Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"There we go." He jots down a note. "Don't come to the Wild North if you're not white enough."

"...because they like killing."

"Yeah, we liked it. It was fun, wasn't it guys?" He looks around. "We had a great time."

"It wasn't for your fucking entertainment, Dennis. She..." He gets a hold of himself.

"They kill you," he jots down, "because they think it's funny."

"...because you work for the wrong people."

"Goddamn right, this is Uniontown! You work for the company -- we will kill you!"

"Fuck, Dennis, we don't kill you if you work for the company! Half the harbour works for the company..."

"Work for the wrong company," he jots down, "and they execute you."

One of his boys will.

Fat Angus. The powerful guy. Mr. All Muscle. The time has come -- put him in the pressure cooker.

Just remember it's about more than Klaasje. It's about these men and Martinaise: their district, their responsibility.

Good. I like this. This guy is learning.

Outside in the nightlight -- quiet, dressed in sodium lamps. Torn and in tatters...

Outside under the rising sun -- tattered, and in ruins; the windows of the cafeteria aglow with her morning light.

Outside in the midday sun -- ruins. The pavements are cracked and the benches peeling. Newspapers blow in the wind.

Outside in the evening light -- ruined and old, shadows lengthen on the pavement. A distant gunshot.

"That's it then. Case closed." (Look around.) "I'm going home."

"Huh?" He looks surprised.

You caught the leader off guard. Now strike.

"Really. I'm gonna start typing up my report. It's gonna say: in Martinaise they just kill you because they don't like you..."

"Yeah, let them know!" The little guy slams his fist on the table. "We'll kill you dead."

I do not understand. They're just stupid, probably. Too stupid to understand the arguments. Maybe the lieutenant could do it for you.

"Titus, the same thing happened to me. She manipulated me too."

"Sucks for you." He shrugs. "But get this straight -- no one manipulates Titus Hardie. I knew I was sticking it in crazy." He points to the stairs.

"But you -- you have no idea what you're doing up there. I can see it in your face, every time you come down and sing her song. She's in your head, man. You're fucked."

"Brutal, Titus." He shakes his head. "Brutal but true. She has a hold on him."

"The witness has no hold on officers of the RCM. My partner was just trying to get you to come clean -- in his unusually emotional way."

Why did you say she's manipulating you? She's manipulating them, remember? I didn't tell you to say that -- who told him that filthy lie?

It was me. I made you sound weak and I shouldn't have. But this guy, Goldmouth, he's way in over his head. Be careful with his so-called advice.

"I know what's going on here. I've been wronged too. I got this fucking dark shadow over my heart."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Titus, man -- I was young and it was summer. I just had to take a dive."

"That's a nice way of putting it, but you know..." He scratches the back of his head. "I'm in the Dockworkers' Union. Not the Heartworkers'."

"That is a nice way of putting it -- he stole it from a song, by this old guy who also got fucked by a woman. I can't remember his name, I think he's dead now."

So that's what it was -- a song you heard at some point, lodged in the back of your head. Probably not a very good point.

These working class oafs don't know how to talk about feelings. You shouldn't have opened up to them. Or anyone.

"I got fucked by some chick. Fucked real bad."

"Look around, cop." He spreads his arms. "These men are dockworkers, they don't wanna hear about your psycho circus!"

"I kinda wanted to hear the circus, boss..."

"Yeah me too. I'm always up to see a cop cry."

"You won't hear it." The lieutenant intervenes. "That's enough for the circus now, officer. Let's do procedural questions or even..." He nods toward the exit. "Why not take a little breather?"

"Titus, man -- I should've seen it coming. It was right behind her eyes." (Point to your eyes.)

"As I awakened into this world something came with me. An ancient sadness."

"Oh, that shadow. A man your age... the hangover must be lethal." He measures you up. "I never thought I'd say this, but maybe you should cut back on the drink?"

That is a lie. You should cut FORWARD on the drink.

"That's enough for the shadow now, officer. Let's do procedural questions or even..." He nods toward the exit. "Why not take a little breather?"

"Okay, men. It's clear you're being played like a fiddle." (Play an imaginary fiddle.)

"No we fucking ain't, asshole!" Glen jumps in, shouting. "No one's fiddling anyone in here!"

"No, no, Glen... I wanna hear this. Who do you think is fucking fiddling me?"

"Who do you think?" (Keep playing the imaginary fiddle; grin sagely.)

"I think you're losing it, fiddle-man."

"No, no. This fucking clown is trying to get to me. This ain't gonna work with Titus Hardie." He looks you in the eye. "Put the fiddle down or walk away. It's that simple."

"He'll put the fiddle down." He turns to you. "Put it down, officer."

I do not understand! This fiddle play totally fell apart. The concept was solid, but the delivery -- tragically off. You sounded like a madman, not a cop.

(Perform a dramatic finale on the imaginary fiddle.) "The hunter becomes the hunter."

"The hunter becomes the hunter?" He shakes his head. "A little tip for you, cop. The next time you try to fuck with someone's head -- make sure you're not fucked there yourself."

I don't understand what happened. Why did you say that? I didn't tell you to say that! Put the fiddle down and never go off script like that again.

You promised there would be good options. Where are they?

Oh, you want more good options? Here we go, so goooooood...