Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

"It is. Many people lost their jobs. Not just C-Suite. Ordinary people. What I did to get to accounting..." She shakes her head at the thought.

"You're right. This is bad. You've destroyed what people have built."

"I am. I am a destroyer. People lost their jobs -- good people. Not just C-Suite assholes. And the way I got into accounting..." She shakes her head at the thought.

"Pappa Lollo!"

"Yeah. Pappa fucking Lollo wants to kill me." She smiles.

"Who did you do this to? And on whose behalf?"

"Understood."

She takes a drag, then glances over her shoulder.

"What exactly did you do?"

"When it happened -- did you hear a gunshot?"

"When he was shot?" She thinks. "I may have. I don't know. I couldn't hear anything over the glass exploding."

The gunshot wasn't that loud? This is something to keep in mind when assessing the distance of the shot.

"I understand." She puts her coffee mug on the table.

Just like that. No resistance -- her shoulders are slouched, her feet long and straight.

"You lied to us, miss."

"I didn't lie. Not a lot. I've done my absolute best not to. I just..."

'Tis true, the laedy hath tried to avoid falsehoods.

C'mon. She lied through her teeth. And you know it.

"It was a mistake." She winces. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

This is good. Clear the air first -- between you two -- then move on to questions.

No, it's not good. It's the opposite of that. This will let her dictate the terms of your...

Shush. I can't hear what she's saying.

Let the miss speak. She's tall and thin and tired -- a twig trying so hard not to break...

"If you knew we would find out eventually -- why did you waste our time?"

"Because of the Hardies -- I couldn't just dispense with them, they were only trying to help me." She looks at her feet. "Out of the shit I'd gotten into."

Is she implying the Hardie boys are THE LAW?!

"That's not a good enough reason."

"You're right... there's more."

"More?"

"You answer to the Coalition Government -- and, by extension, the Moralintern..." She reaches for a new cigarette.

Briefly glancing over her shoulder to the sea -- as she's done time and time again.

A grand expanse of water reaches over the bay and to the horizon. Grey and pale violet in the morning light...

Never mind...

The light refracts. She takes out her lighter.

"What's the RCM's involvement with the Moralintern got to do with this?"

"You share a database with them. You send people to their courts." She lights the cigarette.

"What's going on? What did you do?"

"Just business -- but bad business for some people in the Moralintern. If I show up in your records, officer, they will find me. They will..."

"What happens if they do?"

"They will kill me, sir. If you file my name -- take me in for questioning -- enter me into the Moralintern mill..."

There's a wince and a pained little smile. "Well, then I'm fucked. For nothing. This murder didn't have anything to do with me."

Fucked? People after her? Moralintern people? This isn't Oranjese lit!

Here we go. For once you seem to have her off-guard.

Actually -- this murder did have a little to do with her.

Nothing to do with her? You'll be the judge of that.

"What happens if they find you?"

"They will kill me, officer. If you file my name, take me in for questioning, enter me into the Moralintern mill..."

"Is this about the people you mentioned, the ones who are angry at you?"

"It is." She nods. "They're after me. And they have friends in the Moralintern -- some are Moralintern. If I show up in your records, officer, they will find me. They will..."

"Is this part of why Oranje is a bad memory for you?"

She nods. "I have people after me. And they have friends in the Moralintern -- some are Moralintern. If I show up in your records, officer, they will find me. They will..."

"Has this got something to do with you being... Miss Oranje '37?"

She smiles, cautiously. "I wish it did. But sadly no."

"The RCM isn't the lapdog of the Moralintern. You don't have to worry."

"I don't answer to anyone. Mother fucking anyone, butch."

"I think you meant to say bitch there."

"I know what I meant -- I meant to say butch, you have a problem with it?"

"Officer. Regain control of yourself." He turns to the woman: "What does our limited cooperation with the Moralintern have to do with this?"

"Wow. Someone has their testosterone cranked up to neolithic. Let me just forcefully re-rail this talk for you, okay? Are you okay with that? Here we go..."

"I thought I did."