Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

"No."

"Then you didn't get the Greatest Hits, officer." She shakes her head slowly. "It's probably for the best... Hm. Hang on..."

"Intercepted radio chatter. It sounded authentic enough."

"Yes, miss. I hope you don't mind." The lieutenant hands you his notes.

"How old was he, miss?"

"He was forty-two."

"Forty-two? Are you sure? I would have had him above fifty..."

"He had many scars that made him appear older. But no." The memory makes her smile.

"We even celebrated his birthday, like, some weeks ago... It was a funny two days. He had little reason to lie to me."

That means his birthday is around February 28th.

"Right again, officer." The lieutenant taps his blue pen at you, as though assigning another point.

This feels so just. Like there is righteousness in the world.

Points are good. Have one, you old dog! Before we all die...

Better not to mention it...

The young woman looks at you, then the lieutenant, then you.

She's clearly sensing something. A spike in testosterone levels, perhaps.

"I did not know this was a competition, Kim."

"It isn't. Police work is a cooperative sport."

There is no challenge without competition. There must be an opponent.

This is clearly sports for him. Something like archery -- or darts?

"Then the competition is against the world?"

"That's too conceptual for me, I just like to get autopsies correct -- on the first try if possible." He makes another note. "Where were we?"

He's lying.

Let it be.

The young woman looks at you, then the lieutenant, then you. She's enjoying this.

"It's still about getting hits right -- and not missing?"

"That's too pinball for me, I just like to get autopsies right on the first try." He makes another note. "Where were we?"

"Looks like you were right, officer." The lieutenant taps on his notebook once. As though assigning some kind of point...

"We were slightly off then. Thank you for clearing it up." The lieutenant makes a correction in his notes.

A miss.

The adversary won.

"You mentioned he liked showing off his tattoos -- how?"

"How?" She leans back. "Imagine him lying in bed, freakish musculature laid out on the sheets. Scarred, of course. Tattooed. The sheets are dirty for some reason."

Is this Oranjese lit?

"Is this Oranjese lit?"

"Yes. This is the very essence of Oranjese lit -- a moment's respite. Dark and hopeless as the struggle itself." She leans even further back to demonstrate.

"He's smoking and drinking, of course. And his chest and shoulders and arms are studded with stars. Tens, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands."

"And the woman goes like..." She points at the air with her sharp-nailed finger, picking out an imaginary tattoo-star. "'What was this, baby?'"

"And he says..." She lowers her voice, comically. "'That was too hard core. Don't ask me about that.' So she goes: 'Okay. But what's this, baby?' And he's like: 'Saw some bad shit there, killed some loincloths.'"

"And so it goes -- star after star, port after port, third world country after third world country. And he's done horrible things in every single one of them."

"You were the woman in this?"

"Oh yeah." She nods.

Don't interrupt.

"I think we're finished with this line of questioning." (Hand the lieutenant back his notes.)

"Alright." The lieutenant puts the slip back in his notes and observes the young woman for a moment.

Coolly, gracefully, she pours herself more coffee.

"We ordered a toxicology report. Any idea what that will show us?"

"A real rainbow splattering of pharmaceuticals, I bet." She grins. "Barbiturates, amphetamine, sildenaphil..."

Hear that? Sildenaphil! Just like you suspected. You have a great nose for this stuff!

What is Sildenaphil?

It's for maintaining an erection. Uppers are vasoconstrictors, so that feat becomes problematic.

Okay. And why do I know this?

Because you're a scientist, of course.

"How much does that toxicology report cost the Police of Revachol? I can do it for half of that. Save you some money, make some myself."

"It's quite expensive, miss. But we'll manage without your help for now."

Thanks.

Yeah, you got the magic touch...

"Something miraculous is coming. He told me."

The lieutenant blinks -- his expression does not change.

All right. Let's see where this is going.