Conversation · Joyce Messier

"How can I forget?" She tilts her head to the side.

"One of those facts is where my badge is."

"I was hoping your condition was rhetorical, detective. A questioning technique."

"It's not."

"I have sympathy for your highly unusual conundrum, sir. And I believe you. But as it stands I cannot share any confidential information until I've seen a badge."

"I understand the dictates of protocol, ma'am, but... is there no way around it?"

"I'm afraid not, lieutenant. These are my employer's orders..."

Hang on, she's a professional negotiator. She should be open to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.

She's a professional negotiator. She should be open to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement..

"I wish it were."

"Perhaps it is. But it's also true that I don't remember where my badge is."

Why should I blame it on an artist?

Everyone knows you can't trust artists. They're nearly as bad as clowns.

"I've recently suffered from an unusual medical episode. My lost badge is related to it."

"I... see..." She looks increasingly worried. "So are you saying you lost your badge during the course of this episode?"

"It's possible. After a night of heavy drinking I lost all memory of my life and the world."

"Oh, dear..." She sighs with compassion, sadness even. "I suppose this does explain some of the more curious turns in our conversation."

She must have been suspecting something for a while now.

"As I said, ma'am," the lieutenant interjects, "his technique may be very unconventional. But he is an officer of the RCM."

"Of course. I sympathize. But I'm afraid I simply can't share anything more until I've seen that badge..."

"However," she says, with a touch of regret, "This isn't about my feelings. There's also protocol to consider. I'm afraid I can't say any more until I've seen that badge."

"Oh, dear..." she sighs with confusion, sadness even. "Some kind of encephalopathic amnesia? I don't even know how to respond..."

"I do believe you -- naive as that may sound. I simply can't imagine what you'd gain by faking such a condition."

"I could've eaten it for all I know. I don't remember anything. This world, this city. Nothing."

"Uhm... yes."

"I can't hear you, darling... speak up, please."

"Quite a few things, I'm afraid..." She falls silent for a moment. Contemplating something.

Worry lines crease her forehead, but it's more than worry. In her eyes, a hint of... is that guilt?

"The information I'm to share with you includes sensitive trade secrets. For the sake of my employer, I have to ask for your name and badge number."

"Of course, ma'am. We should have introduced ourselves..." The lieutenant hands her a piece of blue plastic. "I'm Lieutenant Kitsuragi, from Precinct 57..."

"My name is Harrier Du Bois, from Precinct 41. I don't have a badge yet."

"A pleasure to meet you, Harry -- what happened to your badge?"

Awkwardness washes over the conversation. The woman doesn't like this turn of events.

'Twas stolen by some artist, surely. Best to pin the blame on them. Everyone knows you can't trust artists.

"The thing is -- I don't have a badge at this moment."

"What happened to it, detective?"

"Why is this necessary?"

"I just can't go around telling confidential information to strangers. I've signed a contract."

But she knows you're police.

"I'm Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, from Precinct 41." (Give her your badge.)

"Pleased to meet you, lieutenant," she inspects the piece of blue plastic, the faded green pearls of her eyes scanning left to right.

"And this is my colleague from Precinct 41, Detective Du Bois." He waits for you to show your badge.

"I don't seem to have my badge, actually..."

"Oh. And what happened to it, detective?" She returns the lieutenant's badge.

"My badge. Yes. Of course. My badge that I have on me."

He looks at you expectantly. Then it dawns on him...

"And this is my colleague from Precinct 41, Detective Du Bois." He points to you. "I'm afraid Harry doesn't have his badge at the moment. I hope mine will suffice."

"Oh. And what happened to yours, detective?" She returns the lieutenant's badge and turns to you.

"And this is my colleague from Precinct 41." He waits for you to show your badge.

"I don't seem to have my badge, actually..."

"How curious." She returns the lieutenant's badge and turns to you. "Why is that, detective?"

"My badge. Yes. Of course. My badge that I have on me."

He looks at you expectantly. Then it dawns on him...

"And this is my colleague from Precinct 41." He points to you. "I'm afraid he doesn't have his badge at the moment. I hope mine will suffice."

(Show her your badge.) "I found my badge, by the way."

"By love, you did!" She inspects the piece of blue plastic, her eyes scanning from left to right.

Fast, observantly. Like an electronic printer.

She is memorizing your badge number.

She hands it back to you. "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois. I am glad to see a man of high qualification -- the situation is precarious."

Seaweed drips from the badge in your hand. It smells of fish. "What can I help you with, lieutenant-yefreitor?"