Conversation · Sylvie

Breathing on the other end suggests that Sylvie is still on the line. She heard everything.

"You got your methods, I got mine lieutenant. Now let me do my job."

"Fine." The lieutenant clenches his jaw. "But know that I don't approve of such gratuitous volatility."

An angry cop refusing to face his demons and taking his frustration out on others -- just a badge and a gun away from those he's manhandling. A fast burning candle -- that's the side you just exposed to the lieutenant. He doesn't judge, has seen it too many times all ready -- you both have probably, but he takes a mental note.

There's no reply from the other end of the line.

"I see. Don't worry about it, I understand." (Back off.)

"You do?" She sounds relieved. "What else can I do for you?"

"What others?"

"The other people who live around here. Local people. I... I didn't want trouble... "

Her voice is resigned and weak.

"Okay, I understand."

"You don't live here, you don't understand. Squealing is frowned upon here -- everything is dealt with... well, by the Union. Internally."

You hear static. Her chin rub against the receiver. Then: "Please, I just didn't want any trouble."

"What trouble?!"

"I am the authority around here."

"Okay." She obviously doesn't want to challenge your authority. You feel much better now.

"Looks like there's a limit to my authority then."

"Mhmh."

"What does this Union have to do with anything?"

"Okay, next question." (Back.)

"Okay..." She's calmer now. Probably because the focus has shifted elsewhere.

"Yeah, go on."

"Do you know who made that call?"

"No..." You can hear her regaining control in the background. "I honestly don't know."

"Seems like Klaasje wasn't lying when she said it was her." The lieutenant makes a note. "This corroborates her story -- she made the call."

I wouldn't be so sure, detective.

Are you sure lieutenant? For some reason, you have a little doubt about that...

She iseth the fairest of them all. The ugliness of lies wouldst never escape her lips!

Seems like Klaasje wasn't lying when she said she made the call. This corroborates.

"It was someone else." The lieutenant makes a note. "We'll find them sooner or later, officer. It just might take a while."

"You have to ask someone else. There are thousands of people in Martinaise."

Relax. You'll find them sooner or later -- this will just take some time.

"No, sorry... I don't." She clears her throat. "Not a lot of people have phones around here. Copper thieves take the wires..."

"People don't have the money to have the cables put in again. They use the Union's phone or the one on the coast."

So the Union has a phone -- and there's one further down the coast. Got it.

"Hey, do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me some time?"

"No, absolutely not."

That came so fast you can't but wonder what else would she be good at.

Yes, what would she be good at?

Baseball? Ring-a-bell Quiz Shows? Catching keys in the air? Petting an angry cat?

Ouch.... That's like twenty points of pride-damage right there, buddy.

"Are you sure you don't remember where the paperwork I flushed is?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Every time we talk about it I'm going to be more sure I don't know."

"Sorry about that." She doesn't sound like she's too sorry. "Anything else, detective?"

"Have you seen my police man uniform?"

"Uniform? I never saw you in any uniform, you had your... things on. The disco things."

Somewhere in a dank rental apartment, two police officers stand in the dark. Trash and liquor bottles cover the floor. Things are not good.

One of the men, trying not to slip on old newspapers, makes his way to the window and pulls the curtains apart. Roaches scatter as the light comes in.

"Goddamn..." officer Michel 'Elfboy' Williams speaks to himself. His partner, Sundance Fischer, looks at the patrol uniform he's wearing -- then at an identical suit framed on the wall. It's blue and covered in dust. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he turns to Williams, "he hasn't been here in days."

"Do you know who put the victim's clothes in the trash?"

"No, I don't know. It wasn't me..." She gulps. "I haven't been out there since... I was terrified of the stench and the corpse." She falls silent.

If she used to work in the Whirling-in-Rags, then you must have met her.

"Hello, this is the police calling. I have some questions for you about your last days at work."

"Oh, right..." She recognizes your voice almost immediately. "Hello, officer, what can I do for you?"

You can hear resentment in her tone -- she's not thrilled to be talking to you again.

There is no resentment in her tone. She wants you to ask her out. No question about it.

"Sylvie? I believe we've met before. This is me, a detective from the Whirling-in-Rags!"