Conversation · Evrart Claire

"Please, Mr. Du Bois, let us converse in a civilized manner, as equals. Take a seat -- I insist."

It's nothing. Yes, that's probably right. It's nothing. Forget about it, filter it out.

"Mr. Du Bois! I take it you have reconsidered your stance on the etiquette of verbal communication?" He points to the tiny chair.

Don't sit. [Leave.]

"Have it your way, Mr. Du Bois. You'll be back..."

Sit.

Before you is a walrus of a man seated behind a large desk. He looks up from his work, not the least bit surprised to see you...

With great effort, he straightens himself up in his chair, yet says nothing. He simply stares at you.

With a mixture of expectation and impatience, well bottled.

A typical power play. Wait for him to speak first -- show him you've got a backbone.

"Let's get straight to business. There's been a murder."

"Welcome, Mr. Du Bois, Mr. Kitsuragi. It's good of you two to stop by. Please, have a seat." He gestures to a tiny chair opposite to his giant desk.

"I'm Evrart, Evrart Claire, head of the Débardeurs' Union here in Martinaise." The man relaxes into his chair and continues:

"I'd offer you my hand, but unfortunately my health prevents me from getting up. You understand."

He looks extremely comfortable. The tiny folding chair, on the other hand, looks like a torture device.

"You go ahead, detective." The lieutenant nods at you, then the chair.

Whatever he has in store for you, it can't be good, he thinks. I'll do my best.

Forget about that. What's with this Du Bois stuff? You're getting some seriously bad vibes from that name...

"Welcome, Mr. Du Bois. It's good of you to stop by. Please, have a seat." He gestures to a tiny chair opposite to his giant desk.

Leave without comment. [Leave.]

"Have a good day, Mr. Du Bois, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." He waves and returns to his typing.

Say nothing. Look him dead in the eye.

The one good eye of this man feels you up without even flickering. The other -- his lazy eye -- is constantly moving like a goldfish in a tank.

Grotesquely magnified by his +6 glasses.

Amblyopia. A childhood condition.

For a moment you don't know where to look. It is unbearably humid in the trailer. Beads of sweat slide down the man's forehead.

Yet he's unperturbed. Holding his own.

Stop. This is getting too weird.

His look goes from steely to inquisitive. A broad, self-satisfied grin crosses his wide face. You hear the wet smack of his lips.

"Hello. I have, uh, law enforcement business with you."

Keep staring.

At first, nothing happens. His face wears a wide and self-satisfied smile. Every now and then, he smacks his big lips.

Like a general over his maps, he plots his moves. Judging by the way he's licking his chops, it's going to be a good one.

"Soooo..." He begins to speak, albeit very slowly -- purposefully leaving a pause after his opener.

"...Mr. Du Bois, Mr. Kitsuragi, how nice that you found a moment to pay a visit to the Débardeurs' Union. I'm Evrart Claire, head of this little operation here."

"Please, have a seat." He gestures to a tiny folding chair -- opposite to his giant desk.

The folding chair looks like a torture device. Extremely uncomfortable.

"...Mr. Du Bois, how nice that you found a moment to pay a visit to the Débardeurs' Union. I'm Evrart Claire, head of this little operation here."

"Let's get straight to business. There's a dead body in a tree."

"Are you in charge of the dockworkers?"

"So, the ship has sailed... did you see it? I know you did." He leans toward you. "Tell me, what did it look like as it grew smaller and smaller? When that mainsail dropped behind the horizon..."

There's a mean little light in his eyes.

"... did it look like a germ? Did it look like a piece of bacteria?"

His tone is totally different now. The jolly man of the people is gone and so is the smile.

His jaw is clenched and his quadruple-chin is quivering with hatred. This is decades of hatred speaking right now.

You get a sinking feeling...

Oh my god, you've been played!

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Don't worry, Harry. He does." He nods towards the lieutenant. "At least I think he does."

"You wanted us to relay all this information to her..."

"That this is a takeover, that I want a war?" He nods, forcefully. "God, I hope you also told her about the drug trade... They absolutely hate getting their hands dirty with that."

"You can kill a million people, but if you do something the po-lice doesn't like... well, then you're out of the yacht-club." A vein on his forehead is pulsating. "Goodbye, you inhuman fuck..."

"So this was your plan all along. For me to relay this information to her."

"Harry..." He exhales slowly. "I can't see into the future. We are all playing by ear on this planet. I had no idea she'd react so strongly."

"But you did want me to relay info to her?"

"I did. I knew the negotiations would go better with police officers telling her horror stories from inside the harbour. It's scarier this way. Turns out it was a magnificent strategy. I never thought it'd so fundamentally fuck her up."

"Thanks for letting me play a part, Evrart." (Proceed.)

"Harry, you made a conscious decision to relay that information to her. You could have kept it for yourself."

"But she told me a beautiful story about the discovery of the Insulinde."

"Of course she did. Rich people have the best stories. About all the interesting things they've done and seen, all the beautiful places they've been to. It's just sentimentalism. She can afford to be sentimental -- and she can afford to lose as well."