Conversation · Titus Hardie

"There's an old catatonic lady in the old fish market, on the other side of the bay. She needs help."

The big man laughs, nearly spitting out his beer. "What's that, copper? You want us to help little old ladies now?"

"You're local law enforcement aren't you?" The lieutenant looks Titus in the eye. "Helping troubled civilians should fall under your jurisdiction."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll send someone out. Who is -- wait... It's The Pigs, isn't it?"

"Yup. Her."

He pushes up his cap. "God, poor lady. Don't worry. We'll handle this. I think she's got some family in Couron or something... Bastards left her alone when she got sick, we've been getting complaints."

"Hey," Eugene interjects. "Wasn't Evrart's B Team looking for her the other day? They said something about her... I dunno, finding something?"

"Yeah, I think you're right, Gene." Titus gives him a beer salute and turns to you. "She have something of yours, pig?"

Whatever you do, do not admit to these punks you lost your gun. You will suffer if you do.

"She had my gun."

You absolute fool.

"You're fucking with me." The big man slams his beer onto the table. "Your gun! She had your fucking gun!"

"Sure did, boss!" The rat-man's face is twisted with a smile. "Heard him loud and clear -- the pig's lost his gun to The Pigs!"

The big man stares at you, still stunned. Too stunned to even drink his beer. "Well," he says after a moment. "At least I can see you got it back. If you have any questions..." He waves in circles, still searching for words.

"Where'd she get all her cop gear?"

"Dunno," Titus says, shrugging. "She lives by the water. Shit washes up all the time on the beach."

"Police paraphernalia doesn't just wash up on the coast, people. It's not like we dump it at night. She bought it, collected it."

Station 41. A man carries a crate of rusted, unused badges. "You think these would net us something at the annual auction?" A balding detective drags a comb futilely across his head. "Shit, who'd want those? Just dump them into the river."

"Who was she?"

"Was? Like before? Just an old lady. Her kids moved away years ago. Never come to visit, never took her calls. She gets... out every now and then." He swirls his beer. "She did right by lots of us when we were kids. Always was a little off, but still."

Us kids? That must have been ages ago. She was better then.

The children kept her together.

"How did she get like this?"

"Get wanting to be a cop, you mean? Well, she..." He furrows his brow in thought. "Shit, I don't actually know. Anyone know why she started acting like a pig?"

"No fuckin' clue," the tattooed man shouts. "It's gotta be the crazy. Who'd want to be a pig?"

"Law enforcement is a respectable occupation, sir."

"Respectable professions don't shoot kids, cerdo!" He stands, hands wrapped tight around the back of his chair. "They don't beat confessions out of prisoners!"

"Easy there, Al." He turns to the tattooed man, who is taking heaving breaths. "Sit down. We've got one of our own to take care of. So let's not get worked up."

"Someone whose only connection to the outside world is Channel 8 and it's cop programs?"

"Oh, don't even get me started on that Gareth Morrand crap!" The Mesque gets visibly agitated. "That racist fucking fuck... motherfucker."

"Easy, Al..." He glances over his shoulder. "We all hate him. The man's all cock and no balls. Can't trust a fella like that."

Must be a local saying.

"Someone who wanted to set the world right before it ends. Ever think of that?"

He blinks. "No, I didn't. Because I'm not fucking stupid, polizonte."

"Yeah, cop, that's some pretty fucking weird shit to say. The Pigs level weird." The big man shrugs. "But whatever gets you through the day."

"I can't but feel partially responsible for the unhealthy culture that poor woman latched onto. I'm sorry."

The tattooed Mesque sinks into his seat, unsure how to respond. "Yeah... you should be."

The big man shrugs. "Whatever, cop. Don't worry about it. We'll take care of our own."

"More like who wouldn't! Cool uniforms, fast machines, packing heat? Sign me up!"

"You're already signed up, cerdo." The man shakes his head. "This guy's seriously damaged, T."

"Ah, don't worry about it, Al." The big man smiles, pushing up his cap. "The cops wanna dress up and play policeman. Let 'em. We'll keep doing the real work."

"Thanks for helping out with this one, Titus." [Leave.]

"No problemo, cop-man. We take care of our mentally ill here in Martinaise. Ain't that right, boys?"

"Sure enough!" Eugene raises his glass in toast. "We're the real heroes on these streets!"

"What's her name? Her real name."

He takes off his cap and scratches his head. "Auntie LePlante, we always called her. Something LePlante?"

"Marianne, amigo," he says pouring himself another drink.

"Marianne Amigo LePlante."

"Fuck you, pig!" He stands. "What the fuck you playing at, huh?"

"Easy, Al." The man says soothingly. "Don't let him get to you. Have one for Auntie LePlante, huh?"

"Don't disrespect Miss LePlante, copper." The big man finishes off a can. "She's good people. We all get a little crazy sometimes."

"Marianne LePlante."

The big guy nods, drinking his toast. "Anything else you wanted to know?"

The big man stares at you, still stunned. Too stunned to even drink his beer. "Where is it now," he asks slowly. "I don't see it..."

"It's been taken care of," the lieutenant replies laconically. "But she hasn't been."

"Boy howdy." He sips his beer, recovering. "Well. We'll get her help. You just stay out of the way. Way far out of the way."

"I didn't want it. Kim has it."

"At least it's in good hands." He sips his beer, recovering. "Well. We'll get her help. You just stay out of the way. Way far out of the way."

"It fell into the water."

"Probably for the best. At least it's not going to do harm there..." He sips his beer, recovering. "Well. We'll get her help. You just stay out of the way. Way far out of the way."