Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

(Yank it out and show the dried flower, while it falls to pieces.) "This one, remember?"

"Every piece of garbage in the city is not connected to the case. You don't have to keep everything."

He's wrong!

"No, Kim. Every piece of garbage in this city is connected to the case."

"Okay," he concedes -- clearly not meaning it.

"Okay."

"Mhm."

"What?"

"They were on the roof. I did not... I did not catch them. Fucking butterfingers..."

"Every piece of garbage in the city is not connected to the case. You don't have to catch everything."

"There are all these... old bunkers and weapon caches around..."

"We could find thousands more if we wanted. All of Revachol is full of them."

But they seemed so mysterious.

"I can't believe they're fucking useless!"

"No need to be melodramatic."

"I'm just gonna say nothing..."

There's a little pause -- he says nothing as well.

"An antique bullet... from a Belle-Magrave, 4.46 mm. How hard can it be to find one? How hard can it be?"

"It's extremely easy. There are thousands lying around from the war. All completely unusable. It's precisely how easy it is that makes that bullet useless."

"What about the hole in the... ouch... wall? Someone was checking her out."

"I don't know..." He rubs his neck. "That's been there for years."

"The miracle hasn't happened yet. It's not over yet."

He does not know what to reply. Looks out of the window, then back at you.

It's morning outside, you think.

"You know what I think about... solving crimes?" (Conclude.)

"I'm ready to hear what you think about solving crimes now."

"Solving crimes is hard."

"It really is very hard."

He sounds surprisingly weary.

That concussion must be making him dizzy.

"That's right. Let's give up. Time to start drinking."

"I don't think so." There's a short pause. "Are you ready to limp?"

Say nothing.

"Are you ready to limp?"

"You're not ready to give up, are you?"

"No." There's a short pause. "Are you ready to limp?"

"Solving crimes is super easy."

"Really? Because, to me, it seems solving crimes is hard."

"Actually, I want to talk about this crime some more, before I tell you what I think about its hardness."

"I'm listening."

"Solving crimes is almost impossible."

"It can feel that way sometimes, yes."

He arches his brow -- the ceiling fan patiently spins overhead.

"Okay, so once more -- Klaasje has escaped?"

"Absolutely," he nods. "There's no other way to go about it. We screwed up."

He's made his peace with it. He's had the time to do so.

"Something is creeping around out there. I sense it."

"What is?"

"Something."

"Something," he repeats. It does not sound like he's enthused about this some-thing.

"Nothing."

"Hmh..." He hums -- thinking about something else.

"The god damn footprints!"

"Yes." He says. "God curse the footprints -- not solving the case for us. Au diable."

"This is because I'm a La Puta Madre's peone, isn't it?"

"Don't be narcissistic. Half the cops in Revachol West are his peones. Even if you are, it is not a decisive factor in this case."

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeats.

"It's not whether I am -- I am. Jules told me so, he's from my station."

"I've heard people say I am on La Puta Madre's take." He looks you in the eye. "And I am not."