Conversation · Smoker on the Balcony

"Who knows, detective? It's a... mystery," he says, turning his face away from you.

There, he's laughing again!

[Leave.]

"Alright, go then."

"Run where?"

"To the city." He gestures idly towards distant motorways. "It's a beautiful night."

"Go, if you must, I don't care. I don't care about people leaving me all the time."

"Don't worry, we'll meet again." He gently rests his hand on your shoulder. "Come find me in the bar of the Whirling some evening."

"Why would I want to meet your friend?"

"Trust me, you do."

"Wait, who exactly is visiting you?"

"My Sunday friend," he repeats, his smile even wider than before. "He's brilliant, everyone wants to meet my Sunday friend. You'll see."

"Honestly I'm just trying to not screw anything up."

"I'm not going to make things just right, I'm going to make them spectacular."

(Ignore his question.) "I was hoping to talk to a possible witness. Your balcony overlooks the murder scene."

"Then I have some good news for you..." His eyes narrow. A nearby street lamp casts shadows on his chin, drawing out the slender cheekbones.

"My Sunday friend is visiting me tonight. I told him about you and he'd like to say hello. Step in, he's already waiting." He nods towards door #28.

[Leave.]

"I got your hint. Found the key right under that stone."

"Beautiful," he replies, smiling. As he looks at you, something sparkles in his eyes.

"Yes, the cleaning lady let me in. She also led me to your apartment."

It feels like a Friday. He seems to be in a good mood today.

Somewhere in the distance a baby cries over a blasting radio. There's a family argument reaching its crescendo in an upstairs apartment, while around the corner the air conditioners drone.