A man in his late twenties with a thin, unimpressive beard notices you approaching. He…

A man in his late twenties with a thin, unimpressive beard notices you approaching. He drops the ledger he was holding and turns to the lieutenant.

"Mr... Garte, right?" The lieutenant glances into his little notebook. "You run this place?"

"Yes," he responds tersely.

"I am Kim Kitsuragi from Precinct 57. This is an inter-district investigation, so joining me from Precinct 41..." He looks to you, realizing he still doesn't know your name.

Say nothing.

"Right... Now, I know it took us a while to arrive at the scene. It also took you a while to call us and report the dead body -- it was you who placed the call, yes?"

"No, I only just got here. It was probably Sylvie who called you. She usually works the bar here. I'm only temporarily taking over her duties."

"Do you have her number?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He looks behind a pile of coasters, finds a slip of paper, and hands it to the lieutenant.

This sounds like something you can use -- to call this Sylvie later...

"You said you just got here -- from where? Are you a local?"

"What? Of Martinaise -- no. I live in Jamrock. I only sometimes come here to keep an eye on the place. This is just one of the many, many cafeterias I manage."

"But you still know your way around, yes? In case we need directions."

"Yes, I know where some things are. But, as I said, I don't live here. I just used to work here. And I'm not going to start working here again, if that's what you think."

"I didn't imply that." He turns to you. "Detective?"

He probably means this is where you step in and ask your questions.

"Who, me?"

"Yes, Detective Costeau." He says the name with a purposefully straight face. "I have everything. You?"

"Oh, you mean, do I have questions?" (Ask them.)

"Yes, yes, he means do you have questions for me. Like a police officer would." The cafeteria manager is clearly agitated again.

He thinks you're stupid, sire.

Ask him about the body's location before asking if he killed him. People give up information in the more innocuous questions, which you can later use in the more sinister ones, not vice versa.

"That's all."

"Let's go."

"Not so fast Mr. Feminist." He points to you. "You owe me 130 reál."

No one is saying the multi-patterned necktie you found tied to the ceiling fan can talk. No one. It must be merely imagination, but...

Let's bail! Time to push the EJECT button. Sounds like a responsibility. You don't like those.

No, don't listen to him. It's madness -- just talk.

Slip away unnoticed.

As you blow this joint -- behind you a whiny voice shouts:

"Real mature, man! Real mature."

One moment you're running like the wind, then you've suddenly turned around and are giving him the finger. Furiously, with both hands. Why?!

"Fuck you, asshole!"

"WATCH OUT!!"

Everything goes dark.

Back so soon?

I had an accident.

It was no accident. Those were disco moves from your Spinal Cord. The Spinal Cord has yet to reveal itself to you -- its mysteries are unholy mysteries.

I don't know... that just comes off as a lazy effort at re-conceptualizing the antics of a shambling drunk.

If it comes off like that, it's because it is. And you are.

How's it going out there? Are the tiny apes screaming about money yet?

"It's not going very well."

"It doesn't look like it is, sweetie. Are you okay?" An old woman appears out of the blackness.

No. You have sustained a trauma to your lower neck. In addition, you have strained your left trapezius muscle. Pain surges down your back when you move.

"I'm not very okay."

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine. He just tripped over my chair -- check on him!" She looks at you with concern.

"Sir, I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry, this has always been a cop-friendly place..." The man seems shaken by the incident.

"The drinks are on the house, okay? There were a lot of drinks on the tab. I still have to charge you for three nights and the broken window, though -- that's 100 square."

With your back against the cold mosaic floor you feel the pain recede. You just need to get up and dust yourself off...

He's shaken. Barter now and he'll cave in.

"I won't pay for that window... ouch." (Grab your side.)

"Okay, fine. I'll take it off your bill! Sleep in a post-apocalyptic hell-hole if you want to. Just know I won't give you another room."

"Thank you for your cooperation."

"Don't thank me yet. You still owe me 60 reál for three nights stay. If you don't have it by tonight, I just can't let you up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.

"And for god's sake watch out for yourself."

"Don't thank me yet. You still owe me 100 reál. If you don't have it by tonight, I just can't let you up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.

"Cool."

"Not entirely cool. You still owe me 60 reál for three nights stay. If you don't have it by tonight, I can't let you back up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.

"Not entirely cool. You still owe me 100 reál. If you don't have it by tonight, I can't let you back up there..." He points upstairs, toward your room.