Conversation · Sunken Motor Carriage

"Things were going so well, we were just whistling merrily..."

"You can still whistle," the lieutenant says with a smile. "Besides, the night is always darkest before the dawn."

"At least we have a pretty good suspect. If we found your motor carriage in the sea, maybe we'll find her too."

Something about his notion gives you strength. Makes you realize this isn't the end of the road yet.

"They're not gonna take me back after this, are they?"

"People are more valuable than machines." He's trying to cheer you up now. "Training a police officer is even more costly."

People yes, but not you.

"Things were going so well, we were just talking about our mums..."

"We can still do that," the lieutenant says with a smile. "Besides, the night is always darkest before the dawn."

"First my badge and now THIS."

The lieutenant adjusts his glasses and doesn't say anything.

There is also a fourth thing you've lost.

I don't wanna hear about that.

It's lost forever. Into the deepest of seas.

A... fourth thing?

More precious than the gun, the badge and the motor carriage combined. Lost forever. Into the deepest of seas.

"So it's just gonna be there like that?!"

"I'm afraid it will have to be there like that for many years." He looks around. "Look at it -- parts of it might be salvageable, but overall this machine is a write-off."

"Things were going so well, we were just talking how people have different skins..."

"Well..." The lieutenant shrugs. "Life has a way of pulling the rug from under your feet. But things can only go up from here."

"I can still fix it."

"That is very unlikely," the lieutenant replies with a sigh. "All the electrics are toast. That goes for the electromagnetic steering and brake systems as well."

"You'd be lucky to find one undamaged component in there..." He shakes his head. "In a few months there will be nothing but rust left of this vehicle. It'll be cheaper to buy a new one..."

"Well, not cheaper. This motor carriage costs 40,000 reál... but in the long run it stills makes more sense to buy a new machine than try to refurbish this."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Let's face it, this is a substantial loss to your district's budget." He's avoiding your gaze now. "I mean, my station only has four other vehicles in addition to my Kineema..."

This was 20% of the station's vehicular budget?

"People are gonna be angry at me, aren't they? In Precinct 41."

"I couldn't even pay a hostel bill."

"THIS IS A DISASTER."

"I want it to be Jacob Irw, not me."

"Well, it isn't. It's you. I'm very sorry."

"How do we get it out?"

"Detective," he says almost gently. "We don't. A rescue operation really isn't viable at this point."

It's sunken too deep. There is no access ramp to the coast.

"Maybe I was in pursuit of someone."

"Of whom?" The lieutenant looks sceptical. "I don't think so. If anything... you were probably drunk."

Probably? Try definitely.

"Well, at least I can see what's in there now." (Conclude.)

"Yes. Let's go take a look."

"I hate guessing. District something? A precinct? Something municipal?" (Rub your temples -- you're getting a horrible headache.)

"A precinct, yes!" He tilts his head and continues in a soft voice. "A police precinct. Precinct 41 -- your precinct."

"This must be Tommy 41, the morning host of FM 41!"

"Right..." The lieutenant is looking at you peculiarly. "Or 41 is the number of a police precinct? Your precinct."

"Oh god, no..."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry."

Forty-one, Precinct 41. A massive pit opens up in your stomach and the most terrible feeling comes over you.

"Forty-one, huh? This street racer is quite the ladies man."

"Forty-one is his rank in the underground street racing hierarchy." (Rub your chin.) "Small fish, this one."

"But it could also be," he tilts his head and stresses: "... the number of a police precinct. Precinct 41 -- your precinct."

"It's not uncommon for race cars to have numbers on them."

Does he know something about the driver of this vehicle?

Yes. Number 41. As in: Precinct 41. C'mon, man -- that's our ride!

Oh, no-no-no-no-no. Mkm. Not happening! Not on my watch.

C'mon, Harry... There's nowhere to run. It's just you and me, old friend.

Oh god, no...

I'm so sorry, Harry.

A massive pit opens up in your stomach and the most terrible feeling comes over you.

You feel like you're about to faint and fall off the swing. Your hands get clammy and the air tastes sour to breathe.

Oh god, Harry! Oh god, Harry, what did you do...?!