Conversation · Volition

Huh... no, Mr. Conclusion. You're always kind of limited in your analytical abilities. That's not her fault. But still...

Oh my god.

I knew something was off...

I'm sorry I didn't catch it sooner. It takes conscious effort on your part.

Who, me?

Yes, you. He's talking about you, you grovelling sycophant.

You too.

Me? Get outta here, I'm solid.

Who, me?

Yes, he's talking about you, you sinewy idiot.

You too.

Me? What have I done this time?

Who, me?

Yes, he's talking about you, you shifty asshole.

You too.

Me? No way, I'm straight, man.

Who, me?

Yes, you. He's talking about you, you boring stiff.

You too.

Me? What did I do?

Just like the last time, light brown eyes look back at you. All is as it was, you feel cigarette fumes rise from her lips. She's just as beautiful...

Don't worry. We will protect you from her beauty. We will consult you through the reefs and sounds of her persona.

We will see through deceits. You are shielded. You are wise.

You are advised. There are muscles on long white bones that line her limbs, just below the silver jumpsuit...

Miss Oranje Disco Dancer... You want to put your hand on her back and feel it arch.

What is... happening?

Nothing. Just time passing. Don't worry.

You are not a fool.

Anything out of the ordinary and you would be notified.

Air moves in your windpipe. Your heart beats. You're a detective -- get back to detecting.

Am I being... beguiled?

She presses her elbows against her waist and slowly turns her head.

Her hair brushes her shoulders, making a small hissing sound, almost imperceptible...

Avert your eyes.

The strange moment ends. It was brief, no longer than 2.2 seconds.

She looks back, time moves slowly. The triangles of her face rearranging into a weary smile...

"Not my favourite topic..." She flicks the ash away. "But okay."

"Why was there a bullet in his head?"

"Bullet?" There's a silence. Her brows meet in the middle, for a pained frown. "They shot him too?"

I'm not picking up any theatre-craft here, sir. The pause is sincere.

"They stripped his clothes and they shot him..."

"You mean after they hanged him?"

"I'm confused. Sorry."

"So am I. Were you aware that he had also been shot, miss?"

"Things are starting to go a little over my head here... I thought he was hanged? I was not present when they did it. I don't know what happened. I just know what they told me -- and Sylvie, the bartender."

This is beginning to get confusing for you too and we don't like that. Where was she last Sunday night?

"Where were you when this happened?"

"Cowering. I was cowering downstairs with Sylvie."

Let it be.

If we're letting things be out of courtesy -- why did you even dig the bullet out in the first place? But fine...

It's hard to know what to think about that answer.

She's just tired. Don't push her too much.

"You mean after they hanged him?"

"I'm confused. Sorry."

"Were you aware that he was also shot, miss? In the mouth?"

"It must be hard..." (Point to the yard.) "Seeing him there."

"Oh yes," she says bitterly. "I've had a great view. From the roof, out of the bathroom window. In my dreams..."

A bitter cringe. It hurts. You look to the lieutenant...

He takes a small step closer.

"You called us. The RCM..."