuse my colleague's humour. Working this murder case is taking a toll on us both. You don't quite have to answer that -- yet."

What he means is: working on the case is taking a toll on you, and working with you is taking a toll on him.

"Of course, of course." He forces a grin, no doubt hiding some colossal anal beads up his butt as he does so.

"Good one. Yeah, good one officer." He forces a grin. "You really have a courageous sense of humour."

"Are those prayer beads I keep hearing?"

"I don't pray, officer. Faith in non-existent helpers is a sign of weakness. Not for proper Revacholian men such as ourselves."

"Is this your mug?" (Hold up the Yellow Man Mug.)

"Okay, but... I told you everything. What else can I say?"

"How did you get into the trash container?"

"I know a guy who works with trash collection services -- CS Municipal. He gave me a master key for the trash containers of Martinaise."

"Why would you need to get into everyone's trash?"

"So I can use the Whirling's trash compactor to store my own stuff," he says, bowing shamefully like a fallen knight. "Garbage disposal is expensive as hell, the damn Himeans run it like a mob..."

"I'm sorry, okay? I thought I could cut costs. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have disgraced myself."

"Disgraced?" The lieutenant raises his eyebrows and looks up. "No need for the histrionics, sir. It was, after all, just a trash container."

He studies his reaction. Gary doesn't answer.

"What's that strange sound?"

"What... sound?"

"That clinking I just heard when you moved."

"Really?" He fans his arms out slowly, and, this time, his motions are soundless.

"There's lots of weird stuff out here in the reeds, though -- insects, trash. Could be the wind shifting some garbage nearby."

Maybe it was pinball?

Every day, the wind shifts the reeds and whatever was left in them: tambourines and condom wrappers, plastic and glass bottles, the smell of decay.

The sound you heard was not the sound of something easily abandoned.

"Don't mess with me. I think you know what I'm talking about."

"I haven't the slightest. There's lots of weird stuff out here in the reeds, though -- insects, trash. Could be the wind shifting some garbage nearby."

"You wouldn't know anything about the victim's missing armour would you?"

"Armour? No." He changes his mind. "I mean -- yes, of course. I know he was wearing armour. But I don't know anything about it..."

An infant could see he's not telling the truth -- but he's too scared to admit more wrongdoing.

There's something going on here. You should observe him more closely, after this topic is concluded.

"Gary, did you put the clothes of a murder victim -- the man who was hanged behind the Whirling-in-Rags -- into that trash container?"

"Officer, please..." He raises both hands. "Let me explain. It's not like that..."

"Do."

"I was only cleaning up. I live right across the yard from where he was hanged and I saw him stripped naked. All the clothes lying around in the yard, smelling... People are animals, you know..."

"Okay. Then what happened?"

"Then I came out to clean up the rags because no one else would. I put them into the Whirling's trash -- along with a broken mug, admittedly..." He changes his mind mid-sentence.

"Okay, I was coming to throw the mug away and, well, I threw the mug there and the clothes too."

"Right, it was just civic duty," the lieutenant remarks drolly.

"Exactly! That's exactly what it was -- civic duty."

As he shifts uncomfortably, a series of clicks, like the clinking of glass beads against one another as they roll across a hardwood floor. You've heard this sound before, but where?

As he shifts uncomfortably, a series of clicks, like the clinking of glass beads against one another as they roll across a hardwood floor. A strange sound.

"Yes-yes. What happened?"

"Let's move on -- for now." (Conclude.)

"All right. Of course, officer."

"I hope I could help your investigation, in my small way." He's visibly relieved it's over.