Conversation · Gaston Martin

"She was René's first girl, back when the prick was sixteen." He looks at the carabineer almost gently. "They were courting till he decided he'd rather die for some great idéal than just be hap---"

"AND THEN YOU STOLE HER FROM ME!" He jerks forward, but then grabs his chest and stops.

"Sorry, but I really wanted to just ask some questions."

"It's okay, officer." He smooths his white whiskers. "You might have just saved René from a heart attack."

Do not intervene.

"Well... technically you stole her from me, because we'd been pretty close ever since you two had that falling out over the ink you spilled over her pretty yellow dress..."

"We were just boys, then. This was different. You..." The tall veteran looks at you and nods.

"No point starting this all over again, for the thousandth and the first time. Especially when we have company." He turns to you: "Officer?"

"Easy fellows, no need for this to get ugly."

"Oh, officer..." Gaston is unfazed by the outburst. "It already got ugly nearly eighty years ago when the three of us were just learning to walk and talk."

"You stole her from me," René repeats, trying to steady his breathing and still clutching his chest.

"Sounds like this is between you two. I have other matters to address."

"Sure, officer." He nods. "It's better for René's flickering ticker too. Not that he'd ever admit anything there needs tinkering."

"What happened to her?"

"She died of pneumonia two winters ago. It was a quiet passage. Peaceful." He smiles faintly.

"René and I were both by her bedside when she..." He pauses, searching for the right word.

"Died," he sharply fills the silence and adds: "No use sugar-coating it. Won't bring her back, will it now?"

"Departed," his partner finishes his sentence, then chuckles: "Until the very end she couldn't decide between us. The most indecisive woman I've ever met."

A quick grimace of pain passes over René's features, but he immediately regains control. His face now a dispassionate mask again.

"Thanks for sharing." (Conclude.)

"Of course, officer," he says with a smile. "Memories are all we have left."

"What are the rules of this game?"

"I'm obliged by the law to tell you there's been a breach of ethics." (Wink and point to the balls.)

"No, you are not. Enforcing proper conduct in an amateur pétanque game is not something the RCM involves itself in." He smiles. "It doesn't matter."

Doesn't matter?! Integrity in sports doesn't matter?! Hold me back, sonny-Jim... GODDAMNIT, it's all that matters!!!

(Whisper.) "Kim, cheating in sports is unacceptable. I got this."

"You're right, that's none of our business."

"What is... actually never mind." He smiles a clever smile "I'm sure there's something I can help you with, officer."

"Let's talk some more about Jeanne-Marie."

"Sweet sweet Jeannie..." He nods, smiling. "Ask away officer, I knew her all my life."

"Too bad René's gone, I was hoping to ask him about May bells..." (Hold out the flower.)

The old man stares at the flower, then sighs and says: "René wasn't really what you'd call a botanist, officer. And believe me, he didn't like Insulindian Lilies."

Of course he didn't, flowers are for pansies. Stop wasting time with them.

"Wait, Insulindian Lillies?"

"Mhmh," he replies with a slight nod. "That's their old name, dating back to the time of kings and crests and all that other stuff he loved so much."

"Why didn't he like them?"

"There were many reasons, but mostly it was the communards. They called them 'The Bells of Revolution'." A sad smile passes his face.

"I guess in the end the Insulindian Lillies were just another piece of the Old Insulinde, the royalists had to surrender to the Mazovian insurgents. It doesn't really matter anymore."

But you feel the dried flower in your hand somehow still does matter. Although not to this sad old man.

"Hey, Gaston, I found you a new boule." (Hold out the ball.)

Convince Gaston to relinquish his sandwich.

"I ate your sandwich, Gaston."

"Oh..." He doesn't look up. "Good. Good for you, officer. I'm just wondering if René ever... never mind. Can I help you with something?"

"Well, officer, what did you think?" The jolly man leans forward, excited to hear your opinion.

Make it... lively!

"It really wasn't bad."

"I guess you don't really need taste buds for police work." He looks disappointed. "Is there anything else, officer?"

"I suggest naming it 'Gaston's Shit Sandwich', that's what I think."

"It was (burp) great! Nutritious as fuck! I could go all night on one of these pocket rockets!"

"Ugh... thank you, officer." He looks at you with disgust. "Please tell me there wasn't anything else?"

"It was a sandwich, I don't know what to tell you. I was hungry and now I'm not."

He stares at you, aghast. "What a waste..."

"Very nourishing. Thank you!"

"Yes, yes... and the taste?" He leans even closer. "How was the taste?"

"Taste? I just ate it, forgot to check the taste."

"It was over so quickly I didn't get a chance to form an opinion."

"Very nourishing indeed." (Rub your belly.)

"Truly a masterpiece of modern gastronomy. Or should I say... GASTONomy." (Give the man an approving wink.)

"Coming from an officer of the law, this appraisal means an awful lot to me." He bows slightly. "Thank you."

"I don't mean to keep Gaston's tongue from your rectum, officer, but do you actually have any police business with us?"