"I'm always happy to educate and entertain you, my friend." He takes a sip from his…

"I'm always happy to educate and entertain you, my friend." He takes a sip from his coffee. "So, what's on your mind?"

"Did you order the hanged man killed?"

"Order it? You know my men didn't kill him. They told you -- it was a happy accident. You know how it is, no one takes the initiative. If I wanted him dead I would have had to do it myself. And I'm too fat for that."

"Why are you so fat?"

"Glad you asked. I've got Type 2 diabetes because sugar and fat was all my mother had to give me and my brother Edgar when we were kids."

He wags his finger at you. "Good job too, as it made me ugly. And ugly people, Harry, are much better at politics."

That is true. People don't trust pretty people.

"Okay, another question."

"I'm listening, Harry."

"What do you gain from him being dead?"

"Why, a war, of course."

"And what do you have to gain from a war?"

"Victory, Mr. Kitsuragi. I have victory to gain. We are going to start a war with the Wild Pines Group -- and win before they even realize there is a war."

"They're trained military people. Aren't you afraid for your men?"

"Harry, we outnumber them fifteen hundred to one. And that's just Martinaise. With all the unions in Revachol -- and with public opinion on our side -- we can hold off two men. Or fifteen men. Or even fifty men."

"The more they send, the worse it's going to look for them. They made a huge mistake hiring those guys. No one likes foreign mercenaries. The leftists hate them, the fascists hate them, even the moralists think they're in bad taste."

"How is this connected to the strike?"

"Harry, there is no strike, only war. Class war. Or, in business terms: a dawn raid. Or wait..." He pauses to rub his chin. "Is that when you still pay them something? Because we won't do that."

"We're not gonna give nothing. We're gonna take Terminal B away from them: the roads, the gates, the containers, that big crane... even the damn coffee maker. We're gonna take all of it for the people -- and fuck Wild Pines."

The word fuck rings like a gunshot from his mouth. He doesn't swear often.

"So that's why you haven't let Joyce in?"

"Yes. It's also why I let that midget Gaumont go. He's too nice. I can't put him through this. Plus, he knows how to get in here. That woman can't tell her tits from her asshole. She has no chance."

"Why are you telling me your plans?"

"Because we're friends, Harry! Besides, it doesn't matter now. You can go tell her, if you want -- it won't change the course of events. We have a significant head start."

He looks at the swordfish clock and nods: "It's already happening."

"What?"

"Tits from her asshole -- it's a local saying."

Actually, no, it's not.

"Is that why you haven't let Joyce in here?"

"Yeah, everyone hates them. Except ultraliberals maybe. Which happens to be me."

"You're not an ultraliberal, Harry. Get the fuck out of here. Don't be a retard." He smiles warmly.

"Have you ever heard what two Giant Seraise Hornets can do to an entire colony of bees? They destroy it."

"I have. It's a great story, Harry." He nods. "Did you also know how the bee colony kills the giant hornet? They swarm and blanket it entirely, until it suffers a massive heat stroke and dies."

He crosses his hands, contently, thinking of the interior temperature of the wasp rising.

They cook it alive in its exoskeleton.

"Yes, but what do you have to gain from a war?"

"Victory, Harry. I have victory to gain. We are going to start a war with the Wild Pines Group -- and win before they even realize there is a war."

"I did not, Harry." He shakes his head energetically. "Although I am very, very glad he's dead."

"How many of you guys are there in the Union?"

"2,372," he replies like a whip. "Plus yours truly, of course."

2,373 is a sizeable contingent for a labour organization in Revachol.

And they're all well motivated. At least the ones you've seen.

"Can I ask you about specific union members?"

"We're way past specific Union members now. This is the Big Time." His eyes are shining. "We're talking about the future of Revachol here, Harry."

"You can bother Leonard with that." He points to the door. "He loves to run his mouth on such matters. But I'm in Big-Time mode, Harry."

There's something different about him now. He's more vibrant. More alive in his 'Big-Time mode'.

"Who killed the hanged man?"

"No idea. Could have been his own mother for all I know. If you ever find the guy, give him a big fat kiss from Evrart Claire. Couldn't have done it without him."

He really doesn't know.

A guy, huh?

"How do you know it's a guy?"

"I don't. I told you it could have been his own mother... I'm pretty sure it wasn't anyone from the Union. Maybe it was the mob... or maybe he killed himself 'cause he was a closet socialist? Truth is, I simply don't know."

He really doesn't.

"What was the fine print on the document I mailed? What was the catch?"

"There was no fine print, Harry." He leans forward. "But I do hope all that construction noise and limited street access encourages some people to move. After a year of that ruckus, who wouldn't?"

Oops... yes, the noise would do the trick. It'll be terrible.

"And when they do..." He holds out his index finger. "They will have a good place to go. I'm currently working on renovating the buildings near the roundabout into affordable workers palaces."

He proudly spreads his hands to demonstrate the size of the palaces. They're very large.

"So the village is doomed," the lieutenant says grimly.

"You were there, you saw the place. A waste land -- there's nothing left. But mark my words, Harry." His slams his fist on the table, causing some of the coffee to spill. "We are going to reset it."