Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

You see the lieutenant's familiar shape in the orange jacket. It turns double -- then triple -- from the pain.

It's nothing. You're alive, that's what matters.

"Kim...."

"Sunrise, parabellum," the lieutenant says. He's in the middle of a freshly cleaned room, with the fan above his head like a halo. His face is covered in bruises.

"How bad am I hurt?"

"Pretty bad, officer. You've suffered two wounds. The first is below your shoulder. The bullet passed through your shoulder blade, luckily missing your lung -- and heart."

"The second shot hit you in the thigh -- the left quadriceps." He points to your leg. "No major arteries were nicked, but the bullet had to be removed. A bacterial infection was treated with mercurochrome."

"Can I... walk?"

"We will see."

With considerable pain and the stitches tearing every now and then -- you should be able to do it.

"Has anyone from my station been to see me?"

"No."

A man and a woman sit in the front seat of an armoured motor carriage. The woman is driving, the man lights a cigarette. Jean Vicquemare is his name, the asphalt vanishes under the wheels of the machine. Ahead, harbour cranes rise to the sky...

"Back to that shithole," he says.

"Really?"

"I called your station after the fight. The injury was logged in. They told me they've sent officers to join you on the site."

"Odd. You haven't seen any, have you?"

There's a pause. "I'm sure they're worried about you."

That means he hasn't seen them around while you were out. They're not really worried about you. If they were, wouldn't they be here?

"If they're so worried about me where are they?"

"I don't know."

He may have some idea -- but he's not gonna get into it with you.

That's between you and them, he thinks.

Better not agitate yourself further, it already hurts.

Sorry.

"Okay."

"I'm sure they're worried about you."

No. They would be here if they were truly worried.

"Good. I don't need them."

"Isn't that... strange?"

"They don't care about me at all."

"If not my station, then who treated me?"

"I did."

"Thank you."

"No need."

"I didn't know you could... do that."

"It's part of a detective's task chain. You can do it too."

Actually, you can. You can even remove a fractured bullet, it seems...

Can you? You're pretty sure you can't.

"Okay...." (Get up.)

"Easy now..." The lieutenant turns double again, before your eyes. An orange hue of pain...

You can take it. Just don't lean on that leg of yours too heavily.

Your balance is way off. You feel like you're about to fall over on that thing...

"How are you?"

"My... disco days are done."

"Your disco days should have been done quite a while back, officer."

"I'm very bad, Kim. Things are very bad."

The lieutenant doesn't reply -- just looks at you teetering on your feet.

He thinks you should sit back down. Back straight, now... you're not sitting ANYWHERE.

"I feel fantastic. Let's... rock."

He nods.

"Who cares. Who cares about me. It doesn't matter."

"Gnhhhh..."

The lieutenant looks at you -- teetering on your feet.

"Are you hurt?"

"Not very." He rubs his chin. "I have a concussion from the major beating me with the butt of his gun. I try to not move too much."

"Things would be much worse if you didn't warn me." There's a pause. "Thank you. I did not see him coming. Stupid of me..."

"Not very." He rubs his chin. "I have a concussion from that woman beating me with the butt of her gun... I try to not move too much."

"Things would be worse if you didn't warn me." There's a pause. "Thank you. I did not see her coming. Stupid of me..."

"I'm a psycholocomotor."