Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

"I'll let you off the hook -- for now. Don't make me regret it." (Don't arrest her.)

"I won't, sir..." She exhales, shaking visibly. Then she collects herself.

"Let's write you a Station Call. If you miss it -- I can't help you anymore." (Write a Station Call.)

"I won't..." She takes the slip, shaking visibly. Then she collects herself.

This may have been a grave mistake, sire.

Maybe. Maybe not. Mercy is rarely a complete mistake.

"I promise I will be right here all the time -- nights too. I'll help you any way I can in this investigation and I will be at Station 41 in six weeks." She repeats. "I promise."

"Kim, arrest her before this drags out any longer." (Arrest her.)

"I will escort you to the motor carriage outside, miss."

With a muffled whimper, she extends her wrists. They're white, bony -- exposed below the rolled-up sleeves of her jumpsuit.

Waiting for your teeth and talons to cut into...

He puts the handcuffs away. "These won't be necessary. I will take you to Station 57 myself -- and slow the extradition process as much as I can."

"It may be possible to stall it indefinitely. But you will be safer there for the purposes of this investigation." He turns to you.

"I can do this on my own. She's not an immediate flight risk. See you tomorrow morning, officer. Downstairs, at the Whirling-in-Rags."

"What will have changed in two months? Or one month?"

"Everything could change." She looks around. "This city, the extradition rules... The people after me could be in jail. Or maybe Revachol..." She falls silent.

There is desperation there -- in that silence. A cornered animal looking for a way out.

"Maybe Revachol could be free? I could be tried in a free Revachol? An independent state that doesn't hand its detainees over to the Moralintern."

A free Revachol... There is a low, distant rumble on the motor tract. A great machine, shaking the pillars down south. Electricity runs up your spine.

"I find that hard to believe, miss." The handcuffs jingle in his hands...

"I do like the sound of that... another Revachol. Free. Independent."

"The world can change. It's changed before." Her round light brown eyes shining with tears.

Her political overture has succeeded, we see?

This was her last card. There is nothing more she can say. The final decision is yours -- you alone stand on the throne of your Mind.

"I also find it hard to believe."

"Don't. The world can change. It has changed before..." She looks at you, frozen to her spot.

That's not the answer she was hoping for. Thought that you were some kind of patriot, or communard, did she?

"This has got nothing to do with anything."

"I know, but..." She doesn't know what to say.

The political gambit has failed.

"Not on my watch."

"Okay. Well..." Her round light brown eyes shine with the tears.

What was that feeling?

IT'S COMING.

"What other option do I have?"

"You have those station calls, right? Where I have to show up at the station or I'll become a fugitive. You can write me one. You don't have to take me in right now... I promise I won't go out anymore, at night. I'll be right here."

"I know you can do that -- just let me come in on my own. In two months. Or maybe even one month. That's all I need..."

"You do have the form..." He looks at your ledger.

That's it. I'm calling it. Kim is beyond compromised.

Definitely, sire.

By god, she's playing him too! Like a fiddle, sire... Who would have known?

"I do have a form..." He looks at his notes.

"What do you deserve then?"

"I don't know..." She throws away the cigarette. "To spend my days with smoke and drink and dance -- wallowing in shit. Just like everyone else."

Who?

Her! Stop letting her distract you.

"And how could she have killed him?"

"You said there was a secret route there, right?" She points to the door that leads to the pinball workshop.

"She could have come up through there, then taken the shot -- right here, where I stand. It was too dark outside, I wouldn't have seen her."

Then slipped back downstairs without anyone noticing? That is possible...

"Interesting theory. Did she know that door exists? Had you been out here -- with her?"

"Yes. She's been up here many times. She used to come to drink on the roof when..." The young woman falls silent -- her mouth moves without a sound.

The peephole!

"What is it?"

"The peephole. My bed is right next to..." She's forgotten her cigarette in the ash tray. "She would have seen us."

"You mean to suggest -- she made it?"

"No." She shrugs it off. "No -- why would she do that to herself? No, I just remembered you told me about it, and..."

She's not really sure. It was right above the bed -- she could have seen all sorts of things from there.

Don't let your imagination run wild here, sire. Keep it on track.

"You're thinking about the peep hole, right? The perforation in the pinball workshop wall."