Conversation · Alice

Enough, officer. This begging is below your dignity.

"I don't want to be here anymore, I want to go home! Please come and get me..."

"Uh, listen..." He seems to lower his voice a bit, carefully choosing his words. "It's okay... you can do it, sir. Over."

"What is he saying?"

"Did you want anything else, sir?" He chooses to ignore the voice in the background. "Many of your colleagues are also here. Over."

He's trying to keep you from further embarrassing yourself in front of your colleagues.

What? I thought you had your shit together! This is nearing a complete meltdown! Stop it!

"Please, I don't wanna be here... I have to..."

Suddenly the necktie feels like a boa constrictor around your neck, squeezing the dear life out of you.

Try to loosen its death-grip and breathe.

Hey, if you don't want to have the most intense orgasm of your life, fine -- don't! The grip eases a little.

"What the hell is happening to me?!"

"He... he terminated the connection." The radio operator is no longer speaking to the microphone and is addressing someone in the background. "I guess he was in a hurry..."

"Please, I'm scared! I can't... fuck, I can't breathe... Help me, please!"

The radio falls silent and lifeless. The communications officer has disconnected the call.

"What was that?" the lieutenant asks in a soft voice, gently grabbing your shoulder. "It's okay, detective."

"We call it subterfuge in the force. Ever heard of it?" (Wipe away tears.)

He gives you a long concerned look, then nods. "We should get on with our tasks. Work always helps me centre myself. Now... anything else you need from my vehicle or...?"

Eighteen kilometres to the south, in the 41st Precinct's relay booth, a small crowd has gathered around communication officer Jules "Oldboy" Pidieu -- around a dozen cops.

The small room is filled with cigarette smoke, abuzz with laughter, when Officer Judit Minot enters. Her left arm is in bandages and her hair trimmed short.

"What is going on here? Did something happen?" she asks, startled. Jean Vicquemare turns to her and says...

"What happened is my partner made contact -- it's not good. He's lost his badge and his sidearm. He seemed confused, delirious even..." He stops to think.

Mack 'The Torso' Torson is finger-fucking his fist, laughing hoarsely and apparently telling some dirty story to his partner, Chester McLaine, near the entrance.

"Yeah, Mullen was fucked alright. Sounded fucking drunk to me."

"Yeah, Mack's right, this was some gnarly shit there. I mean, before he started begging for money -- it was..."

"Enough!" The commotion dies down. All eyes turn to Satellite-Officer Vicquemare. "None of this is funny! It's fucking sad, that's what it is. He's a cop. He's one of us, goddamn this..."

"We must help him." Minot looks down at her neatly polished black shoes. There is a quiet firmness to her voice when she speaks.

"Yeah? How do you fucking plan to do that, huh?! Get him off the drink?! Go jogging with him in the morning and get him on carrot juice?! He's a lost man!"

"I just know we can't give up on him when he's at his weakest. He wouldn't..." The crowd in the room has started fidgeting uncomfortably. Someone's trying to slip out unnoticed.

"Mack, man the door," he gestures Torson to block the doorway, then turns to Minot. "You know what he told me? 'I don't want to get better -- I want to get worse.' Those were his words." He sighs heavily and turns to address the room...

"This shit does not leave this room! Not a word of this to the captain or anyone else. We'll give him a couple of days to pull his shit together!"

"I guess I can hold off the report for a few days." Oldboy lights another cigarette.

"Good," Vicquemare turns to the others, "Okay everybody, nothing but a prank call here. We all got our laughs, now get back to work!"

Far north -- on the other side of the motorway -- the officer quietly hunches with his hand in the motor carriage.

"Yeah, Mack's right, that was some gnarly shit there..."

"What happened is my partner made contact. And it's not good. He's lost his badge. He seemed confused, delirious even..." He stops to reflect.

"I don't want to talk about it. Let's just go."

"What, you've never seen a man getting a panic attack before?" (Try to keep breathing.)

That's it. He pulled the plug.

"No, I'm alright, I'm all right. I had... other things."

"Let us address them now, sir. Over."

You really need to get your shit together, this is nearing a complete meltdown.

"Okay, I heard you -- no funds."

"Anything else, sir? Over."

"It is paramount to the investigation that you grant me more money."

"He says it's important to the case."

"He isn't getting a red cent, you can tell him that!"

"Request denied, sir. Over."

Nothing is working!

"10-4, I hear you. I don't have the authority to grant your request, but...."

"Do you need anything else? Over."

"Is it him?!" a dry voice asks in the background. "What does he want?"

"He says he needs money."

"This might sound odd, but there's personal details I'd like to discuss."

"10-4, sir. Sorry, but I'm under orders to give a negative to requests for personal information. Over."

"You mean you can't tell me anything about me? But I'm me!"

"10-4. Orders are still orders. Anything else? Over."

"Understood."

"10-4. Anything else, sir? Over."

"Uh... okay, 10-4, sir -- I hear you, relay your question. Over."