"Hi, ace detective." She smiles warmly. "Are you here for more books?"

"Anyhow, it's much easier to work undercover if one doesn't look like him."

"Why is that?" She looks puzzled.

"If I looked like Mr. Mullen, all the criminals would go off running the very moment they saw me. This way I can go undercover, blend in, collect evidence."

She studies the picture on the cover. "That sounds smart, I guess."

"Being smart is the only way to cop, little girl. I can do this way better than him."

"If you say so, sir." She smiles mischievously. "He's just a fictional character, he's no match for you."

"I don't know. Let's talk about something else. This making me feel sad."

"Don't feel sad, sir! Mullen isn't even real. You're real!"

Then why does all of this feel like some sad, strange dream?

"Probably got a violent streak because he's emotionally stunted."

She examines the cover, trying to gauge the inner workings of the detective.

"Emotional ineptitude is no way to cop. He can't compare to my sensitive soul."

"Of course not, sir." She smiles mischievously. "He's just a fictional character, he'll be no match for you."

"Bet he can't even bend over to pick the gun his rigid fingers dropped. Real detectives are sinewy and snake-hipped. Like me."

She's trying to examine the shadow-obscured hips of Dick Mullen. "They don't look rigid to me..."

"Mobility is the proper way to cop, girl. Dick Mullen can't compete with my hip-grind."

"Sure he can't, sir." She smiles mischievously. "He's just a fictional character, he's no match for you."

"Muscle training is flower arranging for men. I bet he thinks he's real manly like that. He isn't. It's just unhealthy."

She examines the picture closely. The Vespertine detective exhibits few signs of health or unhealth.

"Poor vitality is no way to cop, little girl. I could take him down easy."

"Sure you could, sir." She smiles mischievously. "He's just a fictional character, he's no match for your strength."

"Hmm... I actually had other questions."

"More about books, maybe?" Annette nods eagerly.

"I don't know."

"Why is that?"

"Look at me! A hideous beast, a failure of a cop. A disgrace."

"Sir, please, sir, don't say things like that. You look... nice enough."

"Nice enough for a small child, sure... maybe."

"Don't be sad, sir." She seems genuinely concerned. "I'm sorry I said that thing about Dick Mullen."

"You'll understand when you're older."

"Oh. Okay." She blinks at you, not knowing how to reply. "I shouldn't have said that thing about Dick Mullen..."

"A man can never be truly happy with who he is."

"No."

"Okay, then maybe I'm not a policeman? Or should stop being one."

"Why would anyone want to read about crime?"

"It's exciting to people, I guess. They get to imagine dangerous things. And it's kinda like a puzzle, where you can guess who the criminal is or how the good guys are going to catch him. "

"Wait -- not crime fiction. I need to know what crime is."

"Uh..." She doesn't know what to say.

"It's that bad." (Point to your head.)

"Crime is a deviation from the law punishable by either a civil or criminal sentencing. It's what The Law prevents."

"Crime is what we were solving before this conversation began."

"Crime is what criminals do. And policemen... solve?"

"Little girl, help. My Dick Mullen book ripped before I could get to the end. Do you know what happens?"

"Which book was it, sir?"

"Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity."

"Oh..." She frowns. "I'm very sorry, sir. I haven't read that one yet. I wish I could help you."

What are you missing here? Why does this feel familiar?

Because you know each other. She's been talking to you so openly because you've talked before.

"On second thought, maybe I shouldn't remember. Maybe there's a reason I forgot."

"Yes, sir." The girl looks at you quizzically. "Maybe you are interested in books?"

"Hang on. So you... know me? We've met before?"

"Yes! I used to stand out there all the time, before mother told me to focus on my homework."

"You've been running around for several days, talking about small churches and how everyone betrayed you, sir."

"Did I ever talk to you?"

"Of course. You stopped by a few times." She looks at you intently. "You certainly look better than the last time I saw you!"

"I doubt that."

"No, you don't have party eyes anymore."

The lieutenant slowly -- ever so slowly -- realizes something. "Party eyes. Yes, of course. That makes sense."

I'm not surprised children have seen you running around with party eyes on, he thinks. Not at all.

"Party eyes?"