Conversation · Evrart Claire

It saddens him -- that she can. Sours it, but only a tiny bit.

"So what's going to happen now?" (Conclude.)

"What was always going to happen. We take the harbour and she fucks off to Ozonne, uncorks a bottle of wine, calls her partners and says they need to distance themselves from this nasty business before the big shit spinner splashes everyone."

"Only difference is the Union doesn't have to lose 2,000 men to machine gun fire."

"But I swore fealty to her. She was my beautiful laede."

"Fealty-swealty, Harry. You knew something -- something big. And you wanted to see what happens when you tell someone. So you told her. Anyone who's ever been close to power will tell you: inside information is the sweetest thing in the world."

"It's better than money, it's better than pussy. Money only makes you special for some salesman. Pussy only makes you special for yourself. Information makes you special for all mankind. It's the ticket to history."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Right on, Harry. What you did was participate in history. When history calls, you have to pick up. You had no choice. None of us ever do. A hard disco cop like you -- I knew you weren't one to resist temptation."

"You know what, detective? I am going to leave this out of my report, and I suggest you leave it out of yours too."

"Heh," He chuckles. "Just look at the three of us. The three careless boiadeiros. Good times, good times..."

"Okay."

"Oooooookay!" He swings his fist through the air and shakes his head in agreeance. "Hell yes, it is."

"So what now?"

"Now there's a whole lot of work to do! For me and for you. I suppose there was a reason you came here, so let's get to it. What can I help my best friend and comrade with today?"

"So what the fuck now?" (Spread your arms.)

"Now we let bygones be bygones because there's work to do. For me and for you. I suppose there was a reason you came here, so let's have it! What can I help my best friend and comrade with today?"

"But look at me going on and on, like some kind of a father figure." He laughs. "And to think we're about the same age..."

"It does make sense when you word it like that."

"Damn right it does, Harry. What you did was participate in history. When history calls, you have to pick up. You had no choice. None of us ever do. A hard disco cop like you -- I knew you weren't one to resist temptation."

"Hmm..."

"No-no-no-no-no..."

"Don't beat yourself up, Harry. What you did was participate in history. When history calls, you have to pick up. You had no choice. None of us ever do. A hard disco cop like you -- I knew you weren't one to resist temptation."

"I have a bad taste in my mouth. You better make sure this ends up saving lives."

"That it will, Harry. That it will." A sincere smile crosses his face. "As to the bad taste -- please. You're not a sommelier, you're a cop."

"You knew something. Something big. And you wanted to see what happens when you tell someone. So you told her. Anyone who's ever been close to power will tell you: inside information is the sweetest thing in the world."

"Look, I just want to do police work."

"Yes, of course, Harry," he says, smiling like a fox. "That's why you went to her and relayed every little thing I told you."

"You could have just told me, I would have been on board."

"Harry, when I need to tell people, I might as well do it myself! That's why I like initiative -- and inspiring initiative. It's more natural that way."

And safer, too. You never know who you can trust.

"Damn, Evrart, I was hoping I'd somehow get to fuck you over in the end. Not the other way around."

"Damn, Harry..." He shakes his head. "I was hoping that too, but the information I gave you proved too powerful."

"But she said she's insane. Like me."

"She's not insane. What did she tell you?" His expression betrays extreme scepticism.

"She has this sentimentality and longing about her..."

"Heh," he scoffs. "She's a sentimental alcoholic. They all are, Harry. Never take a drop and you'll be eight laps ahead of the upper-class winos, just like old Mr. Claire here. Try it. You'll be a real superdetective."

"I've actually walked the path of sobriety for a while now."

"I can see that, Harry." He studies your face. "Alcohol has left its marks, but you're doing better than when I first saw you. Rich-man is shitting himself -- the working class, sober!"

"That's actually... good advice. I might."

"Don't just say it, Harry." He wags his finger at you. "Do it. We gotta be more disciplined than they are, or we'll lose."

And you've already lost for so long.

"If that's what it takes, I'll do it -- for the working class."

"Oh, fuck off... I don't drink more than everyone else!"

"See, this is what they want us to do -- suck on that sugar-and-wine teat until we're insane, like they are. You gotta be smarter than that, Harry, or you'll lose."

"She told me she's over-radiated from pale transit."

"No, she's not," he scoffs. "She's a sentimental alcoholic, they all are. Never take a drop and you'll be eight laps ahead of those upper-class winos, just like old Mr. Claire here. Try it, you'll be a real superdetective."

"You used my intellectual curiosity against me."

"Against you?" He's taken aback. "Oh, Harry, I'd like to think I used it for you."

Hmm... it was interesting. No arguing against that.

"How do you know she left?"

"Harry, I bugged her cabin. I bugged her whole boat. I had cameras surveying her boat. Hell I even wanted to bug that thermal cup, but my boys advised against it."

They must have done it while Joyce was busy questioning the locals.

"So you've been listening to our conversations all the time?"

"Not me personally..." he stretches his arms like a discus thrower. "I had guys recording and processing this information for me."

"The Hardie boys?"

"Hell no!" he exclaims. "They'd fuck it up. They can't do anything right. I mean my real boys. My special task force boys."

"Where are these boys?"

"They sure as hell aren't hanging out in the open with beers in their hands for the cops to question." He bursts out laughing. "They're pros, Mr. Kitsuragi."

"Where are these boys now?"